Page 67 of Shane

Everlee, on the other hand, was a no-kidding ball-buster from the ground up. She thrived on adrenaline, and the woman was tough as nails. She didn’t want nice or quiet like Tuesday. She wanted in-your-face action. Only, at the same time, she didn’t.

Shane looked over his shoulder at the closed door. That kiss of hers was the hottest thing he’d handled in his entire life. The moment he’d wrested control from her, Everlee had damned near melted in his hands like a brick of butter. She might be a hellcat on the surface and while on the job, but he had a feeling there was a completely different woman beneath that former AF Lieutenant façade. She desperately wanted someone on her side, someone strong enough to back her up and call her on her weak or foolish moments. And he wanted to be that guy.

Sure, she led with plenty of bluster and bravado. What former military leader didn’t? Especially officers? Even he tended to lead with his chin, a definite Devil Dog trait. That was what years in the military did, it created leaders. Go-getters. People who stepped up and took charge when needed, and sometimes, when it wasn’t needed. But he had a feeling the woman behind all that over-confident, in your face, you-want-a-piece-of-me persona that Everlee did so well, wouldn’t mind having the right male on her six. Maybe in her bed. She’d demand respect, that was easy enough to read. And in Shane’s mind, a given. Women should be respected, damn it. Least until they proved themselves unworthy of it. Like the shrew impersonating Tuesday.

His gut told him to tread easy with Everlee, though, especially since her ex still stalked her. It was obvious she had needs that Butch-the-whiner never understood. What a mismatched pair, her, the ultimate competitor and winner; him, a total loser. What had she ever seen in the guy?

Lifting to his feet, Shane looked down at the three dead men one last time. He hadn’t come back in here to desecrate their bodies. Their mortal injuries were desecration enough. All were facedown. All were deceased. He’d double-checked, and regardless of their condition, he would’ve administered first-aid if they’d required it. But they hadn’t and he was thankful for that. He wasn’t the monster. They were. He didn’t need to prove anything, other than he was the one walking out of there.

For now, he needed to do precisely what Alex said. But a sparkling aura had swarmed his vision, blocking the clarity a sniper required. Squaring his shoulders, Shane left the dead to their eternal damnation, and aimed for the exit and the only two people in the state of Arkansas who mattered. They needed to know what to expect while he battled with what he hoped was the final demon of the day. And he needed Everlee to take control of their two gear bags.

Shoving the door open, he winced when the brutal light from the setting sun stabbed his eyes. Closing them to forestall the pain, he let his chin drop to his chest. Shit. This was going to hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Shane stood stock still at the open barn door. He had her boots in one hand, his other hand on the door, but he was looking down at the ground.

Everlee jumped to her feet. “What’s going on?”

Tuesday was already at his side. “He’s had a headache since the crash. He’s hurting,” she murmured as she took hold of his wrist. “What do you need, Shane? Tell us what to do.”

Everlee snagged her boots from him, dropped to the ground, and put them on. “He’s not hurting, he’s a Marine for—”

His shoulders sagged. “Get my bag. Pill bottle. Inside zippered pocket.”

“What’d they do to you in there?” Everlee barked, her hackles up as she tied her laces.

Tuesday had led Shane into the shade by then and was forcing him to sit and lean back against the stone foundation. She pulled a bottled water from one of the bags she’d been carrying, opened it, and tipped it to his lips. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

Shaking his head, he told her again, “Uh-uh. My bag first. Please. Need the pills in there. Migraine prescription. Three of them. H-hurry.” By then, rivulets of sweat were running out of his hair and down his neck.

He shouldn’t have had to ask twice. Everlee snapped to and eased the bags off his shoulders and out from under his arm. Man, they were heavy, still full of Smoke’s state-of-the-art weaponry. But no prescription bottle. Then she remembered. The bags they’d flown with were both back in their rental. In Dallas.

“Ah, Shane.”

He held a hand out. “You got them?”

“No, they’re still in our rental. In that bag.”

“Shit.”

“There’s ibuprofen in the first-aid kit,” Tuesday said. “Would they help?”

“Won’t even come close,” he replied as he tossed his head back and gulped the rest of the water. “Secure both backpacks, Ev.”

“Copy that, big guy. What else?”

“Shade. I’m gonna need to be somewhere totally dark, maybe until morning.”

“The hangar,” both Everlee and Tuesday said at the same time. It took a few minutes, but together, they got him back on his feet and across the yard to the hangar. His eyes were tightly shut the entire time. He was stumbling and he was blind, or he wanted to be. By the time they had him sitting on the concrete floor inside the empty, plexiglass office just inside the hangar door, his stomach was making unpleasant noises.

While Everlee worked the winch that lowered both doors, she ordered Tuesday, “Find a bucket. Quick. He’s going to be sick.” She’d worry about those backpacks later.

Tuesday was as obedient as a spanking new airman. In seconds, she’d found a dusty metal bucket, had somehow rinsed it out, and set it beside Shane. He was gray by then, sitting cross-legged, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands.

“Please go,” he whispered. “Leave me alone.”

“He needs total darkness and silence,” Tuesday whispered as she padded across the hangar to a jumbled pile of dust-covered canvas in the far corner. It ended up being one large prefabricated cover for a small plane. Between the two women and the aluminum ladder Everlee located in the hangar, they maneuvered the canvas over the exposed office walls, as far as they could get it to go. Since the office took up the entire front corner of the hangar, and because there were plenty of bare two-by-four metal studs reinforcing the corrugated metal walls, they were able to maneuver the edges of the canvas between the studs to keep it in place while it shrouded the office in near total darkness.