“Yes, that’s right. I studied at Oxford.”
“I never introduced myself—Hunter Murdock,” he said, reaching across Mason toward her.
Emma took his hand, and the feel of his large, slightly calloused hand wrapping around hers sent goosebumps across her flesh. Making her feel inexplicably safe.
Tendons bulged from his skin, and muscles twined up his thick forearm. His hand was rough but warm, and he held hers just a beat too long.
“Emma,” she said, suddenly feeling foolish as she stared at him.
Reluctantly, she pulled away, not unaware of his fingertips just grazing across her skin as he let her go.
“Well, Emma Nolastname, you must not go digging around through ancient ruins Indiana Jones style—your hands are too soft.”
She pressed her lips together, trying not to break into a smile. “I primarily do research now. My findings have been published in multiple academic journals around the world. But don’t worry, I logged plenty of hours in the field back at university.”
“Beauty and brains,” Hunter quipped. “A dangerous combination.”
He winked at her again, and she felt an unexpected surge of warmth wash over her skin as her heart pounded. She wasn’t the type of woman to fall at a man’s feet, but she had a feeling he could charm the pants off anyone.
Not that she planned on showing him her knickers.
Her face flamed at the thought, and she only hoped he didn’t notice.
Right.
With her fair complexion, that was like asking someone not to notice the sun rising every morning.
“I do travel frequently for work, but I’m usually poring over research and documents, not digging up ancient artifacts. I’ll admit the latter sounds far more interesting though. Probably makes for better stories at cocktail parties as well.”
“How often do you travel?” he asked.
“Every month or so. It really just depends on what I’m working on at the moment and where I am in my research. Why do you ask?”
Hunter exchanged a glance with Mason, who looked up from texting someone on his mobile. “Just curious about something. Where was your last trip?”
“The Middle East,” she said, not elaborating.
Her own mobile vibrated in her backpack, and she pulled it out, glancing down at the screen to see another text from her neighbor.
A man was here looking for you earlier. Should I ring the police again?
I’m worried about you.
Emma shoved her mobile into her backpack, swallowing. Maybe she should ditch the thing all together. If the men looking for her had found out where she lived, they could certainly find her mobile number. Track her using GPS or some other technology.
Coming back to London with the documents she’d discovered was a big mistake.
Piercing blue eyes met hers as she looked up. She scanned the chiseled planes of his face, the firm set of his jaw.
Hunter’s eyes narrowed as his gaze fell on her backpack.
“I should get going,” she said, suddenly climbing down from the barstool. “That was my neighbor—there’s a problem at my flat.”
“Emma,” he said, nailing her with a gaze.
Her eyes were drawn to the earpiece she hadn’t noticed before. To the way his eyes swept around the entire pub before once again meeting hers.
“Who are you?” she asked, her heart racing as sudden awareness seeped through her.
Loud laughter erupted from a group of men behind them, her head turning in their direction, and when she looked back toward Hunter and Mason, she was startled to see two Middle Eastern men seated at a table not far from them.
London was a huge, diverse city, with a population of nearly nine million people—but that didn’t stop her from trembling as her eyes took in the scar on one man’s cheek and the crooked nose of the other. As she recalled talking to them in the market in Kabul last week.
They’d blended in then, with traditional Afghani dress and beards.
But she’d recognize their faces anywhere.
“Shit,” Mason said at the same moment Hunter was on his feet.
Mason adjusted something in his ear, and she realized both of them were listening in on something. Or to someone.
Holy crap. Were they somehow involved with the men who’d kidnapped her? Were they after her, too?
Hunter moved toward her as Mason headed in the opposite direction, Hunter’s broad form blocking her view. He towered above her, his wide shoulders right in her line of vision as he gently wrapped his thick fingers around her forearm. “We have to get you out of here,” he said, ducking low so that his head hovered near hers.
His clean, spicy scent filled the air between them as her heart pounded.
As she panicked and couldn’t decide whether to stay with him or run.
“But how—what? I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Those two men you’re frightened of?” he asked, his voice gravel. “That’s whose conversation we’re listening in on. That’s who just spotted you.”
“You said you were in the military!” she accused, looking up at him. “What are you doing here in a London pub watching men like them?”
“We are,” Hunter assured her. “It’s long story. Which I’ll explain after we get you out the back door.”
“Why do I need to go out the back door?”
His blue eyes blazed. “Because they saw you. Mason is cutting them off. Now go!”
Emma gasped as Hunter crowded into her space, leaving her no choice but to step back.
Turn.
Run.
Her eyes scanned the pub, but everything else was normal—people laughing, throwing back drinks. The bartender sliding shots across the counter. More people coming in after work for a drink.
It was just her world that was unraveling around her.
She heard a table crashing to the ground behind her, men shouting. The sound of glass breaking.
Hunter’s large hand spread across her back, jolting her back into the present as his warmth seeped into her. As his presence behind her calmed her racing mind.
“They spotted you, Princess. Now move!”
***
Emma ran toward the emergency exit of the pub, the fire alarm sounding as she pushed open the heavy door. Hunter’s large frame loomed behind her, shoving the door the rest of the way open with ease as they exited onto the busy, traffic-filled street.
It was beginning to drizzle in typical London fashion, the drab sky perfectly mirroring her feelings. She ran to the corner, a red double-decker bus following a stream of taxis driving by. Leave it to her to escape the men in the pub but be stopped by the damn London traffic.
Tourists snapped pictures from the bus at the commotion behind her, and she hastened a glance back. Hunter was right behind her, his intense gaze sweeping the area as other onlookers stopped. With his jaw taut and fists clenched, he looked ready to take on anything or anyone who might come after them.
Not that one man was a match for the ones that had tried to grab her in Kabul.
“What about your friend?” she asked. “He’s still back in the pub!”
Patrons were now streaming out of the doors as the fire alarm blared, some of them still holding their drinks and laughing as if it were an everyday occurrence. Sirens sounded in the distance as more fat raindrops began to fall, the skies about to burst, and Emma brushed away one cold raindrop that landed on her cheek.
Hunter watched, looking unfazed as he stood there in his tee-shirt and cargo pants. Like he ran out of pubs every day with a woman he didn’t know. Left his buddy behind to fight the bad guys.
His bicep flexed as he adjusted his earpiece once again, the cotton of his tee-shirt stretching around the huge muscle.
Good heavens. She wasn’t normally one to ogle a man, but this one was a sight to behold.
Too bad she had bigger problems to deal with.
“He’s subdued them,” Hunter said, his voice gruff.
“Said to get the hell out of here.”
“Both of them?”
Blue eyes flicked back to her. Blazed. “My men are well-trained. We’ve taken on much worse than those two fuck-ups—excuse my language. Mason can catch up with us later.”
“Why were you listening in on their conversation?”
“No time to explain right now,” he said, placing his hand on her lower back as he stepped closer. “There are other men involved. Other people who could be watching us right now. We need to get you out of sight.”
She looked around frantically, as if the answer would somehow appear out of thin air. The rain began falling harder, quickly dampening her long hair and cashmere sweater. Leaving round water stains on the leather backpack she was still tightly clutching.
“Come on,” Hunter said, guiding her across the street as the light changed. “I need to grab my gear from the hotel and we’re outta here.”
“I can’t go back to my flat—they ransacked it earlier. My neighbor texted my mobile and said the entire place had been torn apart.”
Hunter’s jaw was set in a hard line as he glanced down at her. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“What? Why would I?” she asked, looking up at him and blinking as wet drops stuck to her lashes. “I don’t even know you. I ducked into the pub because I thought someone was following me.”
“And you were right,” he quipped. “Come to my hotel.”
“I’m not staying there with you.”
“Nope. We’re grabbing some stuff and leaving. If they’re following you, the last thing I want is to be a sitting duck in a damn hotel room. Those men are far more dangerous than you know.”
Emma chuffed out a laugh, coming to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. “Are you serious? They nearly kidnapped me from a market in Kabul a week ago—I know exactly how dangerous they are. Those two men in the pub tried to sell me off to some foreigners. And what makes you think I trust you anyway? For all I know, you could be working with them.”
Hunter nailed her with a glare, swiping the back of one large hand across his eyes to wipe away the rain. Tiny droplets of water still clung to his chiseled face. Dampened his dark hair. “I just hustled you out the back door and left my buddy there alone.”
“You won’t even tell me why you were there in the first place! Why should I believe a word that you say?”
“I’ll explain later, princess. It’s not safe here on the street. Now let’s roll out.”
Taking a deep breath, she reluctantly hurried along beside him, swinging her backpack onto her back and trying to keep up with his long strides.
A taxi driving through a puddle sent a spray of water splashing onto Hunter’s cargo pants, and he muttered a curse, barely breaking his stride.
“Why are they after you?” he asked, voice gruff.
He suddenly grabbed his mobile from his pocket and glanced at the screen, frowning, as he tried to shield his device from the lingering rain with one hand.
“Is everything okay?”
“Damn peachy,” he muttered, his eyes sweeping the surrounding area. “Just my CO updating me on some intel.”
“Your CO?”
“The boss man.”
Emma laughed despite herself, drawing another smirk from Hunter as his gaze once again locked with hers. She cleared her throat. “You want to know why they were after me? It turns out I discovered something they want back.”
“Care to fill me in?”
“At the moment—no.”
“You can trust me,” he said, his voice gruff.
“You’ve given me no reason to.”
The corner of his mouth quirked up. “Aside from hustling you out the door and ensuring your safety you mean?”
“Aside from that,” she agreed.
He grumbled something unintelligible. “You want to know what I do? I’m a Navy SEAL. We were on our way back from an op and are here in London on R&R, just like I already said. And I happened to be in the right place at the right time and agreed to do a little off-the-books surveillance.”
“On the two men in the pub?”
“Affirmative,” he said. “That’s my hotel right over there,” he added, nodding at a building across the busy street. “I need to grab my stuff, and then we’ll figure out our next move.”
“We?” she asked, looking at him in confusion.
“I’m here to gain intel on those two men—if they’re after you, that means you’re involved too, princess.”
“I don’t like any of this.”
Hunter chuffed out a laugh. “Neither do I. Not tracking down men affiliated with a terrorist group on my R&R—in the middle of goddamn London—not leaving Mason alone in the pub to fend for himself, and I sure the hell don’t like the fact that you’re wrapped up in all of this.”
“You don’t even know me,” she protested.
“I’m a damn Navy SEAL. The definition of my career is helping people. I can’t talk about specifics, but know this—I’d never let harm come to a woman. Never.”
His jaw clenched in a hard line as she gazed up at him, and her exhaustion from the past week finally began to sink in as her adrenaline rush faded. She sniffed, blinking back tears, and looked warily toward his hotel.
Swallowed.
Hunter gaze shifted to her in surprise.
“I just don’t know what to do—I don’t have anywhere to go. I mean, it’s not like I can drag my friends into this. And the men who are after me already found my flat.”
“You’ll come with me. It’s already decided.”
“Nothing’s been decided.”
“I have connections. You tell me what information you have, and we’ll make sure it gets into the right hands. If it’s enough for them to chase you all the way back from Afghanistan, it must be pretty damn important.”
“But how will that stop them from coming after me?”
A shadow crossed his face. “It won’t. But we’ll figure it out.”
***
Emma followed Hunter into the ornate lobby of the hotel, wrapping her arms around herself as she shivered. Nothing like a cold London downpour to dampen her spirits—no pun intended. Long, wet locks of hair stuck to her face, her drenched sweater clung to her like a second skin, and for a moment, she recalled the 95-degree heat in Afghanistan a week ago. The sticky perspiration on the back of her neck as she wandered through the bazaar.
Funny how she would’ve given anything then for a nice, cool London day.
She’d best be careful what she wished for though before she ended back up in the godforsaken place. Because if those men dragged her back, she certainly wouldn’t be spending time in the market on a beautiful, sunny day.
She walked carefully across the oriental carpet of the hotel’s lobby, eyeing the plush lounge chairs arranged around a low table. Wouldn’t she love to sink into one for a moment—if only it wasn’t in plain sight of the street and hundreds of people walking by.
Who knew who was watching them? Who else had been following her around London?
She’d rest later, when she figured out somewhere safe to go.
When she figured out if the man she was with was someone she could trust.
She shuddered, Hunter’s gaze sliding toward her as he punched a button for the elevator. “You cold?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“You’re soaking wet,” he said, his voice soft. “I have some clothes you can change into.”
The elevator doors opened, and he glanced behind them, his eyes narrowing. Emma realized once again that she should be paying more attention. Should be watching everyone around her. Her gaze followed his, but she didn’t see anything out of the ordinary—a couple strolling across the lobby, hand-in-hand. An Australian family checking in as their young toddler jumped up and down.
What did she expect? Someone to jump out from behind the rubbish bin and demand she hand over the documents?
Hunter gestured for her to go ahead, and she stepped on
to the elevator, grateful to be out of sight. “I doubt your clothes would fit me anyhow,” she commented. “You’re quite a bit taller than me.”
He jabbed at the elevator buttons for several different floors, the snake tattoo twisting on his muscled forearm as each number lit up, and she looked at him questioningly.
“Just in case anyone was watching for what floor we get off on. The display is above the elevators in the lobby, and I can’t assume no one was watching.”
“Right,” she said faintly, feeling completely out of her element.
“And as for my clothes?” he said, cracking his knuckles as he appraised her. “I won’t complain if you want to walk around naked, princess, but you don’t seem like the type. I don’t like the idea of you walking around shivering in wet clothes all night either, but be my guest if that’s what you prefer.”
She gave a faint laugh, tears smarting her eyes again.
“Hell,” he muttered, running a hand through his damp hair.
His wet tee-shirt clung to his chest, and she could see the outline of every muscle. Broad pecs, rippling abs—the guy could be the model Michelangelo’s David was chiseled from. Maybe he really was a Navy SEAL—what did she know about the American military anyway? It seemed quite strange that he’d be here in London listening in on conversations to men who had terror ties, but perhaps it was some black ops type thing he wasn’t supposed to talk about.
The type of thing she’d seen only in movies.
Yet he’d told her.
She certainly knew better than to go to a hotel room with a strange man she’d barely just met, but at the moment, what choice did she have? She couldn’t go back to her flat. Shouldn’t call any of her friends on her mobile.
Not without risking harm coming to them.
Emma knew next-to-nothing about Hunter, yet if her choice was him or those two men she’d run from?
Her gut told her she could trust him.
She brushed the tears away as he stepped closer, feeling foolish. She wasn’t even certain if they were tears of laughter or sheer exhaustion at this point. His gaze briefly dropped to her chest, and as her eyes followed his, she blushed, realizing the lacy outline of her bra was now evident through her thin cashmere sweater.
Tempted by a SEAL (Alpha SEALs Book 8) Page 4
