Her smile made his heart pound even more.
Then she dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a quarter.
“What are you doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“Turn over.”
He laughed nervously. “I’m not sure about this.”
“C’mon,” she said, wrinkling her nose at him. “It’s something I’ve been wanting to do.”
When he hesitated, she shook her head. “Don’t be a baby, Kyle. Trust me.”
Reluctantly he moved so that he could lie down on his stomach. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But I want to be able to use that quarter later. You know what I mean?”
Laughing, Marianne pulled his pants down to his buttocks. “You are such a worrywart. Relax.”
Suddenly very nervous, he lifted himself up on his forearms so that he could stare at her over his shoulder.
She stared at his butt, then took the quarter and bounced it off his left cheek.
“I knew it!” she said triumphantly. “Your butt is so tight the quarter actually bounces.”
“What?”
She smiled even wider at him. “You have the tightest ass in the world, you know that?”
“Yeah, okay,” he said again. This had to be the strangest moment of his life, and when you considered the fact he spent a great deal of time with drug dealers and terrorists, that was saying something. “You do this a lot?”
“Nope,” she said, putting the quarter into her pocket. “I just wanted to test my theory.”
“And now that you have?”
Her look turned wicked. “I have plans for that tight butt cheek.”
She placed her hands on his cheeks and gave a hard, pleasurable squeeze before she leaned forward and took a nip in the same spot where she’d bounced the quarter.
Kyle laid himself down, content to let her have her way with his body.
Marianne never ceased to surprise him. He found the challenge of her the best part about all of this.
And as the night sped by, he realized something.
For the first time in his life, he was in love with someone.
Someone who had come to mean everything to him.
Someone he was going to have to leave behind forever.
KYLE WOKE UP inside the cave the next morning so sated that he was sure he must have died and gone to heaven. This last week with Marianne had been unlike anything he’d ever known.
The more he got to know her, the more he liked her.
No, it was more than like. She made him feel things he’d never felt for anyone.
And he adored the scent of her on his skin. The feel of her hands on his body. He loved waking up with her lying next to him.
Dreamy and warm, he rolled over to pull her close for some serious snuggling, only to find himself alone on the air mattress.
Frowning, Kyle opened his eyes to see the strangest sight of his life.
Someone had placed a toy rubber chicken on Marianne’s pillow.
“Marianne?” he called, laughing at what he assumed was a prank. She had an odd sense of humor at times.
No one answered.
And now that he thought about it, where would she have gotten a toy chicken?
Extremely concerned, he sat up instantly. His gaze fell to the handwriting on it, and his blood ran cold.
If you want to see Marianne alive again, call Tyson Purdue, 212-555-6209.
What the hell?
His heart pounding, Kyle shot out of bed and dug his cell phone out of the small backpack he’d brought along days ago. For the first time in a week, he turned it on and dialed the number.
“Kyle?” The voice was electronically distorted.
“Who is this?” he demanded.
“It’s Tyson Purdue, and you have been a bad boy. Literally. I’m sick of you interfering with my business, and it’s time I taught you a lesson.”
“What are you talking about?”
A sharp click sounded. It was followed by Marianne’s terrified voice. “Kyle? What’s going on? Who are these people who have me?”
He saw red at the fear he heard from her. He’d kill whoever had scared her like this. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t worry. I won’t let them hurt you. Can you stay calm for me?”
Marianne didn’t answer. Another sharp click sounded and then the electronic voice responded. “Don’t worry, Foster. She’s okay so long as you do what we say.”
“What do you want?”
“I want you, Kyle Foster. I want you dead for what you’ve done.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“You know who I am. Don’t be stupid. And at the risk of being cliché, if you want Marianne to remain healthy and living, meet me at dusk on the south beach. Oh, and you’d better be unarmed.”
The phone went dead.
MARIANNE WAS SO scared she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. All she knew was that one minute she’d been sleeping happily wrapped around Kyle, and the next minute someone had pressed a pungent-smelling rag against her face.
Then everything went black again.
She’d awakened a short time ago with a ferocious headache to find herself blindfolded, with her hands tied behind her back and her feet tied to the wooden chair she sat on.
From what she could tell, there were three men with her. The one who had awakened her to talk on the phone seemed to be an American. His voice was extremely deep and seemed to have a very light hint of an unknown foreign accent to it.
The man on her right spoke with a heavy Spanish accent while another man’s voice was definitely German.
“Why did you tell him to wait until sunset?” the man with the Spanish accent asked. “I’m ready to get this done and go home.”
“Reno, you were born impatient, mi’jo. The beauty of dealing with your opponent is playing with his head. Let’s make him sweat a little. By nightfall he’ll be so rattled, he won’t even be able to think straight.”
Marianne heard something click that sounded like a gun being cocked or maybe loaded.
Reno laughed. “You are an evil bastard.”
“Yes, I am, and if you were wise, you’d be taking notes. Learn from the master, boys, and learn well.”
Marianne was so afraid that her teeth chattered. She was freezing cold, shaking even though her hands were tied behind her back.
She wanted to be brave for Kyle, but she wasn’t a secret agent. The character in her novel would be able to get out of this. A small-town high school teacher couldn’t.
What was she going to do now? This wasn’t supposed to happen to her. She was…
Marianne paused as the men started talking about blowing up the cabin she was in.
Wait, this was familiar to her. She knew this part. Being tied to the chair, the phone call.
The cabin explosion.
Chapter 9!
Her mind raced as relief coursed through her. That’s right. Halfway through the book Ren ends up captured by the villain and Brad has to come to the rescue, only Ren ends up being the one who rescues him.
It was the book!
These men must be more actors, and they had finally recaptured her from Kyle.
Well, it was about time. They’d been woefully inadequate up until now.
She relaxed at the discovery. This wasn’t real. It was only part of her fantasy.
Oh, thank God no one was going to kill her or Kyle. She let out a long breath as she tried to wiggle out of the ropes.
“Okay, guys,” she said, her voice surprisingly steady. “You can untie me now.”
“Untie you?” the American repeated, his tone filled with disbelief. “Why should I?”
“Because I asked you to?” She waited expectantly for them to untie her.
They didn’t. Nor did they say anything, and she had a sneaking suspicion they were staring at her.
“Look,” she tried again, “I realize that you guys finally managed to get me away from Kyle. Bully for you, you did good for once. But now we’re ba
ck to the book, and since I’m the heroine and I’m supposed to escape, I need some help. This chair is really uncomfortable and my hands hurt.”
She waited for them to obey her, and again they didn’t make a move to undo her.
Time stretched out interminably.
“C’mon,” she said, hopping in the chair. “I can’t undo these knots. See, I know Ren Winterbourne, Secret Agent, is supposed to be able to get out of the chair, but Marianne Webernec from Peoria can’t, and until I get loose, we can’t move on to the next scene, so would you guys help?”
“What is she talking about?” the Spanish man asked.
“Who is Ren Winterbourne?” the German asked.
The American laughed.
Another ripple of fear went through her.
They’re just playing with you. You heard them, they like to play with people’s heads.
Play with Kyle’s head.
Marianne paused as she realized this wasn’t about her. They might really be after Kyle after all. Otherwise, why use the name Tyson Purdue?
Dear Lord, what if Tyson Purdue was a real man?
Stay calm, Marianne.
“C’mon,” Marianne said again, hoping she was wrong and they were just being mean for all the times Kyle had scared them off. “I know this isn’t real. Just let me go and I won’t tell Mr. Zimmerman how bad you scared me.”
“Do you guys know a Zimmerman?” the German man asked.
Marianne felt someone move closer to her.
“Not real?” The American stood so close that his voice was nothing more than a growl in her right ear. “Lady, do you know what BAD is?”
“Bureau of American Defense. It’s the agency Kyle made up.”
She heard the American move away from her then. It sounded as if he might have huddled with the others.
The men began speaking to each other in German. Little did they know, German was one of the languages she taught at her school, and she understood them perfectly.
“If she doesn’t believe him, then we can let her go, right?” the German man asked.
“How much did Foster tell her?” the Spanish man asked. “You were the one who had him bugged.”
The American answered, “A lot more than he should have. I don’t know….”
There were a few seconds of silence, and again she heard something that definitely sounded like a gun being cocked this time.
“I’m thinking she’s a liability, and you know what I think of liabilities.”
“Put your weapon down. You can’t just kill her,” the German man said. “I’m tired of cleaning up body parts after you get through.”
Oh, God, it’s real!
These weren’t actors from the island.
Someone pulled the hair back from her neck, and then something sharp and cold was pressed against her throat.
“Are you scared, teacher?” the American whispered in her ear. “You said you wanted to be an agent. Were you really prepared for it?”
I don’t want to die! The words tore through her mind. No, she didn’t want this any more than she wanted Kyle to die.
Against her will, she started sobbing uncontrollably.
“Hey, hey, hey!” the American said as he moved whatever was against her throat away from her. “What is this?”
She couldn’t speak past her wrenching cries.
“Ay caramba! What have you done? Look at her.”
The blindfold came off instantly, and she realized she was inside a very small cabin that had next to no furniture. Her chair and a table appeared to be it.
Well, that and a whole lot of ammunition and guns. There were boxes all around her bearing the words Fragile, Danger, Explosives, Ammunition, Grenades, etc.
Marianne saw the three men through her blurry eyes. The one in front of her was gorgeous for a psycho. He had shoulder-length black hair that fell around a face that belonged to some Calvin Klein model. His dark skin was perfectly tanned, his eyes so pale a blue they didn’t look real.
He reached out and wiped the tears from her face. “Don’t cry,” he said, letting her know he was the American. “C’mon, I can’t stand to see a woman cry.”
Reno cut the ropes on her feet.
Angry and scared, she reacted without thinking. She kicked the American in the leg.
“Ow!” he snapped, moving away from her.
Reno untied her hands, flipped closed his knife, then slapped a hand against the American’s shoulder. “Pendejo!” he snarled. “I told you not to tie her up like this.”
The American hissed and took a fearsome step toward Reno, who stepped back instantly. “Don’t come at me, maricón, unless you come bearing a weapon.”
“I’ve got your weapon, right here,” Reno said, flipping open the large black butterfly knife he’d used to free her with.
The tall, blond German stepped between them. His hair was cut short, and he wore a pair of black aviator-style sunglasses. His white T-shirt was tight over a body that was huge and well built like a major bodybuilder. A colorful tattoo spiraled down his right arm.
“Enough!” the German said, keeping them at arm’s length with his body between them.
Marianne decided to take advantage of their fight to run for the door.
She’d barely reached it before the American caught her. He swung her up in his arms.
She kicked with everything she had and screamed while trying to claw his eyes out.
The other two men laughed.
The American sat her down hard in the chair and held her there with an ease of strength that was truly terrifying.
He turned his icy gaze back to hers. “Look, no one’s going to hurt you, okay?”
“You’re going to kill Kyle.”
A lopsided grin broke across the man’s face, showing her a set of perfectly white teeth. “Not today, I’m not. I just want to teach him a lesson.”
She launched herself at him.
He actually laughed as he held her easily away from him. “Well, the little teacher has spunk.” He set her back in the chair. Again. “Listen to me, Marianne. You had a fantasy to be a damsel in distress, right?”
She swallowed her tears as she looked back and forth between the men. “You don’t look like actors.”
“Yeah, well,” the American said. “That’s because we’re not.”
“Then what are you?”
“We’re friends of Kyle’s.”
The German snorted at that. “Since when?”
Marianne glared at the American. “I knew you were lying.”
“Look, I swear, I’m not lying about this.” He looked at the German. “Dieter, really, don’t help me here, okay?”
“Fine, Retter. Don’t call me the next time you need some Scheiflekopf to help you.”
That diabolical half smile played across the American’s face. “Your words, not mine.”
Marianne froze as the man’s name registered in her mind.
Retter…
The name went through her like glass. She knew who this man was. Kyle had told her much about his pseudo-partner who didn’t listen to anyone except himself. Kyle’s exact words had been, “Retter is a dick-head, but he gets the job done with scary reliability. The man strikes like lightning.”
Retter turned back toward her. “I’m just playing a joke on Kyle for making me have to come out here to retrieve him. Since you wanted to be a damsel in distress, I was going to give you what you wanted while I jerked his chain. I’m sorry I scared you so badly. I’m used to dealing with agents who would sooner have their hearts cut out than cry.”
She narrowed her eyes on the man before her. Still skeptical, Marianne wasn’t sure what to believe. “How do I know you’re who you say you are?”
“You’ll just have to take my word for it.”
“If I don’t?”
Reno laughed. “I really like this woman, Retter. She thinks you’re an asshole, too.”
He gave Reno a cold, brutal look before those piercing
ly blue eyes moved back to her. “You’d be wise never to accept my word on anything, but if I kill Kyle, I’d have to explain it to Joe, and then he’d get bent and then I’d have to kill him, too, and that would make his woman go wild on me. And it’s all just more trouble than even I want to deal with at the moment. So, see, he’s safe.”
There was a light in his eyes that said he would enjoy the challenge of the fight in spite of what he said, but there was also something charming and oddly warm about this man.
Marianne nodded quietly at him. “He’d better be safe,” she warned him. “I don’t know who Joe or his woman is, but if you do anything to Kyle, I swear Joe’s woman going wild on you will seem like a walk in paradise compared to what I’ll do to you.”
KYLE STALKED BACK and forth in anger as he tried to figure out who could have taken Marianne while he slept.
He discounted the morons on the other side of the island. He’d been hanging them from trees and escaping them with barely more than a fierce growl. They could never have perpetrated anything like this.
It would have to be someone stealthy. Someone who knew how lightly he slept and how to move about without waking him…
He cursed as one name resonated in his head.
Retter.
There was no one else it could be.
Kyle’s sight clouded at the thought. It had to be. Retter was the only man Kyle had ever known who could maneuver around him while he slept and not wake him. The man was part ghost.
But how did Retter know about Tyson Purdue?
He’d made the name up and…
He paused as he glanced back at the chicken and the crisp handwriting.
There must be a bug on him somewhere. There had to be. Joe was ever paranoid about losing agents and bugged almost every piece of equipment they had. The only reason Kyle hadn’t thought of it sooner was the fact that every time he called Joe demanding a ride out of this place, Joe had laughed at him and told him to get lost.
It had never occurred to him that Joe would have the stuff on the island tagged, but since he’d raided the BAD supply closet for supplies, he should have known.
“Damn it.”
Pissed and wanting blood, he called the number again.
No one answered.
So he dialed Joe’s office, where Joe’s assistant director, Tee, picked it up on the third ring.
Big Guns Out of Uniform Page 7
