found it. She wondered if she would be able to locate his pack, then decided it wasn’t worth facing the cold, rainy night to find out. They could get by on what she had.
She dug out four granola bars, two chocolate bars, an apple and another water bottle.
“No fast food?” he asked. “I have a hankering for some fries.”
“You’ll have to wait until they show up on the prison menu,” she said as she divided the wrapped snacks into two equal piles.
He eyed the food, then shrugged. “That beats an MRE.”
Meals ready to eat. Prepackaged food soldiers could carry into combat. She’d tried a couple and, while they weren’t as bad as everyone claimed, she would rather dine on what she had in her pack.
“So you’re military?” she asked.
“Sort of.”
“Special Forces?”
“Something like that.”
She wasn’t sure if he was being coy to annoy her or because he couldn’t talk about what he did for a living.
She poured some water from the new bottle into the one she’d been using. When there was an equal amount in both, she propped one up next to Quinn. He half turned away from her, exposing his bound wrists.
“Want to cut me loose so I can eat?” he asked.
She chuckled. “Not even on a bet.”
He rolled back into a seated position. “Then you’re going to have to feed me yourself.”
He didn’t look very upset at the prospect. In fact, there was definite amusement in his dark eyes.
She ignored it, along with the teasing tone of his voice. If he thought hand feeding him was going to fluster her, he was in for a shock.
“I haven’t seen you around town before,” she said as she unwrapped the first granola bar in his pile. “You’re not stationed at the base here, are you?”
“No. I flew into the country day before yesterday and got to Glenwood this morning. I’m here to meet up with my brother.”
She broke the granola bar into small pieces and offered him the first one. He didn’t bother leaning forward, which meant she had to stretch her arm out across his body. When her fingers were practically touching his mouth, he finally opened and bit down on the food.
He winked. “The ambiance needs a little work, but I can’t complain about the service.”
She ignored him. “Where did you fly in from?”
“The Middle East.”
There was something about the way he answered the question that made her think she wasn’t likely to get any more information from him. She waited until he’d finished chewing, then offered another piece of the bar.
“What about you?” he asked when he’d finished chewing. “You live in Glenwood?”
“Yes.”
“What do you do?”
She hesitated because her natural inclination was to not reveal any personal information. Quinn waited, his expression interested, his body relaxed. Finally she shrugged and gave him the bare-bone facts.
“I’m a private consultant,” she said. “I teach classes at local schools, telling kids how to stay safe. I teach women basic self-defense. I’m also on call with several state and federal organizations, along with some private firms. They bring me in to help in extracting children from dangerous situations.”
“Domestic abductions?” he asked.
“Sometimes.” Domestic abductions meant the kidnapping of a child by the noncustodial parent. “Sometimes it’s a straight kidnapping for money or revenge.”
She stopped talking the second she realized she wanted Quinn to be impressed. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself. What did she care what this guy thought of her?
She fed him the last of the granola bar then unwrapped one for herself.
“Is there a Mr. D.J.?” he asked.
“No.”
“Just no?” Quinn raised his eyebrows. “A former Mr. D.J., then?”
“Not even close.”
“Why not? A pretty woman like you should be married.”
She laughed. “You sound like an Italian grandma. I have no interest in getting married. It was an institution invented by men to get their needs met. They get full-time live-in help, including a maid and a nanny when they have kids. Not only don’t they have to pay for it, but most wives will do all that and go get a job. Marriage is a great deal for men, but what do women get out of it?”
“Safety. Security.”
“Right. Tell that to the women at the local shelter. The ones who have been beat up by their loving husbands.”
“You’ve obviously thought this through,” he said.
“It didn’t take long.”
She finished her granola bar and opened his second one.
“So you keep your men on a short leash?”
She leaned toward him. “I keep them in a cage.”
She’d thought he might be offended by her opinions and bluntness, but instead he laughed. Her forearm brushed his chest, and she felt the rumble of his amusement.
His dark gaze locked with hers. “Do you have them all running scared or are a few of them brave enough to stand up to you?”
“Most are too busy heading for the hills. They want soft, gentle, trusting women.”
“You can be soft.”
“Right. That’s me. A delicate flower.”
“You’re still a woman, D.J. Combat boots and a few fancy moves don’t change that.”
She thought of herself as competent and independent. Not soft. Soft implied weak. “My moves aren’t fancy and I have more than a few of them.”
“Tough talk for a girl.”
She held up the piece of the granola bar. “Do you want to eat this, or do you want to keep flapping your lips?”
He obligingly opened his mouth. She moved closer. This time, though, as he took the food, his lip came in contact with her fingertips.
There was a flash of heat where their skin touched, along with a flicker of tightness in her stomach. D.J. nearly jumped in surprise. What on earth was that? She didn’t react to men. Not now, not ever. She liked some, disliked
