by Regan Black
“I want the cameras disabled,” Zettel was saying.
“No,” Eaton replied. “If you want a fair hunt, don’t look at the feed or read the movement reports.”
Charlotte trembled and Mark rested his hand between her shoulder blades, keeping her still, offering reassurance.
“That’s impossible,” Zettel roared. “Your men gossip like schoolgirls.”
He pointed to the camera stake nearby. It wasn’t facing them or the bullets would be flying by now.
Mark embraced the familiar battle calm, shifting into fighting mode. At his side, he felt another tremor ripple through Charlotte. What he wouldn’t give to have her anywhere else right now. He pressed his leg to hers in silent reassurance. She stilled.
The light was nearly gone and the men were little more than loud shadows among the thick brush and trees.
“You never said anything about watching the hunt,” Zettel bit out in a tone bordering on petulant. “I can track the man without this junk you’ve tacked up everywhere.”
One of the shadows bent and struggled with something. Leaves rustled and Eaton swore.
“Put back my equipment, Zettel. If you don’t like the parameters here, get out of the game.”
“I wanted a hunt, not a shooting gallery. I have a reputation.”
“So do what you came to do,” Eaton said. “Enjoy your hunt, make the kills and no one will be alive to speak ill of you or your reputation.”
“You have a reputation too,” Zettel countered, his voice full of threats. “I should have listened to the naysayers before wiring the money.”
“If you’re unhappy, leave.”
“I am unhappy with the cameras.”
“Will you continue to disable them?” Eaton asked.
Mark cringed. That was a trick question if he’d ever heard one. Although it was nice to know Zettel was interfering with Eaton’s observation tactics, this wasn’t going to end well. Eaton was addicted to the power high and looking for another hit. No way would he allow Zettel to mess with his ultimate plan for vengeance against the general.
Mark had a flare loaded in the chamber and the hammer cocked. He aimed the flare gun at the men, prepared to offer a temporary end to the argument.
“I paid for a fair hu—”
Two quick gunshots cut Zettel’s words short before Mark could fire the flare. The man slumped to the ground. Eaton used the radio and snapped out orders. Mark wondered who would answer. He’d never seen a radio on Quick-Punch Kid or Muscle.
The answer became evident as a man stepped out of the boat’s bridge and shouted to the man posted at the near end of the dock. Mark and Charlotte had to get out of here before they were spotted. He signaled her to back up slowly, keeping to the darkness created by the trees’ shadows.
Every foot of distance gave Mark options and Charlotte a chance. Another few yards and they could make it out unnoticed.
Eaton was muttering at Zettel’s lifeless body when his radio crackled. He toggled the switch. “Say again?”
Mark knew they’d been spotted. Zettel must not have disabled the camera when he pulled up the stake and when it fell, the field of view must have changed.
Mark shot the flare, aiming for Eaton’s feet. The signal projectile wasn’t known for accuracy and it floated and tumbled through the air in a shower of sparks and a trail of smoke. A split second later, it flared as designed and simultaneously lit up the area. The red plume burned and skittered across the ground, creating a bank of foggy smoke.
Eaton’s night vision would be compromised and the sizzling flare made enough noise to cover their escape. Mark urged Charlotte up and into a run. “Go! Go!” Yes, their rapid retreat meant they’d leave a trail. They might even get picked up by a second camera, but he’d blow up that metaphorical bridge when he got there.
One gunshot, then two more sounded. Fired from the dock, based on the sound. None of the bullets landed close enough to worry him.
“Keep going.” They were almost out of range.
Charlotte tripped and went down, sprawling across the ground before he could do anything to keep her upright or cushion her fall. He helped her up. “Go straight to the cove,” he said. “Don’t argue,” he added. “I’ll hide our trail and then I’m right behind you.”
Chapter 11
Charlotte didn’t want to leave him, but did. She’d promised to run if he told her to, though it made her legs heavy and her heart ache. What if Eaton caught him again? The beatings and lack of food and care had taken their toll on Mark.
She tripped over a root, hauled herself up and kept going. What if, by some miracle, she survived and had to tell his parents he didn’t make it?
She ran harder, scolding herself for doubting his skills. They were in this together and they’d get out of it together. She had to trust him to stay alive just as he trusted her to find her way back to the cove. As long as she kept the water on the right, she couldn’t miss it.
He must have known where they were when he sent her on, because she reached the cove sooner than expected. She bent over, hands braced on her knees, breathing as deeply and quietly as possible.
Trusting him to come back to her was different than trusting him as a person. Fear did that. She had to be stronger than the fear. Instead of pacing and wringing her hands, she sat down and waited, listening for any movement.
Her mind fought back, racing in wild, panicked circles.
Zettel was dead. The man was awful. The world was surely safer without him. So why did her hands shake and her eyes fill with tears? It was dumb to grieve a man who would’ve killed Mark at the first opportunity. A man who’d wanted to own her.
She hugged her knees to her chest and tucked her head to muffle the scream she knew she couldn’t suppress much longer. Where was Mark? If she hadn’t fallen, they wouldn’t have lost precious seconds. Now Mark was out there putting himself at risk to hide their trail.
Charlotte was inept out here and it could cost them their lives. This wasn’t roughing it for a weekend with the family, even with a Riley present. This was life and death and she was ill-equipped to manage it.
Mark had given her survival tips, but she had no confidence that she’d get through this without him. At the sound of footsteps nearby, she crouched low, out of sight, her entire body braced for trouble.
“It’s me, Lottie.”
Mark’s low whisper brought an enormous wave of relief. Her knees nearly gave out as she leaped up and rushed into his arms. He smelled like safety and every bright hope she’d ever had. If she could have, she would have held him forever. Mind-blowing kisses or not, that would lift clingy to an all-new level.
“I’m so sorry.” Her voice cracked and she stepped away from him. “For tripping,” she finished.
“Don’t apologize, honey.” His lips brushed over her temple, her hair. “They won’t find us tonight, even if they make time to come looking.”
She nodded at that, before she remembered he couldn’t see her. The moon was almost full, but heavy cloud cover moving across the sky made the low light unpredictable. “Okay.”
“That was quite a tumble,” he said. “Are you hurting anywhere?” His hands rested lightly on her shoulders, his thumbs gliding along the slope of her throat as if he could see her best with his touch.
She couldn’t answer. His hands were soothing and electrifying in turns. She wasn’t even sure how she was still breathing. He enticed and tempted even as he reassured.
“Charlotte, are you hurt?”
“N-no.”
She would be if she didn’t pull herself together. She wanted Mark. She’d lost count of the nights she’d dreamed of being in his arms, savoring his kisses and more. How could life be so cruel as to give her a few of her sweetest dreams amid this dreadful nightmare? Art had taught her beauty and pain walked hand in hand, that light and
shadow must coexist for the work to have depth and purpose.
She wanted him, even though wanting felt so selfish when she wasn’t sure if his feelings went any deeper than the surprising physical attraction. Wanting in silence hadn’t gotten her anywhere. In the days since they’d been kidnapped, she’d been plagued with thoughts about the worst-case scenarios.
If this was her last night, she wouldn’t leave anything unsaid, though speaking up scared her almost as much as Eaton himself. “We’re safe tonight?” she asked.
“Yes. There’s no trail to find and Eaton is putting out fires, literally and figuratively, since he shot Zettel. You went down hard. Tell me where it hurts.”
She rubbed a hand over her heart where all the aching had settled. “Feels like I only scraped my palms and knees.”
His hands coasted over her shoulders, sliding the straps of the pack down and away. She’d forgotten it was there. He’d thrust it at her when he’d told her to go ahead of him. He dropped the pack and it landed with a muted thud on the sandy ground. He continued to trace her arms all the way to her hands. He turned her palms up and bent his head close.
She had no idea what he thought he could see in the darkness. Her fingers curled in protectively. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s everything.” His voice was soft and rough, like velvet. He stroked his thumbs across her palms to open her hands.
Her breath caught, not from pain but anticipation. Every nerve ending surged toward that point of contact, eager for more of his touch. They could have been anywhere in the world and it wouldn’t have mattered. This was her fantasy, her sweetest, most impossible dream, coming to life in the darkness.
“These are your tools,” he murmured. “A treasure.” His lips brushed her palm. “Precious.”
This time when her fingers curled, it was to caress his scruffy bearded cheek. She relished the texture, the whiskers a delicious rasp against her skin.
He leaned into her touch and dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Mark?” The move was so unexpected she worried he’d been injured. “What’s wrong?” His arms came around her waist and he pressed his face to her midriff. “Are you hurt?”
“No.” He cleared his throat. “I’m so damn relieved you’re okay.” He gave her a squeeze. “We need to rest. Eaton will come on strong tomorrow.”
Rest? She’d been anticipating another kiss, her body primed and ready. She ran her hands over his hair, the back of his neck. His arms banded even more tightly around her. She stroked his shoulders. He was a feast for her hands, all these sculpted swells and angles. Knowing him all her life, her mind filled in the details her eyes couldn’t see well in the dark.
“I need—” She bit back the words. They weren’t the last two people on earth. Hank and his investigators had clues. They would be rescued. Together. She had no business begging for more than he wanted to give.
“That need is just adrenaline,” he murmured, easing back to sit down.
She dropped down beside him. “Oh, it’s more,” she admitted, though it would be best to turn this back to friendly territory. She thought of the woman who’d left him. Was Charlotte doing Mark any favors if she pushed for a connection he wasn’t ready to make?
No.
Even if her body was brimming with desire, his body had been put through the wringer for days. He needed the rest. “Do you think it’s safe to go down to the water?” she asked.
“Why?”
“I thought a moonlight swim might feel good.”
He cocked his head, his expression too shadowed to read. “More five-star resort fantasies?”
“Something like that,” she said, as if she extended this sort of invitation all the time.
He rolled to his feet and reached back to help her up. “I’m game. We can do some reconnoitering.”
They walked down to the water, side by side, without touching. The world seemed so still, only the movement of the clouds overhead and the waves lapping at the sand made the moment real.
She saw Mark gazing intently up and down the coastline, to evaluate their surroundings. He’d get a better view once they were in the water, so this little respite would refresh and provide them with information.
She sat down to take off the boots and Mark stripped out of the scrubs and waded into the water, wearing only knit boxers. What she wouldn’t give to share this moment on a sunny day to enjoy the view of him. At least the low light camouflaged the worst of his bruises. The sand squished under her toes as she wriggled out of the pants but when she reached for the hem of her top, Mark balked.
“What are you doing?”
“I’d planned to swim.”
“But you—” He cleared his throat. “You don’t have a swimsuit.”
She swallowed her surprise and a flash of annoyance. “That didn’t stop you.” She tossed the top back on the sand and walked into the water.
“Charlotte.” He groaned and ducked under the water. Coming up again, he scrubbed at his face.
She submerged herself for the sake of his newfound modesty. “When did you get so sensitive?”
“I’m not.” The clouds parted and the moonlight spilled over them. “It’s just...it’s you.”
What did that mean? This was the perfect time to confess her crush, to tell him he’d always been loved, he just didn’t know it. “I get it. Go on and swim. Relax. The water must feel good.”
“It does,” he admitted, lying back to float. “We’re safe here. I don’t see anything indicating trouble. We can grab a few moments to relax. We need it.”
She waded deep, scolding herself for expecting too much. She willed her thoughts away from what wouldn’t happen tonight, trying to think of how she would resume her old life. That’s how it felt. Old. Before. She already knew these days had changed her irrevocably, would change how she painted, how she interpreted the world. Recovering from this ordeal would show up on the canvas, but her artist retreat seemed more important than ever.
“Charlotte?” Mark floated closer to her. “When you were getting muddy in the creek, I thought I’d lose my mind wanting to touch you.”
She stared at him. How had he kept that to himself? Then again, she’d been holding on to a pretty big secret herself.
“If we were at the five-star resort, how would this play out?” he asked.
Returning to the diversion they’d used before made it easier. “You’d kiss me.”
The words were barely past her lips when he laid claim to her mouth. Nothing gentle or easy this time, just pent-up need and desire. His tongue stroked across hers and she ached for more. Drawing her body flush against his, he boosted her up. The new angle put her in charge. She wrapped her legs around his hips and gasped at the feel of his erection at her core.
That alone was enough to take her right to the edge. She was shocked the thin layers of fabric between them didn’t simply dissolve.
He arched her back and trailed kisses down her throat, lower to her breasts until he was circling her nipple with his tongue, drawing the tight bud into his mouth. “You’re glorious,” he said against her skin.
He made her feel glorious.
She reveled in the sensual onslaught, as he teased and pleasured her body. Careful of his injuries, she sought out the caresses that made him groan with desire as the night ocean flowed around them. She wanted him inside her but he held back, bringing her to a peak with his hands and the most astonishing kisses.
After her second climax, she dropped her forehead to his shoulder. She wanted to take him deep inside, to feel him filling her, but she suspected the past sorrow haunted him. Following her intuition, she wrapped her hand around his erection, refusing to be distracted or diverted this time. His hips flexed into her touch as she stroked him until he found his release.
She touched her nose to his and feathered kisses across
his lips. He held her close and leaned back, letting the waves nudge them toward the shore. Neither one of them spoke until they were back in the shelter he’d fashioned for them earlier.
“Would you just hold my hand?” she asked. “Until we fall asleep?”
“Sure.” His husky reply scraped over her senses and gave her chills. This close to him, she couldn’t hide the shiver.
“Cold?” he asked, curling his body around her and pillowing her head with his arm.
“Not exactly.” She was still on fire, for him. It felt amazing, and absolutely right, to lie here with him. Maybe it was the endorphin rush, but she was done holding back. “I want to make love to you.”
“I think we’ve crossed enough lines burning off the adrenaline tonight,” he said.
“That wasn’t just adrenaline.” She took a deep breath. He’d bared his soul; it was her turn. “I’ve had a crush on you for more than half my life,” she began. “I might never have told you, but if something happens tomorrow or the day after...well, I don’t want to carry regrets. I love you, Mark. I’ve felt that way long enough to know my heart will always be yours first whether we’re friends or lovers, in the same room or on opposite sides of the world.”
He didn’t reply. She waited, but he didn’t say a word. If his body hadn’t gone so still, she might have thought he’d fallen asleep.
She pressed her lips together and closed her eyes tight so she wouldn’t cry. No regrets. Things might be difficult and awkward, assuming they survived tomorrow, but it was better for him to know.
* * *
Mark told himself he was hallucinating. She did not just say what he thought he’d heard.
She loved him?
He couldn’t make that fit. Attraction, healthy desire between two consenting adults was understandable. But love? No way. She wouldn’t have kept that bottled up all this time.
It had to be the situation. He was all wrong for her, with a chronic sarcasm habit, and he took pride in his job on a team of warriors. He gently shifted her in his arms, wishing for better light to see her eyes.
