by Zoe Dawson
Long Hair chuckled, grabbing his crotch and leering at her before he and Scar walked out.
Terror spiked through her, but she found a place where she could go. A place that was calm and empowering. She thought about Max. It bolstered her from deep inside. He was so close, yet so far away. Everything she felt for him was her armor, and she used it to augment her strength.
“Is this the only way you can get some, you bastard? Or is your dick just too small to appeal to normal women?”
His jaw clenched tight, and anger flashed in his eyes. He backhanded her, which was exactly what she wanted. She fell into the hay and grabbed the loose board from the ground. Gripping it, she rose and swung it toward his head, the board hitting him with a satisfying thud against his hated face.
She went to swing again, but this time, he grabbed her wrist and squeezed tight until the crushing pain he exerted was too unbearable, and she dropped the board.
He shoved her against the wall, so hard that her head hit the wood surface, and she saw the familiar stars. When her vision came back into focus, he’d braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and had wedged a thigh between hers to keep her trapped against the wall and his body. His face was right in hers, and he was completely furious, but also sickly turned on. He liked a battle.
Sadist.
“I like your struggle and your fear, pretty whore.” He looked over his shoulder and she dug in her pocket for the knife. “But to keep this just between us, cooperate or I’ll send one of my men after your whore friend and order him to rape and murder her.”
Renata sucked in a horrified breath, letting him think he had cowed her. She closed her eyes and whimpered as if the fight had gone out of her. She just needed one moment when he was distracted. She opened her eyes and located his jugular.
“That’s better. We can fight later. We’ll have plenty of time.”
He knotted his fist into her hair, yanked her head back, and brought his mouth down on hers. She fought the kiss, the invasion of his tongue, refusing to give even a small part of herself to him. And that only infuriated him.
His hands pulled at her clothes and groped her, making her physically ill at the thought of what he wanted to do to her. But she was determined that even if she died, she was taking this son of a bitch with her.
She bit down hard on his lip, and he pulled away, giving her just the amount of space she needed. She aimed and brought the knife down against his neck with all the force of her anger and revulsion. The sharpened blade penetrated flesh, tendons and muscle, piercing the carotid artery.
He stumbled back, shock and disbelief in his eyes as he clutched his neck, blood welling and spurting. His back hit the wall, and he slid down it as life gushed from the wound and the light drained from his eyes.
He bled out in seconds. She heard the sound of footsteps, and she turned to face the new threat, prepared for the inevitable.
14
“Rest time is over, mates,” Dodger said, the sound of another chopper whirring in the distance. “I’d say they’re going to be looking for us. Let’s move.”
They took off, running full out. He looked back and spotted several men pursuing them. Cartel or Al’Irada, he had no idea. He didn’t need to know who they were to neutralize them. All he needed was his handgun and his ninja skills.
“Professor, Saint, I’m going to double back and take them out. We can’t take the chance that they’ll find the trail.”
“Dodge, how many?” Saint asked.
“Five. I can handle it. Keep going. I’ll catch up.”
“That’s a good copy.”
Dodger stopped moving, and he saw Anna look over her shoulder at him, her face still pale. She broke eye contact and disappeared into the thick overgrowth with his teammates.
Dodger headed back toward the threat. He got behind some brush at the head of the trail and hunkered down. Crashing through the jungle, the men made no attempt to be quiet. They didn’t care if he and his teammates knew they were coming.
As soon as the fifth man passed him, Dodger came out of hiding and started after the last man. He pulled out his knife and doubled his speed, his noisy progress through the jungle hidden by their breakneck pace. The last man stopped and looked around, listening. Dodger went low, flanked him to the left and then came straight out of the jungle. His knife sunk into the man’s neck and he was down. Wiping off the blade on the dead tango’s shirt, Dodger took off again.
He caught and took out the fourth guy, and then the third. They were still running full out without watching their six. That was a major mistake, one SEALs never made. With two left, he was starting to feel just a bit winded, which meant they were too. He needed to take out number two, which would only leave him one to deal with.
Dodger hurried as fast as he could in the dark, jumping debris and logs skidding down a short incline with it rising on the other side. Splashing through water, he gained on the second man. Upriver, he was somewhere to Dodger’s right. He saw a blur of movement just ahead of him, swinging fronds giving his path away.
This time, he wasn’t worried about a shot. As soon as he had the guy in his sights, he pulled off a round and the tango went down hard.
Rushing up to him, he put another round into his head and kept on moving.
Dodger, his lungs pumping and his legs burning, increased his speed. The guy ahead had gone down on one knee. Dodger stopped, a black chill swept over him when he shouldered his rifle and sighted in on Anna. Unable shoot for fear of hitting one of his teammates, he pressed forward.
He moved more for speed than silence, his gaze locked on the man, and for a second, he lost him in the dark. Dodger rushed forward and swung, his blow catching the barrel of the rifle.
The tango fired.
The shot went to the left, and he yanked downward on the rifle, then turned to swing his fist. But the man was fast, throwing his elbow back and connecting with Dodger’s chest. He went flying backward and hit the ground, knocked breathless for a second, then rolled to his feet, crouching. The tango turned the rifle on Dodger. Oh, bollocks. Dodger threw his knife and it embedded deep into the guy’s thigh. He dove and caught the guy low. The tango folded to the ground, discharging a half dozen shots into the air.
A blow to his jaw from the guy’s rifle sent Dodger falling to the side. The guy scrambled away on his back, then went to his feet.
He had Dodger dead to rights, but the shot never went off as gunfire erupted behind him and his body shook, then he dropped to the ground and lay still.
Dodger’s breathing ragged, he lay on his back until Professor looked down at him. “You all right?”
“Hey, I would have had him.”
“Sure,” Saint said, offering his hand, and Dodger grasped it as they pulled him up. He walked over to the dead guy and pulled his knife out, wiped it clean and sheathed it. “But it wasn’t us. You can thank Anna “Dead-eye” Keegan for saving your British ass.”
Anna just stared, and Dodger didn’t know what to say. So, he got up and stripped the tango of weapons, stashing them.
Her eyes teared, then she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, squeezing tight.
He met Saint’s eyes. His teammate shook his head, a warning in his gaze, and walked to where Professor was standing. Saint reached over and pushed Professor’s jaw closed. “Come on. Let’s make sure we’re clear.”
They left and he was stuck holding Anna. Closing his eyes, he buried his face in her hair and relived those seconds when he’d seen the man aim at her head. His body responded to the warmth and softness of her supple curves, giving him a hard-on. The adrenaline didn’t help the rush to his dick. In battle, it wasn’t uncommon to get a combat boner.
She looked…beautiful, and he wanted to do more than just hold her. Her soft cheek was pressed to his face and when her arms loosened, she leaned back to look at him.
“Are you all right?” he murmured gently and did what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do again�
��he touched her, trailing his fingers over the slope of her shoulder and down her arm.
“Me? You’re concerned about me? You scared the crap out of me.” She shoved him hard in the chest and stepped back. “That was so close,” she snapped, mad at him all over again.
“Bloody close,” he agreed, smoothing her disheveled hair away from her face. She slapped his hand away. That bit of tenderness weaving through his system startled him, and he dismissed the thoughts filtering in his mind before he followed through on them. He had to think this encounter with Anna was the bloody close call. Suddenly he felt awkward and uncertain with her—another first that confounded him when he was so used to emotionless encounters. And damn if he hadn’t felt something holding her. More than just wanting her physically. How she got under his skin without even trying was beyond him. It had been a very long time since he’d let any woman near him who could do some serious damage. And this woman was classified as dangerously close. Wanting her did him no good. It was good that she was still mad at him. He needed the buffer, but it left him with a hollow feeling in his chest.
He rubbed her arms and she cringed. Frowning, he flicked on his flashlight long enough to see blood on her sleeve.
“Damn, Anna.” He set her away from him and called. “Saint, she got skinned.”
Saint loped back to them and spent a few precious minutes stitching up her arm and bandaging it. He cupped her jaw and shined a light in her eyes, did a quick check for more wounds. Satisfied, he nodded to Dodger and they headed out.
“I’ll take lead,” Dodger said, and put some space between them.
As night began to fall, Dodger scouted a spot up ahead, a good place to stop and sleep. It was already getting dark under the canopy of trees. It was a nice reprieve to be away from her and not have to be aware of her presence every time she breathed.
Dodger set up camp and they ate MREs. “I can take the first watch,” he said.
He would let them sleep for four hours, then he would catch two and they’d be off again. He braced his back against an old log. After about two hours, Anna stirred. He watched her toss and turn. Finally, she sat up.
“Can’t sleep?” he whispered.
“No. I’m worried about Max, and this has proven to be more adventurous than I expected.” She rose and came to sit near him. There was an uncomfortable silence. He wasn’t going to break it. Talking to Anna only made everything worse.
“So, you left the UK and came to the States. Why did you quit the Special Boat Squadron?”
He chuckled. “Get it right, mate. Special Boat Service.”
“I knew that,” she said, giving him a cheeky grin.
He shifted and left her hanging. He certainly wasn’t going to open up to her about Hermione. No bloody way. Getting personal with her would be a big stupid mistake.
“Okay. Why were you a douche at the wedding?”
“You’re not my type,” he said, giving her a scowl.
“No, that’s not it. I’m everybody’s type.”
Damn if he didn’t love her confidence. It was there when she’d asked him to dance in San Diego at Rhonda’s wedding. It might have been almost two years ago, but he remembered it like it had just happened. Curse his memory. Taking his hand, she had led him to the dance floor, and he’d pulled her into his arms as the slow song played and the singer sang the romantic lyrics. He’d placed a hand at the base of her spine, and she’d wound her arms around his neck, aligning their bodies so that they were touching intimately from chest to thighs, and igniting sparks of heat with the slightest move they made. She rested her head on his shoulder with her lips grazing his neck, and he pressed his cheek to her soft, fragrant hair. Closing his eyes, he inhaled deeply, memorizing the scent of her skin, the soft yielding press of her curves against him, and the way she curled into him so trustingly.
Letting her go had killed him. Cutting off contact was like alienating his own family.
“Look, I travel light, Anna. There’s no room for anything other than the SEALs. They are my family.”
She stared at him, and he could see her mind whirling. Then her lips parted. Oh, bollocks. She’d figured it out. Max was going to kill him.
“Oh, God. This is about Max. He doesn’t approve, and you can’t cross that stupid sacred brotherhood line.” She hit the ground with her fist and exhaled. “Wait until I see him again. If he’s not dead, I’m going to kill him.”
She rose up on her knees and got closer. “We almost kissed, almost—”
“We didn’t, though. I was drunk.”
“You were into me. I know it. Come on, Dodger. Why can’t you be honest?”
“Stop it, Anna. Stop trying to figure me out. Stop coming onto me,” he said fiercely. “This is as dead as it has been for almost two years.”
He watched her shut down, and he hated himself for it. But there was only one choice for him. Hurt her or lose everything he’d worked for. It was easy to deny himself this woman. She was more dangerous than anyone he’d ever met, including Hermione. If he ever got into her, really into her, he would be lost.
He was never going to do that again.
Without saying another word, she went back to her bedroll and tucked in. He woke the guys and got his two hours. Then they were on the move again, Anna sullen and withdrawn, giving him dark looks. He ignored her. They tracked Max’s trail to a road. Walking along it was an old man with about a dozen donkeys.
“Hey there,” Dodger hailed him. “Have you seen anyone along this road in the last few days?”
“Yes, a very pretty woman. She had a tan and brown dog with her. Pointy-ears and a dark muzzle. He was wearing some kind of vest. I directed her to a farm not far from here.”
Dodger’s hopes soared. “Did she have an injured man with her?”
“No, I saw no man. She bought a donkey. My best. Ah, I miss my Luna.”
“How much for four donkeys?”
The man’s eyes lit up with the chance to haggle.
Soon they were trotting down the road.
Turning off when they saw the side road, they released the animals and approached the farm.
“Damn, my junk is throbbing,” Professor blurted out.
Anna laughed softly.
“Geez, man. It’s mixed company,” Saint chided.
Anna laughed again. “Isn’t there something you can do, Saint?”
“Throbbing junk isn’t in my wheelhouse. Take two aspirins and don’t call me in the morning.”
Dodger chuckled and Professor flipped them off.
They approached the farm from four sides, but when they breached, they found it empty. “Professor, check the barn,” Dodger said.
Dodger and Saint searched the house and found Max’s pack as Professor came into the room.
“Max was definitely here,” he said, holding up Jugs’s Kong.
“LT, are you seeing this?” Pitbull called out.
Up ahead, the bright lights from a chopper lit up the night.
“Son of a bitch!” Fast Lane shouted as he saw the passengers in the SUV they had been following—and almost gaining on—run from the vehicle and get into the chopper. They were too far away, and they weren’t going to make it on time.
Pitbull hit the steering wheel as he brought the Land Rover to a stop. Fast Lane grabbed up the satphone and when it connected, he said, “It would have been good intel to know that Angar Said had a chopper inbound.”
“We’re only now getting the information. One of our watchers was neutralized. Come into the city and we’ll regroup.”
“Copy that. We’re about two hours out.”
There was silence in the car and Fast Lane was having second thoughts about this op. There were so many things that could go wrong with an urban snatch. He didn’t like the way this was working itself out. He closed his eyes and decided that taking a nap was the best thing for him to do right now. “Wake me when we’re thirty minutes out,” Fast Lane said.
Pitbull shook Fast Lane some
time later. “We’re almost to the city. Where do you want me to go?”
Fast Lane stretched and reached for the satphone and called Anna’s friends. They gave him an address for a safe house, said they would meet them there.
He gave it to Pitbull, and they were soon pulling up to an apartment complex. Stowing their weapons in their gear packs, they took the elevator up to the fourth floor and another posh loft.
Inside were two men dressed in suits waiting for them. “Lieutenant Nixon. Nice to meet you.”
His guys dropped their packs and started taking turns using the head.
“Coffee?”
“Hell yeah. I’d kill for some.”
The man headed into the kitchen and pulled out the pot.
“I didn’t catch your name,” Fast Lane said.
“I didn’t throw it. Best that we shoot for deniability. Easier if this goes south. You can call me Mr. Black, and this is Mr. White.”
He poured the coffee, stepping out of the way as Pitbull took the pot and Hemingway searched for mugs. Once everyone was seated and Fast Lane had his turn at the head, Mr. Black sat across from him.
“Angar Said is here. He’s holed up at a hotel nearby. It would have been better if you had caught him, and we could have picked him up on the road.”
“Copy that,” Fast Lane growled. “But he had access to alternate transportation. Just as we moved in, a chopper landed and flew off.”
“We called in a bomb scare at the airport and it delayed his flight, but we don’t have much time.”
“This is going to be more involved. This snatch and grab on a deserted highway just turned into an urban assault.” He leaned back and sipped his coffee. “We’re not supposed to be here, Mr. Black. So, we’ll do this my way.”
“Of course, Lieutenant.” The man set down his mug. “Just let me remind you that it’s imperative we sweep him up. If he escapes, he’ll go to ground in the Waziristan region that’s still a hotbed of insurgency and hostile factions. It would take an all-out war to get to him. Pakistan and the US are on shaky terms. It wouldn’t take much to turn us against each other. It’s a delicate political balancing act. Our government doesn’t want another Bin Laden out there.”
