Untraceable

Survival Skill #17

Nature can be unforgiving; therefore, you must be prepared to defend yourself in a variety of situations to survive.

~

As soon as my ear detects a sound behind me, I pivot, sweeping my leg along the ground. My foot clips two black boots, catching my attacker off guard. He trips and falls. I quickly pounce on top and jab my knee into his chest, pinning him to the ground.

I do all this in a flash, without thinking or even realizing who it is.

Mo stares up at me with wide eyes. “Bloody hell!”

It takes a second to register his face. “Jesus. Don’t you know it’s rude to sneak up on someone?” I roll off him and jump to my feet, still tense and on guard. Darting my eyes, I search the woods to be sure someone else isn’t with him.

Mo lies on his back with his mouth hanging open. “I wasn’t sneaking. I was walking.” He sits up and smacks dirt off his pants. “Anyway, I believe it’s much ruder to attack someone who’s only armed with a fishing pole and a smile.”

I take my hand off the handle of my knife before he notices I almost drew a weapon on him. “Well, if we’re getting literal, I wasn’t attacking. I was defending.”

He holds up two hands. “Is it safe for me to get up?”

I shrug and hide a smirk. “If you can.”

Mo stands and massages the back of his neck. “Crumbs, I can’t figure you out, Grace.”

My tummy flip-flops when he says my name. “Are you trying to?”

He teases me with his eyes. “Maybe.”

I recoil, surprised at his bluntness. “So then, what’s the big mystery?” After all, Dad says I wear my emotions on my sleeve so I can’t be that difficult to read.

He picks his bag up off the ground. “Do you always react like this?”

“Do you always stalk girls? In the woods? When they’re alone? Anyway, after the other day, do you really blame me?”

Mo frowns and shakes his head. “No, I guess I don’t. You’re right. It was daft of me not to say anything. I apologize. Then again, I told you not to come out here alone. So in a way, maybe it was a lesson.”

“Only it looks like you’re the one who learned something.”

Mo grins and bows. “Touché.” He studies me and moves his lips to one side, chewing on the bottom one. “Well, not many people can throw me off guard. I believe you’re one of the first.”

I wish, I think. Instead, I say, “Guess there’s a first time for everything. Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Might ruin your reputation.”

He purses his lips before smiling. “It’s all right. Those are overrated anyway. Where’d you learn to move like that?”

I tuck my hands into my pockets so he can’t see the lingering tremors from an overflow of adrenaline. “My dad taught me self defense. He was a black belt.”

“Hmmm. Smart man.”

“Yes, he was ... I mean ... is.” The pit of my stomach boils when I realize I almost used the past tense. My heart sinks, wondering if deep down, I’m secretly giving up. Letting go. I shake off the feeling. No, I will not let that happen. Ever.

Mo eyes my rod. “So let me get this straight. You’re a flyfisher, a tracker, and a black belt’s protégé?” He flips into a bad American accent. “Grace, you are one whacky chick.”