Living on the Edge

by Shannon K. Butcher

  The man she’d hit stood up and hobbled toward cover, spraying bullets in her direction. They pinged off the Rover’s armor plating. Sloane waited for his assault rifle to empty, popped her head up, caught him in her scope, and fired. He went down, and this time, she didn’t see him move again.

  Four down.

  She peered through her scope, scanning the area, looking for any sign of movement or flash of color that didn’t belong among the thick green and brown foliage.

  Another volley of gunfire sliced through the trees, bouncing off the Rover’s armor. Bark from a tree behind her showered her back, biting into her skin. Sloane flinched, but swiveled her rifle around to where the shot had come from.

  There, in the trees, she saw a glimpse of bright blue. She couldn’t tell what it was, but Lucas was in green and faded denim, so it wasn’t him. She took aim and fired. A sharp howl broke through the jungle and whoever she’d hit let loose with a steady stream of foul curses and automatic gunfire.

  Something hot and heavy crashed into her from behind and drove her to the ground, pinning her there. A blistering surge of rage welled up inside her, making her thrash around beneath the weight.

  “It’s me,” shouted Lucas over the noise.

  His voice settled into her, calming her nerves enough that she was no longer fighting in blind fury. She pulled in a deep breath, preparing to bellow at him to get the hell off of her when more shots ripped through the trees.

  Bark splintered from the trees behind them, showering them with sharp, stinging chunks of wood. Lucas covered her head with his arms and curled himself around her.

  His scent surrounded her, filling her lungs, making her dizzy. The heat of battle, combined with the artificial scent of soap and a deeper, more natural hint of something she couldn’t name wove around her, soaking into her skin. For one long, breathless moment she was wrapped up inside an odd feeling of protection that—for once in her life—didn’t chafe her nerves raw.

  Then, as quickly as the bizarre feeling had come, it was gone, and she was once again herself—ready to give him hell for finding her lacking and in need of protection, like some kind of child.

  Sloane hadn’t been that little helpless girl for a long, long time.

  “Get off me.” She hit him with her elbow hard enough that he grunted. “I’ve got to take him out.”

  “Are you nuts? You’ll get yourself killed if you poke your head up there.”

  “One of us has to stop him.”

  “Then I’ll do it. Stay put.”

  He rolled off of her and moved away before she could grab him. He scooped up her rifle, leveled it over the hood of the Rover, and started shooting. Her rifle. Her target.

  Hell no. This was not going to happen. She was not some wilting female in need of a rescue. He could save that shit for a woman who wanted it. Sloane didn’t need to be rescued. Not ever. It was a matter of personal pride, and one she was fairly sure she’d protect with her life, if need be.

  She crawled under the Rover and came out on the driver’s side. The doors were unlocked, making it quick work to grab the .45 from under the seat. Sure, it didn’t have the same range as the rifle, and there was no scope, but it had plenty of stopping power and a spare magazine, just in case.

  Things had gone eerily silent. No shots pounded at her ears. The nearby wildlife was quiet. No breeze rustled the leaves.

  Sloane picked up a rock and slung it over the vehicle. It thrashed through the undergrowth, drawing fire from both Lucas and the man shooting at them.

  Within half a second, she’d located the shooter, spotting the bright red bloodstain on his shirt. The .45 barked in her hands three times as she fired. The third shot did the trick and sent the man crumbling to the ground.

  Once again, silence settled over them.

  “Nice shot,” said Lucas.

  “That’s five. Do you see any more?” she whispered.

  “One way to find out.”

  He shifted, and for a second she thought he was going to do something stupid like stand up to draw enemy fire. Instead, he stripped out of his shirt, draped it over the rifle, and held it up tentatively, like he might be peeking out to check.

  No one shot at them, which was a good sign.

  “What do you think?” he asked.

  Sloane glanced his way and her gaze stalled out at his back. It was wide and smooth and rippling with muscles. Even with all the little cuts and scrapes he’d gotten, she still couldn’t remember ever having seen anything quite so perfect. She hadn’t meant to notice, but her adrenaline was all revved up, coursing through her system, and apparently, the rest of her hormones had followed its lead.

  A wave of heat slid through her, making her mouth go dry. A bead of sweat trickled between her breasts, forcing her to become all too aware of how her nipples had tightened. Lust was not new to her, but she’d never felt it while on the job before. The men she worked with might as well have been eunuchs for the notice she gave them.

  But not Lucas. She was noticing him. And then some.

  He turned his head, looking over his shoulder at her. His eyes were dark blue, with pale blue shards radiating out like a starburst. Sweat slid over his temple and down the side of his thick neck. His brow was lined with concern. “Sloane? You okay?”

  She swallowed, cleared her throat, and nodded. “Yeah.”

  His frown deepened. “You’re flushed. You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?”

  That question slapped her back to reality. How dared he think she was some kind of weakling? “Hell no.”

  He nodded once. “Good. Stay sharp, just in case we didn’t get them all.”

  As if he needed to tell her that.

  Sloane shook herself, steadied her weapon, and braced it against the vehicle. Her hand had started shaking at some point—something that had never happened to her in a fight before. Put her up in front of a crowded room and ask her to speak, and she’d tremble like an earthquake with Parkinson’s, but in a firefight she was always rock steady.

  Except this time.

  Gina’s life was at stake. Maybe that was the difference. It was personal now, and if she failed, someone she cared about was going to suffer. That was the only thing that made any sense.

  She saw Lucas disappear into the jungle. One minute he was there, and the next he was gone, leaving no trace of his passage. She had to admire skill like that.

  Sloane sat tight, weapon ready, but not overeager. She didn’t know exactly where Lucas was anymore.

  A few tense minutes later, he yelled he was coming out, and then appeared less than twenty feet from her position. “I counted two bodies in the jungle. The guy I’d intended to question regained consciousness and got away.”

  In the distance, she heard the hum of a small engine—like a lawn mower or a motorcycle.

  “Does that sound like some kind of ATV to you?” asked Lucas.

  “It does, which means we’ll be having company.”

  “We should get ready for it.”

  Sloane checked the road. “The truck will serve as a roadblock on that side, at least for a while.”

  “We can’t keep going. We have to turn around.”

  “Feel free,” said Sloane. “I won’t stop you.”

  “You know I can’t leave without you.”

  A few fat drops of rain began to fall. Sloane gathered up Constance and the rest of her weapons. “Not my problem. And I’m not going to argue with you.”

  Lucas wrapped his fingers around her arm. Even through her cotton shirt, she could feel the heat coming off his skin. She looked up at him and his eyes were bright with anger. “You’re going to get yourself killed. Clearly these men mean business. And they’re well equipped.”

  “Which is all the more reason not to dawdle here with you. Gina’s out there. She needs me. Now let go, or you and I are going to have a problem.”

  His lips flattened and blanched of color. “I’m riding with you, where I can keep an eye on you.”


  “Watch me all you like—just don’t get in my way.”

  Raindrops fell with increasing speed. Soon the road would be a muddy, impassible mess.

  “I’ll hide the Jeep in case we need a getaway vehicle,” said Lucas.

  Sloane nodded. “Don’t be long. I won’t wait.” Once she reloaded her weapons and stitched up her arm, she was out of here, with or without him. On one hand, this might be her best chance to get away from him, but on the other, she knew that he was capable and steady in a fight, and Gina might need a man like that around if things turned ugly.

  Which they would. Situations like this always turned ugly.

  Gina Delaney wasn’t exactly sure what she’d gotten herself into, but it was up to her to get herself right back out.

  The mansion where she was being held was a veritable fortress. Sure, it was trimmed in marble floors and crystal chandeliers, but it was still a fortress. Armed guards patrolled the lush grounds outside Lorenzo’s home. The suite where she’d been locked away was nicer than any hotel she’d ever stayed in, but the door had been locked from the outside.

  Guards watched over the delivery of her meals as the little old bent woman rolled a cart into her room and left without lifting her eyes or saying a word. The food was divine, though that might have been because she’d refused to eat it for the first two days she’d been here.

  The sun would soon set on day number three of her captivity, and so far, no one had given her a clue as to why she was here.

  Gina pounded on the door until one of the guards opened it.

  “I want to see Lorenzo,” she told the weathered man holding some kind of machine gun.

  He gave her a blank look. Clearly he didn’t speak English.

  “Lorenzo,” she said, stretching the word out as she pointed to her eyes. “See. Lorenzo. Now.”

  The guard cocked his head to the side, and then shut the door in her face, giving her no indication if he was going to comply with her request, or if he even understood her.

  Great. Looked like she was going to have to do this the hard way.

  Gina peered out of her second-story window. It wasn’t barred. It wasn’t locked. Sure, the fall to the ground could potentially be leg shattering. The drop was at least fifteen feet down, ending on hard stone cobbles rather than nice soft grass like at the boarding school she’d attended.

  She’d snuck out of her room in high school so often she could do it in her sleep, but back then there hadn’t been armed guards wandering the grounds. Even if she did manage to get down without hurting herself, how was she going to get away before being shot?

  “Hurry up, Sloane,” she whispered out the window. “I need you.”

  Gina knew her friend would come for her. Sloane always bailed her out of sticky situations. She had to believe that the separate paths their lives had taken and the lack of time to get together regularly hadn’t changed that.

  But what if it had? What if Sloane couldn’t come? What if she couldn’t figure out how to find her?

  Gina needed a plan. She had no idea why Lorenzo was keeping her here, but it couldn’t be for anything good. As suave as the man was, as easily as he’d drawn her into his seemingly elegant world, she had gotten a glimpse of the snake inside. Just for one brief moment.

  But it had been enough to tell her things were not as they seemed. Lorenzo was not suave and elegant. He was not some gallant corporate executive bent on wining and dining her until she gave in to his seductive desires. He walked the walk and talked the talk, but it was all on the surface. Deep down he was just as bad as all the other low-life scum she’d dated.

  Guess that just went to prove how screwed up her taste in men really was. If she got out of this alive, she was swearing off men. Even great sex was not worth the fear she was fighting back now with every breath she took.

  No. She wasn’t going to think about being afraid. She was brave. She was fine. Sloane was coming, and in the meantime, Gina was going to come up with another plan of escape. Just in case.

  Lucas was soaking wet by the time he hauled his gear over to the Land Rover. Rain fell in sheets so thick he had to shield his eyes from the heavy drops in order to keep from being blinded. He tossed his duffel in the back and got in on the passenger’s side.

  Sloane had stripped down to a tank top and was sewing the wound on her arm closed. There wasn’t a sign of pain in her expression, but the beads of sweat along her brow and the pale cast to her skin told a different story.

  “Need a hand?” he asked.

  “I’m good. Just got grazed.” Her voice was barely loud enough to hear over the rain pounding on the roof.

  “I don’t mind. I’m not squeamish.”

  She twisted awkwardly, trying to see the back side of her upper arm to finish the suturing. Blood mixed with rainwater leaked down her arm, dripping from her elbow. Every time she shifted, trying to find the right angle to see, more blood seeped out.

  Lucas let out a frustrated sigh, which was masked by the thrumming rain. Whether or not she wanted his help, she needed it. He rummaged through the first aid kit sitting open on the dash and found a pair of gloves. They barely stretched over his hands, but they’d work.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Helping you so you don’t rip out the stitches you’ve already put in.”

  “I can do it.”

  He found an alcohol wipe and cleaned off the gloves as best he could. It was far from sterile, but it would have to do. “You’ve still got another inch left to go. Unless you’re planning on sewing it while looking in a mirror, I’m your best bet. Now give me the damn needle.”

  She stared at him for a long moment. The rainblurred foliage of the jungle behind her made her green eyes glow, giving them a feline quality. He knew she had the claws to match; the question was whether or not she was going to use them on him. Again.

  Her shoulders slumped as defeat took over her posture. “Fine. Just try not to leave an ugly scar.”

  “I can do quick or pretty, but not both. I figured you’d want quick.”

  “Spoken like a man. Especially one who’s never had to wear a strapless evening gown.”

  Lucas remembered just how nice she’d looked in one last night. It’d be a crime to ruin something so pretty. “Right. I’ll do what I can.”

  Thankfully, Lucas’s hands were steady as he went to work. Sloane didn’t flinch once, or make a single sound of pain. Tough woman. Which not only made his respect for her inch up a few points; it also relieved the hell out of him. He wasn’t sure if he’d have been able to do this kind of fine work if she’d been hissing and flinching in pain.

  “There,” he announced. “All done. I’m no plastic surgeon, but I think it’ll heal straight. Now, I’ll just bandage you up, and you’ll be as good as new.”

  The rain slowed to a steady pace, but was no longer a deluge of pounding noise. The windows had fogged up, and the air inside the vehicle was thicker, scented with disinfectant and a subtle fragrance he’d come to realize belonged to Sloane. It wasn’t flowery, but there was a sweetness to it that called to him.

  As close as he was to her now, he could simply breathe her in—something he found himself doing when he wasn’t thinking about it.

  “How’s your back?” she asked. “I saw you got some cuts.”

  He hadn’t paid any attention to them before, but now that she said something, his back started to sting. “Nothing serious. Just scratches.”

  Lucas stripped off the gloves and tossed them onto the pile of bloody trash accumulating on the console.

  Uncertainty wavered in her voice. “I’ll, uh, patch you up, if you want. It’s the least I can do.”

  Not wanting to upset their tenuous peace, Lucas nodded. “Thanks. I’d appreciate it. Let me finish here.”

  In this humidity, tape wasn’t going to stick for long, so he placed the sterile pad over her wound and began wrapping her slender arm in gauze. His fingers were bare now, and every time
they grazed her skin, the smooth silk of it shocked him. As tough as she was, as hard as she was to get along with, her exterior was as soft as melting chocolate.

  A delicate shiver shook her spine.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  She was staring at her arm, where his fingers met her skin. Her tongue came out to wet her lips before she spoke. “Yeah.”

  “Are you cold?”

  “No.”

  She didn’t feel fevered. Her skin was warm, but not hot. He looked at her face to see if she was flushed, and her cheeks were a bit pink. “You shivered.”

  She pulled her arm away from his grasp, grabbed the small roll of tape, and turned her back on him, shifting in the seat. “I’ll finish. You’ve done enough.”

  Okay. Clearly it was a dismissal—or as much of one as she could give him within the tight confines of the vehicle.

  Lucas found a small plastic sack, which he claimed for the trash, and began cleaning up. He wadded up the pile of gloves, disinfectant wipes, and gauze, and something sharp dug into the palm of his hand. He jerked back, dropping the trash. “Shit.”

  The curved needle stuck out of his skin with a short length of suture dangling from it.

  Fantastic. As if he didn’t have to dodge enough barbs from Sloane, now this.

  She’d turned back toward him and saw what had happened. “Are you okay?”

  He plucked the needle out and a small drop of blood welled up from the surface of his skin. “Yeah. I just hope you’ve had your rabies shots.”

  It was meant to be a joke, but she frantically grabbed a disinfectant wipe and tore it out of its foil package. “I’m healthy. I swear. I get checked out by the company doctor on a regular basis.”

  “How regular?”

  She scrubbed his wound with the small square, nearly wearing away his skin. It stung like hell, but still, the fact that she was willingly touching him was nice. “Every six months. My last checkup was three months ago and I was completely healthy.”