Quinn's Woman

by Susan Mallery

  She was less than a foot away when she pressed the barrel of the rifle against his back.

  “Bang, you’re dead,” she said softly. “Now stand up slowly. Ghosts don’t move fast.”

  The man calmly closed her backpack and put his hands in the air. “I heard you crashing around out there. What were you doing? Playing dodge ball with some rabbits?”

  She didn’t appreciate the question or the smirky tone of voice. For one thing, she knew she’d been quiet. For another, she was the one holding the gun.

  “Keep your hands up,” she said as she eased back far enough to keep him from grabbing the rifle.

  When he was standing with his back to her, she considered her situation. The man was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and well muscled. His stealth told her he wasn’t an amateur like many of the participants. Nothing about him was familiar, which meant he was probably Army. Special Forces? Had they sent in a ringer?

  She couldn’t see his sidearm, which worried her. His rifle was on the ground next to his pack, but where was the handgun?

  “How long are we going to stand like this?” he asked conversationally. “Or did you forget the next part? You’re supposed to have me turn around, then we eyeball each other. Once you’ve scared me with your rifle, you tie me up. Can you remember that or should we take it in stages?”

  “You have some attitude, son.”

  “Son?” He chuckled. “Honey, you don’t sound all that old yourself.”

  Arrogant bastard, she thought in annoyance. No doubt he thought because she was a woman, she would be easy to take. She was itching to kick his butt, but she wasn’t going to start something before she knew she could finish it. She might be irritated, but she wasn’t stupid.

  “I have no interest in eyeballing you,” she said. “Put your hands on top of your head, then get on your knees.”

  “But I just stood up,” he protested, sounding like a spoiled child being asked to eat his vegetables. “Why don’t you figure out what you want first, and then move me around.”

  She gritted her teeth. “Listen, mister, you—”

  He moved with the speed of a cheetah racing in for the kill. One second he was standing with his back to her, and the next he spun in a graceful circle. His foot cracked against the rifle with enough force to send pain shooting up her arm. Involuntarily her fingers released the rifle and it crashed to the ground.

  D.J. barely had time to notice. With her arm throbbing, she was at a serious disadvantage. Not that they were going to fight. Her opponent pulled his sidearm out of nowhere and pointed it directly at her head.

  Her brain had started processing information the second the man had moved. She knew that he was as powerful as she’d thought, with lethally fast reflexes. He was tall, had dark eyes and the faint smile curving up his lips contrasted with the cold metal in his hand. He was good. She gave him credit for that. But was he good enough? He’d kicked the rifle, not her. Had his mama taught him not to beat up on girls?

  In keeping with her philosophy of using every weapon at hand, she decided to find out.

  She ignored the gun and drew her throbbing arm up to her chest. With her free hand, she cupped her wrist and forced herself to whimper softly.

  Whatever it took to win, she reminded herself even as she hated the thought of appearing weak.

  The gun never wavered, but the man took a half step forward. “What? I kicked the rifle, not you.”

  She glared at him. “Maybe that’s what you aimed at, but it’s not what you hit.” She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip. “I think my wrist is broken.”

  He frowned. “I didn’t hit your wrist.”

  She glared at him. “Right. Because in those boots you’re wearing you could feel exactly what you connected with. My mistake.”

  Mentally she crossed her fingers, then nearly crowed with delight as he glanced down at his boots. One nanosecond of inattention was all she needed.

  D.J. lashed out with her foot, connecting firmly with the man’s midsection. Even as all the air rushed out of him, he grabbed for her leg. But she’d anticipated the move, and had already spun away.

  The gun disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He had to be weak from lack of air, but he still moved toward her. D.J. prepared for his attack, but when it came, she barely saw movement before she found herself tumbling onto the wet ground.

  Part of her brain tried to figure out what exactly he’d done, while the rest of her recognized that the lack of pain anywhere meant he’d held back. He’d upended her with enough contact to send her tumbling but not enough to cause pain. How did he have that much control?

  She wanted to summon up a little righteous indignation. How dare he treat her differently because she was female? But she was too busy scrambling to her feet and trying to figure out what he was going to do next.

  D.J. crouched and cleared her mind. With a deep breath, she centered herself and knew she had to attack rather than wait to be bested.

  As she moved toward him, she saw his arm push out. She ducked, spun and, instead of kicking at his knee as she’d planned, found herself slipping on the wet leaves. Something glinted and she instinctively reached out. Her fingers closed around his gun. He knocked her forearm with his hand so the gun went tumbling. She managed to kick it with a foot, sending it back into the air. With a graceful pirouette, she caught it and started to turn toward him. He ducked, her foot slipped again, and she began to fall. Her right hand shot out, and she accidentally brought the gun down hard on the back of his head. He fell like a stone.

  Her first thought was that he was dead. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her second thought was that she had better get him tied up while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen when he came to.

  CHAPTER 2

  Quinn regained consciousness several seconds before he opened his eyes. He quickly registered the fact that he was lying on his back in the mud with his hands tied behind him. He silently swore in disgust. He’d been downed, not by superior training or force but by dumb luck. Wasn’t that always the way?

  Worse, the woman had tied him up while he’d been unconscious. Not that she would have been able to secure him any other way. He gave her points for gutsiness, but none for the lucky head shot.

  Now what? He figured he would fake being out for a while, just long enough to make his captor sweat his condition. But before he could put his plan into action, he felt a hand settle on his ankle. His interest piqued—no way was he going to miss any part of a show—he opened his eyes.

  The sun had gone down, but there was plenty of light from the small battery-operated lantern she’d set on the ground. He wasn’t sure why she was willing to risk the light, but he appreciated being able to see what she was doing.

  The woman crouched beside him. She felt along the inside of his left ankle and pulled out the knife he’d slipped into his boot. He turned his head and saw she’d already removed the one he’d tucked into his utility belt.

  She ran her hand along the inside of his leg to the knee, then down the outside to his boot. After repeating the procedure on the other leg, she shifted and pressed her palm along the length of his thigh. When she’d nearly reached the good part, he grinned.

  “A little to the left,” he said.

  She glanced up. Sometime in their scuffle, her hat had fallen off. He registered long dark hair pulled back in a braid, brown eyes, a well-shaped mouth and a sprinkling of freckles on slightly tanned skin. Pretty, he thought absently. No, more than pretty. She was both elegant and tough. An intriguing combination.

  One of her well-shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “A little to the left?” she repeated, then slid her hand over his groin and patted him. “I know most men like to think of their equipment as a weapon, but it’s not all that interesting to me.”

  He chuckled. “You say that now, with me tied up and at your mercy.”

  “Uh-huh. Just so we’re clear, there are no circ
umstances that would change my mind.”

  She rose, stepped over to his other side and crouched again, this time running her hands over his other thigh. From there she felt her way up his stomach to his chest.

  He liked the feel of her hands on his body. She moved quickly enough to show she really wasn’t interested, but thoroughly enough to find any concealed weapons. Or so she thought.

  When she’d finished going through his jacket pockets and checking the hem and lining, she sat back on her heels. “You seem to be disarmed.”

  “What about taking off my shirt?” he asked. “I might have something taped to my skin.”

  “If you do, you won’t be getting to it anytime soon, will you?” She tapped his upper arm. “I tie a mean knot.”

  He’d already figured that out. Pulling against the ropes hadn’t loosened them at all. He was going to have to find a different way to escape. Not that he wanted to go anywhere this second. His captor was the most entertainment he’d had in months.

  He swept his gaze over her chest, lingering long enough on her breasts to make her shoulders stiffen. Then he returned his attention to her face. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, but she didn’t complain. Somewhere along the way, she’d learned the rules—if she was going to play in a man’s world, she would have to live by male rules. But that didn’t mean she had to like them.

  They stared at each other, a minor contest of wills. Quinn knew he could wear her down eventually, but decided on something more interesting. A challenge.

  “You cheated,” he said softly.

  He waited for the blink, the blush, the guilt. Instead she only shrugged. “I won.”

  “You took advantage of an accident.”

  “Exactly.” She shifted until she was seated next to him. “Would you have done things any differently?”

  He wouldn’t have needed an accident to win, but there was no point in saying that to her. She already knew.

  “Besides,” she continued, “that was my only chance to tie you up. You wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise.”

  “Good point.”

  “So who are you?” she asked.

  “Your prisoner of war. Do you plan to abuse me?”

  One corner of her mouth twitched. “Stop sounding so hopeful. You’re perfectly safe.”

  “Darn.”

  The twitch threatened to turn into a smile, but she managed to control it. When her expression was serious again, she said, “You never answered the question.”

  “I know.”

  She wanted to know who he was, and he would tell her...in time. Right now, despite the cool evening and the damp mud, he was enjoying himself. He had thought the war games would be boring and without any challenge. He was glad to be wrong.

  She drew one knee up to her chest and leaned toward him. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me why you looked down. You’re a good fighter. You had to know it was a mistake.”

  A good fighter? Now it was his turn to hold in a smile. He was a whole hell of a lot more than that. She’d never stood a chance, and he would guess she knew enough to figure that out.

  Her chin jutted out at an angle that was pure pride. Who was she? Military?

  “I knew you were setting me up and I wanted to see what you would do,” he said.

  She stiffened. “You were testing me?”

  “More like playing with you.”

  Her breath caught in an audible hiss. Dark eyes narrowed again and he had a feeling she was itching to draw blood.

  “Quinn Reynolds,” he said to distract her. “Now that you’ve felt me up and all, we should probably be on a first-name basis with each other.”

  She ignored the bait. “So you won’t tell me when I ask, but you’ll share the information on your terms?”

  “Something like that.” He figured she wasn’t going to offer her name, so he changed the subject. “Where’s your partner?” he asked.

  “He’ll be back any minute, and then we’ll take you to headquarters. He took in our first four prisoners. Where’s your partner?”

  “I got here too late to be matched up with anyone. Besides, I prefer to work alone.”

  “Of course you do.” She sounded mildly amused. “You macho paramilitary types always do.”

  “That’s more than a little judgmental.”

  “It’s accurate.”

  Quinn couldn’t argue with that. Instead he glanced up toward the damp, gray sky. “The rain’s going to start up again. If you’re not going to march me back to headquarters anytime soon, you could at least drag me under some cover.”

  She, too, glanced at the sky, but in the darkness, there wasn’t much to see. He half expected her to leave him in the mud, but she surprised him by getting a tarp out of her backpack and spreading it under a nearby tree. Then she grabbed him under his arms and dragged him onto it.

  Her strength impressed him, while her expression of annoyance amused him. What had her panties in a bunch? That her partner wasn’t back yet? That they both knew he was better than she was and probably only her prisoner for as long as it suited him?

  “So what are you?” he asked. “Not military.”

  She sat cross-legged on the edge of the tarp. “How can you be sure?”

  “Am I wrong?”

  She shook her head.

  Just then the skies opened. Rain pounded the ground. In a matter of seconds the place where he’d been lying became a puddle. He pulled his knees toward his chest to get his feet out of the deluge.

  His captor looked annoyed. He could hear her thoughts from here. How had he known it was about to rain? Who was this guy? Although he guessed she probably wasn’t using the word guy in her mind. No doubt she’d chosen something more colorful.

  “If you’re not going to tell me your name,” he said, “I can try to guess.”

  She adjusted the lantern and ignored him.

  “Brenda,” he said.

  She didn’t blink.

  “Bambi? Heather? Chloe? Annie? Sarah? Destiny? Chastity?”

  She sighed. “D.J.”

  He wanted to know what the initials stood for but didn’t ask. She would be expecting that. Instead he said, “I’d offer to shake hands, but I’m all tied up at the moment.”

  She smiled. “I can see that.”

  Hey—a sense of humor. He liked that. A rough, tough woman in a very feminine package. If he could just get her to give him another full body search, his evening would be complete.

  * * *

  D.J.glanced at her watch and knew that her boy toy wasn’t going to make his way back to her anytime soon. It had been nearly four hours since Ronnie had left. He was either lost or captured. If he was close, she would hear him thrashing around in the bush. The silence told her she was very much alone with her prisoner.

  She turned her attention back to Quinn. For a man who’d been left tied up on the ground for a couple of hours, he looked surprisingly relaxed. The rain had stopped, but it was still cool and damp. She shivered slightly. She would like nothing more than to head back to camp. There was only one thing stopping her...one very tall, very strong, very male thing.

  “The rules of engagement state that a prisoner may do whatever he can to escape,” she said. “However, once he and his captor start back to headquarters, he must go quietly.”

  Quinn nodded. “I heard that, too.”

  “And?”

  He shrugged. “I was never one to follow the rules.”

  Just what she’d thought. With Ronnie helping her, she might have a shot at keeping possession of Quinn. But with only herself to guard him, he would get away. She hated to admit that, but it was true. He was too good.

  She eyed his powerful body and wondered who and what he was. How much did he know that she didn’t? Where had he learned it? She’d never met anyone like him, and being around him made her want to ask a million questions. Not that she would. Showing interest meant tipping her hand—something she’d learned never to do.

&
nbsp; “If you won’t cooperate, we’re stuck here until morning,” she said. “We’ll be picked up by one of the patrols.”

  “Fair enough—I don’t have to take a midnight hike, and you get credit for my capture.”

  She didn’t trust his easy agreement. He was the kind of man who always had a plan. Still, he hadn’t made any moves to get away...at least not yet.

  He shifted so that he was more sitting than lying, leaning against the base of the tree. Then he jerked his chin toward her backpack.

  “If we’re stuck out here for the night, how about something to eat?”

  At his words, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A flurry of phone calls had kept her from grabbing lunch before she’d headed out to the afternoon start of the war games.

  She reached for her pack, then paused. “Where’s your gear?” she asked.

  “Hidden.”

  Hers had been hidden, too, right up until he’d found it. She wondered if she would be able to locate his pack, then decided it wasn’t worth facing the cold, rainy night to find out. They could get by on what she had.

  She dug out four granola bars, two chocolate bars, an apple and another water bottle.

  “No fast food?” he asked. “I have a hankering for some fries.”

  “You’ll have to wait until they show up on the prison menu,” she said as she divided the wrapped snacks into two equal piles.

  He eyed the food, then shrugged. “That beats an MRE.”

  Meals ready to eat. Prepackaged food soldiers could carry into combat. She’d tried a couple and, while they weren’t as bad as everyone claimed, she would rather dine on what she had in her pack.

  “So you’re military?” she asked.

  “Sort of.”

  “Special Forces?”

  “Something like that.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was being coy to annoy her or because he couldn’t talk about what he did for a living.

  She poured some water from the new bottle into the one she’d been using. When there was an equal amount in both, she propped one up next to Quinn. He half turned away from her, exposing his bound wrists.