Page 24 of Saving Jennifer
“First, we secure our position. Then we start planning how to expose Karim Amir without getting ourselves killed in the process.” Noah rose, placing his mug in the sink. “But before any of that, you need to learn a few things about surviving up here.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “Planning to make a mountain woman out of me?”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what might have been the beginnings of a smile. “Let’s start with the basics. By the time we leave here, you’ll at least know how to start a fire, find water, and shoot straight.”
It should have been intimidating, the realization their lives now depended on skills Jennifer had never needed in her career as a decorator. Instead, she felt an unexpected surge of determination.
“When do we start?”
Noah watched Jenniferfrom across the cabin, his eyes tracking her slender form as she stood by the window. Sunlight streamed through the glass, catching the auburn highlights in her dark hair. The one-room cabin suddenly felt too small, too intimate.
“You should step away from the windows,” he said, his voice rougher than intended.
Jennifer startled slightly before turning to face him. “No one followed us,” she said, though she stepped back anyway. “You’ve said so yourself.”
Noah crossed the worn wooden floor to draw the faded curtains closed. “Rashid Amir has resources. Even from behind bars. And we know Karim was in New Orleans. I have no doubt they are behind the explosion at the French Quarter apartment. Gator and his sons are keeping an eye on Karim, but with his money and resources, he’s probably got a myriad of hired mercenaries searching for us as we speak.”
He looked around the cabin with a jaundiced eye. It had belonged to his grandfather—just four walls of rough-hewn timber, and a metal roof to keep out the rain. Surrounded on three sides by steep rock faces and solid stone from the mountain, it was a defensible location, one he’d used to hide away from the world. The stone fireplace that dominated one wall, a kitchenette in the corner, and a bathroom barely big enough to turn around in. A loft above held a bed pushed against the far wall. No luxury, no pretense. Just shelter and security. Just like him. He couldn’t help wondering what Jennifer thought about his refuge. It certainly wasn’t what she was used to. With her interior design job, she had money, was used to the finer things, style and class. The most he could offer were two chairs on the porch and a view that would make angels weep.
Jennifer hugged herself, a gesture Noah had noticed she made whenever the Amirs were mentioned. “Will this ever be over?” she whispered.
Something twisted deep in his chest. He’d seen that look before on the faces of civilians caught in war zones—that mixture of fear and resignation. “Yes. After you testify and the Amirs are behind bars, you’ll be able to stop hiding.”
“If I live that long.”
“You will.” He infused his voice with a certainty he didn’t entirely feel. Eight days was an eternity in protection detail. “Starting today, we’re going to make sure of it.”
Jennifer raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
“It means I’m teaching you how to defend yourself.” Noah began pushing the small table and chairs toward the wall, clearing the space in the center of the cabin. He felt her eyes on him as he worked. The heat in his belly had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with the beautiful woman standing mere feet from him. “Just in case.”
“In case what?”
Noah paused, his hands gripping the back of a chair. She knew the answer, but she wanted him to say it. Needed the reality check.
“In case something happens to me.”
Jennifer’s face paled, her lips parted in unspoken protest. A strand of hair fell across her cheek, and Noah had to fight the urge to brush it back.
“Nothing’s going to happen to you.”
A familiar guilt twisted in Noah’s gut. He’d heard those words before, had even believed them once. Before Kabul. Before he’d been betrayed by someone he trusted above everyone else.
“Probably not,” he conceded. “But we’re preparing for all possibilities.”
He led Jennifer to the now-empty space in the middle of the cabin. Standing this close, he could smell the lavender shampoo she used—a small, incongruous luxury in this rough place. He’d teased her about packing it when they’d moved from the first safehouse in New Orleans, but he’d packed it back in the go-bag himself, and now the scent seemed to belong here, softening the edges of the cabin just as she somehow softened the hard angles of his solitary existence.
“The first thing you need to understand about self-defense is that it’s not about strength,” Noah explained, positioning himself in front of her. He was acutely aware of their height difference, the way she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes. “It’s about leverage and knowing where to strike.”
Better to start with the basics, he thought. How to break free from various grips, where to hit to cause maximum damage with minimum effort, how to use an attacker’s momentum against them. Jennifer was attentive, focused, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she followed his instructions.
“Like this?” she asked, attempting to break his hold on her wrist. Though he was tempted to let her get free, that wouldn’t help her in a real-life situation, and he needed her to know exactly what to do. Her life might depend on it.
“Almost,” Noah adjusted her posture, hyperaware of his hands on her shoulders, then at her waist. “You need to twist here and step into me, not away.”
They went through the maneuver, then again. Noah gripped her wrist firmly but carefully. Jennifer’s skin felt warm beneath his fingers, her pulse a rapid flutter against his thumb.
“Again,” he whispered when she failed to break free for the third time. “You’re overthinking it. Trust your instincts.”