Page 37 of Peace Under Fire

As he parked the truck and shut off the engine, Mandy slipped her hand under his coat and grabbed the closest holstered gun. He must have caught the theft out of the corner of his eye because he turned toward her, his eyebrows already on the rise. She tucked the gun beneath her thighs and arched her eyebrows in return.

“Do you even know how to use that thing?” he asked, regarding her with a dubious expression.

She tried for an air of competence. “Of course.” How hard could it be—point and squeeze—right?

He studied her face and scoffed, but didn’t try to wrestle the gun back. Probably because he’d have to reach between her thighs. No doubt he was worried that doing so might give her the wrong impression.

Grabbing his coat and the second holstered gun, he thrust the door open and stepped out of the truck. After sliding his arms through the holster’s shoulder straps, he adjusted the gun until it hung loosely a couple of inches beneath his armpit. Then he stuffed his arms into his sheepskin jacket. When his coat fell into place, it hid the gun from sight.

She expected him to make a bid for the gun she’d appropriated, but he just offered a terse “Stay in the truck” like she was a disobedient dog. He paused and shot her a dry look. “And for Christ’s sake, try not to shoot yourself.”

With that the door closed behind him.

Huh.

Sliding the holstered gun out from under her thighs, she hefted it, staring at it in curiosity. Maybe it wasn’t loaded. That would explain why he didn’t want it back. She was so engrossed in the pistol, it took her a moment to realize Brick had joined Jacob and the two men were huddled together talking.

Maybe he’d left the gun with her as a distraction.

Nope. Nope. Wasn’t going to work. Stuffing the pistol into her coat pocket, she reached for the door handle. With his order to remain in the truck ringing in her ears, she pushed the door open and hopped out. This was her life on the line, along with the lives of her sisters. She had a right to know what they were discussing.

The two men stopped talking and turned to watch her approach—Jacob with a scowl. No surprise there, the man was always scowling at her. Seriously, why did she even like him? Her stride faltered beneath the combined intensity of their stares. She wasn’t used to being the object of such heavy scrutiny. Squaring her shoulders, she lengthened her stride.

Unlike Jacob, Brick hadn’t bothered with a coat and when he raised his left arm to skim a palm over his black hair, the sleeve of his gray t-shirt fell back. She studied the snarling lion tattoo sprawled across the defined muscles of his tanned bicep. Did Jacob have any tattoos? Sadly, she’d never seen him without his shirt on.

The two men were the same height, at least six feet. And they shared a similar build—long-legged and lean-hipped, with the wide shoulders, broad chests, and corded arms of men who spent far too much time at the gym.

Not that she was complaining about their workout obsession, not when the results were so…riveting.

Jacob’s hair was a shade darker and slightly longer. But his friend’s face was quite a bit tanner. Of course, Brick hadn’t spent the past month hiding from the great outdoors while recovering from a traumatic brain injury, or so she assumed.

She’d almost reached them when she noticed Brick’s eyes. Her steps slowed as she stared and stared, and then stared some more. They were the most amazing shade of blue. Like a Caribbean lagoon on a sunny tropical island. Not that she’d seen a Caribbean lagoon outside of pictures. Still, his eyes were amazing. Intense. Penetrating. And so, so incredibly blue.

“Want me to take a picture for you?” Jacob rumbled from somewhere to her right, his voice thick with grit and growl.

“What?” Reluctantly, she dragged her gaze from those incredible Caribbean eyes.

Jacob’s scowling face greeted her dazed gaze. She frowned. He was mad at her again. Why? Was it because she’d taken his gun? Or because she’d ignored his orders and left the truck? Both? Neither? Maybe it was simply because she was breathing. He seemed to take exception to that often enough.

Too bad. He could put up with her for a while longer. Once her sisters were safe, he wouldn’t have to see her again. She ignored the way her chest burned at the thought.

“I asked if you wanted me to take a picture of him. You can blow it up and tape it to your bedroom wall where you can moon over it like a prepubescent teen in the throes of her first crush,” Jacob drawled with a decided edge to his tone.

She blinked. Surely, she’d misheard what he’d said. Not even Jacob would deliberately humiliate her in front of his friend. Her gaze flickered to Brick’s face. From the ‘what-the-fuck’ look Brick was giving his friend, she’d heard Jacob just fine.

Mandy’s face heated to the temperature of the sun. What a grade-A bastard. Pushing past the humiliation, she lifted her chin, straightened her spine, and drew back her shoulders. She was done taking shit from this man. He was nothing like the alpha protectors her favorite authors had introduced her to.

“I’m surprised a Neanderthal like you even knows what prepubescent means.” She flashed him a snarky smile.

His face turned thunderous. Lightning flashed from his storm-dark eyes. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You’re supposed to be a big boy, figure it out.” She tried to look down her nose at him, but he was a good six inches taller than her. With a dismissive sniff, she turned back to Brick. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. It’s just, well, you have the most amazing eyes. They’re so blue. I’d love to paint you.”

“You don’t paint,” Jacob bit out.

“How would you know?” she shot back.

She’d always wanted to paint. And the Adonis in front of her was the perfect inspiration. She turned back to Brick, intending to apologize again for staring, when she noticed the silvery scars feathering the planes of his face. The scars were so thin and faint they were barely visible against his tanned skin. Nor did they detract from his good looks. Rather, they added an extra dimension to his masculinity—giving him a rugged look.

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