Danger and Desire: A Romantic Suspense Anthology

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “There you are. My boss wants to have a talk with you.”

  There was no way Wyatt was going to make it out of this.

  Chapter 5

  Nadine should leave.

  She should put the car into drive and pull away. Why was she sitting here staring at the hotel that Wyatt had walked into a few minutes ago?

  Because she was a coward.

  No matter how she flinched at the thought, it was true. The whole night she’d wanted to kiss him, had kept inching closer, but had pulled back every time the possibility got too close.

  When would she see him again? Except for that one part of the conversation where things had gone awkwardly silent, they hadn’t really talked about them taking things forward. Did he have a clue she wanted to see him? As more than just a dinner buddy?

  He didn’t believe the universe had brought them together. Fine, maybe she didn’t, either. But lord, the fact that he had showed up at that market right after she and Chloe just talked about him…? That had to be more than sheer coincidence.

  Nadine’s best friend of more than two decades heard other people’s thoughts in her head all the time. Nadine had long since given up on thinking that was weird, so she wasn’t going to find it odd that the universe had dropped the sexy, intelligent, honest man she hadn’t been able to get out of her mind for months into her lap right as she was ready to move forward with her life.

  And, of course, she’d blown it. Missed her chance to make something happen.

  But it wasn’t too late to be brave for once, to be bold. To park this damn car and kiss him.

  She wasn’t trying to rush things. She wanted to kiss him. That was all. A real kiss.

  Sure, she wanted more than that. Wanted all the… canoodling. But for now, a kiss would be enough.

  She parked and rushed into the lobby, pulling out her phone. He had probably barely gotten to his room. He could easily come back down, couldn’t he?

  I’m in the lobby. Can I see you for a minute?

  Ugh. That wasn’t really very casual, was it? But she definitely wasn’t going to ask him if she could go up to his room—that would give off a very different, non-casual vibe.

  She kept staring at her phone, willing him to text her back. But there was nothing. He’d been out of the car less than three minutes. Maybe he was talking to someone and couldn’t respond.

  What should she do? Wimp out and go home or stick around until he showed up?

  Not going to be a coward.

  She’d wait here, at least for a few minutes—sit in the lobby, be casual. When she turned, she saw two men had moved over to stand by the door. It didn’t take an expert in body language to know they were waiting for somebody, watching for them. They were communicating silently via curt hand gestures to another man sitting in the lobby who was pretending to read a magazine.

  Maybe it was all the discussion about the SERE training, or talking about Travis, or her overworked imagination, but something wasn’t right here.

  They weren’t paying any attention to her, thankfully, but they were watching and waiting for someone.

  The one with the magazine kept turning to look over his shoulder, down the hall. Obviously, he was expecting company soon.

  She shot another text to Wyatt. Are you okay? Please let me know.

  Still nothing. She wasn’t leaving here without knowing Wyatt was alright. She went to the front desk where a young woman clearly thought there was something weird about the strange men, too. She kept looking up at them from under her lashes, pretending to be busy with work.

  “Hi,” Nadine breathed. “I wonder if you could help me. A friend of mine just checked in and I need to see him. Could you call his room?”

  “Sure.” The girl glanced over at the men again before she turned to her computer. “What’s his name?”

  “Wyatt Highfield.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the two men stand at attention. They might as well have been dogs whose ears perked up. They recognized the name. Why? Were they here for—

  “I don’t have that name in our system,” the girl murmured. “You said Highfield?”

  Nadine nodded. She felt eyes boring into her back. What was going on here? She’d watched him walk into the hotel. He hadn’t come out that she’d noticed.

  What if he’d had to make a quick escape? What if those men were here for him and he saw them before they noticed him?

  Maybe she was crazy and was letting her imagination run away with her. It was more likely he’d used another name. He was in the security business, after all. There could’ve been a reason for him to travel incognito.

  Which meant she might have just blown his cover.

  She forced a smile. “Oh well. Must be a lag in the system. I’ll keep waiting and texting.” They must have heard that—she’d raised her voice on purpose.

  Before turning away, she asked, “Where’s your restroom?” The clerk pointed to the very obvious doors on the other side of the lobby, not that Nadine hadn’t noticed them. If the men were listening, she wanted them to think she was heading there.

  And hope they didn’t follow.

  They didn’t. The two were still muttering to each other. She ducked past the restrooms and down the hall, jogging once she was out of sight. The back stairwell was there. She went inside and paused to catch her breath. Everything was happening so fast, and she didn’t have the first idea what any of it meant.

  She needed to get out of here while they weren’t watching her and find a way to get in touch with Wyatt.

  The sound of voices made her head snap up, her eyes searching the stairs above her. Sound carried easily in these places, so she didn’t know how far above the men were.

  But she sure as hell knew it was a fight.

  She wanted no part of it and was about to duck back out but froze when she heard Wyatt’s voice.

  Or… some bizarro version of it. He sounded like he was drunk. And like he was getting the shit beat out of him.

  She could either go back to the lobby and have the clerk call the police for help, or maybe grab a security guard. But there hadn’t been any out there, had there?

  She could try to help. But what kind of help could she be?

  Another sickening sound of flesh hitting flesh. Wyatt groaned.

  “You’re going to tell us what we want to know,” the man sneered. “I was only supposed to just drag you out, but I wanted to get a few good blows in myself for making us chase you for three fucking days. Once we get you back to the boss, I’ll have to wait my turn to kick the shit out of you some more.”

  Another punch. Wyatt’s mumbled response was indecipherable. God, he must be badly hurt if he couldn’t form a sentence.

  Damn it, she had to help right now. There was pepper spray in her purse, which was better than nothing. She grabbed for it and ran up the stairs.

  She found them two floors up. A tall, overweight man stepped back with a snicker as Wyatt’s swing completely missed him. The swing knocked him off-balance and Wyatt fell against the wall.

  There was definitely something wrong with him. She’d never seen him fight but he was a trained Special Forces soldier—there was no way this was how he normally fought.

  And the other guy was taking advantage of it. He punched Wyatt square in the gut, making him double over.

  And when he did, when his line of vision was closer to the floor, Wyatt caught sight of Nadine creeping up the stairs.

  “No,” he grunted through clenched teeth. “Run.”

  No way that was happening.

  The attacker spun around, but she had her pepper spray raised. He threw his hands up to protect himself, but it was too late. She damn near emptied the whole can in his face.

  When the guy staggered back, she took a swing at him—straight into the nose with her palm like she’d been taught in the self-defense classes Chloe had talked her into taking. She shuddered at the feel of his nose breaking under her hand and blood pouring out every
where.

  That part hadn’t been covered in class.

  He howled as he fell to the ground while Wyatt remained slumped against the stairs. She needed to get them out of there before broken-nose guy’s buddies showed up from the lobby.

  “Come on.” She took him under the arms and hauled him up until he was on his feet. Finally, something good came out of her size and strength. A petite little thing couldn’t have managed that.

  “You’ve got to get away.” He coughed a few times from the pepper spray, groaning when he did. He sounded disoriented. Nothing like the man who’d left her car less than ten minutes ago.

  “Not without you.” She had no idea what was happening, why there were people after him. All she knew was that he was in trouble and there was no abandoning him now. “Come on. Lean on me. We’ll get you down the stairs.”

  But his feet didn’t seem to want to obey. She practically dragged him down the stairs, one lurching step at a time with her shoulder tucked into his armpit. “Gotta… get away… safe…” His words became less recognizable with each step.

  “I’m going to get us both away if you would just walk, damn it. Help me, please.” He seemed to try to move his feet, to bear his weight. It was better than nothing, anyway.

  They reached the big, metal door at the bottom of the stairwell which led outside. She pushed her way through and pulled Wyatt along with her. They were behind the hotel now, next to a row of dumpsters.

  “I’ve got to get you to a doctor. A hospital. You’re hurt. Poisoned or something.”

  “No. No.” He pulled her to a stop. “No doctor. No hospital.”

  “Wyatt, you need help.”

  He shook his head. “Drugged,” he slurred. “Wear off.”

  “Drugged? By who?” She started them toward her car again. The people from the lobby were going to be looking for them soon

  “I need…” His head started to droop. His legs began to buckle, dragging her down.

  “No way. Wyatt, come on.” She propped him against the wall and slapped his cheek, wincing, knowing he’d taken punches to his face.

  His eyes opened. “What? What?” He sounded angry—not that she minded. As long as he was awake.

  “Stay with me.” She started walking them again. She wouldn’t have very long before he got pulled under. “Finish what you were trying to tell me. You said you have to get away from here, and you need something. What do you need?”

  “Hide. Hide. Sleep.” It sounded like every word was a struggle.

  “Hide from who?”

  He shook his head slightly and they stumbled a few more steps. She kept them away from the windows in the lobby. “Didn’t. Want. Tell you.”

  She didn’t know what he was talking about. “Let’s just get you to the car.”

  “Can’t. I…” His legs threatened to buckle again. “Leave me.”

  “Wyatt, come on. We need to hurry. There are men in the lobby who are going to come after you.”

  “Not. Safe.” He stopped moving again. “You. Go.”

  Damn it. She needed another tactic. “Those guys in the lobby are going to get me if you don’t get to my car, Wyatt. The only way for me to get out of here is for you to get to my car.”

  Her risk paid off. She could almost see the super-human effort he made to focus. To command his body to do what he was telling it to do.

  Because he wanted to protect her.

  “Let’s go.” It was the clearest words she’d heard from him yet.

  He still needed help, but at least he was making an effort. They moved slowly across the parking lot toward her car. She practically shoved him inside the back seat, bending his legs and picking up his feet to tuck them in with him.

  She ran around to the driver’s side and started the car. “Where, Wyatt? Should I take you somewhere? Drive you to Wyoming?”

  He shook his head. “Your house.”

  Then his head dropped to the seat.

  No activity in the lobby—she could just make out the two big, hulking figures in there. All she wanted was to floor the gas and get the hell out of there, but she couldn’t attract attention.

  Which was why she slowly pulled away from the hotel, driving like there wasn’t an unconscious man in the back seat who’d been drugged and beaten. Like she didn’t have a problem in the world.

  She had wanted to start living again, hadn’t she? It looked like this was what the universe had in store.

  Chapter 6

  Consciousness came back in waves. Sounds. Sensations.

  He knew to keep his eyes closed until he got his bearings. Let them think he was still out. He stayed still while he gathered all the information he could about his surroundings.

  He should hear the buzzing of insects. The scratching of rats. The stench of his body and the waste he hadn’t been allowed to wash off. To have to flinch away from the extreme heat of even an early morning sun, the sort of heat anyone who hadn’t grown up in the desert couldn’t hope to adjust to easily.

  He moved his ankle slightly, expecting to find it bound with a shackle.

  His body ached in the way that told him the prison guards had enjoyed beating him last night the way they had all six nights since he’d been in this hellhole. Like his body had been stomped, used for sport. Not quite torture for information, but an expression of the knowledge that they held all the power, and he held none.

  That he’d never be leaving this Iraqi prison alive.

  He tightened his shoulders against the pain, determined to find a way out, find the strength to get through this day. He moved slightly to be able to see through cracked eyes…

  And felt a pillow under his head. Wait, that wasn’t right.

  Both his hands and feet were free. The room was cool, and a blanket covered him. There was no bright light on the other side of his eyelids. All was quiet.

  Not completely quiet. Someone was singing.

  A woman’s voice, soft, low, but clear.

  He shuddered slightly as it all came back to him. He wasn’t in that Iraqi prison from ten years ago; he was at Nadine’s house.

  He still didn’t open his eyes, allowing his senses to filter the information and his mind to remember.

  The hotel. They’d found him.

  But…

  If Nadine had brought him back to her house and he was still relatively in one piece, that meant she’d found a way around the people who’d drugged and attacked him.

  But how?

  How in the hell had she gotten him past a bunch of pros? Her pretty voice softly singing a ballad from a Broadway show about one of America’s founding fathers assured him she’d not only gotten past the men who’d been sent to capture, torture, and kill him, but they had gone mostly unscathed.

  How? He remembered her in the stairwell, but not much after that.

  He looked over at the nightstand and saw his burner phone with the small computer drive resting next to it. He grabbed both, flipping the switch on the small drive to make sure it hadn’t been damaged and felt relief when the lights on the side lit green. He didn’t know what it meant; all he knew was he needed to keep this thing undamaged until its contents could be decoded.

  He turned the switch on the drive back off and texted Kendrick. The man was more than Linear’s technical guru, he was also the only one who could decipher the information on this drive. Wyatt used his military codename—and LT nickname—since Kendrick wouldn’t recognize the burner phone.

  This is Scout. I have a drive that needs your love ASAP coming to you. More details as available.

  It only took a second for the reply. Roger. Stay safe.

  He set the phone down and the tiniest groan escaped as he tried to sit up. The singing immediately stopped as she ran over to him. “Hey. Whoa, not too fast. You’re in pretty rough shape.”

  He grunted. His older bruises now had newer little bruises to keep them company. “Yeah.”

  “Which I guess is why you’ve been asleep for more than twenty-fou
r hours.”

  “What?” Shock pushed away the cloud of foggy half-memories that wrapped around him. “I’ve been out that whole time?”

  “Yeah. It’s Tuesday night, almost midnight. I got you here and into bed. I kept waiting for you to wake up, but you didn’t.”

  “Where are my clothes?” Not that he minded being stripped down to his skivvies with her around, he just had no recollection of taking them off.

  She looked away, then back at him, then away again. “You, um… couldn’t seem to get comfortable, so I thought getting you out of your jeans might help.”

  “Not comfortable?”

  She met his eyes. “You seemed to think you were in jail or something. You were… upset.”

  Shit. No wonder he’d woken up convinced he was back in the airless hellhole. “Not prison, but I had a pretty shitty couple of weeks in an Iraqi holding cell. I think getting the crap kicked out of me reminded my subconscious of those fun times.”

  Her face clouded over with concern. “Oh my gosh.”

  He kept the sheet wrapped around his hips as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He felt dizzy, but it was manageable. “It was ten years ago. My team got me out. I was lucky… I got off lightly.”

  She shook her head. “Lucky? It didn’t sound lucky by the sound of your nightmares. You have some… burn scars.”

  They’d burned his back twice with a fire-hot poker. He would never forget the agony of it, the smell of his flesh burning.

  She’d been through so much worse. He hadn’t seen her burn scars but had read the medical reports. A product of that bastard Oakley leaving her in a house while it burned around her.

  “You have burn scars, too,” he whispered.

  She shrugged. “Unlike you, I was unconscious for most of it. I didn’t really see or feel the burning.”

  He shrugged. “What I went through is nothing compared to what Dorian, one of my Special Forces brothers, survived. He was held for five weeks in Afghanistan. He didn’t come back the same… So comparatively, I was very lucky.”