by Lea Griffith
Spain was a beautiful country, but she spoke limited Spanish and couldn’t read the signs all that well. She recognized that she was heading toward the village of Alcala de Henares, but that was all she knew.
Allie sat wearily in the seat and did her best to slow her racing heart with deep, even breaths. A woman a few seats behind her conversed sparingly with the driver, who glanced at Allie in the rearview mirror, then laughed. She shook off the feeling of impending doom and just prayed the ride was over swiftly.
Thirty minutes later, the bus stopped, pulling along a street that was dark and didn’t look all that safe. Allie got off the bus and began walking, her side burning, her stomach trying to eat her spine, and her mind whirling.
Fatigue pulled at her. She came to the first hotel she saw, a dirty, run-down building, but it had a vacancy according to the sign, so she ignored the shady folks lingering outside the entrance. She didn’t make eye contact and avoided touching anything.
“Cabida?” she asked the old woman at the desk. She was asking for a room, but in reality she needed so much more that this woman and this place could never provide. Safety. She wanted King and safety. In that order.
“Sí,” the woman replied in a hard voice, not looking at Allie, just waiting for the money.
“¿Tiene una habitación disponible?” Allie asked, hoping the woman wouldn’t ask for identification.
“Sí, aquí,” the woman responded and held out her hand for money.
Allie handed her the money. The woman handed her a key, and Allie thanked her.
“Farmacia?” Allie asked the woman.
She pointed and Allie headed back out the door, searching for a pharmacy. There was no CVS or Walgreens in this country, nothing but mom-and-pop stores. Half a mile from the hotel, she located one that was about to close and gathered bandages, cleaning solution, and tape, as well as aspirin. She needed to clean her wound and rewrap it.
She stopped by a small bar that served patatas bravas and grabbed an order before setting off for the hotel. Again, she didn’t make eye contact, shutting herself off from anything other than food and cleaning her wound.
Allie locked her door, set her food on the tiny table in the room, and pulled a small dresser in front of the door for added protection before she turned to face the room. It was small, the lone bed sagging sadly in the middle but covered with a colorful quilt that at least looked clean. The windows were closed so Allie ventured over and opened them, taking in the smell of coming rain and letting it calm her as the thought of rain never had.
She left the windows open. She was on the fifth floor after all, and unless someone could scale the side of a wall or, God forbid, shoot another RPG into her room, she should be safe. Plus, those fragile panes of glass weren’t going to be much of a deterrent to anyone. The bathroom was relatively clean and sported a large claw-foot tub that she hastily began to fill with warm water.
She took her clothes off, washed them out in the sink, and hung them on the curtain rod to dry. The stain on her shirt wasn’t coming out, but at least it was muted now, and her pants and underwear were clean. For a second, she mourned the loss of the gorgeous lingerie King had bought for her. Then the thought disappeared as her stomach yelled at her again.
She patted it gently. “I hear you,” she promised.
She ate quickly, shivering in the aftermath of her fear, and she wondered if King was okay. Her eyelids were heavy, but sleep was a commodity she couldn’t afford right now. So instead she tried to wrap her mind around how the hell she was going to get out of this country and get home.
King had no idea where she was, and though she desperately wanted him to just show up, she knew that wasn’t likely. Her safety net was gone now. She was going to have to go deep like her father had urged her.
She was going to have to save herself.
Allie breathed in deeply, her belly full and her mind raging.
She could do this.
She had no choice.
* * *
King sat gingerly on the bed and just watched her. Relief poured through him as he saw she was alive and well. Unfortunately, she’d left a trail a blind man could follow. But she needed rest, so he was hoping against hope he had at least a few hours before they would need to be on the move again.
Her clothes were drying as they hung over a curtain rod, but she was knocked out, dead-to-the-world asleep. He didn’t have the heart to wake her. How much fear and pain would she know because of him?
He watched her, his gaze traveling over her nose, to her bow mouth, over the curve of her cheek, and down her neck. Everything about her was graceful, from the arch of her brows to the upper globes of those luscious breasts. Her skin glistened in the low, yellow light. He wanted to touch her…to take her. He beat the impulses back. They needed to move soon, so sex was a luxury they couldn’t afford.
The taste back at the villa hadn’t been nearly enough.
But he continued to watch her breathe, thanking God she’d heard him yell at her to run, even as he assured himself she hadn’t managed to get herself killed on the wild trek down the mountains above them. He, Madoc, and Ella had laid down cover fire as she’d retreated, but then they’d been swarmed and it had been hand-to-hand combat for them both. They’d taken out every man who came for them, but King was sure more were on the way.
The villa was destroyed, but they’d found and eliminated each of the twenty men who’d attacked the safe house. Then Ella and Madoc had gone their way and King had gone his, intent on finding the woman who’d stolen the biggest piece of him.
His heart had been pounding when he came to this hotel on the outskirts of the small city. She’d picked the seediest joint she could find, and all he wanted to do was congratulate her.
Savidge’s reach was long, and he was actively seeking them. King wasn’t about to let that bastard get anywhere close to her.
Still he watched her. This tiny woman had burrowed inside him, turning everything upside down for him. It both angered him and made him nervous. Her safety was his priority. Nothing else. Endgame business could wait.
He blinked down at her, unaware he’d even moved. Like an iron filing to a magnet, he was drawn to her. She was beyond beautiful. And he wanted her.
“Allie,” he called softly. “Baby, wake up.”
He wanted her in his arms, so he reached down and picked her up gently. She moaned and curled in to his body, coming to rest in his arms as if she’d rented space there.
Breathless. She made him breathless.
His dick was hard, and his hands wanted to fist in her hair, to pull her up to accept his mouth in whatever way he wanted to give it to her. The desire she stirred in him was madness.
She moaned, and he realized he was an inch away from taking her mouth. So he stood up and covered her. Temptation was living and breathing fire—and its name was Allie Redding.
“King,” she whispered before she winced and settled back down.
He’d had Madoc contact Francisco once King knew where she was holed up. His sat phone rang.
“Cisco?”
“Your Highness.” The man’s voice held laughter. “You should be resting.”
“Shoulda, coulda, woulda. I need you up here. Room 1502, La Jolla Hotel.”
“Coming.”
Thirty minutes later, a discreet knock sounded at the door. King pulled out his gun and opened the door.
He smiled when Cisco lowered his weapon. “I trained your ass well, didn’t I?” King asked him.
“Sometimes, I think too well. Where is she, boss?” Cisco asked as he walked to the bed.
A few minutes later, he’d determined that Allie simply needed more Steri-Strips on the wound at her side. She also had a small cut on her arm, probably from where she’d broken the window and crawled out. “She heals fast. The wound is completely closed, and she
shouldn’t even need the Steri-Strips in another few days. That cut on her arm will heal on its own.”
“Thanks,” King said on a rough exhale.
“This woman means something to you, boss?” Cisco asked.
“This isn’t her fight. I need to get her home safely,” King responded.
“Right. Got that. You don’t want to talk about it.”
King shook his head and sat down heavily beside the bed. Allie hadn’t roused at all, even though Cisco had poked and prodded at her wound. “She doesn’t deserve what was brought to her door, Cisco.”
“Do any of us?” Cisco asked as he packed up his stuff and stood.
“Some of us, maybe,” King replied in a low tone.
“And some of us do all we can to make amends. Be careful, boss, that you don’t confuse your guilt over the past with this woman’s future.”
“You finished?” King asked suddenly, unwilling to let Cisco’s words wrap around his mind.
“I am. I’m heading to Burundi. Chase said a village there is in need of medical help. I’m out tomorrow morning.” He stopped before he opened the door and turned back to King. “She’s nothing like her father. I told her she was, but the truth is, that woman doesn’t have an ounce of subterfuge in her body. Remember that, boss.”
King didn’t reply, just watched Cisco leave before he got up and locked the door.
“King?”
Her voice whispered in his ears, and he turned to her, going to a knee beside the bed. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“How did you find me?”
“I will always find you,” he all but growled. “I need you to dress, Allie. We could have to move quickly.”
She pushed her hair back and did as he asked. He winced that the clothes were still wet, but there was nothing to be done for it. Just like there was nothing to be done for his heart when she looked up at him and asked, “Hold me?”
It was what he wanted, but what he could not give her. He shook his head. “Rest, Allie. We’ve gotta head out soon. I need you alert.”
“Jerkface,” she murmured. She closed her eyes, but not before he saw the hurt in them.
“You’d do well to remember it,” he whispered. “For both our sakes.”
Holy shit, he was done for.
Chapter 23
King came to in a rush, the taste of burning fuel and smoke in his mouth. Even knowing Ella and Madoc hadn’t died that day, the scene was still fresh. He’d allowed himself thirty minutes of rest time. It hadn’t been enough.
“Bad dream?”
Allie’s sultry voice was balm to his fraying mind. He’d lost so much that day in Lebanon. Even if Samson was the only one gone, his loss would haunt King.
“Bad memories,” he corrected her as he sat up in the chair and wiped a hand over his eyes. “How long you been awake?”
She was sitting against the headboard, head cocked to the side, a book of some sort on her bent knees. Her hair was a waterfall of white-blond strands, and he wanted to sink his hands in it.
She grimaced. “Long enough to hear you yell your men’s names in terror.”
He hissed in a breath and glanced at her.
“You should really let me go,” she said, and there was a plea in her voice. She closed the book and looked at him.
“I know.” And he did, but he couldn’t. Not until Dresden and Savidge were six feet deep. Not until she was safe.
“I’ll never be safe again. This crusade is fruitless,” she dropped into his silence.
“I would imagine being Gray Broemig’s daughter is fraught with all manner of danger. But Savidge is after you, probably to get at your father, maybe to get at me. Either way, I’m a bonus, but he also wants you for things you don’t want to know about.”
Her breath hitched, and he felt it in his chest. “So we’re back to me blindly following you?”
“It might be easier if your eyes are wide open. But however it works best for you is how we’ll do it,” he said.
“Can I ask for one thing?”
Her chest rose and fell, and the sheet she’d been holding for dear life earlier was dipping lower with each exhalation. He wanted it to fall. He wanted to pull one of those beaded nipples in his mouth and taste her.
“One. That’s the limit.”
“Kiss me,” she said aloud. “I need to know if it’s as good as I remember.”
Or maybe that was wishful thinking. Whichever it was, he gave in to the need.
He took her mouth, sinking deep into the warmth of her, tangling his tongue with hers, and sipping from her the only way he’d allow himself right now. Her fingers wrapped in his hair, tugging as she became desperate. He held her head still, tormenting her lips, evading her demanding tongue, and giving what he wanted and nothing more.
Until she sighed his name and he was lost. A knock on the door, a louder bang moments later, and King pulled away from her. Their time was up. King didn’t question how Savidge’s men had found them so quickly.
He trained his gun on the door and said, “Allie, take the gun on the bed. Now.”
“Who is it?” he asked through the door.
“Room service” came the muffled response. King didn’t question his instincts. Savidge’s men were here. There’d be time later to figure out how he’d found them so quickly. For now, King had to get Allie out safely. He glanced at her. He was glad he’d had her dress earlier. He watched her settle the gun in her waistband. He nodded to the balcony.
“Get there now. There’s a rope ladder to the roof. Take it and wait for me there,” he ordered her. She hesitated. “Now!” he demanded.
She moved, fear a tattoo on her face before he said, “They’re here, Allie. Trust me, and I’ll get you out of this.”
She scrambled to the balcony as shots began to pelt the room through the door. King grabbed his pack, strapped it over his shoulder, then meshed his back to the wall, checking the rounds in his gun and taking a single deep breath. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Allie heading up the ladder.
He counted to ten, stepped away from the wall, and began firing in return, steady shots in a pattern that would keep them guessing—through the wall, through the door, whatever it took to buy them some time.
He dropped the empty cartridge and reloaded, firing again, dodging sporadic return fire, and watching as the thin wooden door began to splinter from the gunshots.
King saw an arm through one of the holes and fired, hitting the man and hearing him scream in pain. Two more shots, and he was on the balcony. Instead of climbing up the rope to join her, he waited for them to make entry.
Could be suicide, but he had to buy her time to hide on the roof, and he’d do whatever was needed to accomplish that. Another few shots from the men on the other side of the door, and it broke down the middle.
King aimed and dropped the first man with a shot to the head. He fell but two more stepped over his body, firing continuously. King drew back behind the balcony doors, waiting for them to reload. Bits of wall and wood pelted him, and above was Allie, yelling his name.
Something in her voice tugged at King but he had men on his ass. He heard a brief silence, knew it was his moment, and stepped out from behind the balcony wall, firing and dropping two more men.
From the corridor came a sound that had the air in his lungs freezing—rifles being locked and loaded. He had no idea how many men were in the corridor. He reloaded and took off up the ladder, turning to fire below. Keep them guessing, and they might not get a clear shot.
His head was clear. Adrenaline coursed through his body, and he climbed to the roof faster than he’d ever climbed in his life. Allie was there at the top, up and over the small ledge.
A single shot fired, and pain ripped along his calf. It was a graze, but it stung like a razor blade.
He crested the roof and turn
ed to shoot at the men attempting to scale the wall. “I’ve got you,” he said through gritted teeth.
Allie didn’t respond, and as he looked around, his heart leaped to his throat.
Allie was on her knees, a large man behind her holding a gun to her head. Her eyes were wide, chest rising and falling rapidly. The look in her eyes nearly destroyed him. It was acceptance.
“No,” he responded to that look. Then he lifted his gun, and with a move he’d perfected long before he’d ever joined the SEALs, he fired a single shot to the forehead of the man holding her. Blood splattered in her hair, and she fell forward as the man fell back, his hold on her hair broken by his sudden death. King couldn’t stand anyone having their hands on her. He’d kill anyone who tried to hurt her.
She scrabbled to him, tried to crawl into him, and he was up, tugging on her arm and refusing to let her stop moving.
Her sobs were silent, though no less vicious because of it. He felt her trembling even as she ran with him, and when he jumped to another rooftop, she followed him, never breaking stride.
They fled over the rooftops with the report of gunfire ripping through the early morning until he pushed her behind a metal shed on top of one of the buildings. She fell to her knees and released one of the sobs she was holding on to.
King winced hearing it, a part of him wanting to soothe her pain, but knowing that if he didn’t kill whoever pursued them, he’d never be able to comfort her. They’d both be dead.
He unstrapped his pack and placed it beside her. He reloaded his Kimber and handed it to her. “Shoot sporadically, enough to keep them guessing. It’s got a wicked recoil. Be careful,” he said in a rush.
She nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. He looked at her then, noticing her pale cheeks, the circles under her eyes, and the fear darkening her gaze.
“I’m here, baby,” he promised.
She nodded again, hiccupping but chambering a round. She put her free hand on his face, rubbed her thumb over his lips, and smiled. “You’ve got this.”
