Page 179 of Protective Heroes

“Dyson has mentioned the name and the men to me once or twice. From what I hear I bet they’re dreamy, right?” She tried but was unsuccessful in holding back the tease in her voice. Her sister’s laugh gave away everything. It only made an appearance when she was nervous or wanted to hide the truth.

“I’m there to work, sis. It’s not my fault they’re a pair of hunky Marines. Former or otherwise. Besides, with the ‘we’ll call you’ and curt dismissal, I don’t think they’re all that interested in an executive assistant on that level.”

“Abigail, you have no idea just how beautiful you really are. And smart.” Her heart reached out to her sister, but she sensed a change of topic was needed before her sister went sappy on her. No way she’d keep it together if that happened. “We missed you today, hermana.”

“Yeah, me, too. With only a little over a half a year to go, I really need to focus. I’m still making up for what I missed, you know, when mom was sick. But hey, I’ll make it and when I do, we can rewrite our story a bit. I think we’ve lived enough hell, right?”

“I do know. Hey, get back to it. I’ll call you when I hit San Diego tomorrow afternoon, okay? Now get some sleep. Oh, and hey, good luck with that job, chica.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Shay eased back from the water, rethinking the skinny-dipping at midnight plan, and turned on her heel.

Abigail worked so hard and sounded so happy. No way Shay could bring the rain to the party and tell her about the financial situation that could pull her from school even if she did land that job. Not yet. She’d have to find the right time, and soon.

She made her way to Dyson’s bungalow positioned back from the beach a few yards, shadowed by palm trees. Shafts of moonlight played in the palm fronds, casting long shadows that danced on the sand.

The crunching of dry leaves caught her attention off to her left and slowed her pace. Fear tickled the back of her mind, but from what? Her gaze darted between the palm trunks, searching for the source of the noise. She squinted, fastening her attention to the corner of the bungalow.

There was the crunching again. This time the noise came from deeper within the tree line. She strained to make out exactly which direction, but the pounding of her heart and the waves behind her both served as white-noise, drowning out sounds nearby. She took another three steps before the acrid smell of gasoline, carried on the wind, stopped her cold.

¿Que diablos? What the hell? She knelt for a better look. Through the trees a single flame lit the darkest recess toward the back corner of the bungalow. Her palms began to sweat and her heart rate tripled instantly. She balled her fists and pushed her body into action, all fear replaced with pure anger.

Dyson. No! No! No! She had to get to him.

Shay dashed across the sand, her feet sinking into the soft layers, slowing her progress. She took the stairs two at a time, her calves screaming in protest.

Without another single thought, Shay busted through the unlocked door and rushed to the back. Smoke obscured the small room as flames ate away at the back wall of the bathroom.

She fell to her knees and crawled to the bed on the far side and closest to the bathroom.

Why wasn’t he already awake? Maybe the alcohol affected him more than she’d thought.

Shay reached the bed and rose to her knees. “Dyson!” she shouted at the top of her lungs, shaking his shoulders. He bolted up, grabbing her, realization sinking in immediately. Thank God.

“Move. Now. Stay low and move fast, baby. Don’t look back.” He pushed her to the front door. “Go. I’ll be right behind you.” She turned to see him disappear into the thickening smoke. Outside she finally tried for a lungful of fresh air but coughed instead, smoke burning her lungs. Forced to step back, she waited for him past the deck, not really wanting to distance herself from the burning cabana until the last minute in case whoever started the fire was still back there.

For a long moment she stood there. Waiting. Screw it.

She pushed forward into the bungalow but only moved three steps before stopping short. Dyson walked toward her, a cloth wrapped around the lower part of his face. Black ash and soot smeared across his forehead and eyes. If her throat wasn’t closed off with fear, she’d laugh at his disheveled state.

“I have it contained, sweetheart. You good?” He wrapped her in his arms, and she had to admit it felt good to have him there. To help, of course.

“What the hell happened? You light a candle or something?”

She pulled back. Her brows furrowed. Really?

She had no idea how he pieced that one together. “Right. I’m also the one that was playing with the gasoline and matches behind the bungalow. Thought we could use a little excitement.”

He paused as if to consider what he’d said to earn such a retort. “Okay. Let me take a sec and remove my foot from my mouth.” He inhaled and leaned in, his features morphing into full Marine mode. “A minute more and this place would be ashes in the sand, Shay, along with us. You said something about gasoline?” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “Tell me what you saw, heard, anything you can think of. Nothing is too big or small.”

She wanted to frown at him, but he was only trying to assess the situation. And damn if he didn’t look sinfully gorgeous in his boxers with a soot-covered face. “I was on the beach talking to my sister. When I headed back, I thought I saw something in the palm grove. I shrugged it off to shadow play, but when the wind changed, I caught the fumes. Then I saw whoever it was light something, then he disappeared in the shadows. That’s when I rushed in to get you. The flames moved faster than I thought.”

Worry creased the set of his mouth. “Stay here.” He took the stairs two at a time and disappeared around the side of the bungalow in seconds. Her heart tightened in contrast to the lazy breeze that tickled the back of her neck. She paralleled the wall at her back, opening her senses to anyone that might sneak up on her.

Minutes past and nothing.

“Let me borrow your phone.”

Shay jumped, her heart in her throat. “Dyson, warn a person—snap a twig or something.” She rubbed her chest, understanding the swift, silent, and deadly wording of his unit’s tattoo. The man made the footsteps of a mouse seem loud.

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