A canopy of stars twinkled above her, the most beautiful sight she had ever seen. She raised her head, listening for sounds of water, but all she saw was dark ocean and darker land. Then through the starlight she saw a narrow trail between big boulders. Exhausted, she stumbled down the path, stopping every few minutes to rest.
Her hands ached. Her hair was covered with dirt and leaves. When she pressed her palms against her shirt, she saw the dark imprint of drying blood.
High above her head a shooting star blazed through the sky in an arc of light. Miki didn’t move, barely able to breathe. When she looked down, she saw a narrow ledge whose rough face fell away into a sheer cliff. The shooting star had saved her life.
One more step would have sent her to her death in the ocean two hundred feet below.
Shivering, she inched away from the edge. But then a rat raced past her and she jumped aside in surprise. As one foot hit loose gravel, she lost her balance and grabbed wildly at the air. The shrill cry of a sea bird carried on the wind as she pitched forward into darkness.
IT WAS PITCH BLACK, AND Max liked it that way.
Hand over hand he climbed the stone cliff, muscles straining. There was no movement of the equipment strapped to his waterproof vest. Every piece of ammunition and all sensing devices had been carefully taped in place, secured in zippered compartments. Silent and lethal, he scaled the rocks, swinging effortlessly from handhold to handhold until he was eighty feet above the ocean. Wedging his foot into a narrow ledge, he looked inland, his thermal camera clicking softly. In a little over two hours, the sun would burst in a red cloud across the eastern horizon. He had to be out of sight well before that. But first Max needed high-resolution images of three locations on the nearby island, visible only from this high vantage point.
When he had taken two dozen thermal images, he stowed the camera in a watertight pocket and checked his watch. Quickly Max rechecked his equipment and then made his way back down the cliff by rope, repeating his swim through the choppy, predawn waters.
At the edge of the beach Truman was waiting for him, edgy and alert. He gave no sign of his earlier collapse, running in tight circles, tail wagging. But when Max started toward the bunker, the Lab cut him off, tugging hard at his leg. At this clear alert, Max’s hand went to the revolver inside his waterproof vest. He watched Truman make a half circle, then paw the ground.
Danger.
The big dog sniffed the wind, looked at Max and headed north parallel to the beach.
Max was right behind him.
CHAPTER TEN
MIKI’S BODY TWITCHED. Darkness stretched around her and small creatures skittered through the night, but she didn’t wake, drifting through a landscape of broken promises, fifteen again. In that world of dreams, her father was gone, her mother facing a crippling fight with cancer, dying in Miki’s arms.
Once confident and enthusiastic, in her dream Miki again pushed everyone away. Her last two years of high school had been spent with an unmarried aunt who was clueless about the needs—and fears—of a high-strung teenager. Only with her camera had Miki felt in control of her world. Only with her lens did she forget her awkwardness, her height, her pain.
Caught in bleak memories and anxious dreams, she climbed mountains, running from her past. Her hand reached out, digging into the warm dirt to frame a picture that would never be taken.
She didn’t feel the rat crawling over her hand. She didn’t see the bank of clouds move in from the west and extinguish the stars one by one.
MAX’S FINGERS CLENCHED ON the grip of his gun as he followed Truman into the jungle. They had already crisscrossed the beach, and Truman seemed more agitated than usual, unable to focus. The Lab had a matchless reputation for terrain reconnaissance, but some part of Max’s mind couldn’t relax as he crept through the shadows beneath the rustling trees. The hell of it was, the island would have been beautiful under different circumstances. The air was balmy, scented with night-blooming jasmine. It was the perfect spot for an upscale resort catering to vacationing honeymooners.
But now it was a place of shadows and danger.
Truman turned sharply, following an incline dotted with boulders. As they climbed, Max looked down and saw the cave directly below them.
Gravel skittered in the darkness. Max heard a squeak as a dark shape shot past Truman.
Rats.
Max gave a mental curse as he scanned the terrain. Like all the Foxfire team, he had perfect vision up to 500 yards at night, due to extensive photoreceptor enhancements. He calculated their location, pinpointing the top of a rocky promontory that overlooked the beach, waiting for Truman’s next alert.
The dog moved forward slowly, then sank onto his haunches. Follow with caution.
Carefully Max crossed the slope and within two steps he heard a low moan. Truman sat down next to a dark shape, unmoving between two boulders. It was Miki. She rolled sideways, gasping as her head struck a rock.
“Relax,” Max whispered. He slid one hand over her face, feeling for blood or signs of trauma.
She took a sharp breath, trying to sit up, but his hands tightened, holding her where she was in case of trauma. Of course, if she had incurred spinal or other neurological damage, there wasn’t a damn thing Max could do to help her.
Even if he did break cover to radio Ryker, they wouldn’t be able to get a team here in time to make any difference. That was one of the reasons he’d locked her up in the bunker, protection as much for her as for him.
“Throat hurts.” Her voice cracked. “Dry.”
Max tipped his canteen, wetting her lips, but giving her no more than a taste. He didn’t want her choking.
Even without direct contact, he picked up her stress and confusion like a weight across his own shoulders.
“Why were you—”
“Save the questions.” He checked his watch, anxious to get her down the hill and out of sight before first light. “Can you walk?” he whispered. “Don’t answer. Just nod your head for yes.”
She moved cautiously, as if checking for anything broken, then her head moved up and down.
Yes.
“Put your arm over my shoulder and get up slowly. It’s about fifty yards down the hill. Understand?”
She nodded again.
Silently, Max checked her for signs of blood, but found only dried patches on her shirt and jean shorts—a very good sign. When he tightened his arm around her waist and helped her stand, she kept as much distance between them as possible while Truman shot ahead of them, following a narrow path between the rocks.
In growing impatience, Max urged her forward. As the slope grew steeper, she tried to pull away and nearly fell. Without a word, he swung her over his shoulder, ignoring her gasp of surprise. They weren’t going back to the bunker yet. He had had a clear impression of Cruz in the passing airplane, which mean he couldn’t risk returning yet. Instead Max scanned the shadows below.
An open stretch of sand separated them from a partly beached Japanese gunboat. Truman sniffed the air, waiting expectantly. At Max’s touch command, the Lab shot over the sand toward the old boat while Max followed, carrying Miki. He tried to ignore the pressure of her hips and the chance movement of her arm against his thigh. The fool was lucky she hadn’t broken her neck, he thought grimly as he climbed onto the rusting deck and carried her down a listing companionway. The lower deck had one tattered mattress in a cramped bunk bed, and he left her there.
“I’ll be back.” Before she could ask more questions, he retraced his steps, found a large palm frond and brushed away all traces of their steps while working his way back to the boat.
There was no movement at sea. A faint skein of pink unraveled across the horizon and shimmered over the gray water.
Dawn coming.
Even before he reached the companionway, Max had his questions ready. “How did you get outside?”
She stared at him, exhausted but defiant. “I found a tunnel. Truman acted strange and ran off, so I
thought I’d look for some water. Where did you go?”
“I was getting supplies.”
Never tell the truth when a lie will do.
She winced, cupping her right ankle. “Who are you really working for—what branch of the military?” She stood up awkwardly. “Not that I really care. All I want is for you to take me to that radio.” She glared at him and jabbed one finger at his chest. “I’m tired and I’m sore and I want to go somewhere—anywhere—that has running water and hot coffee. Your business is your business.”
Her weight shifted to her right foot as she glowered at him, only inches away, and Max was pulled into the scent cloud of her spilled perfume, faint but still disturbing to his heightened senses. Heat rose from her body, her female chemistry conspiring to distract him, even without direct contact. He picked up stress and fear along with an edgy restlessness that held the scent code of sexual desire.
The combination was like a sucker punch to his gut. He’d never felt a connection so strong before, and that made Max distinctly uneasy.
“Well?” Her face was pale and strained. “When do we leave?”
“After you explain what happened to Truman.”
“How should I know? It started after he brought me the canteen and I hurt my arm—come to think of it, how did he know to bring the canteen? Did you train him to do that?” She frowned. “My friend’s dogs are smart but I don’t think they’re that smart.” She cradled her arm a little, as if it hurt. Then she turned, looking a little unsteady. “I don’t feel so good.” She shook her head, swaying.
“Have you drunk any water?”
“Not th-thirsty. I was at first, but Dutch was weak, so I gave him my water. I was afraid we might run out.” She was shivering, her body stiff. “That was all the water we had and I didn’t know when the heck you would come back.”
“So you haven’t had any water at all since I left?”
“I told you, no. Well, one sip right before I hit my arm and Truman acted strange.” She blinked at him, looking almost drunk. “How did you get to be so strong? I bet you eat raw eggs and chlorella powder, don’t you? And you probably do about a th-thousand sit-ups every day.” She took a ragged breath. “Why do I feel—”
She swayed and Max caught her with one arm. “You’re dehydrated. Sit down on the bed.”
For once she didn’t argue, sinking awkwardly onto the tattered mattress. “Dehydrated? No way. I’m just tired.” Her body shook and she clamped her arms over her knees. “A little stiff, too.”
“That’s from salt depletion, electrolyte imbalance and dehydration.” Max dug in an interior pocket of his field vest and found a salt tablet. “Swallow this,” he said flatly. “Then finish off the water in that canteen.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re not a doctor.”
“Stop talking so you can take this.”
She studied the white tablet suspiciously. “What is it?”
“Salt. No more questions.”
She was shaking now, her arms locked at her waist, and Max started to be worried, even though he didn’t know what kind of rational person gave up all their water to someone else. Self-preservation was primal behavior.
Miki took the pill he held out, slid it around slowly on her tongue and grimaced. “Disgusting.”
“I didn’t say it would taste good.” He held out his canteen. “Drink some more water.”
She took a sip, then closed her eyes, gripped the canteen and pulled it closer, sucking greedily until every drop was gone. After that she ran her tongue around the opening.
Something about the way her mouth hugged the metal rim, searching for every bit of moisture, made muscles clench all along Max’s body, right down to his groin. He couldn’t fight a wave of hot images detailing other things she could do with that full, soft mouth. “I think you got all of it,” he said gruffly.
“I want more.” She pushed the canteen against his chest, frowning. “Now.”
Opening his vest, Max took out a reserve canteen. This time when she drank, he looked away. Watching her mouth was making him painfully hard.
She finished drinking, sighed in satisfaction and wiped her mouth with two fingers, then pushed the canteen back at his chest. “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you’re not a complete jerk. But you should have left us more water. Truman needed some, too.” She looked around the dusty room. “Where did he go?”
“He’s up on deck.”
She nodded a little sadly. “I missed him. He looked…strange, so hostile. It all happened so fast.” She sighed, stabbing her fingers through her hair. “I don’t think I did anything wrong. Most dogs like me.”
There was something wistful in her voice that made Max frown. Her hair had dried in unruly waves, probably because she kept running her fingers through it every two minutes, and the chunky edges suited the strength of her face. But the real problem was he couldn’t keep his eyes away from her mouth, soft and full, the color of raspberries just on the verge of ripeness.
Hell, he was doing it again. Why did he keep thinking about kissing her?
“I’m going to call Truman down here,” he said curtly. “I need to see how he reacts.”
“Sure.” She shrugged. “But if he bites me, I’m going to sue you.” She was still shaky, her arms tense.
“Maybe you should lie down,” Max said, touching her arm.
Miki’s eyes flashed to his gloves. “Do you wear those things all the time?”
“Yes.” When Max tried to urge her to lie down, she winced.
“Hey, watch it.” She frowned as she rubbed her arm gingerly. “No need to get violent.”
“Something wrong with your arm?”
“It’s been bothering me the last few weeks ever since a jerk bumped me at the Java Express back home. First the creep spills a full caramel macchiato all over my arm, then he vanishes. No apology or anything.” She rolled her shoulder carefully and winced again. “My arm’s been bothering me ever since.”
“Did you see a doctor?”
Miki shrugged. “He said it was a second-degree burn. Everything healed up except for an ugly scar, but it keeps bothering me.”
Max felt a tickle of uneasiness. “Bothering you how?”
“Itching sometimes. Throbbing and burning other times.” She passed her hand through her hair again and he watched, fascinated by the colors and textures. There was a whole realm of reckless life in that one simple movement, and Max had a sudden feeling that trying to pin this woman down would be like trying to catch sunlight in his hands.
“Why are you asking all these questions?” She rubbed her forehead. “I want more water.”
“After you tell me about the jerk with the coffee.”
Her eyes looked unfocused. Max knew she was still feeling the effects of dehydration. Now was the best time to question her, while her guard was down. He wanted every detail of Truman’s behavior.
“The jerk in the Java Express, you mean? What’s to tell? He was about 170 pounds. Short build. Dark tan, red hair going gray. He had a small mole above his left eyebrow.”
“You saw all that?” Max frowned. “How? It couldn’t have been more than twenty seconds.”
“Ten. I’m a photographer, remember.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “If I can’t see, I can’t work. We see when we’re kids, but time goes by and life starts creeping in. First the colors go, then the imagination. Pretty soon you’re seventeen and you can’t notice things anymore. At least not the things that matter.” She sounded wistful when she said the last part, and Max found himself wondering why.
“Something happened to you, didn’t it? You want to tell me about it?”
She looked away, shrugging. “It’s history. I never do the past. No point.” Her voice was firm, cutting off that line of discussion, which left him more curious than ever.
As he leaned down, he caught the hint of her perfume and the faint citrus scent of shampoo. Ignoring a warm nudge of desire, he raised her sleeve. “You’re bleeding.”
“I told you, I bumped that spot on my arm.”
Max pulled out a sterile wipe and cleaned away some of the blood.
Miki flinched and gave a sharp yelp. “Watch out.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I felt some kind of jolt, almost like you hit a nerve.”
Max knew he hadn’t come close to any nerves. “Let me take a look.”
She didn’t move, looking tense and still wary, and he wondered if she had any idea how vulnerable she appeared to him.
“Look, Miki, I need to check you out. If something’s wrong, I’ll know it.”
“I told you, the burn is completely healed.”
“Maybe, maybe not. You could have torn something open during your fall.” He dropped his medical kit on the empty cot. “Sit.”
“Do you always snap out orders to everyone?”
“Mostly, yes.”
“Then you must not have many friends.” She didn’t sound snide, merely curious. “What do your girlfriends have to say about that bad habit of yours?”
“Girlfriends? How many do you think I have?” he said grimly.
“Quite a few. You don’t look like the type to settle down. Definitely not the type for celibacy.” She studied him gravely. “Nope, no monogamy for you, not even serial monogamy. You’re definitely a play-the-field, go-for-the-action kind of a guy.”
Max shook his head, irritated at her assessment and wishing it hadn’t been so accurate. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“So tell me.” Her face was intent. “Married, divorced, what?”
“Neither.”
“Not ever?”
“No.” He didn’t know why he answered her. He never discussed his personal life.
“Steady relationship?”
Max shook his head.
“Bingo. Mr. Play-the-Field, just like I said. Bet you’ve got a woman in every port.”
“Stop trying to sidetrack me. I need to see your arm,” he said gruffly. “And my private life is none of your damned business.”
Code Name: Bundle! Page 37
