Private Maneuvers: Hot Zone Book 3

by Denise A. Agnew

  Books are not transferable.

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520

  Macon GA 31201

  Private Maneuvers

  Copyright © 2008 by Denise A. Agnew

  ISBN: 1-59998-904-2

  Edited by Angela James

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: April 2008

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Private Maneuvers

  Denise A. Agnew

  Dedication

  To all the soldiers, sailors, marines and coast guard of the United States.

  Thank you for many sacrifices.

  To my hubby, Terrance B. Agnew, my own special 350 Bravo, Chief Warrant Officer, retired.

  Acknowledgements

  Thank you to my husband CW3 Terrance B. Agnew (ret.), CW4 Melvin Albert (ret.), Lise Fuller, Captain Thomas B. Fuller, Jody Allen, E.F. Leddy, MG Spikers, and Mark Pfeiffer for information on Army Special Forces.

  Chapter One

  The second Marisa Clyde saw the soldier she knew he was trouble.

  He took Marisa’s hand as she stepped off the old tour bus. Huge fingers and a big palm wrapped her much smaller hand. Her body shivered as warmth flickered in her stomach. In fact, her entire body quaked.

  He looked like rescue.

  He looked like safety wrapped up in one sexy, strong, powerful package.

  She could blame it on the events of the last twenty-four hours. Danger and fear could rattle a person. Or just perhaps, it could be this man and the power he emanated.

  Maybe the long, thick lashes framing the onyx eyes staring down into hers influenced her senses to scatter. She was nuts to go completely ga-ga over the man standing in front of her when she refused to find a military man attractive ever again. Maybe she could blame her reaction to him on the heat wavering upward from the washboard surface of the road and the relentless sun beating down. Or perhaps the humidity level coming from the Mexican jungle all around them had steamed her brains. Of course, the fact that her ribs had taken a bit of beating didn’t help. Every time she breathed, a dull ache radiated outward from her left side.

  Not what she expected to experience on a vacation, but she’d made it through worse and lived to tell about it.

  As her Uncle Dexter back in Clarksville, Wyoming would say, the pucker factor for the last day had escalated way off the charts. She had a right to feel disoriented, hungry, and exhausted. A smear on her glasses irritated her, but she didn’t bother to try and clean it. Face it, a smear was so not that important when she’d just survived what would amount in the news to an international incident.

  Her ribs panged, and she winced.

  “Are you all right, ma’am?” the soldier asked, his deep voice a husky sound that brushed along her senses like a feather tickling all her erogenous zones.

  She couldn’t answer him. Through her tiredness, her hormones registered that he stood around six three or four, his muscular build apparent through the camo wear. He wore no rank or insignia that could identify him.

  His military short obsidian hair gleamed with blue highlights under the fierce sun. He topped the charts into unbelievably gorgeous. No. Not exactly. Dark and dangerous, a huge cliché, didn’t explain the unique mix-and-match hardness in his features that added up to one handsome visage. Yet dangerous certainly described his aura, a kick-butt-and-don’t-bother-to-take-names presence. His angular face defied description—his jaw formed a solid frame around his hard mouth. His nose was a smidgen crooked. Those intriguing, mysterious eyes didn’t hide anything. Did he know how his feelings gleamed so starkly in his gaze? Probably not. Right now his eyes narrowed, as if he wanted to read her mind and excavate answers.

  When she didn’t answer him, his gaze turned dark, serious and concerned. “Ma’am?”

  “Poor dear is a bit shocky,” Ida Hambly said behind her. “She’s had quite an ordeal.”

  “I’m fine,” Marisa said. “There’s nothing wrong with me.”

  “Right. Nothing wrong. You’ve just made it through a bombing, a robbery, and a broken down bus. All in a day’s work for an accountant?” Ida leaned heavily on her cane, and when the soldier saw Ida hesitating on the bottom step of the bus, he released Marisa’s hand and helped the elderly woman down and over to where Marisa stood. “And then the cavalry rides in on white horses and saves our butts. I’d say that’s enough to rattle your sweet young cage.”

  Marisa smirked. “Ida, your sense of humor kept me sane.”

  That, and maybe Freddie Bodine. Freddie stood clasped in the arms of her boyfriend, another one of the soldiers who’d come to the rescue. Apparently he’d traveled from the U.S. after putting together this team of army men to look for Freddie when the tour bus went missing and didn’t report back to the hotel.

  Freddie’s head pressed against her boyfriend’s shoulder, and his hand cupped the back of her head. He touched his lips to the top of Freddie’s head in a tender gesture. He looked drained with relief. What would it feel like to have a man love me that much?

  Ten other soldiers who’d first appeared earlier like ghosts from the jungle entered the bus. People chattered in excited, relieved voices and the soldiers hurried to extract them from the vehicle.

  Trauma of the last day worked into her sore body. The back of her neck ached, muscles in her lower back protested. She stretched and arched her back, as she sighed. She felt grungy, her long hair frizzing in the humidity, her khaki shorts and plain blue T-shirt rumpled. She regretted the movement as pain arched through her side again.

  Damn it.

  “You should have seen how Marisa and Freddie convinced those bastards to take nothing else but the cash,” Ida said to one of the soldiers. “It was truly amazing.”

  Marisa’s legs started to tremble, and her temples throbbed. As if he had radar for her emotional or physical changes, her soldier’s gaze flicked her way and he frowned as he eyeballed her. He spoke into a satellite phone and ordered another person to bring their transportation. She rubbed the back of her neck and allowed her eyes to slip closed.

  The soldier’s voice rumbled nearby, and she opened her eyes to find him within her personal space. So close she should have rebelled. She never let men get this close—until now. He gripped Marisa’s upper arm as if he expected her to collapse any minute. She’d never felt this fragile before, hanging by a single thread combined of liberation and leftover fear.

  “Ma’am—Marisa, would you like some water?” He handed her a small water bottle.

  It took her a few seconds to respond. She irrationally wanted to tell him to call her Miss Clyde or ma’am because she wanted the distance and formality.

  Instead she said, “Thank you.”

  She took the water and slammed back a huge swallow. She knew better than to gulp the lukewarm liquid, but thirst compelled her to slug down half the bottle. Immediately her stomach lurched in protest.

  “Whoa. Slow down,” he said.

  She glared at him. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Drink too much and it
’ll make you sick.”

  “I know.”

  She almost stalked away. Not because she found him repulsive. Nope. She found him way, way too intriguing.

  She heard the rumble of vehicles and two large vans turned the corner and progressed their way. Tension shot up her back.

  “There’s our transport,” her soldier said.

  Good. Lethargy weighed her down, as if she sank into her athletic shoes a few inches, quicksand sucking her into blessed darkness.

  His voice sounded too far away, and then as her head seemed to float and her legs turned rubbery, she managed to whisper a plea, “Wait…”

  He moved toward her quickly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I—I don’t think I can—”

  Her eyelids fluttered and suddenly his powerful arms encircled her. “Easy. Are you hurt somewhere and just not telling us about it?”

  Marisa clutched at his shoulders. “My ribs. One of the bandits slung me into a seat.” She touched her glasses, held together in the middle by some tape Ida had found in her voluminous tote bag. “That’s how I broke my glasses.”

  “Son of a bitch.” Her soldier growled the words under his breath.

  He lifted her in his arms, and she said, “No. I mean, I’m fine. It’s not that big a deal.”

  He carried her toward the vans. “Sergeant Clearwater! We need a medic.”

  Freddie, Ida, and Freddie’s soldier followed, Freddie’s and Ida’s concerned voices echoing in her ears.

  ***

  Marisa awakened to the softness of a warm bed. For a few seconds she couldn’t resurface from her fog and recall where she was. She didn’t know how she’d gotten there. In a panic, she opened her eyes and saw a fuzzy world. She could see a man, or what passed for a man, sitting in a chair across the room. Her heart picked up speed immediately, pounding out a fearful tempo.

  Her glasses.

  Where the hell were her glasses? She couldn’t see a thing like this.

  She rolled to her right, hoping someone had left them there. She located her glasses and shoved them on her face. The world became blissfully clear. So did the man, and her fear eased as her breath exited in a rush. She hadn’t expected to see him there, nonetheless. Her room at the Los Diablos Hotel wasn’t exactly five star. Small windows, a slightly musty smell, small double bed, and a bland color scheme of tan and white. Boring and a little disappointing. Just like she’d left it when the bus had left for the ruins twenty miles away.

  But no. That wasn’t the surprise.

  The man sitting in the uncomfortable chair which looked almost too small for him, was the biggest surprise.

  Her soldier.

  Oh, wow. Slumped and sprawled, with his legs braced wide apart, his arms hanging over the sides of the chair, he looked relaxed. His face told a different story. Still and secret, his rugged countenance managed to convey watchfulness. Ridiculous, of course, but he seemed capable of protecting her even in sleep. His eyes snapped open and she started. Immediately he went from at ease to watchful. He rose and walked toward the bed. He’d changed into a tight white T-shirt and green cargo pants and combat boots. He sat on the edge of the bed.

  “You feel better?” he asked.

  “I’m fantastic.”

  He grinned, and his attractive grin blew her away.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Keeping you safe.”

  Keeping me safe.

  Hot, unbidden excitement flew up from somewhere inside her and overruled every last shred of common sense she’d learned over the years about soldiers. After Alec she should know better. Macho talk and promises didn’t always follow through. Old pain wended a stinging path through her. Alec would never be macho again, and thinking of him brought equal measures of pain and betrayal leaking to the surface with a drip, drip, drip.

  “That’s a little old-fashioned, isn’t it?” she asked in defense. She couldn’t let this heady arousal cloud her judgment.

  Darkness entered his gaze, and he quirked one eyebrow. “Maybe to some. Not to me.”

  He said it with such conviction she knew trying to convince him otherwise would fall flat. Yet when this man said he planned to keep her safe, she believed it way down in her toes.

  “Are we still in danger?” she asked.

  “Not technically. This hotel is out of the main conflict area. Things in Los Diablos are dicey.”

  “Dicey as in encroaching on our hotel?”

  His dark gaze flickered. “If the rebels who blew up the museum even thought about coming this way they’d face local police, Federales, and a Special Forces team—not necessarily in that order.”

  His definitive way of stating their situation sent a tight whirl of butterflies flitting and dancing in her stomach. The idea they teetered on the edge of some sort of war or coup scared the hell out of her. Excitement also entered the equation because this man radiated confidence and enough testosterone to send every female corpuscle in her system on high alert.

  “And the Mexican government doesn’t have a problem with American Special Forces operating in Mexico?”

  Her challenge didn’t alter his solid, unflinching expression. “We’re not operating here. We happened to be down here on vacation and came across a tourist bus in distress.”

  She smiled. “Uh-huh.”

  “We’re getting a transport out of here to Mexico City, then we’ll fly out from the airport.”

  “We?”

  “Everyone on the tour bus. Captain Wallace and I are following later on another flight.”

  She nodded, and then realized she had no idea how long she’d lain here. Soft light filtered through filmy curtains. She sat up slowly, and the blanket fell to her waist. She wore her loose nightshirt, a horrible shade of startling lime she wished she’d never purchased. But…since no one ever saw it…what the hey.

  “How’s the ribs?” he asked.

  “Better. Whatever Sgt. Clearwater gave me knocked me straight on my butt after I took it.” She squinted at him and then panicked a little. “Wait. How did I get in here? How did I get into bed—?”

  “Don’t worry.” His lips quirked. “Freddie and Ida helped you undress. I guess what Clearwater gave you was strong.”

  “I don’t remember much after he examined me. Things are fuzzy.”

  “You’ve got bruised ribs, you’re exhausted, and you were dehydrated. Clearwater’s been checking on you.”

  “And you’ve been in the room how long?”

  “Since early this morning. Freddie stayed with you part of last night.”

  “That was…nice. Thank you.” She ruffled a hand through her already mussed hair. “I’m not sure why you guys would do that. I’m fine.”

  “Clearwater recommended it. And I insisted on it.”

  Right now he looked warm, compassionate. Nothing like the eagle-eyed, stern warrior. Could he turn it off and on like her fiancé, Alec, had and use it to his advantage? God, she wanted nothing to do with his brand of sensuality, with the possibilities inherent in feeling these stirrings of attraction.

  She realized his eyes weren’t as dark as she thought yesterday. More chocolate flecked with small green striations than onyx. Maybe his eye color changed with his emotions or the prevailing light.

  Her eyes felt gummy, and she took off her glasses and cleaned them with the edge of the sheet. The middle came apart. The tape job Ida had accomplished yesterday hadn’t lasted.

  “Damn,” she hissed.

  “Here.” He held his hand out. “I’ll see what I can do to fix it.”

  Marisa handed him the glasses and he stood. She quirked a sarcastic smile. “I suppose you have some super soldier glue hidden in your shoe that’ll fix them? Something high tech and guaranteed to get the job done?”

  He halted halfway to the door. When he turned, those intriguing eyes shone with curiosity and maybe a little anger. “Yeah. I’ll be back in a minute. After I’ve used some of my super-secret-military-application eyeglass r
epair.”

  His tone held undeniable derision. As he left, she sank lower in the bed and groaned. Dammit and hell fire, as Ida would say. She’d pushed too far. But she couldn’t pretend she wanted his attention, couldn’t be more than grateful. What did he want from her? The phone by her bed rang, jolting her from contemplation and making her ribs ache.

  “Hello?” she asked into the clunky black receiver.

  “Marisa? Thank God,” her Uncle Dexter’s strong voice came over the line. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I just got a call from someone named Ida Hambly and she explained what happened to your bus. Freddie Bodine’s parents reported the tour was missing and it snowballed from there. I found out and I was frantic.”

  “They know about the rescue already?” She groaned in dismay. “Did we make the news back there?”

  Uncle Dexter’s tone turned amused. “Yep. The newspaper, the radio stations, you name it. Bannon’s sister April has also spread it around, then Edie Maxwell when she heard from Freddie’s mother.”

  Marisa sighed. She knew better than to believe the town of Clarksville, Wyoming could keep anything quiet.

  “So when are you coming home?” he asked.

  “As soon as I can. When I get the details, I’ll let you know.”

  “I wish you’d never gone on that damned trip.”

  Marisa chuckled. “I’m glad I did. I saw some great ruins, and I enjoyed an adventure.”

  “Right. Enjoyed an adventure. Are you crazy, girl? It was that type of thinking that destroyed your parents.”

  Irritation roared up inside her. She so wasn’t going to talk about her parents. “There’s someone at the door. It’s probably my soldier.”

  “Who?”

  Crap. She was thinking of him that way out loud. Was she nuts? “Uh, I mean, the soldier who watched over me yesterday. He sort of adopted me.”

  “Oh, yes.” Amusement filled his voice, doing exactly what she’d hoped. “I heard about him.”