Classified Baby

by Jessica Andersen

  Excitement sizzled through Nic. She leaned into the kiss, sliding her hands up his chest to the sides of his face, where the skin of his cheeks and jaw was warm and stubble rasped beneath her palms.

  “Wait. Nic, stop.” He reached up and gripped her wrists as though he meant to push her away. Instead, he held her in place. Their faces were so close she could see the regret in his eyes when he said, “This doesn’t mean what you think it means. It can’t.”

  This time, instead of feeling hurt or disappointed, she felt a bite of anger. She pulled her hands away from his so she could shove at his chest. “You mean it could, but you won’t let it.”

  “I’m not the man you think I am,” he said, frustration evident in his tone, though both of them were speaking quietly, aware of the danger surrounding them. “I’m not a leader, and I’m sure as hell not somebody you want to depend on in a crisis.”

  “No,” she countered, “you’re afraid of letting anybody get too close to you.” But as her hiss hung in the air, she had to wonder whether she was talking about him, or about herself. She was the one who’d closed herself off after Jonah left, focusing on a school project that nobody cared about except her and a handful of kids. She shook her head. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve that. You’re doing your best to—”

  “Sh. Hear that?”

  Nic froze, aware that he was shifting against her, easing her behind him as he drew his weapon, body tense. She pressed close to his back, trusting him with her safety, if not her heart. Straining to hear, she detected nothing at first. Then, the rattle of pebbles against stone.

  Someone was sneaking down on them from above.

  Spain

  DAYLIGHT began to seep around the corners of the box truck’s accordion door as a new day dawned. Evangeline sat with her back against the metal wall and her husband’s head in her lap. Robert’s eyes were closed and his breathing was even, but she knew he was only pretending to sleep. His body was too tense for repose, too ready to spring to action even though his muscles were weak after three days with no food or water.

  That wariness was an invisible barrier between them, proof that he didn’t trust her to keep watch, that he didn’t trust her to do anything more than run the damn office. He was pretending to sleep because he was angry with her, furious that she’d allowed herself to walk into a trap. It didn’t seem to matter to him that Cam and John had approved the plan—albeit reluctantly and with a great deal of heated argument on both sides—and the PPS team had agreed it was the only way to pinpoint Robert’s location.

  “And it worked, too,” she whispered, figuring he wouldn’t answer.

  He surprised her by saying, “There was no guarantee, Evie. They could’ve taken you somewhere else. Hell, they could’ve killed you on the spot. Your name’s on the damn list. Mine isn’t.”

  She glanced down at him and saw that his eyes were still closed, but the lines beside his mouth cut deeper. She held in a sigh, and a beat of desperate sadness. Going into their marriage, she’d known that she and Robert had different concepts of equality, but it hadn’t seemed important. She’d convinced herself the nearly twenty-year age gap was equally unimportant. Now she wondered if she’d let dreams get the better of logic. She and Robert had never disagreed so thoroughly before. Or maybe they had, and she’d been too ready to give in, thinking that peace equaled love.

  Not anymore, she thought vehemently. She’d grown strong in the two years he’d been gone, and he would either have to learn to love her as the woman she’d grown into, or he’d have to—

  She broke off there, unable to even think the alternative.

  “I love you,” Robert said suddenly, his voice tinted with sadness as though his thoughts had paralleled hers.

  “I love you, too,” she said, but let her head fall back against the wall of the box truck as she wondered whether love might not be enough for them.

  Soon, she joined Robert in closing her eyes and pretending to sleep as the sun climbed in the sky. The box truck began to heat, and the hours ticked past. By noontime, Cam and John would have the others in place for the rescue, giving them a three-hour window before Clive’s twenty-four-hour countdown expired.

  Evangeline was nearly dozing when she heard the sound of footsteps crunching on gravel. Before she could react, Robert rolled and sprang to his feet, then pulled her up to stand behind him.

  Her heart pounded into her throat as the lock rattled and the accordion door rolled up to reveal Clive and two of his thugs, all three armed and looking mean.

  When Clive saw them both standing, poised to attack, he said, “Give me a good excuse. I dare you.” Robert stayed where he was, and the bastard smirked. “Coward.” He gestured with his weapon. “Come on, and no tricks. I’d love an excuse to waste both of you and get on with more important things.”

  Robert jumped down first, then turned back to help Evangeline out of the truck. When their eyes met, he mouthed, Stay close and follow my lead.

  She didn’t dare nod at him, but she did feel a little lift beneath her heart, a faint tendril of hope that he could keep them alive long enough for Cam and the others to catch up. Then she remembered something that had her knees buckling and a moan escaping from between her lips.

  The GPS transmitter was still in the box truck. Cam wouldn’t know where they’d been taken.

  Colorado, USA

  ETHAN’S HEART drummed against his ribs and adrena line zinged through his bloodstream. Part of him itched for a chance to grab one of the bastards who’d been tracking Nic, but he couldn’t. He was responsible for her safety, and that of their child.

  For the first time, the thought brought a sense of bloody-minded determination rather than blind panic, but he couldn’t think about that just then, because a shower of sand and small rocks cascaded down from above their hiding spot, and a muffled grunt warned that whoever was out there was only a few feet away.

  Then a dusty, booted foot appeared from the right side of the earthen archway, followed by an equally dusty jeans-clad leg. Before the rest of the guy could appear, Ethan hissed, “Go!” and lunged.

  He grabbed the man’s legs in a flying tackle that sent them both sprawling onto the rocky ground.

  Ethan recovered first, twisting and driving an elbow into the guy’s gut. He got a quick impression of his opponent’s face, and the heavy brows, wide cheekbones and thick lips jibed close enough with Nicole’s description of her attacker at the hospital that a new burst of adrenaline, one that bordered on hatred, had him plowing his fist into the bastard’s face.

  “Ethan!” Nicole shouted. “Behind you!”

  He spun and yanked up his gun, but was too late to deflect the second man, who caught him in the chest with a flying tackle that sent them both back to the ground. When they hit, Ethan’s gun skidded across the packed dirt, out of reach.

  What had been a pretty evenly matched fight moments before now became two-on-one, and threatened to turn real ugly, real quick. Ethan scrambled to his feet and backed toward the small opening that hid Nicole, trying to divide his attention between the two thugs, who advanced with fists raised and blood in their eyes.

  “We’ve got to get out of here,” Ethan said quietly to Nic. “We’re going to need a distract—”

  A gunshot cracked from right behind him and the goon on the left went down hard, screaming and clutching his thigh. Shock froze the second guy for a second, and then he broke, grabbing his companion and dragging him off to the side of the archway.

  Ethan spun, plucked his gun from Nic’s limp fingers, took her hand and started running for the road. “Come on!”

  Moments later, he saw that Blake had come through as promised. At the side of the paved strip, a dusty motorcycle leaned on its kickstand, neatly camouflaged beneath a sand-colored net.

  “Take this.” He tossed her one of the two helmets Blake had left, and yanked off the net. “Hope you’re not afraid of bikes.”

  “I—I just shot a man.” Eyes wild, she looked
around, holding the helmet loosely in one hand.

  “Here.” Ethan snagged the helmet and stuck it on her head. A quick glance at the horizon showed no evidence of the two men, but the conspirators had already proven themselves smarter than average. They could easily be monitoring from afar. “Got your helmet? Climb on.”

  He waited until she was settled, then kicked the bike into action and peeled out onto the open road, leaving the camouflage net behind. For a brief moment, he thought they’d gotten away clean.

  Then he heard a terrible noise, growing louder over the roar of the motorcycle’s engine.

  It was the sound of a helicopter, approaching fast.

  Chapter Ten

  As Ethan sent the motorcycle flying down the road, Nic wrapped her arms around his waist and locked her hands together so hard her fingers ached. Worse than the pain, though, was the feeling of exposure when she looked back in the fading light and saw a helicopter’s silhouette and running lights appear over the ridge behind them and drop down, speeding along the winding tarmac, quickly closing the distance.

  “Ethan!” she screamed, feeling as though the wind tore the words from her mouth.

  “I know,” he shouted. “Hang on!”

  I am hanging on! she wanted to scream, but didn’t have a chance, because moments later, he cut the bike hard and turned up a trail beside the road.

  The single headlight beam showed that they were in a narrow, rocky gulley. Nic hung on tight, but the jarring ride jolted her body against his and made her teeth rattle. Rocks spun out from beneath the tires and the engine note dropped to a growl, but they flew up the trail, accelerating away.

  The black helicopter overshot and had to correct in a wide, sweeping turn that brought the chopper parallel to the bike. As Nic watched, a door rolled open in the side of the machine. The helicopter’s dim interior lights silhouetted a man stepping out onto the runners and lifting a long, deadly-looking object onto his shoulder.

  In a flash, the image was overlain with another memory, that of the same helicopter during daylight, hovering over the heart of Denver. A humming, rushing noise filled Nic’s head and her vision telescoped to the face of the passenger sitting beside the pilot.

  Then the memory was gone as though it had never been, and the wind noise and the engine’s scream returned full force. Ethan yelled something, and she turned just in time to see that they were speeding toward a sheer rock face, only seconds away from impact.

  She couldn’t help it. She screamed, then screamed again when she looked back at the chopper and saw a puff of smoke as the rocket launcher fired.

  Dead. They were dead, and—

  Ethan yelled and swerved the bike a half-second before they hit the sheer wall, sending them into a narrow crevice where two giant slabs of hill had separated to create a hidden tunnel. The faint light of dusk went out, plunging them into blackness lit only by the bike’s headlight.

  Then the rocket impacted behind them, and everything went red.

  Terrified beyond screams, Nic vised her arms around Ethan’s midsection. The shock wave hit, sending them hurtling forward, nearly out of control. Ethan cursed as he fought to keep the bike upright, wrestling to keep them on the narrow track that was bordered by jagged rock on either side.

  Nic closed her eyes and pressed her helmeted face into his strong back, but she didn’t pray. She trusted.

  As if in answer, they shot back out into the open moments later, onto a wide swath of hardpan. There was a road leading away, but instead of accelerating, Ethan allowed the bike to slow, then brought it to a skidding halt and dropped his feet down to support them.

  Not sure she believed what had just happened, Nic exhaled a shaky breath and straightened away from him, forcing her cramped fingers to unknot. He killed the engine, leaving them in a silence that seemed thunderously loud. Nic became aware of the quick thrum of blood in her ears, and the flush of exhaustion that followed an adrenaline rush.

  They both pulled off their helmets and sat for a second, listening, but the only sounds not of nature were the tick of hot metal as the motorcycle cooled in the air of the gathering dusk, and the faint sound of rotor thumps fading in the distance.

  “They’re leaving,” she breathed, unable to believe they’d made it.

  “Probably figured they couldn’t risk someone noticing that explosion.” Ethan shifted so he was turned sideways on the bike, partway facing her. In the growing moonlight, she could see the lines of stress pulling at the corners of his eyes and mouth.

  Neither of them said it aloud, but they both knew the chopper had also gone because their pursuers thought they were dead. The concept was both terrifying and liberating—terrifying because they almost had died, liberating because it meant they were safe for the moment.

  “Time to find ourselves a place to catch our breath and make a plan.” Ethan faced forward on the motorcycle and brought the engine to life, his actions making her viscerally aware of the press of his muscular form against her body as she cuddled up behind him and gripped with her knees, freeing her hands to pull the helmet into place.

  This time, when she slid her hands beneath his jacket to link across his midsection, and snuggled up behind him with her breasts pressed into the hard planes of his back, there was no panic in the movements. Instead, there was a gathering heat and a sizzle of chemical awareness that made her wonder if the draining adrenaline rush had redirected itself somewhere else entirely.

  Then again, she thought as he sent them up the dirt track, headed to some unknown destination, who was she kidding? She didn’t need adrenaline to want him, didn’t need to be drunk or depressed, didn’t need to be anything other than a healthy red-blooded woman in the presence of a man like Ethan. Or rather, in the presence of Ethan. Somewhere along the line, he’d become it for her.

  And what the hell was she going to do about that?

  BY THE TIME he’d turned the bike up the dirt track leading to Blake’s mountain cabin, Ethan had stopped kidding himself about the logic of his choice. Yes, night was falling and the air was growing chillier by the minute, and it was true that even if the occupants of the helicopter thought to keep looking, they’d never think to look here. Thing was, he knew damn well there was a decent motel maybe fifteen miles down the mountain. He had enough emergency cash to rent a couple of rooms without using his credit card, and it might even have been a degree or two warmer on the ride down to the flatlands, but instead of turning toward the motel, he’d headed up, higher into the hills.

  It wasn’t logical, but it wasn’t purely emotional either, he assured himself. It was, quite simply, what he’d wanted to do.

  By the time they reached the cabin, clouds had gathered to obscure the moonlight, leaving the forest dark around them. When he turned the bike up the final stretch to the house, though, a bright motion-sensitive floodlight snapped on, illuminating the entire area with glaring white brilliance.

  The cabin was a neat two-level structure, a mixture of stone and rough-hewn logs, with enough steel and glass to make it obvious that this was no rustic fishing cabin, despite the lake beyond. Knowing he was probably making a very big mistake and not sure he cared, Ethan rolled them around the side of the building, where a short breezeway led to an attached garage. He killed the engine, figuring he could put the bike away later.

  Without the motor noise, the silence echoed in his eardrums, not unlike the way it had done just after the explosion that would’ve killed them if their luck had gone the other way.

  At the thought, he kicked the bike up onto its stand and swung down, pulling his helmet off as he did so. “Come on. We’ll get you warm inside.”

  He held a hand out to her, and when she took it, fine currents of electricity worked their way up his arm. Her fingers closed on his and she leaned into him as she climbed down off the bike, her movements more elegant than they should have been. With the temperature dip, she must’ve been cold, but instead of pale skin and chattering teeth, he saw a faint flush on her
cheeks and a strange light in her eyes when she glanced at him, then away.

  That light kindled something inside him, something he’d been staying one step ahead of for the past week, something he’d sworn not to let catch him.

  Who was he kidding? he thought on a sudden burst of stark reality. If he’d really been running, he would’ve headed straight for that no-tell motel and rented two rooms. Instead he’d brought her here.

  “Is this your place?” she asked, a tiny frown line forming between her eyebrows.

  Ethan smothered a snort. “Not likely. It’s Blake’s. I’ve got an open-door invite, though.” And he had a pretty good idea Blake probably intended to bring her up here as soon as they’d been dating for a decent interval. He was that sort of guy: a cordial meeting first, followed by flowers and a nice note, then a series of undemanding dates, picnics in the park, subtitled movies, that sort of thing. Then, when the time was right, a weekend away at his private mountain retreat. Blake was classy like that.

  Unlike Ethan, who’d picked her up in a bar, slept with her then told her point-blank that he wanted nothing to do with the baby they’d created together.

  The comparison killed the warmth her touch had created in his gut, making him wonder if his subconscious hadn’t had another reason for him to bring her up to the cabin: to remind himself she deserved better. She deserved everything a guy like Blake could give her, and more.

  “Are we going in or not?” she asked, and now he detected a faint tremor in her hands as she reached up to tuck a few dark curls behind an ear.

  “Come on.” He led the way up a stone-edged path, and for the first time, felt a pang of envy. The landscaping was just right, and the masonry and architecture fit together perfectly. As he opened the door and tapped the first code into the keypad of a sophisticated three-layer security system, then pressed his thumb to a scan pad, he thought about his town-house. It had served him just fine for the past few years, but now it seemed too small as he typed in a second code, the door swung inward, and he ushered Nic into Blake’s “little place in the mountains.”