up.
She angled her head and furrowed her brow. “I’m not making this up.”
He raised his hands, palms out. “I didn’t say you were.”
“Your tone did.” A bit of the fire he’d seen in her earlier returned to her eyes. “And yes, the FBI believe, based on what they learned from other cult members, that the Pitts brothers want to kill the babies.” She drew and released a fast, shallow breath. “The news report I watched online earlier said the cult leader, this guy named Kent Pitts, stabbed the two teenage girls in cold blood during the raid.” She closed her eyes and was silent for a moment. He waited, watched her. Disgust soured her expression. “According to the other cult members, the guy thought he was saving the girls from a worse fate.”
“What worse fate?”
“Being subjected to the evils of our government and modern society.”
Dean grunted. He knew there were a lot of extremist groups out there that resented any kind of authority, especially the American government and law enforcement.
Lila shifted Eve to her other shoulder, still patting the girl’s back and swaying, then met his gaze. “When Miriam, the woman with foster services, brought Eve up here, she said the cult believed they had created a Utopia of some sort at their compound and only they were truly enlightened. They knew the truth about...a perfect society or some such. Swords were the weapon of choice and a symbol they all but worshipped.”
“And this Pitts dude wants to kill Eve because...?”
“To save her from the big, bad world, same as the girls he stabbed.” She hesitated, then added, “Oh, did I mention he called the teenagers his wives? He had several.”
Dean tensed and a muscle in his jaw spasmed. “Are you saying this sicko is Eve’s father?”
She appeared as nauseated by the idea as he felt. “That’s my understanding. The girls were kidnapped from their families and raped. It’s all so...black.”
“Black?” he scoffed. “Is that the worst you have?”
She scowled her irritation with his response. “What? I’m an artist. I associate things—my feelings, people, events—with color, shapes.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “As in blue for sadness and yellow for happiness?”
“No...blue is happiness. Like the sky in spring. Yellow is—” She blinked, and her frown deepened. “Are you mocking me?”
He half snorted, half sighed. “No. Never mind. The whole artsy thing is just—”
“Yes?”
He didn’t want to have this discussion, didn’t want to offend Lila or explain himself...
“What do you see in this ink blot?”
“Ink. In a blot.”
“Anything else?”
Death. Blood spatter. War...
Icy fingers clamped on his lungs, and Dean shoved aside the flash of memory. “It’s not me. I tend to see things in more straightforward terms. More cut-and-dried. Black-and-white.”
“Black and white aren’t colors?” Feisty woman was back, now a bit defensive as well. But defensive was better than totally freaked out zombie woman.
Dean scowled and looked away. “You know what I mean.”
At least the baby had settled down some now, soothed by sticking her own hand in her mouth. Dean began processing what he knew about the threat to Eve and Lila. Something had to be done, but the ice storm threw a huge monkey wrench into the situation.
“Actually, black is the result of the absence of light, and white is a combination of all the colors in the spectrum.”
He cut her a puzzled side-glance. “Huh?”
“Sorry, I prattle when I get nervous or worried.” She scooted to the edge of the sofa and angled her head to check on Eve. “She seems to be settling down, so I should try to put her to bed. Look, the shed key is in a kitchen drawer somewhere. It has a green tag on it. Can you find it for yourself?”
He gave his head a dumbfounded shake. “Forget the flippin’ key,” he said more harshly than he intended.
Lila’s eyes rounded, and she shrank back from him. The move was subtle, just a slight shift in her body angle, but he’d become highly tuned to body language in the military. A community leader who says he knows nothing about hidden weapons but can’t meet your gaze. A translator who walks a bit too stiffly and checks the sky when he thinks you’re not looking. The faint tremor in a voice over the comm that changes orders.
He raised a palm. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bark at you. But you can’t tell me there’s a killer headed this way and think I still care anything about borrowing your saw.”
Lila flicked a hand toward him as she rose from the couch, Eve cradled against her chest. She tucked her dark blond hair behind her ear and gave her head a quick shake. “Whatever. Get the key or don’t. But it’s time you left. Obviously, I have a lot going on here today, and I don’t need you in the way.”
Following her from the living room, he sputtered and said simply, “No.”
Lila stopped short and whirled to face him with a look of dismay. “What?”
“I said, no. I’m not going anywhere.”
Lila gaped at Dean. Not leaving? Didn’t she have enough to deal with between the cranky foster baby and a murderer on the loose and looking for her cabin? A chill slithered through her at the reminder. The last thing she needed was her teenage crush hanging around. A man who was a confusing mix of scruffy and sexy, bad boy and military hero, tough and gentle. He made her head spin and her heart race at a time when she needed more than ever to keep her wits about her.
A murderer wanted to come after Eve!
“Dean...” she began, trying to sound reasonable, which was not easy with his brawn towering over her and his intense dark eyes boring into her. “You can’t—”
“I don’t know can’t.”
His reply confused her further. “Wha—?”
“Can’t isn’t in my vocabulary.” He squared his shoulders. “I don’t do can’t. Can’t is for quitters.”
She sighed and dodged Eve’s head as the baby wiggled and almost smacked into her chin. “Look, as much as I appreciate the whole Zig Ziglar act, my world has kinda imploded in the last few hours, and I need—”
“A bodyguard,” he said, at the same time she said, “—you to leave.”
His pronouncement rattled her, and she blinked at him.
“You
