by Elle James
Kinsey twisted in an attempt to free herself of the man’s iron grip and the cloth making it hard to breathe. But her muscles weren’t cooperating, and her vision blurred. No. She couldn’t pass out. She had to stay awake and find a way to escape her attackers. This outrage was not happening to her.
But it was.
As the darkness crept in around her senses, the cloth was removed. Once she could breathe fresh air, she tried to call out, but the feeble attempt at a scream came out as a pathetic murmur. “Help…me.” She was lifted and thrown over the man’s shoulder. Kinsey couldn’t even raise her head or kick her legs.
All the self-defense training she’d taken before leaving the States did her no good when she couldn’t control a single muscle. She flopped like a ragdoll as her captor ran up the steps to the main road.
2
Sam found the bed and breakfast he’d reserved online, only to discover the building was a lot smaller than the pictures depicted. The view the site touted was not from the room he’d rented, but from the top of the building. Granted, it was pretty spectacular, but he’d had to climb a rickety ladder to see it.
The position high above the other surrounding structures gave him a panoramic vista of Imerovigli, the picturesque town of whitewashed buildings clinging to the hillsides overlooking the turquoise waters of the Mediterranean. Indeed, the sight was as gorgeous as the pictures on the website, but it wasn’t from the comfort of his room. His suite was an interior one with no view and right off the corridor where the elderly owner, Esma Demopolis, had her apartment.
She’d been cordial and welcoming, but she could speak very little English and wanted cash up front for the entire duration of his stay on Santorini.
By the time he’d taken care of the rental business, unloaded the clothes from his duffel bag into the closet and small dresser and shoved his cellphone into his back pocket, the sun had set and darkness descended on the Greek island.
Sam’s stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since leaving Dublin earlier that morning. Four hours, two planes and a long, stiff uphill walk later, he was famished.
He left his cave-like room, passed the landowner’s door and exited the villa into a dark alley with only starlight to guide him when he wasn’t in the shadows.
Sam waited at the bottom of the stairs until his vision adjusted to the limited lighting. He checked for the Ka-Bar knife he kept in a scabbard buckled around his calf. The knife had been a Christmas gift a couple years back from his Navy SEAL brother, Ronin. He’d carried it with him since. If not strapped to his leg, then packed in his checked baggage.
When he could see well enough to navigate the stone steps, he headed through the streets, back toward the coast where he’d seen several restaurants on his walk in. He wanted food and a beer. He might try the Greek liquor ouzo if the beer didn’t take the edge off his temper.
His commander wouldn’t be happy to know he was more wound up than ever.
His cellphone vibrated in his back pocket, making him jump and almost miss the next step. Jerking himself upright, he paused, pulled out his phone and realized it was a Facetime call from the man he’d just been thinking about. Why in hell had he paid extra on his phone plan for coverage? He didn’t have an excuse to ignore all incoming calls.
He accepted the call and backed up to a little light over an entrance door in an alcove. “Colonel Cooley, sir.” He found himself standing at attention—after all, his CO was in uniform.
“At ease, Magnus. You should be in Santorini by now. How was the flight?”
“I am, and great. Thanks for asking.” Or rather, thanks for keeping track. His CO was not leaving his rest, relaxation and mental recuperation up to chance. “I just settled into my digs, and I’m off to find chow.”
“Good. I expect a daily report of your progress.”
His heart thudded against his ribs, and his fingers tightened around the cellphone. “Daily, Sir?”
“You heard me. I’m sure the wedding in Ireland was chaotic—weddings always are.”
The man didn’t know the half of it. And never would. Unless the event made the BBC. In which case, Sam’s ass would be grounded for sure.
“You’re telling me you want me to report in daily about my vacation?” Seriously? He didn’t add that last word, but his tone implied it.
“Damn right. I want to know you’re relaxing. Just so we’re clear, your future flight status depends on it.”
“Sir, I can’t guarantee a specific time.”
“I don’t care, as long as you report in once every twenty-four hours. If I don’t answer, my executive officer will.”
Great. Just great. How was he supposed to relax, knowing he was being monitored? Hell, he’d stand on his head and juggle oranges with his toes if the action kept him from being grounded. “Will do, sir.”
“Good. Now, go soak up some sun. I’m planning on living vicariously through you while I’m sitting in this hell hole. Cooley out.”
“Magnus out.”
The call ended, leaving Sam standing in the alcove, anger pushing heat up his neck. He had half a mind to throw the device as far as he could. He’d tell the colonel he’d broken his phone and was unable make the required daily reports.
Like that would make a difference.
Colonel Cooley wouldn’t let him slide one iota. He’d expect Sam to run out and buy a new phone in time to make his situation report on time.
He forced himself to loosen his hold on the phone and reached behind him to slide it into his pocket. Before he could release the device, it vibrated again.
Anger shot up like mercury dipped in hot water. He jerked the cellphone from his pocket and answered. “Seriously?” Regretting the gruff word as soon as it cleared his lips.
“Whoa, dude. Is that any way to greet your favorite brother?”
Sam pulled away the phone from his head and stared at the caller ID on the screen before letting go of the breath he’d gathered to blast his commander. “Sorry, Wyatt. I didn’t know the call was from you.”
Wyatt chuckled. “I certainly hope not. But I feel sorry for the schmuck you thought I was. Who was it?”
“Colonel Cooley, my CO.”
“Wow, you speak to your commander like that? I’d be slapped with an Article 15 for that kind of backtalk.”
“I’m glad it was you and not him. I just got off the phone with him. He wants me to report in daily.” Already, Sam’s thoughts had moved on to ways he could prove to the boss he was following orders. He’d have to research interesting places, beaches and historic sites he could stand in front of and take pictures of himself.
“He expects you to report in on vacation?”
“He doesn’t think I know how to relax. He’s hinging my flight status on my ability to calm down.”
“Oh.”
One word from Wyatt said a lot.
“What?” Sam couldn’t believe his brother was siding with his CO. “You think I don’t know how to relax, too?”
“I didn’t say that, but now that you mention it…you were a little uptight at the wedding.”
“And who wouldn’t be? Mack and the bride’s cousin were being chased by murderers.” He shoved a hand through his hair. “What do you expect?”
“Hey, don’t get your shorts in a twist.” Wyatt paused. “So, how is the R&R going?”
“I’ll let you know when I’ve had a chance to start it. I just got here, I’m hungry and two phone calls now are standing in the way of me and food.”
“Sorry, man. I’ll let you go.”
Sam sighed. “I guess I am a little wound up. Was there a reason for this call? I thought you and Fiona were on your honeymoon.”
“Oh, yeah, we are, but we got to thinking that lazing on the beach in Crete would be a little too much downtime. We decided to see a little more of Europe by train. I wanted to let you know we’ll be there in two days.”
“You do know you can’t get to Santorini by train, right?”
“No?
You’re kidding.” Wyatt laughed. “We know, but we’re taking a short hop from Athens. And I think Mack and Dierdre will be flying in about the same time. I’m not sure about Ronin. Seems he’s been busy in Venice. I’ll see if he wants to make it another family reunion on the island.”
Sam snorted. “Ireland wasn’t enough?” Though his voice dripped sarcasm, he was secretly happy to be with family any chance he could get.
“What? You don’t want to see your brothers again so soon?”
“You know I love you guys, but I’m sure you have much better things to do on your honeymoon than hang out with a bunch of guys.” If Sam had a woman as beautiful as his brother’s bride, he’d spend all his time in bed with her. No matter what continent or island they landed on.
“Oh, we’re doing the whole honeymoon thing, but we’re both used to a lot more activity. Relaxing is a little harder than we expected.”
“Tell me about it,” Sam said, his tone flat.
“Fiona and I haven’t been to Santorini, and since you’re already there, we thought we’d hop over and check it out.”
“Actually, I’d be glad for the company, but I don’t have space in my room at the B&B for any guests.” He glanced around at the white walls of the buildings around him. “I could look around for another place with space available.”
“That’s okay. We booked the honeymoon suite in one of the hotels in Imerovigli. We can do dinner that night. Fiona wanted to see a sunset and a sunrise on the island.”
“What? No snorkeling or scuba?”
“Not this time. We have a train to catch. We’ll eventually end up in Crete, as originally planned. We can dive then.”
“Great. I’ll see you in a couple days.”
“Yeah,” Wyatt said. “In the meantime, learn how to relax.”
“Don’t you start.” Sam’s hand tightened on the phone. “I have enough of a nag with my CO, I don’t need the same from you.”
Wyatt laughed. “Just poking the bear. You really do need to lighten up. Out here.”
“Out here.” Sam hit the button to end the call and pocketed the phone, a bit of a smile curling his lips. At least he wouldn’t have to find entertainment for one of the fourteen days he’d be on Santorini. Having his brothers here would cut some of the boredom.
His belly grumbled, reminding him he was on his way to the restaurants he knew he’d find eventually.
He’d almost reached the top of the hill when he saw a couple of big, shadowy figures ahead of him, heading the same direction…toward the main road that crossed the island. One of them seemed to be carrying a large package or sack full of something.
The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood at attention when he realized the something being carried had long blond hair hanging down, swaying with each step.
Within a second, he recognized the package was a woman and she appeared to be unconscious.
Alarm bells went off in Sam’s head, and his body tensed. He didn’t know the story, but the way the man was handling the woman couldn’t be right. And the men were dressed in dark clothing and dark hats.
Fuck. They had either killed the woman or knocked her unconscious and were kidnapping her.
Sam only hesitated a moment. He didn’t want to get involved in drama when he was under orders to relax, but he couldn’t ignore the situation unfolding in front of him.
From his vantage point, he could see another path that led to the same outlet the two men would ultimately come to. If he took that path, he might arrive at that point at the same time.
Without thinking about what he’d do when he confronted the assailants, he raced through a narrow corridor between buildings at breakneck speed, arriving at what he hoped was the intersection where he’d run into them.
When he got there, he didn’t find the two men and the woman they were carrying. For a moment, he thought he might have taken a wrong turn, or the men might have ducked into a building. No sooner had the thoughts crossed his mind than he heard footsteps and muttered, angry words spoken in a foreign language that didn’t sound like Greek. It sounded more like Russian. A moment later, his quarry appeared around the corner of a building, the empty-handed one in the lead.
Sam didn’t know if they were armed, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He pulled his Ka-Bar knife out of the sheath on his calf and waited in the shadows.
As the first man came abreast of him, he jumped out, grabbed him from behind and yanked him back against his chest, pressing his knife to the man’s throat. “Drop the woman,” Sam said in his most threatening tone.
The man carrying the woman froze.
“Drop her,” Sam demanded.
The man shrugged the limp woman off his shoulder and let her drop to the hard stone steps. She lay as still as death.
Then all hell broke loose.
With his hands freed of his captive, the big guy launched himself at Sam.
Sam shifted the guy he held at knife-point to take the brunt of the big man’s hit. The force of the impact sent both Sam and his prisoner backward.
Sam’s back hit a wall with enough force to knock the air from his chest. He fought to fill his lungs, the weight of the man in front of him pressing against him.
Then the man he’d been holding cocked his elbow and jammed it into Sam’s gut.
Sam’s grip loosened.
Now completely out of breath and pain shooting though his belly, Sam went into survival mode. He swung hard, his knife catching the man’s sleeve, tearing into the fabric and slicing his arm.
The man spun and swung, landing a punch against Sam’s jaw.
More pain bolted through him, making him angry and ready for the confrontation to end. Having grown up with three brothers, Sam was used to fighting, wrestling and punching. Growing up he could get out of just about any situation his brothers put him in. His Army survival and fighting skills only added to his abilities.
Sam slammed his palm into the lead guy’s nose and felt the cartilage crunch.
The man yelped and clapped his hand to his face, leaving open his belly for the punch Sam hit him with next. He doubled over and Sam brought up his knee, slamming the guy again in the face.
He went down and lay still, clearing the path for his buddy.
The big guy had weight and bulk on his side, but he was slow. He rushed at Sam.
Sam stepped to the right.
Too late to alter his direction, the big guy plowed head-first into the side of the building like a character in a silent movie.
With just a gentle shove, Sam sent him toppling back down the stairs he’d come up carrying the female.
Before either man could regain consciousness, Sam lifted the woman in his arms and ran back down the stairs, took the first left turn and kept moving until he was sure he’d put enough distance between him and the men who’d captured the woman. When he felt certain he was safely away from danger, he laid the woman on the ground and checked to verify whether she was alive or dead.
At the faint flutter of a pulse, he sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. If the woman were dead, and he’d been caught carrying her, how would he have explained to the police that he wasn’t the murderer? Not only would he be stuck with a murder rap, he was on foreign soil, a member of the US military and in possession of a deadly knife. “Hey, lady,” he whispered, tapping his hand against her cheek. “Wake up.”
She lay still, not responding.
He lowered his head against her chest and listened. She was breathing normally and her heartbeat was strong. They must have drugged her.
If he was smart, he’d take her to the nearest hospital and dump her ass. Again, how would he explain how he’d come into possession of an unconscious woman? She might awaken and accuse him of the kidnapping, or even rape.
Hell, what was he supposed to do with her?
With no other option apparent, he lifted her into his arms, carried her back down the many steps to the B&B and tiptoed past the landlady’s room. Mrs. Demopol
is would have a conniption fit if she saw him carrying an unconscious woman into a room she’d rented him. She might call the cops and have him hauled off to a jail where he didn’t speak the language and couldn’t talk his way out of prosecution.
As long as the woman didn’t seem to be in any physical distress, he’d keep her in his room until she woke and could tell him where she was staying. Then he’d make sure he got her there safely and leave her to fend for herself.
With that plan in mind, he juggled the woman in his arms, reaching into his pocket for the ancient key to his room.
He’d just pushed his door open when another set of hinges creaked loudly. Sam, clutching the unconscious woman to his chest, dove into the room and kicked the door shut behind him. He ran through the sitting area and deposited his burden on the bed, piling up the pillows on one side of her body to hide her from view. If he wasn’t mistaken, the landlady would be knocking in five…four…three…
Knock, knock, knock.
The soft rapping made Sam’s heart stop and then hammer against his ribs. He rolled over the woman, covering her in the blanket and made it appear as if the bed was in disarray, not filled with a body.
Another knock sounded.
“Coming,” he called out. He rushed into the bathroom, ran water over his hands and came out carrying the hand towel as if he’d been washing up when he heard the knocking.
Mrs. Demopolis stood in the doorway, a frown pulling her thick, white eyebrows together in a V. “Did you find a restaurant in which to eat?” she asked in her broken English.
“Uh. No. I didn’t.”
“Your room is okay?” She leaned to the side, attempting to peer around him.
“My room is fine, thank you,” he said, shifting enough to keep her view of the bed blocked.
“You’re hungry. Do you like gyros?”
His stomach groaned loudly, or he would have lied and said he wasn’t hungry.
Mrs. D smiled. “Maybe moussaka?”
Her friendly smile threw him off. Before she’d been all business. Now she wanted to be friendly? “I don’t know. I’ve never had it.”
“I’ll bring some.”
