Brady dropped down beside her and held out the protein bar. “Maria seemed to think you might be hungry.”
Her stomach growled loudly, and she slapped her hands over the offender, wide eyes preceding a red flush on her smooth cheeks. Then delighted laughter fell like music to his ears, and he couldn’t help joining in.
“It’s a wonder I was ever able to sneak up on you night before last.” She shook her head.
He pushed the bar toward her hand again. “Just don’t try it when you’re hungry.”
Humor shimmered in her beautiful blue-gray eyes, and Brady couldn’t look away. She finally took the protein bar and ripped it open, then held it out to him. “The only way I’m going to eat this is if you share it with me.” A grin crinkled her cute little nose. “Don’t think too long, since I’m obviously so close to starvation.”
Brady grabbed the bar, ripped the paper down, and took a big bite, trying not to chuckle at her surprise while he chewed.
She wiped her hand on her pants. “Wow. You could have let me get my fingers out of the way first.”
Brady choked on his guffaw this time, and Mac ended up whacking him on the back while he coughed and tears ran down his face. Apparently, she thought it was damn funny because, although she tried not to laugh, her mirth spilled out around the hand she held to her mouth.
When he could talk again, he bumped shoulders with her. “You did that on purpose.”
She swallowed her bite of protein bar and handed the rest to him. “Been paranoid long?”
He chuffed a laugh and passed the bar back. “Yeah.” His gaze held hers. “That’s only one of the things you’re going to learn about me . . . unless you chicken out.”
“I never chicken out . . . but why do I get the feeling you might?”
Brady grabbed her arm, ignoring her squeak as he jerked her across him until he cradled her against his chest. “Let’s just see who cries uncle first, shall we?”
Mac slid her arms around his neck, and her try-me grin went straight to his groin. He nuzzled her neck and found the spot where her pulse hammered, echoing her increased heart rate. Damn, she felt good—
“Brady! Brady!” Maria slid down next to him. “The helicopter is taking off.”
“Don’t panic. That’s probably good news.” He lifted Mac off of his lap, grabbed the binoculars from Maria, and started toward the ledge. Before he was halfway there, he caught sight of the chopper in the air and—shit!—coming straight for them.
Motioning for the women to get back as far as they could, Brady crouched where he was, still under cover of the overhang. Maybe the occupants of that bird just happened to be going this way and would fly right on by.
His gut told him that was wishful thinking.
How? That chopper must be equipped with a heat seeking device of some kind. Who the hell were these guys? Whoever they were, they meant business.
Suddenly a barrage of machine gun fire slammed into the rocks above him. Small bits and pieces of stone cascaded to the ground. He slid deeper into the fissure created by the overhang and caught Mac’s eye long enough to mouth stay down. She frowned but did as he said.
Okay. Time to go on the offensive. He crawled to where his rifle lay across his bag, threw it over his shoulder, and grabbed some extra ammunition. Then he ducked and sprinted to the edge farthest from where Mac and Maria hid as the chopper crew strafed the rock formation again.
As soon as the lead stopped flying, Brady peeled away from the small indentation in the overhang and brought his Colt AR-15 to his shoulder. He pulled the trigger and kept firing. The best way to bring down a hovering chopper was to kill the pilot, but with seven other people on board, chances were good someone else would take the controls. So Brady aimed for the tail rotor, the most vulnerable spot and necessary for the stability of the craft. Unfortunately, it was also the smallest target, and though his bullets peppered all along the tail, none found their mark.
The pilot was apparently concerned enough by his actions, however, to circle around and hang back a few yards for their next machine gun blast. That was better than nothing, but at this rate, his two thirty-round magazines weren’t going to last long.
Brady glanced toward Mac, relieved to see both women tucked back in the cave, heads down, barely visible. He had to get them out of here. Unless Walker’s pilot had machine guns on board and someone to man them, he’d be crazy to get involved in this fight. They might take him out just for being in the same airspace. Best not to count on help from that contingent.
If Brady could hold the gunmen off until dark, Mac and Maria might have a chance to escape, but who was he kidding? He’d be out of ammo inside of five minutes. It wasn’t looking good, but a SEAL didn’t give up.
Leaping from cover, he laid down several more shots, falling back only when the chopper turned and lined up to spray his position with lead. One of his bullets might have gotten a little taste of the rotor that time. The chopper seemed to lean toward the left and vibrated, but as they pummeled the rocks with bullets, it was obvious it hadn’t been enough. He was out of rounds in the AR-15, and that left his .357. He at least had a couple extra clips for his handgun, but it wasn’t nearly as accurate as the rifle at long distances.
This time he waited for the chopper to turn in its circle before he stepped out and squeezed the trigger, aiming at the tail rotor, which was now the closest part of the bird. His first shot was so close a tiny piece of the fiberglass blade broke off. He just needed one more in the right spot. Concentrating so hard on his target, the first clue that he’d missed something important was the loud report of an AK-47.
His gaze darted toward the sound, and he saw the gunman leaning out from the cargo bay. Simultaneously, a sharp pain lashed his gun hand, and the .357 sailed out of his reach. He ducked and rolled to go after the weapon, but when he came up balanced for firing, the cargo bay looked like a pin cushion with rifles poking out all over.
One of the men laughed scornfully as the chopper drew closer to the rocks. His mouth moved—something about messing up his plans—but Brady couldn’t hear it all over the beating of the rotors.
The bullet had only grazed him, but his hand was bleeding and stung like a son of a bitch. He let his weapon fall. He’d need it in a minute, but for right now, it was more important to make the gunmen believe he’d given up. He’d promised Mac he wouldn’t let anything happen to her or Maria. He had one last chance to keep that promise. It appeared the pilot was moving in as close as possible to the rock ledge, probably so his crew could leap to solid ground and make sure Brady didn’t have any information they needed before they disposed of him and rounded up the women.
Brady’s timing had to be perfect. He couldn’t let them jump off the chopper. A movement caught his eye, and his gaze swept slowly to his left. Aw hell! Mac! She crept out from under the rock overhang until she stood in full view of the men in the chopper, and she held that state-issued Glock that Callahan had given her. Was she nuts? They’d see her.
Brady dove for his gun, but before he regained his feet, the Glock recoiled in her hand, the chopper window shattered, the pilot slumped over in his seat, and the craft veered sharply to the right, away from the ledge. The damn fool woman had taken his shot . . . and made it.
Panic was written on the faces of the crew, except for the one who had apparently recognized the source of their trouble and was drawing a bead on Mac. Brady aimed and fired. The gunman, a neat hole in his forehead, dropped his rifle and pitched out the open door.
The others weren’t so lucky. Some overconfident crew member apparently grabbed the controls and overcorrected, sending the rotor blades whipping into the side of the mountain just below the ledge. By the time Brady reached the edge and peered over, the ruined craft was rolling down the slope. Finally, it exploded and came to rest at the foot of a rock pile.
Brady swung around in time to stop Mac as she barreled toward the edge, keeping her from seeing the devastation. She gasped and her face went pale when she spo
tted the angry gash on his hand and the blood flowing freely.
With one arm over Mac’s shoulders, he gave in to her gentle persuasion. The women insisted he sit and elevate his hand above his heart while they cleaned and wrapped it in strips from one of his shirts, force-feeding him Advil from Maria’s purse for the pain and swelling. He let them fuss over him because it took their minds off what had just happened . . . and because—hell—it felt damn good.
Maria kissed him on the cheek. “I will never doubt you again, Mr. Brady.”
He chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it, but easy on the Mr., okay?”
She laughed and went to retrieve the water bottles from the back of the rock cave.
Mac stayed by his side but had yet to look him in the eyes. “I’m so sorry . . . so sorry.”
Confused, Brady turned her chin with his good hand until she looked at him. “This is nothing, Mac, and besides, it wasn’t your fault. You have nothing to be sorry for.”
She wrenched her chin from his fingers. “I should have done something sooner. I’m such a pathetic coward. First Paddy . . . now you.”
Brady sighed. He’d convince her that wasn’t true if it was the last thing he did. “Are you serious? You looked damn brave from where I was standing. I can’t believe you made that shot. That was supposed to be my shot, you know?”
“They were all watching you. They would have killed you as soon as you picked up the gun. Even as petrified as I was, I had to do something. I counted on being able to sneak up on them while all the attention was on you.” She looked down at her hands folded in her lap.
He was speechless. She’d made that gutsy move to save his worthless life, and still she called herself a coward. Damn it. What would it take to persuade her? Quid pro quo? Perhaps sharing his insecurities with her would help her deal with her own. He’d have to give that some thought.
Maria returned and laid a water bottle in his lap. “May I use your binoculars? I’d like to make sure they didn’t leave anyone at the house.”
Brady lifted the strap over his head and handed her the binocs. “Good idea.” This new, more cautious Maria would no doubt live longer.
Mac started to get up, but he caught her elbow, pulled her against his chest, and slid his arm around her shoulders. He kissed the top of her head and laid his cheek on her silky hair. “A hero does what needs doing in spite of being afraid. Fear does its job—gets the adrenaline going. The old fight-or-flight response. The choice is ours, and the answer is different for every individual and each situation. Different . . . but not wrong.”
She squirmed as though she was preparing to run right now, but Brady held her firmly until she quieted. “I don’t know how you could think back over the last forty-eight hours and see yourself as a coward, but you must have your reasons. Maybe someday you’ll share them with me.”
Mac didn’t say a word—just settled her head against his chest and snaked her arm across his stomach. He hugged her tighter. She was so damn soft, yet strong and capable. He trusted her with his life. How many women had he ever been able to say that about? None. Yep . . . he was getting in over his head, but right at the moment, he didn’t give a rat’s ass.
BRADY HADN’T INTENDED to doze off, but when he opened his eyes, the sun was nearly midway to its zenith. The picture Mac presented, still sound asleep on his chest, sent a jolt of possessiveness through him. For a moment, he just watched her, savoring the image. Then, unbidden, another memory surfaced. Another woman who’d been soft and willing, until he’d awoken from his special brand of nightmare with his hands around her throat, squeezing the life from her.
Aw hell! This was going to be a fucking train wreck. He should do the right thing before they both got hurt. Get out while he could. Right . . . except every indication pointed to the fact it was already too late. He’d just have to be more careful and follow the rules: never spend the night, don’t get attached.
The sound of a helicopter came in on a breeze, and Brady smiled. Blackhawk. He’d recognize it anywhere. Maria must have heard it too, because she turned and trained the binocs on the approaching craft. Apparently satisfied, she glanced toward him, and he waved his acknowledgement.
He ran his fingers down Mac’s ribs as his lips lingered against her forehead. Too bad he wasn’t waking her under different circumstances.
And, just like that, he’d apparently already forgotten the rules.
Her eyes popped open, and she stretched, a sleepy grin making his manhood react to his sudden and urgent need for her.
“Our chopper’s arriving shortly. We should head down. Ready?”
She climbed to her feet. “How long were we asleep?”
“Half an hour. Maybe a little more.” He leaned forward to scramble up but had to stop and let the dizziness pass.
“Are you all right, Brady?” Concern crinkled her forehead. She held out her hand to help him stand.
He didn’t know how to answer her question, hoping his gut feeling was wrong for a change. He forced a smile and pushed the conversation in a different direction. “I guess I can’t tease you about shooting yourself anymore.” He accepted her proffered hand and rose in one controlled movement.
She brightened. “That’s right. Except . . . I think it was kind of an accident.”
Brady chuckled.
“I was hoping maybe you’d teach me to shoot.” Mac cocked her head and grinned with mock superiority. “I’m good . . . but I’m sure there’s room for improvement.”
She leaned over to grab their two bags, and Brady didn’t hesitate to admire her shapely ass.
When she stood facing him again, he cleared his throat. “Anything you want, sugar.” He leaned closer. “But if you improve yourself very much, I’m going to blow my mind.” He winked as he hoisted the rifle onto his shoulder, looked for his backpack and found it hanging off Maria’s arm, then turned to lead the way back to the helipad.
Chapter Eleven
“NAME’S NICK TAYLOR.” The sandy-haired stranger pushed back a black cowboy hat and removed a pair of aviator sunglasses, revealing deep blue eyes that took in each of them before he swept his gaze back to Brady. “Nice to see you’re almost all in one piece. Thought the worst when I saw that helo smolderin’. Decided to take a little walk while I was waitin’ and see what was what.”
Mac had always been a sucker for a cowboy with a little Texas drawl. This guy had the hat, the boots, the black leather vest, and a pair of Wranglers that drew her gaze below the belt. It didn’t hurt that he was tall, and tan, and easy to look at either. If all of that wasn’t enough to put him toward the top on her list of favorite people, his chopper sitting on the helipad had to be the best sight she’d ever seen. She hung back to listen to him talk while the man introduced himself.
“They’re all dead, in case you were wonderin’.” Nick gripped Brady’s hand and pumped it twice, then stepped back and tipped one corner of his hat in her direction. “Ladies.”
“Jim Brady. Glad you could make it ahead of schedule. We had a few complications.” Brady shrugged the sling off his shoulder and leaned the rifle against a tree, then slid down alongside it.
Mac took one step toward him before she stopped. He was definitely moving slower. Their walk down the slope had been hard on him, although they’d gone at a moderate pace and stopped frequently to rest. His hand must be hurting, but the wound didn’t appear bad enough to cause his sheen of sweat and loss of energy. She wanted to help, but there wasn’t much else she could do, and he would probably resent her hovering over him.
“No worries. Your boss said there was some urgency, so I put the spurs to her all the way.” Nick turned toward Mac and Maria. “Nick Taylor,” he said again.
Mac smiled. “Nice to meet you, Nick. This is Maria Alverez . . . and I’m Samantha McCallister. Everyone calls me Mac.”
He nodded briefly at Maria before offering his hand to Mac. “It’s not often a man finds two beautiful women in the wilds of Alaska. A shame you’ll be leavin
’ now that we’ve finally met.”
His gaze lingered on her face, sparkling with good humor and distinctly inappropriate suggestions. Under other circumstances, she might have been flattered—at least interested—but out here in the middle of nowhere with people trying to kill her . . . all she cared about was a shower, a soft bed, and a door with a good dead bolt.
Mac tactfully slipped her hand from his grip. Not even listening to his good-old-boy drawl was balm enough to take the stone-cold dread from her chest.
She skirted around him and knelt beside Brady. “Hey. How’s your hand?”
“It’ll be fine as soon as we get you and Maria out of here.” He clenched his teeth and winced when he tried to move his arm.
“That good, huh? Wish we had some ice.”
He reached out with his good hand and ran a finger across her brow. “No frowning, sugar. This is as close as we’ve been to home-free in a couple days. I want to see a smile on that pretty face.”
Just him calling her pretty made a grin tug at her lips, but it was a lie. How could she smile when his injury was all her fault? Never again would she hide while someone else fought her battles for her. First Paddy and now Brady—the cost had been too high.
“That was a pathetic smile.” He chuckled. “You need practice.” He glanced toward the chopper as Nick climbed aboard and started the engine. “There is something you could do that might make me feel better.”
“What?”
His eyes danced with mischief as he pointed to the corner of his mouth. “A kiss?”
“Seriously?” Mac shook her head and scoffed.
“You bet. A kiss has been known to possess incredible medicinal properties.” He leaned closer. “And, if we do it right, Flyboy might get off your case.”
A full-blown laugh burst from her. “You noticed? It wasn’t just my imagination?”
Brady shook his head. “I’d have shut him down for you, but I didn’t know how you’d feel about that. Some girls really go for the cowboys.”
Mac smiled self-consciously. She fit that description to a tee. Did Brady know that she’d hung on Nick’s every word when he talked and ogled his ass in those tight Wranglers? That was as far as her obsession would go, however. Physical attributes were nice, but they didn’t make the man.
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