by Zoe Dawson
“I may need another test to make sure,” he whispered. He moved against her, and she groaned at the feel of him, wedging his hips between her thighs. She hooked her legs around his waist and moved flush against him. Looks like she was going for another experiment.
They finally got around to breakfast when Jugs jumped onto the bed and started pulling at the covers, nipping at Max’s ankles and being an adorable, genuine nuisance.
They got dressed, fed Jugs, then did all Carolina’s chores for her. Renata was mildly concerned she wasn’t back yet, but it was still early. For all they knew, she could have stayed up all night and was now sleeping. But Renata didn’t think her newfound friend would neglect her animals.
She made Max come to the hen house with her to get the eggs from the chickens as Carolina hadn’t gathered them the day before. Jugs tried to herd them, and that was amusing enough. She bet the Malinois was used to being active. But he was in a losing battle as the chickens kept scattering. She laughed so hard when one of the hens chased after Max when he made a beeline for the house, Jugs barking up a storm.
“That lady was clucking mad,” she said, once inside, breathless from his antics.
“Yeah, flucking mad,” he said, leaning against the door with the basket, holding his injury, but unable to stop the laughter.
“You’re a baby stealer according to her.”
“Stop making me laugh,” he said after a burst. “Between you and the hens, I haven’t had to work this hard for breakfast ever. I’ve gotten lazy because the Navy always gives it to me for free.”
“Um, I think you work for every breakfast you’ve received from the Navy,” she said sobering. “Come on, you no-good-baby-stealing slacker. You can rest while I make breakfast.”
She fried up steak, eggs, and toast and they ate everything on their plates. Jugs dozed in the sun.
He insisted that since she’d done all the cooking, it was only fair that he clean-up afterward. She let him do it, not because it was fair, but because it left her free to ogle him.
Filling her coffee mug, she leaned back against the counter, watching him as he scrubbed out the frying pan, up to his elbows in soapsuds. She’d made up her mind this morning that she wasn’t going to try to second-guess what was going on between them. But she had to admit that she found it damned unnerving how easy it was to be with him. And it wasn’t just the sex, it was the laughter they shared.
It was as if they’d spent countless mornings like this, instead of only one. But she also knew it wasn’t really real—it was as though they were caught in a time freeze, and all it would take would be one small fracture and the illusion would shatter. And reality was something she didn’t want to deal with right then.
Shifting her weight against the counter, she lifted the mug to her mouth, watching him work. There was an intentness in his expression, as if he were totally absorbed in what he was doing. She bet he got that same expression on his face when he was operating. She wanted to know more about him. She figured she wouldn’t break her fantasy bubble if she kept her questions neutral. “Tell me about your family.”
He shot her a surprised look, then continued with the frying pan, his expression unreadable. It took him a second before he answered, and she wondered at his hesitation.
“My dad is an accountant and my mom teaches kindergarten,” he said with a smile, his gaze fixed on her face.
“Siblings?”
Rinsing the suds off the frying pan, he tipped his head toward the dish towel lying on the counter. “Could you get that for me, please?” Without looking at her, he said, “I have five of the most pushy, opinionated sisters.”
She almost spit out her coffee, handing him the towel. “How many?”
He sighed heavily. “Five.”
“Oh, my. Were you surrounded?”
“Yeah. I was third.”
“Details,” she asked as she sipped.
He looked away. “I don’t normally give anyone details about my family.”
“Oh—”
“But I’ll make an exception in this case,” he said, her heart triple skipping at his tender look. “Gina is the oldest, owns a bridal shop, and she’s married with two kids. She’s always been the ringleader when they gang up on me. Wendy is a hairdresser, and Rhonda is a chef, and they’re both married. Wendy can’t keep a secret to save her life and Rhonda is the princess. Her wedding was almost two years ago, and the planning was…interesting to say the least. Sarah wants to be an actress and she’s doing a play right now, waitressing on the side. She keeps us in stitches, and we call her the entertainer.” His voice softened and he said, “Then there’s Anna, she’s the youngest, a National Geographic photographer. She’s the adventurer.”
“Wow. That’s a big family.”
He nodded. He glanced at her, then looked away and she could tell he was thinking about something. “How about your family?”
She should have been prepared for this. She’d pried and it was only fair that he would ask about her family. The question pressed against her bubble dangerously, but if she kept the information to the facts, it should be safe. He stared at her for a moment, setting the frying pan on the counter and wiping at the sink. He’d already tucked the breakfast dishes into the dishwasher.
“My father is Brazilian, but he has a practice in San Diego. He’s a world-renowned heart surgeon. My mom is a stay at home, tennis-playing, function-organizing, cookie-baking powerhouse.”
He leaned his uninjured hip against the counter, his eyes probing. “Heart surgeon,” he murmured, but she didn’t make a response. His comment had come too close to a nerve.
She got up and walked to where he reclined and set the cup in the sink, deliberately brushing against his fly. Startled out of his questioning, he looked at her and narrowed his eyes. She knew he knew what she was doing. She was trying to distract him away from her family. She really didn’t want to get upset right now.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away, barely holding back a laugh. “You’re brazen, you know that?”
She gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “This from the man who gets hard for me when I breathe.”
He grinned at her. “You must be mistaken about that.”
“I don’t think so,” she murmured. “If you let me go, I’ll breathe on you.” She gave him a slow, provocative wink. He narrowed his eyes at her again.
Resting his free hand on his hip, he stared at her. “I can endure you breathing on me.”
“Prove it, tough guy.”
He inhaled and his jaw flexed. She bit her lip and he looked like he was going to groan.
“Do your worst,” he challenged.
She stepped forward and leaned into him. Dropping her voice low, she breathed out the words. “I know all the bones and muscles in the human body and what they do, including the veins and arteries.”
“Is that so,” he said through gritted teeth.
“Yes,” she cooed. She started singing the “Dem Bones” song and how each bone was connected. She looked down, giggling. “Oh, looks like you have a bone that’s not exactly connected.” She ran her hand over his hard-on. “Oh, silly me. That’s a boner. My mistake.”
“You having a good time there, babe?”
“Yes,” she answered, backing away from him, her voice quavering with laughter. “I am.” Before she had a chance to make a move, he dipped down and knocked her over his shoulder.
“Max! You shouldn’t be carrying me.” Then she giggled again. “You—you caveman,” she said, breathless with laughter.
“Are you laughing at me, woman?” He headed toward their bedroom, and she started to get all hot and bothered.
But when he changed directions and walked down the stairs to the pool, she said in a rush. “I’m laughing with you, Max! No!”
He tossed her in, and she swallowed some water from the mirth she couldn’t control. When she popped to the surface, coughing and gagging, he looked smug. “I wanted to go swimming anyway
,” she said.
She waded across to the stairs and dripping in water, used the stairs to him.
That smug look intensified.
“Proud of yourself?” she asked.
“Yeah. You can’t retaliate because I’ve got stitched boo-boos.”
“Aw, that’s right.” She moved before he could counter her and shoved him into the water.
Laughing so hard she could barely speak, she said, “Joke’s on you. Mr. SEAL. That bandage is waterproof.” She threw the beach ball into the water. “Balance that on your nose for a while.”
She squeaked when he set his hands on the edge of the pool deck and pressed himself up enough to snag her shirt and pull her back in. Geez, the man was amazing. He dunked her and she came up fighting, which only led to physical contact, and that led to kissing, then all she could do after that was moan.
Lying with one hand tucked under his head, Max stared at the slowly whirling ceiling fan. He could hear the restless animals outside waiting for their dinner, and he was getting concerned.
Carolina still hadn’t returned.
Renata stirred, shifting her head on his shoulder, her breath warm against his neck, and he glanced down at her, slowly running his hand up and down her naked arm. He couldn’t remember ever being this contented in his life.
He smoothed his hand along her soft skin, thinking this was going to have to end and he didn’t want it to. He hadn’t expected to ever be this deep with a woman after so little time, but sometimes it happened that way.
He thought he had everything straight in his mind—and it had all been about just sex. But he’d never met a woman like Renata. They had connected at a level he’d never achieved before. Maybe she was so damned torn up over her father and medicine being more important to her than she thought. Maybe she was unconsciously looking for comfort and closeness.
All he knew was that last night and today had been real for him. But he had to be cautious. She was avoiding talking, so he’d give her some space, even as he wanted to lock her down.
But he’d rather follow his limitless thinking instead of being that guy.
“You’re thinking the same thing I am. Aren’t you?” she murmured.
“Yeah. She’s not back. I’m concerned.”
“Me, too.” She pushed up to lie on his chest, her arms folded and her chin resting on them. She met his eyes, her breasts soft and warm against him. “Let’s do her chores and try to find her, Max. I have a bad feeling.”
He nodded. “Jugs can track her,” he said. Two hours later, duties completed, and a quick meal consumed, they headed for the barn as the sun was starting to dip into the sky. Max was carrying one of Carolina’s scarfs in his hand.
“Do you know how to ride?” Renata asked.
“Yeah, a little,” he said. “You?”
“Yes, we had horses.”
He nodded and started to saddle two of the animals. After Renata’s help with the bridle, Max dipped down to Jugs just as his ears flattened and he started to growl. Max went for his weapon, but froze when he heard, “Don’t move,” an angry, male voice said. “What have you done with my wife?”
Max rose slowly and turned toward the man. He was in shadow, but when he edged into the light, shock coursed through Max.
“Jason Palmer?” he asked.
11
Fast Lane had operated in dark conditions before. Night vision goggles were a SEAL’s best friend. He was on edge, but not in an anxious way, more of a command focused way. The road, or what served as a road in this country, stretched out ahead of them, rough and cracked, pitted with potholes. With the goggles, they could see as well as in daylight.
He wondered how Team Max was faring, concerned with Dodger’s very vocal outburst. As long as he’d known the Brit turned American citizen, he’d been an easy-going, comical relief sort of guy, yet very serious when it came to his job. A damn fine SEAL, no doubt, but he had never had the kind of outburst or argument Fast Lane had witnessed between Max’s sister and him.
It was clear something else was going on there, and as the leader of the team, he had to be concerned about it. Every SEAL followed the rule about sisters. You simply didn’t cross that line unless you had the brother’s blessing. He wouldn’t tolerate dissension in his team between Mad Max and Dodger. They were still working on the fracture that had occurred when Justin “Speed” Myerson had died. It still hurt that it had been on his watch.
Fast Lane understood how the fairer sex could twist a man up inside. He had that knowledge firsthand with his ex-wife, Solace. She was a member of the Army’s 160th SOAR (A)—Special Operations Aviation Regiment, Airborne. The elite unit known as the Night Stalkers flew special operators into the most dangerous and secretive missions. Solace piloted Black Hawks, Chinooks, and Little Birds.
He’d met her on the job, and they had forged a relationship amidst combat and the uncertainty of them both serving in such dangerous jobs. They had gotten married rather than be separated without a deep commitment.
Of the five SEALs traveling with him, two of them were married and one of them engaged. The thought struck a pang of envy inside him that hummed and vibrated like a tuning fork. If she’d had a boring job, an ordinary background, maybe he and Solace would still be together. Maybe they would have a child by now. The memory of her and what they had shared was bittersweet. He’d managed to get through the divorce, but not many people knew he still carried a torch for her.
Suddenly from the back seat, 2-Stroke cried out. Dragon shook him. “Man, are you all right?”
2-Stroke blinked several times, then nodded, his breathing labored. Fast Lane had to wonder if it was something from his personal past or from deploying. You can’t unsee the things you’ve seen or undo the things you’ve done. It doesn’t matter how honorable the mission. It takes its toll. Fast Lane also had his share of nightmares from both.
His satphone rang, and he answered, “Go for Fast Lane.”
“LT,” Dodger said. “We’ve hit a snag. We were ambushed at the site. It’s the Corta Cartel. They’re the ones who are hunting for Jason Palmer, and they’re after Max.”
“Max?”
“Nowhere to be found, but I discovered tracks leading away from the site. I think he was injured bad enough to need a litter.”
“The rest of the team?”
“Corta has them and isn’t going to stop looking for Palmer or Max.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Assault the camp as soon as everyone goes to sleep, get Anna, Saint, and Professor out of there. Then it’s Charlie Mike.”
“Copy that. Continue mission. Keep me posted, and so help me God, Dodger, if you die, I’m going to kick your ass all the way to hell.”
“That’s a good copy, LT.”
Pitbull asked, “Everything okay?”
“Dodger is working the problem. We keep on course.”
“Dodge will get the job done,” Pitbull said with a grin, then it faded from his face, his focus intensifying. “LT,” he said, the Land Rover slowing. “There’s a checkpoint ahead.”
“Go around.”
“What do we do if they engage?” 2-Stroke asked. “Our orders were to not mix it up with Paraguayan troops.”
“They fire at us. We fire at them. Simple. We don’t miss.”
Dodger belly crawled back to his vantage point, noting that the camp was now guarded by two sentries. They didn’t worry him much. He pulled out his knife, sneaked to the back of the tent, and cut a wide slash. Stepping through, he found the three prisoners and two dozing guards. One guard came awake, but Dodger moved to intercept him, silently, quickly. Using the handgun would have been effective but loud. The blade was far quieter but came at a cost when the man countered and fought back, blocking Dodger’s first strike.
Dodger didn’t blame him. A guy comes at you with a seven-inch blade and it’s understandable the tango would fight back. He elbowed Dodger, catching him on his cheekbone. Pain flashed over him with a fe
w stars, but Dodger didn’t make a sound, didn’t let go, and didn’t let up. The guy kicked and squirmed until Dodger body-slammed him hard into the ground and stunned him enough to gain the upper hand. In moments, it was over.
When he turned his head, Anna was awake. Dammit, he cursed. She had seen everything. He justified his savagery with the understanding that she had to know what they did as SEALs. He also had to acknowledge that it was one thing to know it and another thing to see it firsthand.
Anna’s eyes widened, the blood draining from her face when the other guard stirred and Dodger threw his knife, piercing the guard’s eye.
He moved rapidly. He retrieved his knife, cleaning it on the guys shirt. He had no idea if there was a changing of the guard, but a monkey would have been more effective than these two slackers. Dodger untied his teammates and they immediately went to the corner of the tent for their gear. He then moved to Anna, who was looking up at him like she’d seen a ghost.
He untied her and helped her up. He could feel her trembling, and every ounce of his protective instinct kicked in. He was moving too fast for conversation. They needed to get out and get a sizable lead between them and the Cartel.
All four of them clear of the tent, he pulled her along. There was nothing left to chance. The route was planned, and he ran like he’d run it a dozen times in the dark.
Suddenly gunfire exploded at the camp. Still running, Dodger turned to see armed men overrunning the Cartel.
So much for being untouchable.
Then he paused. He knew one of the men who was standing in the illumination of the fire.
Makhdoom Javed Badunzye, Al’Irada. The second in command. He was probably in charge of the search for Max. Damn, how he wanted to stop and take a shot at this bastard, but even as they melted into the jungle, Dodger heard the sound of helicopter blades. He probably had no idea that his boss was freed and on his way to an unaffected airport to flee the country. Dodger got satisfaction that the terrorist organization had just covered their escape. But it wasn’t a courtesy. His team had to beat them to Max.
