Intimate Danger

by Amy J. Fetzer

  She looked up. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me. There are some things you carry around with you, always. It makes up who we are now. If it didn’t have an effect we’d be zombies. If it was drugs, booze, gunfire, or nothing at all, you either get past it or not.”

  “I did that.” She drew in a breath and let it out as if telling herself enough would do it. “All I wanted to do was help him.”

  “That why you went into this?”

  She stared at her hands and didn’t answer at first. “I had a skill and this was the opportunity.”

  “So you changed your life to prove something to him? Do you think it ever mattered? Not really. He’s your brother and he loves you. Shit happens.” Mike leaned in. “You did it for you.”

  “Sure I did.”

  “To appease guilt?”

  “To make a damn difference. Jeez, this side of you is a bit harsh.”

  He met her gaze and he folded, rubbing his face. “Sorry. I’m used to making a point to my troops—jeez, Clancy, I’m sorry. God, you make me want to run in the other direction.” She made him think outside the box, made him dig into places he thought he’d closed.

  “Not like you have much choice.”

  His expression soured. “Not here.” He made walking fingers in the air and she smiled. “Here.” He put his hand over his heart.

  Clancy’s lips curved, an almost euphoric feeling spinning through her. This was a big deal. A really big deal. Mike didn’t say so much with so few words. Not because of this adventure, but because of his feelings. How can you not love this guy?

  He shook his head in that way he did. As if he was missing the logic and he had to understand it.

  “I don’t get it either,” she said.

  He looked up. “Oh, for the love of Pete,” he said and started to turn away.

  “Annoying, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, damn it.” He exhaled. “No.” Then softer, “No.”

  “Oh, Michael,” she said.

  Mike looked at her, really looked. He’d never waited for something like this. He didn’t think it was in the cards for him, but he wasn’t letting her get away. Don’t screw it up.

  She cradled his jaw. “Don’t try to figure it out.” She squeezed his face with every word.

  He grinned.

  “You don’t have to find the best tactical assault. Don’t plan. It’s not a mission. Just relax. Well…no relaxing on this job. I do want to see where the story goes.” She gestured between them in case he didn’t get it. “But we need that reactionary, analyzing, highly trained, sometimes-a-jackass brain.”

  “Sometimes?”

  “Less often than not. But we’re only just beyond the flea-picking stage.” His chuckle rumbled and she kissed him between it.

  “We’re trapped, you know.”

  “Hmm, die happy after lots of sex, or die bitching about it. Now, there’s a stretch.”

  “God, you are such a smart-ass.”

  “I’m playing all week.” She glanced away briefly. “I can hide it well in pubic.”

  “Don’t. Jesus, you earned it.”

  “I’ll have to mention that to my mother sometime.” She rolled her eyes, handing him the flashlight.

  “You mentioned sex?”

  “You didn’t think there weren’t extra treats at this party, did you?”

  He grabbed her, his kiss luxuriously powerful, engulfing her, and Clancy knew she’d been right before; her toes really did curl.

  Antone refused to let Dehnwar out of his sight. Because the man knew the world thought him dead, he wasn’t as cautious. Who would look in a small town on the edge of the Amazon? Especially in a country aligned with America and England. He’d reported it to his superiors, sending them a digital photo. Though he sat in a car watching the man, he expected more Interpol agents to arrive soon. But allowing Dehnwar to slip through his fingers was never an option. Not for his job or his family. His sister deserved justice. He tailed him since he’d first spotted him, using every tactic he knew to keep his presence unobtrusive. A few days’ growth of beard and wearing local clothing, he blended in, his features dark enough to be mistaken for Spanish descent.

  Yet Dehnwar stood out, his shaved head bearing healing wounds from the blast. He wasn’t a tall or large man, and it was difficult to distinguish him from the small Quechua people.

  But Antone could.

  He was a mass murderer. Antone had seen the work of Hezbollah, the tortured bodies, the twisted and burned from a suicide bomber. But one image stayed with him, of his brother-in-law holding his sister in her last moments, her last breath as she lifted her arm to touch her new husband’s face and finding no hand to do it.

  Dehnwar had boasted of selecting the perfect spot, the timing, yet no one in the cells knew the exact locations beforehand. Only the bomber knew, and then merely moments before he would detonate the blast. It was how they’d eluded them. His sister’s wedding hadn’t been the target, but the hotel itself filled with international dignitaries at the time. Choufani had infiltrated and was deep in the ranks when the warehouse in Tunisia was destroyed. They’d made the entire building a suicide bomb, without their leader.

  From inside the small car, Antone watched the factory. Trucks were at the rear loading bays, three men filling them as they talked and laughed. But it was predawn, and while Dehnwar entered the building, he knew where he’d been. At the house Marianna occupied with her husband. He was a scientist, a bit reclusive. Yet Antone hadn’t waited for the official version. Nuat Salache was a doctor of chemistry and physics. He held several patents that gave him a comfortable life, but it was his swift exit from his corporate life that concerned Antone. He was on and off the scene within six years’ time. There was no record on Nuat Salache up until eight years ago, and the photo didn’t match the man. It either wasn’t him or he’d changed his appearance.

  Dehnwar walked from the building out into the loading bay. He helped lift a box, loaded it, then went back for the last. Dehnwar was a Hezbollah leader; why was he loading boxes? Better yet, Antone thought, who had him over a barrel that he would?

  The men closed the truck and Dehnwar climbed behind the wheel. This just gets better, Antone thought, as Dehnwar eased down the ramp, driving away. A second truck pulled up in its place. Antone put the car into gear, and followed Dehnwar.

  Her toes weren’t the only thing that curled.

  A deep, heavy heat coiled through her body and she wanted him inside her again, pushing into her with the power and drive that excited her with just thinking about it. The muscles between her thighs were already warm and pulsing, the awareness of him making her beg softly. But he wouldn’t allow it, in command of everything including her.

  His mouth rolled over hers, drawing her into him, and Clancy fell back as he left a moist, hot trail down her body, nibbling on her nipples, the slow slide of his tongue dragging lower and leaving a steaming path. Her stomach muscles jumped.

  “Mike, inside me, now, please.”

  “I love hearing you beg.”

  “Then show some mercy.”

  “Nu-uh.”

  He moved between her thighs, holding her still for his assault, and Clancy loved it, the way he kissed, the way his mouth moved over her skin as if savoring each inch of her like a warm dessert, his grip on her hips as if she’d run from him. Prisoner again, she thought, and then he lifted her hips and she met his gaze as he peeled her wider and tasted her.

  She let out a soft shriek, the sound echoing in the chamber and sliding down the walls as his tongue pushed deep. He stroked in circles; then his fingers followed, two pushing between her slippery folds.

  “Oh God, that’s good.” She arched.

  Then he wrapped his lips around the bead of her sex and tugged. She came apart, breathing hard, but couldn’t take her eyes off him. It was erotic and he made certain she felt every sensation there was, heat and tingling, the slick slide and pull of desire.

  Mike watched her
come apart like a slow-shattering glass. She cupped her breasts, twisted under his attention, and he pushed her thighs over his shoulders and imprisoned her. Devoured her.

  “Michael, please,” she demanded, yet he kept stroking her, feeling her climax flex around his fingers.

  Then he was there, between her thighs and pushing himself inside her, filling her in one stroke.

  She groaned harshly. “You bastard.”

  “Yeah, I know.” He withdrew fully and plunged, but she wanted more and harder, told him so, and he pumped, his own climax rushing to greet hers. She pulled him down on her, wanting to feel his weight, his hips knocking hard with hers.

  “I want that speed,” she whispered, and he obeyed the command, his heart in her fist and his body trapped with hers.

  She chanted his name and Mike cradled her face in his hands, watching her climax in her golden eyes as it clawed through his body. He shoved and shoved and she never broke eye contact as he erupted with a bone-shaking climax.

  “Oh, Jesus,” he groaned, thrusting deep and fast, slick feminine muscles gripping him, her nails digging into his back. Her legs clamped his waist, and she arched hard, grinding to him, and rode the wild tremors.

  “Oh, Michael.” She said his name on a rich, gasping breath.

  “I know, Irish, hard to ignore, huh?”

  “If you can ignore that I’m slacking somewhere.”

  He chuckled and they sank to the pile of clothing, lungs laboring and a tangle of arms and legs. She curled herself around him, her leg over his hip as his hand smoothed the length of her damp flushed skin. She lifted her gaze to his, and staring into her whiskey-brown eyes, Mike wondered how he’d gone this long without her. He felt liberated from some dark, isolated place, and in the grotto he found a part of himself he’d lost.

  Shining brilliantly—in her.

  Mike sat on the edge of the pool, his legs dangling. If she touched him again they’d never get out of here. But his mood took a nosedive when she handed him the flashlight, sullen. His chest tightened. She was scared and trying not to show it.

  “The light source is coming from somewhere, a steady refraction. It has to be close to be that bright.”

  She made a face at him. “I took physics too, you know.” She drew up her knees and wrapped her arms around her legs. Clancy admitted she was quietly terrified, and the moments in his arms made it more poignant. She didn’t want to lose him. She’d rather die with him than die without him. The feeling closed around her, smothering her. Why now? she wanted to say, but a twist of fate put them together and she’d be damned if fate would take him away.

  Mike breathed deep and slow, pulling oxygen into his blood, then slid into the water. He looked back at her and she leaned, reaching for him, and kissed him feverishly.

  “I’ll be right back.” He cupped her face, staring into her eyes. “I swear I’ll be right back.”

  Her teary eyes cut into him with a power he didn’t think possible. Through this entire mess, she hadn’t balked, not one tear, and now she looked ready to crumble. He kissed her again, then drifted back.

  “Five minutes. Two there and two back and a minute, if I find something. If not, I’ll be back under two minutes.”

  She nodded, swiped at her tears. “I’ll have your slippers and dinner ready.” He chuckled shortly. “Be careful please,” she said before he submerged.

  He gripped her hand. “I will. This isn’t about being brave.”

  It’s about staying alive, she thought. She’d be dead if not for him. She didn’t want to think about the men who might die because of her. She had to stop it.

  He kissed her once more, then dove underwater, his kick splashing her. She watched him swim lower, his strong arms pulling him deep, and then he was gone.

  The water rippled with bubbles, and alone, she glanced around the hollow chamber and spoke to the ancient gods.

  “I am not sacrificing him to you. You got that?”

  Mike felt the pressure in his ears and suspected he was at least twenty feet below the surface. The underwater cave darkened and he swam hard, thinking of Clancy back there, trapped. Then the pressure lightened and a soft current, barely felt, pushed at him. He went with it, and the light brightened. He drew his gun before he broke the surface. Aiming, he held the penlight against the barrel, shining it over the cave. He didn’t need it. Light spilled with water into the large pool and Mike instantly saw the source of both.

  A waterfall. Steady but not strong. Runoff, he thought, then focused on the light source. Above the waterfall was a fissure, at its top a two-foot-wide gap. Sunlight hit the pool and reflected like a mirror inside the cave, its brilliance from the crystal quartz in the walls. Climbing up there would be a real bitch, he thought. Especially without pitons and crampons. He didn’t know if Clancy could do it and Mike knew the fissure was too narrow for him. He glanced around.

  There were dark gaps in the walls. He swam into the center of the pool and saw another fork of tunnels above his level. At least we have options. The only way they could go was farther into the mountain. He filled his lungs again, then dove underwater and headed back to Clancy.

  When he saw the flickering light shining down into the pool, he propelled toward it and shot up.

  “Oh God, oh, thank God! Mike!”

  He climbed to the edge and she was there, grabbing and pulling him. He kneed the edge, swiping water from his face. She was in tears, in shambles, shaking violently.

  “Jesus, what’s the matter?” He went for his weapon, but she was against him, gripping him tightly and sobbing.

  “I thought you drowned! I thought you drowned. Oh, Mike.” She clung to him in a death grip.

  Mike smoothed his hand over her hair. “It’s all right, baby.”

  “No, it’s not! You said you’d come right back!”

  “I did.”

  She looked up at him, stricken. “Mike, you were underwater for over twelve minutes!” To prove her point, she showed him her watch.

  “Your glass is cracked, look!” He showed her. “It’s cracked. It’s got to be wrong. That’s impossible.” He was on the other side for no more than thirty seconds and he couldn’t hold his breath for more than two minutes. “No, listen to me, it’s wrong,” he said when she shook her head wildly.

  She lifted her gaze, her quivering lip destroying him. “I thought you died.”

  “Aw, Irish,” he groaned, pulling her onto his lap. She curled herself around him, sobbing hopelessly, and Mike pressed his lips to her temple and rubbed her spine. “I’m sorry.”

  She punched his ribs. “Don’t scare me like that!”

  His lips quirked. He didn’t think the panic would last long. But her grip was punishing and he held her tightly, then told her what he found. “I didn’t go into the tunnels, but it’s better than no choice at all.”

  “Anything man-made like that granite slab?”

  “Not that I could tell. Are you ready?”

  “Now?” Clancy wasn’t comfortable with swimming in an underground cave, but she kept that to herself.

  He studied her. “I won’t let you die.”

  “I’m holding you to that.” She sniffled, swiped her tears, then wiggled out of his arms and stuffed everything she had into her bag, with her boots. She wore only a T-shirt over her panties. “I should warn you, I don’t swim fast.”

  “You won’t have to.”

  She frowned, confused.

  “It’s too narrow for us to pass side by side, and I have to lead the way. I’ll pull you.” Mike slid his belt from his trousers and slipped it on his ankle, wrapping it twice, the rest loose. “When we’re under, you grab on to this, slip your wrist in, and twist it so you’re secure. I’ll pull you along.”

  She looked skeptical.

  “Trust me.”

  “I do.” She cocked her head. “Or didn’t you get that already?”

  He kissed her forehead, feeling gifted. “Kick your feet too. I’m towing a lot.”

&n
bsp; She elbowed him, then jumped into the pool, and Mike glanced back, making certain everything left behind was ready to grab, on the next trip, then slid into the water.

  “So you don’t use up air trying to grab on, I’ll dive and hold. When you’re confident, give the strap a good yank.”

  She nodded, thinking she’d get kicked in the face if she wasn’t careful.

  Mike went under, executing a dive that shot his feet into the air. Clancy quickly grabbed the strap, slipped it around her wrist twice, then yanked.

  He took her under so fast she felt the pressure instantly, the rush of water around her as he towed her like in some Free Willie movie.

  Mike dug his arms in, taking as wide a swipe as he could through the passage. The underwater cavern expanded, the blue-white illumination growing white and crisp as he neared. He looked up at the jagged edge of the pool, and swam hard, breaking the surface, then instantly bending for Clancy’s hand. He grabbed her wrist, freeing the strap, and pulled her above water.

  “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

  She sank beneath the water. Mike grabbed her back.

  Then he realized—Clancy was dead.

  Seventeen

  “Oh, Jesus.” He held her head above water as he swam to the edge.

  Without leverage, Mike put his weight under and kicked hard, pushing, and rolled her onto the bank. Then he was out of the water and laying her flat. He began CPR.

  Don’t do this, don’t do this, he thought, breathing for her. His heart pounded like a sledgehammer and he’d never felt so helpless.

  He counted, pressing on her chest. He breathed for her and kept it up when he wanted to shout, “Don’t leave me.” He put his ear to her chest, then pumped her chest and breathed for her again.

  “Clancy, baby, stay away from the damn light. You’ve seen it. Old news.”

  She coughed, her body convulsing hard, and he pushed her on her side as water dribbled out of her mouth. She started to shake and he gathered her in his arms, rubbing her skin. It was several minutes before she did anything more than breathe, and Mike closed his eyes, thanking God. He didn’t even try to excuse away his feelings. He didn’t need this threat to make him see the truth, damn it.