Page 8 of A SEAL's Protection
He turns and crouches slowly.
It’s dark under the trees, and I edge around, trying to keep my knife on him.
“Pull the pack out where I can see it.”
He does so and I watch him, my body tense, as he pulls a pouch out of his pack. He holds it up for me to see, all the time showing me what he’s doing, and pulls out a small black phone that looks like an older model mobile phone.
“It won’t work under the canopy. We need to go to your camp where it’s clear for the signal to get through.”
I indicate with my head for him to walk in front, and we make our way back through the forest. My hands ache from gripping the knife too tight, but I keep it in both hands and raised to aim at his back.
We come out of the clearing, and in the moonlight I get a good look at Marcus for the first time. He’s got thick dark hair, and rough stubble coats his chin. The golden bronze of his skinmakes the chocolate color of his eyes more intense, but the intensity is juxtaposed by the smile lines around his eyes.
He’s only a few inches taller than me, but the way he carries himself indicates he’s all muscle. He doesn’t look like the usual inflated bodyguards Dad has hanging around him.
“What exactly did my father hire you to protect me from?”
Marcus cocks his head. “Bears.”
There’s the grin again. If he’s trying to win me over with humor, then it won’t work.
“He’s worried about bears. What are you going to do, tackle a bear for me?”
The smile slips off his face. “If I have to.”
He punches in a number and holds out the phone to me. I recognize Dad’s number as it starts to ring.
My gaze darts to the phone in his hand. If I take the phone, I’ll have to shift the knife to one hand. Does he know my hand’s getting tired? This could all be a ruse to get me to let down my guard.
“Hello.” My dad’s voice comes on the other end of the phone, groggy from sleep. I glare at Marcus, and he’s looking at me, leaving it to me to speak to him first.
If Marcus wanted to harm me, he would have done it by now. I transfer the knife to one hand and take the phone from Marcus.
“Dad?”
“Eggy, is that you? Is everything all right?”
Marcus smirks at the use of my nickname, and I glare at him.
“Did you send someone to follow me?”
“Ahh.” Dad lets out a sigh. “You’ve met Marcus.”
I flick a glance at Marcus, and he’s watching me, his expression unreadable.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
“Don’t swear Eggy. It’s not clever.”
Anger boils up inside me. Dad sent someone to follow me on my solo research project, and he worries about my swearing.
“I’ll swear if I damn well want.”
I sound like the spoiled brat Marcus probably thinks I am, having a temper tantrum at her dad. I glance at him, but his expression remains neutral, professional.
I step back a few feet and turn away so he can’t hear every word.
“Why, Dad? Why?”
