Page 7 of Trapped with the Covert Ops Soldier

This was the third time her boat had been moved to this spot. Her grandmother always said that three times anything was eithera charmorenemy action.

And since this third occurrence was anything but charming...No, she wasn’t going to go there. Not at 06:30. Not before she’d done her morning workout/stress reduction routine. Then she’d consider who might be declaring war. On her.

Abby put her potato sack in the slightly leaky boat, untied it, and pushed it out into the icy cold lake. She jumped in before the water rose above her tall rubber boots, picked up the oars, and rowed out from shore.

Once she was far enough away, she rummaged in her sack, then pulled out today’s contribution to noise pollution. A half dozen sticks of dynamite. And her lighter.

She lit one, waited until the fuse burned two-thirds of the way. Waited for most of the fuse to be eaten by sparks. Waited until the burning smell of the wick changed, then threw it as hard as she could toward the middle of the lake.

Just like she’d been doing every morning for the last 92 days.

Just before it hit the water, it detonated, sending a spray of mist and sawdust out in all directions.

The tight ball of muscle, tendon, and trauma in the middle of her gut unwound. A little. Enough for her breathing to ease.

Abby reached for another stick.

“Is this one of those I-love-the-smell-of-napalm-in-the-morning moments?”

She paused with the dynamite in one hand and the lighter in the other because she knew that voice, and he wasn’t supposed to be anywhere she would hear him. He was still in the military and had a long drive to get to Bandit Creek from where he was stationed.

A glance over her shoulder confirmed her suspicion. Smitty stood on the dock. Smitty, a friend she’d wanted for more than friendship for a long time, the only other person besides her to survive the worst day of their lives, and who’d kissed her then walked away.

He stood with both feet spread and braced and his arms crossed over his chest. His blond hair was longer than she remembered, feathered over his forehead, making him look like the dangerous version of a laid-back surfer.

He’d had to have caught a ride on a hell of a rogue wave to end up on the shore here. The lake was smack-dab in the middle of land-locked Montana.

Surprise could only hold her immobile for so long.

She turned away, lit the dynamite, then threw the stick into the air as hard as she could. Two seconds later, an explosion sent water in all directions.

“I prefer the smell of burnt sawdust,” she said, turning around to talk to her audience. She’d stopped looking for him to show up on her doorstep weeks ago. He hadn’t called, hadn’t written, and hadn’t responded to the carefully worded message she’d sent him last month. “What brings you out this way, Smitty?”

“Well, the Sheriff gave me a ten-minute head-start. He said if I could get you off the lake and any dynamite you might have in your possession out of sight, he won’t arrest you.” Smitty shrugged his large shoulders. “Otherwise, he said he was going to throw you into lock-up for a week.” Smitty paused. “This time.”

Abby grunted, but didn’t say anything. What to do, what to do? She looked out over the lake, but it was as still as open water could be.

“Thistime, Abby?” he asked, his tone sarcastic.

“Hmm? What?”

“This time?” he repeated.

“Last time was only 48 hours,” she said with a cheeky grin. She’d learned long ago that often the only way to get out of trouble was to own up and put a bow on it.

“48 hours?” He frowned.

It didn’t look like Smitty was buying it. “The time before that wasbarelytwenty-four.”

“Twenty-four?” Smitty’s frown turned into a full-on scowl.

“You got a hearing problem?” she asked. “Maybe you should take a few steps back.” She waggled a stick of dynamite in the air.

“You’ve got more of that shit?” His voice colored every word in incredulous frustration. “Get your pretty little butt over here.”

Did he honestly think he could show up when it was convenient for him, and they’d pick up where they left off in the airport in Missoula, five seconds away from tearing each other’s clothes off?

She stared at him and waited.

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