Trace raised his fist, and they stopped short, making her slam into his back. It was a solid wall of cut muscle covered by a bulletproof vest and a small arsenal strapped to his body. The way he acted, he clearly was in communication with someone, though who it was, she had no idea.
An animal screeched near her. She jumped, clinging to Trace, arms wrapping around his thick torso. He turned his head, glancing at her in the dark. She couldn’t see his face, even that close up, but could feel the stare.
“This is going to be awkward, huh?” His low voice was muffled by the thick jungle that surrounded them. Birds squawked. Something that sounded much larger and… hungry growled in the near distance.
She tried to replace cold fear with fake strength. That was what had allowed her to survive her abduction. Hell, it was probably the cause of her one-night stand. She took a deep breath and lied. “I don’t do awkward, don’t worry about it.”
He laughed. “I don’t recall there wasn’t a lot you wouldn’t do.”
Instant heat flooded her neck and cheeks, but she tried to channel über-confidence. “You’ve got jokes.” She gave him a quick jab with her elbow. It made him chuckle until his hand cupped her shoulders and shoved her down her into the warm dirt.
In the distance, bullets rang out. Her body jumped with each crack of fire. The jungle acoustics screwed with her. Which way were they coming from? Who did Trace work for, anyway? This was way too much trust to be levied in a guy just because she’d slept with him. Bark peeled off the trees around them, splinters floating down from bullets.
Trace kneeled over her, tugging her close and blocking her body. The familiar scent of him reminded her of their night together. He watched the black abyss, gun pointed toward attackers she couldn’t see. He wasn’t gentle with her. Then again, they hadn’t been gentle with each other last time they’d been together, and she’d enjoyed the hell out of it.
More gunfire. Why on earth was she thinking about that right then? God.
Despite the oppressive heat, shivers ran down her back. Her memory betrayed rational thought and replayed flashes of his broad chest over her and him driving into her, hands gripping her tight, teeth raking her skin, and her nipples, and much lower. She pulled a quick breath.
“You okay down there?”
As her eyes became more accustomed to the dark, she saw his chin tilt toward her. He had absolutely no idea what had gone through her head. Good—that’d be embarrassing. But he’d been fun, and the night she’d had with him had been her one wild reprieve in an otherwise obsessively private last year. Stop! Thinking! About him in bed. Though, at least Brian wasn’t commentating in her head, at the moment.
“Hey, whatever your name is, you doing okay?”
It would’ve sounded mean if there hadn’t been a smile in his voice. And amusement right then would’ve been crazy, given that they were surrounded by people trying to kill each other—trying to kill them—but she felt safe with him, and he didn’t seem that bothered by the whole situation.
Leave it to her to run into her meaningless sex partner when he was saving her life. Of course. “Yup. Doing great.”
“Good, ’cause we’re on the move again.” When he stood them up, he towered over her. “Let’s go, Cinderella.”
He pulled her through thickets and under branches. Bugs tickled her skin. Sweat dampened her clothes, making them stick to her. He was soaking wet, but she had no idea why. It wasn’t from their effort.
They came to a stop, and he lowered himself into a squat, pulling her with him. “Why Mallory if you’re Marlena?”
Surprised it took that long for him to ask, she tried to think of the best answer and not to gasp from her run. Panting like that wasn’t sexy—not that it mattered—and moving through the jungle wasn’t as easy as it looked in the movies.
“Not explaining the name?” he asked.
She closed her eyes. Oh, just trying not to sound like an out-of-shape oaf. “Mallory, Marlena. I did that for all the reasons you were sent to find me.” And in all her out-of-breath glory, her foot caught on a root, and she hit the ground. “Shit. Sorry.”
In a second, he had her up and in his arms. She was close enough to feel his even breath. His camo-painted face stared down at her, and she was locked in their crazy moment until he broke the stare. “I’m not trying to manhandle you. But this’ll be faster.”
What—? Oh. He took off quickly, with Marlena cradled in his arms. In theory, his running through the jungle while holding her didn’t seem the faster route. But in reality, they covered significantly more ground when she wasn’t trying to walk.
“Ten-four, soldier.” God, where did that come from? Maybe not enough oxygen had reached her brain after chasing him in the humid rain forest.
“Soldier, huh?” He laughed and jumped down an embankment that didn’t slow him at all but made her stomach flip into her throat.
“Aren’t you?” That was the only logical conclusion. She’d met him right off of Ramstein, and now he was dressed like a military badass in a jungle somewhere. An American soldier was the only answer she could come up with.
“Something like that.” He ducked them under brush then came to a stop, looking around in the darkness and checking something in his hand. “So I’m a soldier, and you’re a high-value target. What’s the deal on the name?”
And back to square one. Until she knew who he was, she hadn’t much to say. “How do you know where we are?” Jungle noises hissed at her, forcing her to inch impossibly closer to his weapon-covered chest. “‘High-value target’ sounds ridiculous—just so you know.”
He pulled up short, completely silent, making her still-panicked breaths stand out.
“Stay,” he whispered, setting her down. Trace pivoted, watched into the nothingness… and banged out rounds from his gun.
The bright light and loud noise made her jump back, but he grabbed her into his arms and started back on their fast moving pace.
“Why are they chasing us?”
He never took his eyes off the distance. “Hunting us.”
Her stomach dropped. Hunting. “Why?”
“You know why they had you. I don’t. You’re high value. You’re worth dying for—for them and for us. I’ve got plans after this job is over, so it won’t be me dying today.” He slammed to a halt again and pressed her against a tree, covering her from the dangers that lurked around them. Pops fired, and bark from the tree exploded around her. “You good?”
She didn’t know if it was the memory or the moment that made her flush. “I’m sorry.” The tree’s bark and branches scratched into her back. “About before.”
He laughed. “Never been ditched like that before, babe. You made that night unforgettable.”
If he could see her cheeks, he would’ve seen red. White-hot embarrassment crept through her, choking her, and she dropped her chin. She had made one mistake, taken a chance—really, a risk—one time of random sex with a stranger, and it had to turn out like this. Cringing, her body tried to cave in on itself.
“Hey, Cinderella.” He touched her chin, bringing her gaze back to him. “I wasn’t trying to be a dick.”
“I’ve never pulled a move like that.”
“Ditching a man when he hit the shower? Or getting wild with someone you’ve never met.”
Oh my God. She groaned. “This is humiliating.”
“Nah, I got a kick out of it.” He lofted her back into his arms. “Alright, time to get you back home.”
Home. What did that mean anymore? After Brian continued to show up at her door, embarrassing her and belittling her when he needed a fix, she had moved to a shabby-chic apartment and hoped he wouldn’t find her. It wasn’t her favorite place, but it was convenient to school and to the local military base that she went to every so often.
Fine, the sexy stranger could bring her back to the United States, where she could bunker down until she was called to do her patriotic duty again and hope to God she didn’t end up somep
lace like this.
Chapter Six
‡
Trace located the rendezvous point on the river minutes before a rickety fishing boat drifted by. A light flashed two times, and he flashed a response—two quick and one long. The boat veered off the murky, marshy river, and Trace put Marlena in and hopped in behind her.
Roman and Ryder, who manned the shitty vessel, nodded their hellos. Marlena acted unsure of them, maybe of the boat, and definitely of their plan to take their time in meeting the rest of the team and getting the hell out of South America.
She sat on her bottom, looking small and unassuming. “The man who took me—”
“Romatar,” Roman jumped in.
She nodded. “He has a lot of money invested in a project. They won’t be happy about this, and they have a lot of men with guns.”
Trace sat on a bench next to her. “There’s a lot of money invested in you coming home. I’d bet on us any day of the week.”
“Oh.”
They floated down the slowly winding river. Mosquitoes the size of baseballs hovered around, and if they hadn’t been in stealth mode, Trace would’ve wasted the time picking them off as target practice.
Mallory-Marlena—whatever her name was—moved from the bench to the floorboards and was asleep in five minutes. Her back pressed against his shin, and there was nothing better to do than keep an eye on her. She was far more interesting than the scenery, anyway.
As high-value targets went, she didn’t look like much. Not deadly or dangerous. With dark-brown hair that had fiery red highlights, lips that looked used to being shiny and pink, and days-old eye makeup smudged around her dark, almond eyes, she was damn sure the best-looking HVT he’d ever picked up. So, it hadn’t been a few too many drinks, back in Germany, that had told him she was well past a solid ten.
Ryder and Roman sat on the boat’s bench on the lookout. Their trigger fingers were at the ready, but Trace also knew they were watching him watch her as the minutes dragged by. The incoming questions would arrive soon enough. They’d all been privy to his conversation with her in the jungle, even if it was one-sided through their earpieces.
“So what’s the deal?” Ryder asked.
It’d taken him fifteen minutes to ask. Not bad, considering he was a nosy bastard. Trace shrugged. “No deal.”
The Aussie sniper tilted his head, angling for a better glance. “You know her… well?”
In the pit of his stomach, Trace didn’t want her around Ryder. Didn’t want her to hear the accent that his buddy could dial up, given the right girl. But did he know her? No, not in any real sense. He only knew her naked and in bed. “Not really.”
“Ah.” Roman nodded. “I get it.”
Ryder chuckled. “Even the grim reaper needs a little piece of action, occasionally.”
“Alright, assholes.” Even if that’s what it had been, he didn’t like the way it sounded. “Small world, that’s all.”
Marlena stirred on the ground, wiping at her eyes. Slowly she propped herself on her elbows and took them all in. “Hey. Sorry I fell asleep.” Her eyes drifted over them and then out to the water.
“No worries.” Ryder smiled. It was amazing how much of an accent he could punch into that.
She didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes leveled on Trace, brows raised. “Are you going to tell me who you guys are?”
He nodded. “Titan Group, Delta team.”
She tucked her legs under her, and the rickety boat swayed in the water. Her forehead pinched. “I hate boats.”
How could anyone hate boats? Floating down the water was the most relaxing thing he could think of, as long as no one was shooting at him. And even then, he enjoyed the hell out of it. “You going to be sick?”
She gave half a smile. “No telling.” When she moved, the boat rocked back and forth, and her grin faltered. “Eh, maybe.” She waved her hand. “No. Just ignore me.”
Now, that’d be pretty damn hard. She wasn’t wearing a bra. While she’d been sleeping, her dark-cherry nipples hadn’t been in his line of sight. But with the sun breaking, a soft morning glow illuminated her threadbare white tank top. That sorry excuse for a shirt wasn’t hiding much. Not that he hadn’t seen it all before. Shit. He scrubbed his face with dirty hands.
“How about you, Trace? You alright over there?” Roman laughed.
Dick. They had another thirty minutes or so until they docked and met up with the rest of the team. From there, the job would be a cakewalk. Go wheels up. Get her to the states. Debrief.
After that, he had the small problem of surviving in the temporary stateside housing. Maybe he’d beg Brock and Jared to release Delta into the wild again.
Javier had told him to think of it as his own man-castle. Luke and Javier were ready to tear it up in the States for a little bit, and having their own place to crash made it easier. But Trace could barely swallow the thought of four walls that trapped him, a roof that felt as if it were closing in. There were so many things he could be doing—should be doing—instead of relaxing in a comfortable bed in safe shelter.
Colin had suggested that maybe Trace stop torturing himself. But screw them all, they hadn’t lost their brother. Guilt over Michael’s death strangled his thoughts, even a million miles away.
He needed off this rickety boat. Off this side of the globe and back to the desert-dry world he’d been tracking and triangulating. Sooner or later, he would find the tribe responsible for his brother’s death. They were nomadic people. Terrorist goat herders, for lack of a better description. Except they were a highly functioning cell, complete with advanced technology and an intelligence network that had consistently been one step ahead of him, and those fuckers had to have had the one thing Trace wanted: Michael’s dog tags.
He’d been so close that he could feel the retribution at his fingertips. So damn close, he could almost feel the tags in his hands. When he had them, he was certain he’d finally be able to take a deep breath. Until then, the search was on—
“Seriously, this time. You okay over there, buddy?” Roman’s eyes narrowed like he knew the rabbit hole Trace had just fallen into.
“Yeah.” He stared up at the morning sky until the boat rocked again.
Marlena was failing at another attempt to move on the piece-of-shit fishing boat. “Who sent you for me? How did you know where to find me?”
Trace shrugged. He didn’t know who had hired Titan. Delta wasn’t there to explain, just to move her from point A to point B. But he had a few questions of his own.
“If we’re trying to stay alive, shouldn’t we row this little boat faster?” She stared at the paddles lying on the floor. “Or at all? Floating with the current seems counterintuitive.”
Trace shook his head. “No one speeds down this river. We do that, we stick out and find trouble.”
“So we just sit here?” She pushed reddish-brown hair behind her ear, and at that moment he remembered the sound she made when his tongue ran across her earlobe.
He sucked in a breath. “For another half hour, plus or minus.”
“My two cents say we should get the hell out of here a little faster. Just so you know.” She peered up while bracing her hands on the side the boat. Her face was green, her nipples were showing, and all while, her voice had a bit of bossiness to it.
He couldn’t stop the grin from forming and even chuckled. “We’ll take it under advisement.”
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t get it either.” Ryder stared at him, then to Roman. “But who the hell’s heard Trace laugh recently?”
Her eyes narrowed, and despite the smudged makeup around tired them, they were addictive. “You’re laughing at me? Just drive the boat faster. Surely you can go a little faster and not make a scene.”
“You’re a hot, bossy mess, Cinderella.”
“I said I was sorry,” she said.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t call you on it.”
“What the hell are you two talking about?�
� Ryder asked.
Lips pursed, she didn’t look one bit interested in explaining, which made him like it all the more. “Nothing, man.”
Trace moved off the bench and sat next to her on the floorboard. “What’s the deal with you, anyway? Why’d your cute butt end up down here?”
“I don’t like to share.”
“Or tell the truth.”
She smacked him but smiled. “Don’t be an ass.”
“Don’t know if that’s possible.” Ryder laughed.
“Private conversation, buddy.”
“On a boat the size of my couch.”
Trace turned to Ryder and glared. “I get it, now shut up already.”
He turned back to Marlena, and the boat rocked more than he had intended it to. “Sorry, total accident. I swear.”
She elbowed him, making the little boat move, and her queasy look surfaced again. “I’ll pay you every dime I have if you get me off this awful raft.”
“It’s a boat.”
“Boat. Whatever.” Something jumped out of the water and snagged one of the baseball-sized mosquitoes. “Crap. Just get me home.”
“Where’s home?”
She sighed. “Nowhere, anymore.”
That sounded familiar. “I get that.”
Brock barked into his earpiece, “Air support’s early for your rendezvous. Be at that dock in fifteen minutes, and keep your eyes up.”
“Roger that.” Trace glanced at Roman and Ryder then at Marlena. “Looks like you might owe me every dime you’ve ever made.”
Ryder and Roman picked up oars, and Trace surveyed the horizon for anyone who seemed interested in their downriver push. Every time he darted from bank to bank, upstream and down, he stole a glance at her.
They skimmed through the water. Marlena sighed, relief on her face, and then she caught him staring. She wiped her expression clean, replacing it with an almost laughable calm. It couldn’t have been more fake, and he couldn’t have wanted to kiss her any more than he did that second.
The dock came into view as a chopper began its descent. Marlena leaned into his arm. “Instead of tossing you every dime I’ve ever made, how about you let me make up that shower I missed out on?”
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