Safe in His Arms (Love's Command)

by Billi Jean

  He pressed one more kiss against her swollen lips and pulled her up to stand next to him. Her legs felt wobbly and her body hot and cold all at once. Mac looked at her, then off to scan the area.

  She could almost feel the soldier take over and the man she loved fade. But now, instead of feeling insecure, she realised that if she loved Mac, she had to love this part of him—Wolf. The soldier. She reached out and brushed her fingers over the lighter patch of hair on his forehead and he startled a look down at her. Instead of speaking, she cupped his jaw where the scar stood out against his tanned skin.

  He didn’t speak either, but pressed his hand over hers. The moment was intense, and one she knew she’d remember fifty years from now. Mac, standing there, so strong and sure of himself, her protector, while she simply felt his warmth through her fingertips.

  “We gotta go, Mandy. It will be okay.”

  She nodded, and dropped her hand, then knelt to pick up the contents of the pack, repositioning it all where it was supposed to be as he hunched down to help her. He tried to take the pack but she held it.

  “I can carry—”

  “No, it’s not far. We go around this way.” He motioned with his chin towards the jungle, not the meadow.

  She knew why. He didn’t want her to see the dead men. She followed, feeling like something painful had suddenly risen up between them. Something she didn’t know how to ease. He wanted to hide this side of his life from her. She could understand that. She wanted to hide the attack from him. But she knew they’d have to both reveal everything if they were going to survive.

  Lies could destroy them, but they could also set them free.

  At least she hoped so as she followed Mac’s lead.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The house was empty, and the temptation proved too great for Mac to pass up. They’d stay here. The sunset was already hitting the horizon. The chances of the cartel sending another team tonight were slim. Mandy was tired, and even if she looked fine, she wasn’t. He’d leave her here, go to town—now that he knew what island they were on—and make contact with a local he knew.

  Decided, Mac took Mandy around to the back door and found it still open, just the way they’d left it. The glass he’d broken littered the ground. The truck still stood out front, the engine off, but the keys were in his pocket.

  The plan grew solid. He knew she’d hate it, but instincts—his gut—warned him he needed to make sure the town was safe before driving her in there. Firming his resolve, he took a breath and said, “We stay here tonight.”

  Mandy stopped in her tracks. “What? Here?” She glanced around the backyard, at the house, then up at him with too-wide grey eyes. Shit, he needed her safe.

  “Look, Mandy, just try to listen. I need to reach town. Check in. I’ll call the men, see if they can make it here tonight, but I don’t think that’s possible. What is possible is I can salvage this by hitting a town. This is Molokai—there’s a town nearby. I’m guessing we’re on the western end of the island, but I can’t be sure. I go check it out, call a contact I know in the area, and come back for you as soon as I establish a secure line.”

  “What? No.” She shook her head violently, clearly getting worked up.

  “Mandy, this isn’t safe.” He dug out the cheap cellphone and flipped it open. “This isn’t worth crap to us. I need a secure line. In town, I can get that.”

  Stubborn as hell, she didn’t move, not even when he tried to usher her in the door. “No, we stay together. You promised not to leave me.”

  His anger soared. “Don’t. Don’t pull that shit, Mandy. You know I’m not leaving you. This place is secure. You stay here. If you hear anyone coming up that driveway, you hide in a damn closet. They won’t do more than take a quick look in the house, then leave. The truck will be with me.”

  He watched her expression harden and her grey eyes turn flat and angry. But she stayed silent. Whatever peace he’d earned them for fucking her like an animal was gone. Hell, what had he been thinking, taking her like that when the adrenaline and fear were still racing through his system? Fear had driven him. Fear that she’d been hurt, killed or, worse, taken, plus the selfish fear that she’d look at him like a monster. He could see that now. He couldn’t think with her near him. Space, he needed some space to get his head on straight.

  After a few silent seconds, she turned her back on him and entered the house. He anchored her to the wall inside by the door. He felt like a bastard for the look she gave him but he hadn’t done more than take the keys out of the truck when he’d rushed back over here.

  “I need to check the house.”

  She didn’t say a word, just sarcastically raised her delicate eyebrows and slowly leaned a shoulder against the door jamb. When he didn’t immediately move, she flicked her small hand arrogant as hell for him to get to it.

  Fuck.

  He stalked off angrier with himself than with her. She had a right to be pissed off. He didn’t want her near this shit, but she was. If he made it through town, got his call in, and back here, he was going to explain how he was simply trying to protect her.

  Was this plan foolproof? It felt safer than taking her with him into an unknown, possibly dangerous town. The cartel could have a team stationed there.

  The house was the best choice. He rushed back down the stairs to see her in the same position, arms crossed, one shoulder against the kitchen door jamb. One eyebrow rose when he burst into the kitchen, but otherwise she didn’t move.

  “It’s secure. I want you to stay on this level so you can get to the door—this one or the front door—if anyone shows up. Simply slip out. Easy as that. They’re not about quiet, they’re about making a big entrance.”

  He shrugged out of his pack, unhooked the straps, and pulled out her gun again as he talked. He’d thought of it as hers ever since he’d trained her with it. “I’m leaving this, and I’m leaving the phone. Don’t answer it. If someone comes, take it and dial Ace’s number, but otherwise don’t use it.”

  “I don’t know Ace’s number.”

  “I programmed it in.”

  “Okay.” She sounded calm, resigned to this, but he could see it cost her.

  “I’m trying here. I don’t want to chance taking you to town, Mandy. It’s as simple as that. I know you’re strong, I know you can help, but this will be quicker if you stay here.” He wasn’t asking permission, he told himself. But relief eased the tension in his shoulders as soon as she nodded.

  Looking around the empty kitchen, she said, “Maybe I can find something for us to eat.”

  “Yeah, that would be great. No lights, though.” He flushed as soon as she gave him that ‘duh’ look. It was hard to keep in mind how damn smart she was. “I’m trying, Mandy.”

  She turned back to him immediately and her frown grew. “I know that, Mac, I do. And you’re right. I just don’t like to be apart—” She paused and glanced down. She did that a lot now, avoided his eyes when she spoke.

  He moved in and touched her face. She took his hand and squeezed. “I get it. It just feels wrong to me, but you’re the one that knows, I don’t. I almost shot my own foot off.”

  “Shit, baby.” He hauled her into his arms and kissed her forehead. “Don’t tell me shit like that, damn.”

  She laughed softly, sounding sad. “I’m trying, too,” she whispered.

  She was, he knew that. He was pushing her, forcing her to be strong. Stronger. She was strong. “I know you are, baby. God, you scare the hell out of me, do you know that?”

  “I do?” she asked, sounding surprised. She reached up and caressed the bandage on his arm. “You scare me too. Hurry back.”

  It wasn’t a question but he nodded. God, he loved this woman. Now he needed her safe and secure.

  Protect the mission at all costs.

  Mandy was the mission. Keeping her safe was paramount.

  “Right,” he growled the word, but his anger at their fucked-up situation was growing, and so were doubts
that leaving her like this might be a mistake. “If I’m not back in—”

  “Don’t.” The one word, spoken so softly, stopped him like she’d shouted it. That one word carried with it enough strength to get his ass moving with just a nod at her, when all he wanted to do was curl her up in his arms and make all this go away for her.

  But he couldn’t.

  Instead, he left, shutting the door firmly and letting the cold mask of his mission fall down over him.

  The door shut softly, but Mandy flinched. A chill shivered down her back and goose bumps rose on her arms. She still wore Mac’s shirt and the smell of him saturated her. Hugging her middle, she leant back against the counter and bent her head to stare down at the floor. Her stomach tightened as the truck started up then he was driving off.

  She looked up and around the kitchen, fighting the need to run out after him, crying like a little kid to take her with him. She bit down on her bottom lip and grimaced at the tears that burnt her eyes.

  Just how many tears did one person have?

  A gazillion, she guessed with a small laugh.

  Enough. Get something for us to eat. He’ll be back. He has to be back.

  She needed him back.

  Until then, she’d cook…or something. She gazed around the pristine kitchen, amazed at how beautiful it was. The floor was lined with wide, dark, highly polished wood that glowed. Someone must come up here and clean the place for it to look this nice, she thought. The black cabinets with little silver handles complemented the floors perfectly. She walked over and traced her fingers along the stainless steel dishwasher tucked under a cabinet, wondering why anyone would leave such a beautiful home. A Wolf stove stood at the opposite end of the kitchen from her, next to a country-style porcelain sink. A large central island stood in the middle of the room, with four comfortable-looking backless bar stools tucked underneath the two-inch-thick marble counter top. It was a chef’s kitchen, she thought. Everything within reach except, she smiled sadly at the idea, food. Where did they keep all their food?

  She’d have to do some pilfering through their cabinets. Walking to the other side of the central island, she gazed out of the windows lining the room, feeling exposed. The sun would set soon. She couldn’t use the lights, and she couldn’t just wander around the kitchen. The house was silent except for the low hum of the electricity. The refrigerator would have required them to keep the electric on, she supposed. The house smelt funky, that closed-in musty odour empty houses get. She ran the water in the sink and it came out clear. A few checks in cabinets and she found glasses and plates, some canned food and even some crackers. She drank a glass of water and studied the dried goods in the small walk-in pantry.

  Not much, some pasta sauces, classy-looking jars of jams and jellies, some canned sardines, some soups, a few old-looking spices, all covered in a light coating of dust. Who lived here? Anyone? Was it a vacation home?

  She closed the pantry door and searched through the nearly empty refrigerator. Nothing looked edible. Under the huge central island, she found a few bottles of wine. Well, she could be rip-roaring drunk on that. Easy as pie. She was tempted too. Maybe they could share it when he got back.

  There was more outside to eat than in here, she thought with disgust. Decided, she headed out of the back door and walked around the side of the house to where she’d spotted some banana trees. Ten minutes later, her hands full of mangoes, bananas and small avocados, she re-entered the kitchen and froze.

  Almost out of sight around the expansive kitchen entrance into the next room, she spotted the back of the leather vest she’d seen just hours before. She hadn’t made a sound, but something alerted him. As if in slow motion, he turned. Blood dripped from his forehead over his face, obscuring his expression. His shoulder bled, and his right arm hung down uselessly at his hips, but in his left hand he held a machete as big as her leg.

  He didn’t speak. She didn’t move. Fear had her frozen to the ground. With slow, precise movements, he lowered the machete where he’d raised it. His jaw-length hair covered one of his dark, small eyes, but the other narrowed at her and a truly horrifying smile cut across the dried blood mask.

  Her heart took off in her chest and her bounty fell at her feet in a pile.

  Very slowly, he nodded and took a step.

  She swallowed and glanced quickly to where she’d left her gun. He followed her gaze and his smile grew.

  The look on his face wasn’t murderous, it was worse than that. It was lecherous.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The town was small. Mac bet on the population being less than five hundred at the most. If memory served, the island survived on the income from Molokai Ranch and that had dried up years before. A few settlements remained but lived in poverty. Most people had simply left for the larger islands, or for the bigger, more populated eastern end of the island. But, for him, this was perfect. His contact was a retired Navy SEAL turned rancher. The man was tough, in his late fifties, and Mac had met him in Columbia ten years ago. Mac had been a young pup, still wet behind the ears and just learning the ropes of being a Navy SEAL. Tom Sullivan, tagged as West, for whatever reason, Mac didn’t know, or care, had been a mean, tough motherfucker.

  Mac hoped he still was. He pulled the truck over at a gas station, one of only a few buildings in the town. A post office, a local store, and some kind of hotel, and maybe apartments lined one side of the street. The other side boasted what looked like an office building, a diner, and the gas station. He pulled in, killed the engine, and got out.

  A young Hawaiian kid came out after a few minutes and sauntered up, checking him out. “Yo, dude, you’re a mess, eh?”

  Mac leaned against the hood of the black truck, hitched a boot up on the tyre rim, and lazily grinned. “Yeah, vacation. Roughing it.”

  The kid snorted and swung his long hair out of his eyes. “Yeah?”

  “Fill it. Do you have a phone I can use?”

  The kid squinted at him. “Sure.”

  He didn’t say anything more, so Mac waited until the sound of gas filling the truck broke the silence before pulling out a fifty. The kid’s eyes didn’t widen but he also didn’t look away from the money. “I dropped my cell off a cliff. Can I use the phone? Long distance costs out here, right?”

  Nodding, the kid slowly seemed to understand there was money to be made. “Sure, yeah, that’ll cost ya.”

  “Sure thing. Here, this should cover it.” Mac unpeeled two fifties and laid them down on the hood, straightened from his slouch, and met the kid’s amazed expression.

  Right when he reached out to snatch the money, Mac grabbed his hand. “I have a few more if you can keep me being here silent. If I hear you talked about me, that anyone knows I was here, I’ll have to come back.” He jerked the kid closer by his loose T-shirt and lowered his voice, “You wouldn’t want that. But if I learn no one knew I was here? I’ll come back with some more of that, for you.”

  The kid swallowed a few times, but nodded so hard his long bangs fell in his eyes. “Sure thing, mister. Man, I am silent as a grave.”

  Mac grinned. He bet. He was also betting on the kid wanting more. “You do that, be silent, and you’re going to have enough to hit the big island for a few days.”

  The kid grinned, nodded repeatedly, and suddenly became a lot more helpful. “Sure thing, mister. Here, let me show you that phone. Come on, in here. Yo, don’t worry, no one comes out here. No one.”

  Five minutes later Mac arranged with West to meet them here in town at the hotel across the street. Mac would ditch the truck outside of town, rent a room, lie low and wait for West to pick them up. Meanwhile, West would call in help and by morning Mac would have Mandy out of here.

  He picked out some of Mandy’s favourite raspberry Zingers off the shelf, paid the kid, reassured him he’d be back, and headed to the house down the same road he’d taken into town. He’d been gone approximately forty minutes when he pulled into the drive, turned off the engine, and g
ot out of the truck. A cool, ocean-scented breeze eased his tension. Mandy would be mad still, maybe, but he’d hurried.

  Two feet inside the door, he stopped. Mandy sat at the marble island, facing him. She had blood on her hands and, as if that wasn’t bad enough, there was more on the crumpled-up paper towels littering the floor and counter.

  His heart felt like it stopped, tightening up hard like a fist before it rushed into action again.

  A sound came out of him, one he’d never made in his life, and the next second he grabbed her and ran his hands down her body, looking for wounds. She didn’t resist.

  “Mac.” The quiet sound of her voice stopped him. He couldn’t see a wound on her, nothing to indicate the kind of blood covering the floor and counter. Her hands were sticky, but it looked like she’d tried to rub it off and failed simply because there was so much.

  “What happened?” His voice sounded harsh, ripped from him.

  “I killed him. He’s down there. I was frightened. I didn’t want to be here, alone, with a man…in the kitchen with me.” She waved weakly to the room. “It’s so beautiful and the…” She glanced at the towels and grimaced. “It was everywhere. I tried to clean it up—”

  “What happened, Mandy, tell me what happened.”

  She blinked up at him. Her eyes were dark, her pupils too dilated. “A man. He tried to kill me.” She shook her head and started again, “He tried to rape me. I stopped him. He’s in the basement. I didn’t want him here, with me, in the kitchen, Mac. Not once it got dark. Not without you here.”

  “All right. All right, that’s good. Real good. Let me go see, Mandy, then I’ll help you out, okay, baby? Clean you up, okay? Sit here for me. That’s good, that’s good, just stay right there.”

  He watched her slowly do what he’d said, not a sound out of her as she settled back down on the bar stool, her hands limp on the marble counter top. The smears of colour on them felt like a punch in the gut. She didn’t look up at him, but sat with her head down, her gaze far off and unfocused on her hands. He hoped it was unfocused.