Fox had hit the nail right on the head. I’d been bucking authority, creating the story of Pippa Lofting, not just accepting the one the feds thrust on me. I felt in that second that Fox got me.
So it seemed natural for him to bend his head for a kiss. We fit together like hand in glove, as though we literally had good chemistry with each other. He emitted manly pheromones that swirled in the air around me, complementing my womanly chemistry. Unconsciously he was sniffing out my molecules, finding empathy in my plight, even scenting my tears. The scent would’ve triggered his protective instinct, so I guessed this was his way of sheltering me from the storm that both our lives could become at any moment.
The kiss turned passionate, and when I lifted a boot to wrap my calf around his, he slid a hand down my side and hooked my thigh in his hand. I hadn’t willingly kissed a man since that backstabber Russ, and it was like kissing your first new man after a divorce. All fresh, and strange, yet familiar in another way. With my thigh hooked like this I could bear down with my pubic bone against his erection. My short little skirt barely licked at my ass in the breeze and I felt my vulva quivering. On some atomic level, it responded to the proximity of this giant hard-on. My outer lips swelled and bloomed, and my innards shivered.
But just as he was turning me to press me into the wall of the ordnance shed, he must’ve heard something. He broke the kiss and stood holding his breath, looking sideways. Shit. Were we already found out?
Placing a “quiet” finger to his lips, he tiptoed around the corner of the shed. I followed like a Keystone Kop, peering around his arm. What the fuck? A beautiful bird of prey sat at the foot of the wall, disgruntled. He looked around himself with surprise, like what the fuck am I doing here? Yet obviously, he couldn’t leave, and he screamed that distant sort of cry you imagine pterodactyls make. Caw, caw. He was a red-tailed hawk, I could tell by the scream and his beautiful fan of burnt umber tail feathers.
“He’s injured,” said Fox, going right up and squatting beside the bird. “Too bad I don’t have my falconry glove on me.”
“Falconry?” I echoed stupidly. “What’s his injury?”
Fox turned his head this way and that, deciding. “Ah, here.” He pointed to a spot beyond the raptor. “He was eating that snake.”
“Rattlesnake?”
“No, luckily. That Desert Nightsnake has a mild venom. I think he’ll be okay but I’m taking him somewhere safe.” He turned and looked me up and down. “You don’t have any clothes to spare. Run out there and see if anyone’s got an extra shirt, jacket.”
“I’m on it.” I always wanted to say that, and now a person of authority was giving me a mission. As I raced back to the shooting line, a weird sight assaulted me. An extremely buff black man was leaning against the outside of his electric blue sports car, just watching. Some workers, operators and laborers and truck drivers, parked around that side of the building, but this guy was really out of place. First of all, what was so damned fascinating about a bunch of nerds shooting archery? Secondly, he was so obviously not a worker, with his shiny boots, mirrored shades, and enormously bulging muscles. Too much muscle. He could probably flex each pec independently of each other. Frighteningly, part of his jaw seemed to be eaten away, maybe by a tumor.
I saw Wolf was charming Tracy with a shooting lesson, so I asked Tobias, Slushy, and Sax. “I need a spare jacket. Don’t worry, nothing’ll happen to it.”
Tobias said, “I’ve got another one of these lumbersexual shirts in June’s Jeep.” I walked with him to the vehicle. “What’s it for?”
I told him about the raptor, and then an idea occurred to me. “Hey Tobias. You can track people down, can’t you?”
“I’d say I can, if my name isn’t Tobias Weingarten.”
“Good,” I said, grabbing the plaid shirt rudely. “I’ll come by later, give you the details. Thanks for the shirt.”
But Tobias, Sax, and Slushy now wanted to see the raptor, so I led a squad of men back with me to the shed. “Who’s that guy staring at us?” I asked off-handedly.
“I don’t know, but I don’t like it,” said Slushy. “Any time anyone is staring at us in this game, it’s bad news.”
“I’ll just go ask him,” said Sax, splitting off from our group.
“There’s a raptor conservancy just outside of town,” said Tobias. “Maybe Fox could take the bird there.”
I forgot about Sax in the excitement of watching Fox wrap the bird and hold it to his chest. By the time I remembered, the guy had taken off. Sax said he split when he saw him coming. I was left wondering if the guy was following me or Fox. I had a feeling there would always be that question with two fugitives like us.
Fox insisted on following me down Mescal Mountain in the Jeep. So he must have seen the guy. Now he’d be wondering who the fuck the guy was after too.
CHAPTER NINE
FOX