Kidnapped Hearts

by Cait Jarrod

  He slid his hands behind her back and lifted her feet off the floor. His lips disappeared from her breast, leaving the nipple moist and cool to the air.

  The few paces to the bed took an eternity.

  As if she were a China doll, he gently laid her across the quilt. Starting with her toes, he caressed and massaged every nook and cranny.

  Her head shifted side to side, the yearning to explode becoming more intense with each stroke. “Jake,” she gasped.

  Condom on, he braced his elbows on the bed on either side of her. His body blanketed hers. He gazed into her eyes. His pupils darkened, and the gentleness on his face had her fighting back tears. This was the real thing. The thought made her body rise, craving to have the last touch before erupting.

  He bent forward, kissed her mouth, and glided inside her. Never had something felt so good. Desire pulsed through her veins. Instinctively, her hips reacted, keeping pace with him, then moved faster.

  “I won’t last if you keep this up.” Jake grinned.

  “I can’t stop, Jake. Oh!”

  He thrust one last time, holding her firm against him. A moan escaped his lips. “My God, Pamela.” He rested on top of her, his body sweaty and spent.

  Pamela wrapped her body around him. Right then, she knew. This was more than physical attraction.

  ****

  A knock on the door and Pamela opened an eye. She glanced over her shoulder. Her dream was a reality. Jake spooned her, his early morning erection pressing into her back. Another knock and both eyes opened. She nudged Jake.

  “Hmm?”

  Leaning on one elbow, the sheet covering one breast, she said, “Someone’s at the door.”

  Jake jumped out of bed, his male anatomy bouncing.

  Propped up, Pamela got a visual of the male anatomy as it bobbed out of bed.

  “Is every man that hard first thing in the morning?” she giggled. She knew the answer. They had gone through three condoms since arriving.

  He turned, flashed his white teeth, and like Mister America, he posed. “It is my honeymoon.”

  Pamela dropped back on the bed, and her eyes fluttered closed. That sounded wonderful.

  After Jake pulled on his briefs, he eased the door open.

  “The alarm clock went off earlier. I finally got up. I’m going for coffee, want some?” Steve’s voice drifted into the room.

  “No,” Pamela drawled from under the covers.

  “You didn’t hear me thundering around? What kind of agent are you, Gibson?”

  Jake closed the door on Steve. He climbed into bed and pulled the covers over them. “A content one,” he spoke softly next to Pamela’s ear.

  She snorted.

  The door squeaked open.

  “You didn’t lock it.”

  “No, damn it. I’m slipping.”

  Grasping his butt, Pamela guided his body to hers. “No, you’re not.”

  “Betty, turn down the alarm clock. It’s too loud,” Steve yelled from the doorway.

  “Wait a minute.” Pamela pushed the covers aside, and her head emerged. “I didn’t set the alarm clock.”

  “You didn’t? I heard a high-pitched squeal.” Steve chuckled before withdrawing back into the hallway.

  “He heard me,” Pamela grinned, a mischievous twinkle in her eye.

  “Let’s see if I can make you scream in pleasure again.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  “Five o’clock. We need to take off.” Jake slid out of bed and slipped on his jeans.

  Pamela glanced outside as she grabbed her shorts. “It’s dark outside. It can’t be five o’clock.”

  “It’s morning. We should have left an hour ago.” He’d been so content lying beside her that he’d fallen asleep again after Steve had woken them an hour earlier. Why hadn’t he returned? A dreadful feeling reared its ugly head. Jake dug his phone from his pocket and dialed the number Steve had given him during the walk last night.

  Pamela slid her tennis shoes on and glanced up. “We’ve only had a couple hours of sleep. Why are we leaving so early?”

  “We have to get away before anyone finds us.” Jake hung up his cell. “Steve didn’t answer.” He shoved the phone in his pocket. “Damn it.”

  Pamela straightened. “Jake, what’s going on?” Her voice was eerily calm.

  The shock of the explosion had worn off, and he imagined the pieces of information she’d heard were starting to fall into place. He’d have to tell her everything. His goal had been to protect Pamela as much as possible. The possibility that somebody in the FBI office was giving up their location because of his alias as The Warrior was unsettling. He knew the fact wouldn’t sit well with Pamela.

  He blinked. She stood in front of him, her lips in a firm line. “Jake, where is Steve?”

  He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know.” Which was true. “But I have a feeling th—”

  “You have a feeling!”

  Jake’s eyes widened as her hands began to flail, her breast drawing his attention as they bounced under his shirt that she wore. This was no time to mention how sexy she looked. “Yes.”

  She inched closer and frowned. “What feeling, Jake? The one that there’s a leak in the FBI department? The precise department that’s supposed to be keeping me safe and finding who is responsible for the threatening notes?”

  He opened his mouth, but she held up her hand, shushing him.

  She paused. He could tell his assumption was right—she was piecing the details together. “You didn’t stumble upon my café when we first met, did you? You were there looking for someone, weren’t you?” Her hands flew to her hips. “The whole time you were watching me was for another reason, wasn’t it?”

  That puzzle he didn’t think she’d notice. He started to speak, and her fingers covered his lips. Tears welled. “Jake, I need to know, why did you sleep with me? Did it have anything to with the case? Were you trying to find out more information?” She slid her fingers away.

  “No, dammit! I. I did because I wanted to be close to you.” He reached behind her back and pulled her close.

  She jerked away, folding her arms across her chest as her back stiffened. This wasn’t going to be good. “I don’t believe you. You’ve been lying to me. All along there was more to my case. Only it didn’t have anything to do with me. It had to do with your dubious past. You and whatever you’ve got going with this Sanjar guy.”

  He searched her eyes. “How do you know?”

  She chuckled. “For an agent, you sure are dumb. Sounds travel in the quiet night air. A few waves hit the shore, but the Chesapeake was no ocean. I heard you and Steve. Steve said you would never have peace unless Sanjar is removed.”

  It wasn’t exactly what Steve had said, but he thought correcting her wouldn’t help his cause.

  Jake grasped both of her arms. “I know I need to explain things, but this isn’t the time. We’ve got to find Steve.”

  Pamela winced. “You’re right. We should find him first.” She stood and closed the gap between them. Her finger jabbed his chest. “Do not try to touch me.” She turned away, pulling her hair into a ponytail.

  “I can’t believe I slept with you,” she whispered as she slammed the bathroom door.

  He slid his hand down his face and slumped onto the bed. Damn, he’d fucked up again. He could actually make a career of it. Before he could regain his composure from the verbal beating Pamela gave him, she emerged. The gleam in her eye had changed. No longer was she the scared woman he had seen for the last few days; the look in her eyes sent chills down his back. She crossed to the night table and stuck one of the guns in the front of her waistband, then covered it with her shirt. “Now, I know why I went to the range with Steve. After experiencing what I have during the last several months, I realize that I should stand up for myself.”

  Hell, what had he done? He was there to help her. “Pamela, you can’t go all Salt.”

  “Salt?”

  “Angelina Jolie. Sh
e kicked butt in the movie Salt.”

  “I’m not. I’m taking care of myself.”

  He didn’t like the sound of that, but now wasn’t the time to argue with her. The Director had told him Pamela was a strong-minded woman who could handle herself. He said she had lost sight of that after Sam had attacked her. His hands fisted at the thought of her ex-boyfriend.

  He picked up the other gun and stuck it in his waistband. “Let’s go.” Pamela followed, holding onto her gun, and closed the door behind them.

  “Ed.” Sylvia appeared at the bottom of the staircase, her body shaking.

  “What’s wrong?” They descended the steps and met her on the landing.

  She looked at Pamela. “Betty.” Her sweet eyes glistened.

  Pamela hugged her. “Sylvia, please tell us what’s wrong.”

  “My head hurts.” Sylvia gingerly touched the back of her head.

  Jake and Pamela helped to a chair in the foyer, and Jake checked her. “You’ve got a sizeable lump. What happened?”

  “Well,” she rubbed her hands together, “your friend Todd.”

  “What about him?” Pamela knelt beside Sylvia and covered her hand.

  “Some men took him.” Sylvia’s words rushed out as her hand flew to her chest. “That’s how it looked like to me. Wait a minute, let me start at the beginning. I couldn’t sleep—actually, Alfred couldn’t sleep. He was tossing and turning, so I finally got up and came over here to watch TV and make coffee. A few minutes later, I heard your friend talking and laughing. I actually thought you two were up as well.” Sylvia touched her head and grimaced. “Anyway, Steve came downstairs and talked to me for a few minutes. I gave him a cup of coffee in the dining room, and then I went into the kitchen to turn the light off. I was going to the main house to see if Alfred was resting better when I heard voices.” She shuffled on her feet. “I started to bring more coffee into the dining room, which I thought was for you two, Betty and Ed.” A straggled breath released. “I stopped inside the kitchen door when I saw two men with hideous spiders on their backs. Their hair—” her hand gesture toward her head, “—was in these rolls of locks. I can’t remember what they’re called.”

  “Dreadlocks?”

  “Yes. Anyway, when one of them moved,” her eyes grew large, “I saw a gun.” She spoke as if she were whispering to a child.

  Not expecting an answer, Jake asked, “Do you know where they went?”

  Sylvia patted Pamela’s arm and looked at Jake. “They said they were taking him to the ship. At first, I thought they were taking him to the water, until I remembered that ships don’t come to the marina here, only boats. That’s when I realized they took him to my house.” She pointed out the window. “There, it’s on the third floor.” She blew out air. “I hope Alfred is still asleep over there, and they haven’t hurt him.”

  “How’d they know about the ship?” Jake asked.

  “Oh, it’s on the historical register. We have flyers at all the convenience stores.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?” Pamela asked.

  Sylvia’s eyes shifted toward Pamela. “I fell. After they left, I went to get Ed and tripped. I don’t know how long I was there. I got to my feet when I heard you coming out of your room.” She swallowed, and her weak eyes looked at them. “Betty and Ed, I know who owns the house that blew up. The United States government isn’t hiding anything.”

  Jake and Pamela glanced at each other, then her.

  “Please be careful.” Sylvia touched their arms. “When you two take your real honeymoon, please have it here.”

  Jake cocked an eyebrow, and Pamela’s mouth dropped open.

  Sylvia escorted them to the back of the bed and breakfast and showed them the rear entrance. “If you take this path to the house, no one will be able to see you.”

  They headed through a thicket of trees, the lighted sidewalk leading the way. Enormous pillars and sizeable windows made up a massive Victorian house at the end of the path.

  “The ship must be real.” Jake teased, ducking under a branch, then making sure Pamela did the same.

  “Yeah, it is. The house was built around the ship. I saw a newspaper article framed in our room.”

  They slinked to the back door, and Jake eased it open. “Follow close behind me,” he whispered.

  Pamela nodded.

  They scaled the first flight of stairs and turned the corner. No one was there.

  “Why would these guys take Steve?” Pamela asked in a low voice.

  “To get to,” Jake motioned between them, “one of us.”

  Her mouth scrunched as she glared at him. “You, you mean. They took Steve because of you.”

  Jake looked at her. “This is not the time or the place to talk about this.”

  Pamela groaned. “Whatever.”

  They finished climbing the stairs to the third floor and hugged to the side of the wall when they reached the top. Jake’s gun was at the ready as he peered into the large room. Pamela tiptoed behind him so she could see, her gun at her side.

  An octagon-shaped room held a ship’s cabin mast, which expanded to the fourth floor. A man wearing a Black Scorpion jacket sat nearby, dozing against the wall. Another walked the length of the far wall. The ship blocked them from view.

  “Stay here,” Jake whispered.

  “No way,” Pamela snapped, sticking close to his back.

  He motioned for her to follow him. He dodged behind the ship, getting a better view of the Scorpion. Pamela stumbled on a rug, falling on her butt.

  The thug pacing the floor turned and appeared in front of her. The gun cocking reverberated through the large room.

  “Hell, no.” Jake popped off a shot. A loud thud followed.

  The gangster who had been asleep bounded upright. His eyes landed on Pamela. “You bitch!”

  Jake saw the perp’s hand rise, and Pamela raised her gun.

  Ping, Ping. Ping.

  Jake dropped to the floor, covering Pamela’s body. The goon, two feet away, was flat on his back with blood spilling from his chest, right where he had aimed. He slid off Pamela. Every nerve ending was on fire as he ran his hands over Pamela’s body on the floor. She had no wounds, but she was spent. “Pamela.” He grabbed her shoulders. “Wake up.”

  Her eyes fluttered, she focused, then she screamed. The whole county would wake, if she kept this up. “Shhhh. You’re okay.”

  Her head thrashed from side to side. “No, I shot him.”

  “You didn’t. My bullet hit him. Yours hit the wall.” He pointed to the far wall.

  The scared look disappeared, and she sent him a sideways glance. “You hit him?”

  He nodded and sat next to her. “You must have blacked out.”

  She flopped into his lap like a rag doll. The morning sun shone into the window. “I know I said I could protect myself, but Jake—”

  “It’s okay.” He moved the hair out of her face. “It’s my job.”

  She nodded. “Where’s Steve?” Her voice quivered.

  Jake scanned the room. There was no sign of anyone. The two Scorpions had been standing guard for some reason. Movement through the window caught his eye. He tapped Pamela and slid from underneath her, then crossed to the window. Two men carried a large sack with another hooligan directing the way.

  “I found him.” Jake leaped up, tugging Pamela behind him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Jake tugged Pamela down the three flights of stairs, as she tucked away her gun. Shame was showing its ugly head. He had lied. Once he saw Pamela’s frightened face, the I’ll kill myself if I actually murdered someone look, he had no choice but to tell her that his bullet killed the thug. In truth, the hole in the wall had been from his gun. He had taken his eyes off the target for a split second. Only a fraction of a second, that’s all it was, and she had fired her gun. His knee jerk reaction was to fire, too. In his discombobulated mind, he hadn’t aimed. Never had he acted so unprofessionally. This sort of thing was starting t
o become a habit with him when she was around.

  They reached the yard of the main house and ran the fifty yards back to the bed and breakfast. A duffle bag rested on the stoop by the back door next to a few pair of shoes.

  “It’s probably Steve’s,” Pamela said.

  Given the color, he’d deduced the same thing. Still, he had to make sure it wasn’t a trap. “Stay here.”

  Pamela backed into the shelter of a group of pines, staying out of sight. Weapon drawn, he slithered around the back of the house, then to the porch. Crouching next to the duffle, he listened. Not hearing a ticking sound or anything to cause concern, he unzipped it and checked the contents. Nothing unusual. He swung the strap over his head and arm, then made his way back to Pamela.

  Grasping her hand, they scooted along the side of the house, his gun leading the way. At the corner, he peeked at the small marina. Parallel to the cul-de-sac, a thirty-five foot yacht bumped up against a pier. Off to the left, two older-model, wooden speedboats occupied the ten-boat slip pier. The far left, a restaurant. Just last night, Pamela and he had strolled the area on the pretense of being on their honeymoon. Some honeymoon.

  Jake cocked an eyebrow. Something was missing. There were no people. Fishing communities always had people swarming around this time of day. Did the gunshots clear the area or was everyone dead?

  Then, there they were. The two punks carried a sack with a third man leading the way. They bustled into the smaller of the two speedboats and dropped the body. A second later, they were staring toward the B and B.

  Jake jerked back.

  Pamela tapped his shoulder. “Do you think Sylvia left Steve’s satchel there for us to give it to him?” Touching a finger to her lips, he nodded, hoping she got the message to stay quiet.

  “These shoes are killing my feet.”

  He grimaced and looked at the feet in question. No stores were around this part of town, and if there were, they couldn’t chance buying any.

  Pamela looked expectantly up at him as if he could conquer world hunger.