Rebecca stared at him incredulously. Did he just say she was lucky?
He chuckled and wiped a tear from his eye. “No, I don’t want to rape you. I want the invisible man.” He picked up a needle from the bedside table and uncapped it.
“No! Not again!” Rebecca tried to struggle, but her muscles were limp and unmoving. All she managed was a small flop.
He laughed again and said, “This is just sodium pentothal. Something to loosen your tongue a little.” He pinched a piece of skin on her arm and shoved the needle in.
Rebecca felt a tear leak from her eye and into her hair.
He patted her arm and said, “Just give it a few minutes and then we’ll have our talk. If you tell me what I need to know, I’ll let you have water. If not…” He shrugged and turned away.
He returned to the chair and watched her. Rebecca turned her head and stared at the ceiling. Tears streamed from her eyes, precious moisture that her body couldn’t spare. She tried to fight them back, but she was getting lightheaded. A strange euphoria puddled behind her sternum and Rebecca forgot why she should keep her mouth closed.
She was floating, a cloud for her hammock, the wind for her fan. Nothing hurt, nothing felt. Rebecca closed her eyes and felt tension drip out of her body. It was nice…so nice to float. She drifted for what felt like hours, enjoying the lassitude and bliss. But she really needed a drink. Rebecca opened her eyes.
“Water?” she asked.
He shook his finger at her. “Ah ah ah. I told you, I need to know about the invisible man.”
Rebecca giggled. Silly man. That was a good movie. “I think it came out in the 80s. Chevy Chase was in it.”
He cocked his head to the side and smiled. “Not the movie. The man.”
Rebecca frowned. “But I don’t know Chevy Chase.” He was way too old for her.
He sighed and Rebecca furrowed her brow. How could he be mad at her for not knowing Chevy Chase? Christmas Vacation was a better movie, anyway.
“I want you to tell me about the man you’ve been seeing.”
Rebecca giggled. Men were idiots. “I see you now.”
“Let me clarify a little more then.” His voice got stony, wasn’t pleasant anymore and Rebecca pouted. Asshole. “The man you’ve been whoring for. You practically had intercourse with him in the middle of a crowded bar.”
Oh, he wanted to know about Major! Rebecca giggled. Major wasn’t invisible. “It was a club, duh. Not a bar.” Rebecca rolled her eyes. “And Major’s not invisible. I saw lots of proof of that.”
“Major. Hmm. What’s his name?”
Rebecca frowned. She didn’t want to tell this stranger, and that was confusing. She couldn’t remember why she shouldn’t tell him, but…she giggled again. “Maximus Erectionus.” Rebecca couldn’t stop the giggles. Holy crap, did he give me weed? “Get it? Maximus Erectionus?”
He didn’t laugh, just scowled at her and took a sip of water. “Fine. His name isn’t important anyway. How do you contact him?”
Rebecca rolled her eyes. “Duh, again. He’s like, a spy. He just pops up. He’s not exactly on my social networking radar.” Uh oh. She didn’t think she was supposed to say that.
“Where does he stay, then? If you need him to come to you—which, trust me, you do right now—how do you contact him?”
Rebecca closed her eyes. Idiot. He just didn’t get it. “I don’t contact him. He just finds me.” She giggled again. “He’ll find me, don’t worry.” She started laughing again. “Why, does he owe you money or something?”
The man’s face turned red and his eyes narrowed. He practically shook with fury and Rebecca stopped laughing as fear finally took hold.
“He owes me the lives of hundreds of my brothers! Children! Wives!” He screamed at her and rushed to the bed, lowering his face to hers. “He killed over a hundred men in one night! Good men!”
Rebecca tried to draw her head away before she realized she was still lying down, cuffed to the bed, not floating on a cloud. “But why? He wouldn’t kill anyone that didn’t…”
“That didn’t what?” His voice was soft, menacing. “Deserve it? You are evil; your whole society is steeped in it. You’re all weak and corrupted. You gorge yourself on pleasure with no thought to what is right! You are the ones that deserve to die.”
“If we’re all going to hell anyway, why do you care?” Rebecca really wished she hadn’t said that.
The man didn’t respond though, and the anger drained from his face as he straightened and returned to stand by the chair. He took another long drink of water. Rebecca licked her lips and watched the condensation on the water bottle drip onto his creepily slender fingers.
He finished the water and crushed the bottle. “You are obviously not thirsty yet.” He turned back to her and smiled ominously. “I will return in a few hours. Perhaps you’ll desire water then, hmm?” He picked up another bottle of water that Rebecca hadn’t noticed sitting beside the chair. “Until then, allow this to…shall we say, encourage you.” He put the bottle on the table, less than a foot from her head and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Rebecca stared at the water, licking her lips over and over until they were chapped. What did he want her to say? She had no way to call Major. She didn’t know where he spent his time or what he did. She felt tears behind her eyelids, but none fell. Rebecca assumed her body had finally realized there were none to spare. Guttural sobs escaped her throat as reality finally set in: she was going to die. Because Major would not come for her. One life for many.
But she didn’t want it to be her life or his. Rebecca wanted it to be the life of a stranger, someone she didn’t know. It was easier that way. It was impressive and heroic when it was someone else. When it was her…it was scary and pitiful.
Rebecca catalogued her life, searching for anything good. Any good memory to hold onto. She discarded the first eighteen years as hopeless and focused instead on the new life she’d started when she moved to Virginia. Meeting Tara in college; graduating; teaching; finding her friends, Callie and Sara; watching her friends fall in love; falling into almost-love herself. Major. Rebecca called up an image of his haunted eyes, tried to focus on them. But all she could see was how much more shattered he’d be when he had to make a choice between her and his mission. One life for many. She knew what he’d choose, knew that it would be one more demon to lurk inside of him for the rest of his life. And she hated that. Rebecca didn’t want to be another pain Major kept tucked away, eating him from the inside out. She wanted to be his good memory, the way he was hers.
* * * *
Chris cursed a blue streak all the way to Berkeley Springs, West—by God—Virginia. He got a call every half hour for the first half of the trip before the curt jackass on the other end finally gave him a solid address. Four-and-a-half fucking hours, because the nosy redhead couldn’t follow one simple piece of advice. Martinez sat beside him, silently listening to Chris rant and rave as they made the drive.
“Who the hell is fucking stupid enough to get involved with a Black Ops soldier? And where the hell did he get five semi-automatic rifles on such short notice?” Chris glanced over at Martinez, who sat staring out the window. “And did you see how many rounds there were? Seven fucking ammo cases? Full! Why the hell isn’t someone investigating that? I’m telling you Martinez, sometimes I think there’s more to be worried about right here at home than there is overseas. And no one thinks gun control is a good idea. Seven cases. Damn.”
Martinez just grunted and Chris sighed. “Look, dude. Remember what Major said. Put it away, take it out later. Right now you need to focus.”
Martinez turned to face him and said, “I loved her. Do you get that, sir? I asked her to marry me. She said she wasn’t ready, to give her time. Meanwhile, she was trying to get us all killed. Who knows how many deaths I was directly responsible for because I was thinking with my dick.” He laughed morbidly. “And tonight…” Martinez looked back out the window. “Tonight I ki
lled her. And let a spook ‘dispose of the body.’ I killed her. Que Dios se apiade de mi alma.”
May God have mercy on my soul. Chris clenched his jaw. This had to be hard. He couldn’t imagine finding out that Callie…and then having to…he gulped. Fuck. He couldn’t even think about it without wanting to cry like a baby. Martinez was living it.
“Not your fault. She was drugging you in your sleep. Put it away. Take it out later.” Chris wasn’t a shrink, didn’t even want to try to help Martinez deal with this. He’d just end up making it worse. “Right now we have a civilian being held by an unknown number of captors associated with a terrorist organization. Possible rape, probable brutality and torture. Secluded location with one road in and one road out. Get your mind around it. Tell me the plan.” Chris knew what the plan should be, but Martinez was new at this. He needed the practice, and he needed to get his thoughts straight.
Martinez was silent for several minutes before he started laying out a strategy. Chris listened in approval. Martinez was going to be a damn fine team leader.
* * * *
The major climbed into the cargo bay of a C17 and nodded to the loadmaster. The man smiled and approached. The major rolled his eyes. Great, he wanted to talk. The airman looked at the major’s flight suit to note his rank.
“Hey First Sergeant, any idea why we got called out of bed to do a training drop over the UK?”
The major tried not to smile. Training. Of course. It was always training with the military. He eventually did smile, just a little, and said, “Seems some British big wig wants a case of American beer. No idea why. Theirs is better.” He patted the wooden crate full of packing peanuts and a whole lot of things that went ‘BOOM’. “That’s what we’re dropping. I’ve gotta HALO jump with it. Gonna need you to open the doors about seven klicks outside London. There’s a drop zone there. Just put the ramp into airdrop position. No need to open the jump doors.” The major pulled a map out of his cargo pocket and showed the airman the circled area he’d already chosen. He’d already told the pilots, but this was the guy that would be in charge of opening the doors. “Right here. That’s where they want it.”
The airman took the map and noted the location before he made the motion of jerking off. “Must be nice, huh? Being able to pull strings like that.”
The major nodded. Not really, no. “I wouldn’t know. I’m gonna catch some shut-eye. Wake me up when we’re an hour out so I can get my chute on, all right?”
“Roger that, Shirt.” The airman waved as he moved toward the front of the aircraft to the loadmaster station where he sat down as the aircraft rumbled to life.
The major settled into one of the hard seats against the wall and tried to outline his plan. But all he could see was Rebecca; tortured, beaten…possibly dead already. The walls of the huge aircraft closed in around him and the major battled rising panic. He’d always done everything alone, part of a team but separated for so long that letting someone else deal with a situation felt like procrastination. And it wasn’t just any mission he was leaving to someone else: it was Rebecca.
Rebecca, who had stood up to him, tried to push him around, accepted and loved him. Rebecca, who gave him hell at every opportunity. She’d probably given her captors hell too. The major frowned and gulped against the obstruction in his throat. When did I start thinking of her in past tense? But he knew. He’d begun thinking of her that way as soon as he confirmed her capture. If she wasn’t already dead, she would be soon. Her captors weren’t the type to show mercy just because she was innocent or a woman. And he’d drug her into this, just by his presence. If the major had ever needed any proof that he would never be able to leave this life, there it was. He’d sold his soul long ago and Fate was shaking her finger at him to say “no backsies.”
If Rebecca survived—and the major was afraid it was a very big if—he couldn’t go back. He’d make sure she was safe and leave her alone. He’d stay far, far away, where he couldn’t hurt her ever again. As for the second mole or leak…well, whoever it was would probably be there when Paulson and Martinez found Rebecca. They’d take care of it, and more than likely the major’s team would verify and clean up. It was all going to tie up into a neat little bow. As long as she survived. If she didn’t…
The major fought to push aside thoughts of Rebecca. He focused on Javid instead. Javid had probably been the one to order Rebecca captured and tortured. Maybe even killed. The major let that anger take over and consume him. Javid had been the driving force behind Paulson’s nine months of hell. He’d commanded the IED and subsequent attack that had killed four Rangers, wounded seven, and taken Davis’s leg. Javid had taken Harris’s sanity from her and replaced it with nothing but pain. He routinely planned murders and attacks on innocent civilians and carried them out without thought to the lives he was destroying. Javid had the blood of thousands on his hands. Thousands that the major couldn’t name, didn’t even know. But they would all have justice.
The anger festered and simmered, nursed by the major’s anguish over losing Rebecca before he’d really even had her. And he let it boil, let the hope drip from his system until it puddled at his feet and was replaced by bitterness and rage. Just a little longer. He would release the mania on Javid and anyone else who stood in his way. The major would take revenge, but not coldly, the way he had in the past. No, this time, he would let the madness rule him.
And when he hit the ground and met the Delta Force squad he’d requested, the major made sure they knew the score. No survivors. No prisoners.
Chapter 13
Rebecca woke, unsure of how much time had passed, her body in excruciating pain. She lay still for several seconds before she turned her head to look at the bottle of water. The condensation had dripped down the sides and pooled at the bottom, making a puddle beneath the bottle. Her first instinct—despite her thirst—was to clean it up. Then the thirst registered and Rebecca forgot about everything but getting a drink of water. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, but her throat was too dry and it came out sounding like rustling paper. Rebecca fought back panic and tried to think of something else. What woke her? Was it thirst?
Just then a short rat-a-tat came from…somewhere. Outside maybe? Maybe that’s what woke her. Rebecca tried to sit up a little and look out the window on the other side of the room. The handcuffs held her though, and she flopped back down to the bed. Water. Rebecca remembered an old cartoon from childhood where buzzards in the desert circled above a guy crying for water. Well, the buzzards were here somewhere, she knew it.
Another strange popping noise reached her ears and more raised voices, closer this time. Maybe even in the house. Downstairs? Was there a downstairs?
The popping became even louder for a few seconds and then went completely silent. No voices, no rat-a-tat. Nothing. Rebecca did panic then. What if they’d killed each other down there? She’d die of thirst, but it would take two or three days. Unless…Rebecca racked her brain trying to figure out how long she’d been handcuffed to the bed.
Surely no more than a day. She’d just reasoned that out when the bedroom door burst open and two men dressed entirely in black, brandishing huge, scary-looking guns rushed in. Their faces were painted black, or maybe covered. Like ski masks. Rebecca couldn’t tell, but looking at them, how horrifying they were, she was ready to talk. About what, she didn’t know. But she’d make something up this time.
“Sit tight, Red; we’re gonna clear this floor and get you out of here.”
Rebecca tensed. Red. She knew that voice. “Chris!” She tried to call out but her throat still wouldn’t work. He paused, halfway out the door and looked back at her. Rebecca struggled against the cuffs and stared at the water. “Please!” she begged, but it came out sounding like “puuuu.”
Chris seemed to understand though and called out, “Martinez, clear the floor.” He turned and checked the closet and under the bed before reaching in his cargo pocket to pull out what looked like a pair of really thick, mean sci
ssors and snipping the chains on her cuffs.
Rebecca tried to sit up, but her arms wouldn’t work. Chris sat down on the bed and lifted her into his arms, then pushed the water bottle against her lips. Rebecca tried to gulp, but he pulled it away.
“Slowly, Red. Give it a chance to soak in.” He tipped the bottle up again and Rebecca leaned against him as she drank. “Water deprivation is effective torture, but only works for a couple of days. You’re lucky you were here less than twelve hours.”
Rebecca nodded. Chris probably knew that from experience. She shuddered at the thought that he’d endured this for nine months. “I…”
He pushed the bottle against her lips again and said, “For once, just shut up. You’re gonna have a sore throat anyway. Talking will make it worse; trust me. Just drink.”
Rebecca tried to glare at him, but he was holding the water for her with one hand and rubbing the sore muscles of her shoulders with the other. It was a little difficult to be angry at someone who was rescuing you and being courteous about it.
The other guy—Martinez?—walked back in the room and said, “All clear.” He watched her for a few minutes, then said, “She gonna be okay, sir?”
Chris nodded and said, “Yeah. But you’re gonna have to carry her out. That fu…guy with the nine mil got me in the arm. It’s just a through and through. Probably needs some stitches, but no real harm done.”
Rebecca motioned for more water and after swallowing she tried to speak. She was barely capable of a whisper. Chris leaned down and Rebecca rasped out, “Don’t call me ‘Red.’ And what in the hell is a through and through?”
The bastard laughed and said, “She’ll be fine. Nothing wrong with that attitude. Through and through means the bullet went in and out without touching anything major. Easy fix.” He stood and Rebecca nearly fell before the other guy caught her and snipped the ropes holding her legs.
When he lifted her into his arms, he met her eyes and said in an unbelievably sexy Spanish accent, “Lt. Martinez, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”
Dance With Me Page 13
