Hit Hard. Amy J. Fetzer

out softly.

      Viva peered around him and she saw his partner.

      He waved Max on. “You stay there,” he said, pointing.

      “Anyone ever mention you have control issues?”

      His look was deadpan, and when Max approached, he dismissed her.

      Max bent to look at something on the ground. “Good God.”

      Curious, Viva moved forward a few steps.

      “I said stay back.” Sam tried to stop her.

      “You really need to work on your attitude, mister. And you can ask my father, I rarely do anything I’m told.” She moved around Max and Sam threw his hands up in resignation. “Besides, I’ve seen a lot of interesting things in my life—” She stopped short. “Oh God.”

      The body of a small man lay in the underbrush, not hidden, but not in clear view. Yet it was the condition of it that stunned her. All Viva saw was blood; on his throat and his crotch, his knees, and feet.

      “I take it back.” She turned away, into Sam’s chest and gripped his shirt.

      Sam blinked, then closed his arms around her. Her trembling vibrated into him, clinging down to his bones. He murmured something useless, hoping to soothe and praying she didn’t cry. Women and crying wasn’t something he handled well.

      “I’ll just be a minute,” she mumbled into his chest, and Sam thought, take your time, honey, enjoying all the soft curves pressed into him. Man, it’s been a while.

      Viva breathed deeply, the image of the mutilated body flashing in her mind as if once wasn’t good enough. Then she felt his arms tighten, his hand cup the back of her head and massage it a little. She suddenly breathed him in, a stranger, dangerous enough that none of this seemed to affect him at all. Another stupid move, she thought.

      “Are you okay?” he asked in the deepest voice on the planet.

      She tipped her head back and met his dark gaze. “You were right. I should have stayed put.”

      His gaze roamed her face as if trying to scrape away the layers and see deeper. She felt suddenly hemmed in, as if a drape descended over them, closing out the jungle, the danger. It made her nerves keen, sentient, her body shift into his as if that’s where she belonged. He didn’t back off, frowning down at her, and she had the urge to rub the lines between his eyebrows.

      “Will you obey my orders till we get to the city?”

      “Sure.” She pushed out of his arms. “Though I’d have to trust you for that, which I don’t.”

      Max observed the exchange, then said, “Think Kashir did it?”

      Sam lifted his gaze from her. “Don’t know.” He squatted, inspected the corpse. “The back of his knees are cut, and his toes are gone.”

      “That’s just nasty.” She looked everywhere except there. “Who would do something like that?”

      Sam met her gaze. “A collector.” And it was ritualistic, he thought.

      “Half Ear, no toes. Bodies dropping—” Viva’s hands never found a comfortable place to be and she turned away. “I can’t be here with you two. I just can’t.”

      Sam latched on to her arm. “But you can’t be out there alone, either. I won’t be responsible for your safety.”

      That got her. “Who says I want you to?” She yanked free, her hands on her hips. “You know, I’ve traveled all over the world and didn’t have a bit of trouble till I met you.” Well, never the dead kind of trouble, she corrected.

      “Me either. So what is so special about this?” He grabbed her wrist, studied the cuff for a second before he let her go.

      “This was found in the Udon Thani Caves, where it shouldn’t be. Since cave homes and temples form a line over the border, it’s entirely possible the royal family could have originally come from Cambodia or Laos.”

      “That’ll ruffle a few feathers,” Max said.

      She nodded. “Makes the bloodline suspect, and the royal family here rules. What would happen to this society if it were known? What will it change? This is a very important piece.”

      “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be flashing it around.”

      “I wasn’t. I hid it, they found it. Can I help it if they’re nosey? Oh, man.”

      “What now?”

      “My bag. It’s back there.”

      “Next to the other body.”

      “Thank you for that visual.”

      Sam eyeballed her from head to toe. “Who are you, lady?”

      “Xaviera Luciana Dominica Fiori.”

      Sam blinked. “Jesus, you could choke on that.”

      “Call me Viva.”

      “Sam Wyatt, this is Max.” He tossed a thumb toward his pal.

      “We’ve met.” She smiled kindly at Max.

      “They couldn’t ship that?”

      “Sure. But we didn’t. Not that it’s your business, and since we’re sharing, tell me why you look like Alan Quartermaine in bad need of a haircut and are dealing with those awful men.”

      Max stifled a laugh.

      Sam turned away. “Come on, we need to move.”

      Clearly, he wasn’t being responsive. “Thank you for your help—”

      He glanced at her. “You know where you are? Which direction to go?”

      “South to Bangkok.” She pointed.

      Sam inclined his head to his left. “That way.”

      “Thank you.” She marched off, but didn’t get far. Sam caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. She struggled and he shook her, her feet dangling.

      “It’s about two hundred miles,” he said close to her ear and it sent a chill down her throat. “Want to meet more like the guy with the dart in his neck?” He set her down.

      The realization hit and Viva turned sharply. “They’ll be looking for me.”

      “I would.”

      Alone she’d be dead. “I accept the offer.” She saw the wisdom in traveling with armed men, as much as her practical side was telling her to run like hell. These guys could be gun dealers, thieves, or worse, the enemy of that bandit leader. Which meant they’d hunt her just for being with them. Circumstances were crummy, but she didn’t have any choice.

      Sam took a few steps away, then said, “This time, stay put.”

      “Yes, certainly. Go visit the body.” She waved him off, watching him move back to the corpse and with Max, cover it with dead leaves and logs. Don’t anger this one, she thought, forcing a pleasant smile when he glanced her way. His hands soaked up the blood as he repositioned the body, and he looked more dangerous than the bandits. Dark hair poked out from beneath an old brown cowboy hat, the five-finger pinch molded with sweat and dirt. It’s a favorite, she decided, and let her gaze slide over him. His jeans were a worn light blue, molded to his long legs, a pistol riding his hip like a gunslinger, low and loose. She almost expected it to be tied down. The man had style, she thought, his sweat-soaked T-shirt sculpting ropey muscles. Nice shoulders.

      She cocked her head, watching, then, as if he could feel it, he looked up. His gaze slammed into hers, and Viva was struck again by his dark eyes and that he exposed nothing in his expression. He didn’t say much either. That was never a problem for her.

      He stood, spoke to Max, and came to her.

      “Why