“Do you have a mechanic you trust?” He’d moved to the front of the car and was leaning down over the hood, checking out everything. I breathed in deep through my nose as the material pulled over his ass.Oh, mama.
“Um ... no. I haven’t lived here that long, and everything’s been running fine that whole time.” I lifted one shoulder. “I did the tune up myself in the parking lot of our apartment complex, but there’s something in the lease that says we’re not supposed to perform any kind of auto maintenance or repair on the premises. I guess they don’t want people leaving their cars around on blocks or whatever. So I’m pretty sure I’ll have to find someone to do this. I can ask my roommate, though, if she knows a decent shop. She’s been here longer than me, and she works in town.”
“You don’t?” He was staring at me again, frank interest and appreciation on his face. “You don’t work on post, do you? I mean, this is a strange place to park your car if you do.” He frowned. “What were you doing out here? Clearly your car didn’t break down, if starting it up is the only issue.”
“No, I don’t work at Fort Lee.” I tried a diverting tactic. “I’m a historian on site at the battlefield.” I held out my hand. “Samantha Crewe.”
He gripped my fingers automatically, and my breath caught as we touched. He swallowed, the sound audible, making me hope that he was feeling the same tug that I was.
“Max Remington.” He pointed in the general direction of the gate to Fort Lee. “I’m stationed here.” He didn’t let go of my hand as he continued to hold my gaze, too. “So why were you parked out here, Samantha Crewe, historian? Were you looking for artifacts?” His tone held a bit of humor, and I grabbed onto that, laughing a little.
“No. Not exactly.” I pulled my fingers away from him and took a step back. “I was, uh, part of the demonstration here this afternoon. We were protesting what happened in town Saturday night. Maybe you didn’t hear about it, if you were at work all day, but a soldier went into Petersburg, got into a fight with a local guy and messed him up pretty bad. And then the Army came in, bailed him out and is claiming jurisdiction over his trial and sentencing.”
Max tensed visibly, drawing back from me as his eyes went cool. “And so you were marching out here, complaining about that, were you? Must be nice to have both the moral high ground, and the time and leisure to throw a little tantrum when you don’t like how things work.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. None of us out here were. We were supporting someone who isn’t physically capable of standing up for himself just now, and we were protesting the Army’s attempt to supersede the law of the land and make its problems conveniently disappear. We have every right to do it.”
“Having a right doesn’t mean you have to exercise it.” He leaned down so that his face was close to mine. “Tell me something, flower child. Do you even know the guy who got hurt? Is he a friend of yours? Have you gone to visit him in the hospital, or stopped by to see his family and find out if they need anything?”
Guilt twanged in my stomach. Without thinking about it, I took a small step backward, bumping my ass into the side of the car. “No. I don’t know them. I’ve only lived here for a little while, and I—”
“Did any of the people marching with you out here know him?”
I wracked my brain. The one man had told me that he’d lived in Petersburg all of his life, but he hadn’t mentioned the victim. “Well, I didn’t take a poll. But some of them ... might know him.”
“Hmmm.” Max straightened, nodding as he rubbed his chin. “Who organized this little shin-dig today?”
I drew in a deep breath. “That would be me, although we got the call from one of our advocacy organizations to make it happen.”
“Where did they get their information about the incident from? I mean, who told them what happened Saturday night?”
“I have no idea.” I hunched my shoulders. “I’m sure it was from a trustworthy source, though.”
“Really? So you got a bunch of people fired up and mad enough to stand outside and wave signs on the strength of information from an unknown source? Do you do this a lot, then? March around and shout about shit you know nothing about?”
That was the last straw. I surged forward until my chest was nearly touching his. “No, actually, that is not what I do. I take part in organized protests against shit the government or the military or fucking big business is trying to do to this country, because I care about what happens to me and my fellow citizens. I feel that it is our responsibility to be the ones who stand up and make sure they know they can’t get away with breaking the law or denying us our rights. Someone’s got to do it, or people like you and your brothers-in-arms will roll right over us.”
My heart was thudding against my chest, as righteous anger sent adrenaline into my blood. I was breathing so hard that the tips of my breasts were rising and falling rapidly, and I stood so near Max that those sensitive nubs were scraping the rough cloth of his uniform. I shouldn’t have been able to feel him through his clothes and mine, but I would have sworn that the heat of his body was licking against mine.
He reached down, gripping my shoulder with one large hand, and for a heady, dizzying moment, I was sure he was about to pull me up against him and kiss me. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have objected. But instead, after a few beats, he dropped his hand and stepped back.
“What you think and what I think really doesn’t matter much, does it? You’re free to believe whatever you want, and I’ll keep on doing the same.”
I bit down on my lip as disappointment filled me. I wasn’t someone who loved conflict, but I appreciated and thrived on good healthy debate. And Max backing down meant I had to step aside, too.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” I wanted to sound cool and aloof, but my voice was slightly hoarse, possibly because even though this guy had raised my hackles with his assumptions and pointed questions, he’d also raised my temperature with his very nearness.
“Do you have roadside assistance? Is there someone you can call who will tow the car?”
I shook my head, feeling like an irresponsible three-year-old. “No, I’ve never felt the need to pay for it. When I lived up north, assistance was included with my insurance policy, but there aren’t any places that accept that coverage around here.”
Max gave me a brief nod. “I know someone who can tow it for you. And if you don’t have a mechanic you trust, I can recommend someone.” He hesitated. “One of the guys in my company lives in town, and he and his brother-in-law do a little automotive work for his friends on the side. He’d take care of your car for you, if you want. You could trust him, and he wouldn’t fleece you on price, either. Basically, you’d just cover the parts.”
I looked up at him in surprise. “Seriously? Two minutes ago, you’re telling me I’m basically an idiot, and now you’re offering to help me get my car fixed?”
He frowned. “What does one thing have to do with the other? I’m just giving you an option. It’s called trying to be a nice person.” He glanced around the field. “It’s going to be dark soon, and I’m not leaving you here by yourself with a broken-down vehicle. You wouldn’t be safe. So I can call my buddy, who’ll tow it to Specialist Evans’ house, or we can just keep standing out here until you figure out another solution. What’s it going to be?”
He sounded so calm and reasonable, with his words so full of common sense, that I wanted to scream. Instead, I tossed up my hands. “Fine. Do whatever you need to do.”
