Into the Night

by Suzanne Brockmann

  “And insertion means arriving. You told me that before,” she said. “It’s proven to be an effective tool for me in my job if I actually listen to the people from whom I’m getting information. Go on, please.”

  “Our safest, fastest route off the island is to proceed with stealth down to the harbor and swim,” he continued. “Out in the harbor is a French freighter about to leave port. They know we’re coming, and have rigging similar to our cargo net here secured along the starboard side of the vessel—the side facing away from town. We can climb on board without drawing any attention to ourselves. Any questions?”

  “What do you do with a plan like that when your former hostage informs you that she can’t swim?” Joan asked.

  “As long as Lieutenant Muldoon’s with you, you don’t need to know how to swim,” Jenk told her with a grin. “You just need to know how to hold on.”

  “Yeah, but what if she’s really freaked out by deep water, like really can’t handle it, can’t even go out on a boat?” she asked.

  “Are you really?” Muldoon asked.

  “No. I love boats. My only fear relating to the ocean is being forced to wear a bikini in public. I’m much more the tank suit type.” She liked to swim—although calling it swimming was an exaggeration. She was an excellent doggy paddler, despite the fact that she hated getting water in her ears. She was prone to sinus infections. “I’m just saying what if.”

  “There’s a good chance that information about any severe phobias would be included in the personnel records made available after the hostage went missing,” he told her. “Although, you never know.” He turned to Jenk. “You have Joan’s file?”

  She turned to Jenk, too. Joan’s what?

  The shorter SEAL was already holding something out toward Muldoon. A file. Her file. Holy shit. What exactly was in there?

  “This is your file,” Muldoon told her. “It contains information about you—next-of-kin type stuff, as well as standard info like all the places you’ve ever lived, colleges you attended, you know. Any known medical conditions. There’s also a list of basic physical characteristics along with several photos—because hostages are not always alert and able to identify themselves. And occasionally they’ve been beaten to the point that the photos really don’t help, hence the list of identifying marks.” He smiled. “You know that tattoo you got about five years ago…?”

  “Oh, shit!” Joan snatched the file from his hands. “Let me see that.”

  Not only were there several extremely hideous pictures of her in there—out of three, only one of them wasn’t awful—but there was indeed a brief list of physical characteristics, including her double piercings in each ear, and yes, the small rose tattoo she’d gotten just below her left hip.

  She flipped through the rest of the papers.

  “God, how embarrassing. My tattoo’s in my file, yet there’s nothing here at all about my skill as a public relations person and a writer. Isn’t that telling about our society?”

  Jenk pointed helpfully to the page that held a summary of her college transcript. “They list your SAT scores. Which were almost as high as mine.”

  Muldoon gave him one look and Jenk pulled his hand back as quickly as if he’d gotten smacked.

  “This isn’t that sort of file,” Muldoon told her. “This is basic and limited information that will help us ID you and therefore be able to get you to safety. If there was more time to prepare, we’d receive more information about you.” He smiled. “Maybe even a writing sample. But for right now, this file has one of the things we need most. Your measurements.”

  “Excuse me?” Was he kidding? Joan couldn’t tell because he was smiling. If he was, it was a bad joke. But he looked pointedly behind her, and she turned.

  “Your new wardrobe,” Muldoon said.

  Jenk was now holding up a pair of ankle-high boots. And Gilligan held what looked like a green-and-brown camouflage jumpsuit. Jungle print, she remembered it was called.

  “When we kick down the doors and rescue you,” Muldoon told her, suddenly serious, “we come in prepared for you to be in any condition. You might be beaten so badly that you can’t walk. If that’s the case, we’ll stabilize you and carry you out. You might be naked and handcuffed in the corner of the room. We’ll get you unlocked and cover you up. You might—and we always hope this is the case—you might be physically unharmed but wearing a skirt and high heels, like you are right now. I don’t know about you, but personally, I’ve never been able to run well in heels.”

  “Me, neither,” Cosmo said, perfectly deadpan.

  Joan took the jumpsuit from Gilligan. “Is there somewhere I can go to put this on?”

  “Chances are you wouldn’t have time to be modest,” Gilligan told her apologetically. “You’d either change right there or just pull this on over your clothes.”

  “If those are my choices, I’ll take option two.” She kicked off her shoes and stepped into the pants.

  “It’ll work better if you hike up your skirt,” Muldoon suggested, and for a second she thought he might actually reach in and help.

  But she turned her back on him—on all of them.

  “I’m going to be really hot in this,” she realized. And doubly uncomfortable with her skirt bunched up around her ass.

  “There’ll be less of a chance of rope burns,” Gilligan said.

  Joan reached behind her, unfastened her skirt, and, zipping the jumpsuit up in the front, squeezed her skirt over her head. She tossed it onto a nearby bench and kicked her shoes over there as well as she slipped her arms into the jumpsuit and zipped it the rest of the way up.

  The boots they’d brought for her were a little big, but then again, she was wearing pantyhose instead of socks. Transformation complete.

  And then they were all heading to the cargo net.

  “You ready to try this?” Muldoon asked her.

  “Don’t I look ready?” Actually, in this loose-fitting jumpsuit, she probably looked like a camouflaged marshmallow. When they did this with Brooke, she’d have to make sure to get clothes that fit. The camouflage pattern was nice, though—it would make for a good photo.

  But then Joan looked up. And up. And all those little details didn’t matter right now.

  Standing next to this thing, she knew this was completely insane. The framework holding the ropes seemed to stretch upward for a long, long way.

  “You want me to hose you down?” Jenk asked helpfully. “To make the scenario more realistic? Because supposedly you just had a nice long swim out into the harbor.”

  Was he serious? God, he was.

  “Thanks, but no thanks,” Joan said. She tried to sound casual. “Hey, uh, Mike? Is this really safe?”

  “Yeah. Doubly so because you’ll be wearing this.” Muldoon fastened the harness around her. It went between her legs and up around her waist and around her torso and over her shoulders. It was attached to a blue mountain-climbing rope that went all the way up to some kind of device attached to the top of the frame.

  God damn, this thing was big. She stared up at it, unable to look away. Muldoon really expected her to climb all the way up there? And down the other side…?

  “So if you do slip—but you won’t, I won’t let you—the harness’ll catch you. What you need to remember is, if that happens, protect your head. You listening to me, Joan? Look at me, okay?”

  He pulled her chin down so that she was looking into his eyes.

  “You with me?” he asked.

  Huh? Oh. “Yeah.”

  “If you slip, protect your head. The harness will keep you from falling far, but you’ll swing. You’ll just bounce off the ropes, but it’s not impossible for you to hit the frame. Which is solid wood. Which you don’t want your head to connect with. You got that?”

  Joan nodded.

  He tightened the harness around her waist. “So what do you do if you slip?”

  “Protect my head. I was listening.”

  “Good.” It was an odd sensat
ion to have him snapping and buckling her in. It was very safe-feeling—not unlike being five years old and bundled up by her mother before she went outside and played in the snow.

  She half expected him to kiss her on the nose when he finished.

  Instead he just smiled. “Don’t look so worried. I’m going to be with you every step of the way. And Jenk and Cosmo will be right behind us and beside us. Gillman will be up top, making sure the harness system works. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She forced herself to smile.

  “There we go. That’s more like it. This is going to be fun.”

  Joan laughed. “No, no, no. Fun is getting invited to a dinner party and finding out you’re seated next to Colin Firth. Fun is having the First Lady invite you to lunch in Paris. Fun is not climbing four million feet into the air and four million feet back down.”

  “To each his own,” he said easily. “I wouldn’t have the slightest clue what to say to the First Lady. Or Colin Firth.”

  “You just ask about their day. Everyone likes to talk about themselves,” Joan said. “It’s easy.”

  “Yeah, well, I happen to think this is easier. As you climb, it’s going to feel kind of soft. Springy. The ropes give. And they’ll tighten and bounce when Cosmo and Jenk climb onto the rigging, too. Hold on as tightly as you can. And when you take a step, if you feel at all like you’re slipping, try to catch the heel of your boot on the rope—it’ll make you feel more secure.” He turned her to face the ropes. “Start by climbing on.”

  “Now?”

  He laughed. “As opposed to next Friday? Yes, now. Don’t think about it, Joan. Just do it.”

  She did it. Both hands and then her feet. Yikes, it was definitely wiggly underfoot. And her own body weight pulled her backward, gravity tugging her toward the ground. This was going to be much more difficult than climbing a wooden ladder.

  “There you go. Hold on tightly,” he ordered. And then the ropes squirmed even more as he climbed on, too.

  And Muldoon really did climb on—right on top of her.

  He surrounded her, his hands and feet on either side of hers, his chest against her back. He was actually touching her, as if they were lovers spooning together.

  “This is how we’re going to do it,” he said, his voice in her ear. “Me right here with you. All the way up to the top. When you move, I move. If you need to stop and take a break, you can lean back against me. I’ll hold on to you and make sure you don’t fall.”

  He was extremely solid against her back, a very male wall of hard muscles.

  Oh, my.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Fine,” she managed. Her heart was already pounding, and she was only a foot or so off the ground. “Except I don’t seem to want to let go of these ropes, so climbing’s going to be a little difficult.”

  “Start with your left foot.” His breath was warm against her ear, and he pushed his leg up underneath her left thigh, actually lifting her foot off the ropes.

  She had no choice but to find the next rung in this giant rope ladder.

  “Good. Then your right hand.” He helped her with that as well, prying her fingers from the rope and guiding her up a square. “Excellent. Now your right foot. And left hand.”

  And there she was.

  Climbing.

  Well, actually, it was more like she was sitting on his lap, and he was climbing, but at least he no longer had to pry her hands from the ropes as they moved.

  “You’re doing great,” he said into her ear. “Just don’t look down.”

  Of course she immediately looked down and it was all over. She froze. “Oh, shit.” It hadn’t taken them long to get way, way off the ground. And yet they were still only halfway to the top.

  “Oops,” Muldoon said. “My bad. Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you not to look down, because then you’re going to look down, right? Human nature.”

  “Oh, shit,” she said again.

  “Do you have trouble with heights?” he asked. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of. A lot of people do.”

  “I do,” Jenk chimed in, hanging like a monkey by only one arm from the net, just slightly above them.

  He was making the entire thing shake, and Joan heard herself squeak with alarm. God, how embarrassing to actually squeak.

  “Go all the way up to the top,” Muldoon ordered Jenkins. “Cosmo, too. Get off the net. Let’s make this thing as stable as possible.”

  Joan closed her eyes as the two other men quickly climbed up the rigging, as the net bounced and shook. But then, thankfully, it stopped.

  “I’m not afraid of heights,” she told Muldoon. “At least I didn’t think I was. But, oh, God, I guess I am.”

  “Take a break, okay?” he told her. “Lean back against me and concentrate on breathing. I’ve got you.” Somehow he managed to put his arm around her waist, to secure her more tightly against him, even as he held on to the ropes. “Is that better?”

  If she didn’t know better, if she hadn’t already firmly established the fact that they were friends and nothing more than friends, she would have thought he’d told her not to look down on purpose, purely for a chance to get his arms around her.

  God, he had big arms. One of them was wrapped tightly around her so she could feel firsthand just how strong he was. His other arm, she could see. It was right next to her cheek, muscles standing out as he held them both in place.

  “You’re not wearing a harness,” she realized, suddenly dizzier than ever. “Oh, God! Oh, Mike! This was a really bad idea. I want to get down. I want us both to go back down to the ground, okay?”

  “Shhh,” he said. “Joan, come on, breathe. I’m up here all the time. Remember what I told you? For me, it’s no big deal.”

  “Yeah, but you’re not usually up here with me. I’m a total klutz. I’m going to knock you off of this thing, I know it. In case you haven’t noticed, I need to lose about twenty pounds. I’m not some delicate lightweight.”

  “Well, actually,” he said into her ear, as calmly as if they were having a conversation back on the ground, “I have noticed. Kind of hard not to, considering our physical proximity and, well, you want to know the truth, I don’t think you need to lose anything. You feel pretty perfect to me.”

  FIVE

  MULDOON HELD ON to the ropes as Joan didn’t say anything. As she still didn’t say anything. As she continued not to say anything.

  Oh, man, he’d never done this before. He’d never had to, never wanted to. And now he knew why. Facing potential rejection like this was no fun.

  Especially when she smelled so damn good and fit so well in his arms. Man, this woman was incredibly sexy and she apparently didn’t even know it. Her skin was beautiful, smooth and soft on her cheeks, but crinkling slightly around her eyes. He loved laughter lines on women. From now on it was going to be the first thing he looked for when he checked out a woman. He’d wasted far too much time on far too serious women who wouldn’t laugh even if they were dating Adam Sandler. Yeah, he was forever done with women who didn’t have a solid sense of humor.

  He was done with women who didn’t fill his arms, too. No more bony, half-starving, pencil-thin women who wanted him to escort them to dinner—which was ridiculous because once they got to the restaurant, they barely dented a salad.

  No more blondes, either. He liked hair like Joan’s—thick and dark with a hint of red highlights. Chestnut, he thought it was called. Yeah. And he liked brown eyes, too. Just like hers.

  Right now her brown eyes were closed. But then she opened them and glanced back over her shoulder at him. And then, finally, she spoke. “Are you fricking hitting on me, Muldoon, sixty feet off the ground?”

  “Thirty-five feet,” he corrected her. “And no,” he lied, because she didn’t look particularly happy at the idea. “I’m not. I’m…You said you weren’t a lightweight, like there was something wrong with that. And I just thought you should know that a lot of guys don’t like women who look like they’ll blow aw
ay in a strong breeze. A lot of guys like women who actually look like women, and have, like, women’s bodies, and well, I’m one of those guys, and I happen to think that you’ve got, you know, a really fabulous body. So don’t go ruining it by losing twenty pounds and turning into a walking skeleton, okay?”

  He’d surprised her. He’d surprised himself as well. Despite his initial lie, he’d never been so completely honest with a woman before—at least not about what turned him on.

  A great smile, laughter lines, lots of curves, and legs just like Joan DaCosta’s.

  “Well,” she said rather faintly. “Thank you. That’s…the most compelling argument for not skipping dessert that I’ve heard in a long time.”

  She glanced at him again, smiled weakly, then looked away.

  Ah, come on, Joan. Say it. This was where she was supposed to take his incredibly unsubtle cue and invite him to her hotel room to share some of that dessert. And breakfast, too.

  She cleared her throat. Here it came…

  “You’re a very nice young man,” she said.

  Ah, jeez. That was even worse than being called Junior. He knew from experience that calling someone—or being called—nice promised a relationship filled with exactly zero sex.

  Yes, buried inside of her innocuous-sounding vague words of dubious praise was his answer. The No Sex Tonight buzzer sounded with seeming finality. He wasn’t going anywhere near her hotel room any time in the near future. Nice young man was a full one-eighty degrees from steamin’ hot stud muffin.

  There was no doubt about it. She thought he was too young for her.

  “But I really do want to get down now,” she added.

  “I’m not going to let you fall,” Muldoon said for what seemed like the four thousandth time in the past fifteen minutes, working hard not to let his frustration sound in his voice. But he knew that she wasn’t really listening, that she didn’t really trust him. How could she? He was obviously too young to be trusted.