He shoots me an incredulous look, but he doesn’t make a move to release me. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re a fucking bastard.”
“You’re right. How dare I rescue you from a drug cartel? That was a really shitty thing to do.” The asshole is actually grinning at me. He shakes his head. “Damn. I knew I should have gone with the white horse and the dramatic entry.”
“You’re a liar. You let everyone think you were dead. We mourned you, and you were alive this whole time?”
“Look, it’s a long story,” he says.
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see it in the dark. “Oh, I’m sure it is. Do you know how many nights McKenzie cried for you? Or that she almost got killed trying to complete your bucket list, just to feel closer to you?” There’s no way I’m admitting to him that I’d cried for him, too, or that what was just a one-night stand to him had rocked my whole world.
He has the good grace to look ashamed, and I feel a stab of satisfaction at the pain and regret that flashes across his face, even if it’s not for me. But the look is gone in an instant, replaced by his game face, the one I imagine he uses when he’s trying to rally his SEAL team. My body responds instinctively. Damn him. There’s nothing sexier than a man with unbridled confidence and a take-charge attitude.
“Look, I’ll explain later. But if you want to get out of here alive, you’re going to have to trust me.”
He’s right. He’s a Navy SEAL commander, a good one, and there’s no one I’d trust more to save my life. My heart is another story. “Fine,” I say. “But this isn’t over.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Ignoring the way my stomach quivers at the dark innuendo in his voice, I let him help me to my feet.
“Is McKenzie here?” His voice is calm and businesslike, and it steadies me.
I take a deep breath. “I don’t think so. They thought I was her. I was leaving her apartment when they kidnapped me.”
His eyes rake over my fully-clothed body, and for a millisecond, I feel self-conscious. I’m still wearing the jeans and tank top I wore over to McKenzie’s apartment, and I haven’t showered or brushed my hair since then. There’s a toilet and sink in the room, but nothing else, and while I’d been given a threadbare towel and dingy bar of soap, I’ve been too afraid to take my clothes off and shower. I always take pride in looking put together. It’s like my armor against the world, but I suddenly feel naked and vulnerable. I mentally shake my head. Fuck it. That Charlotte is gone, and in her place is the new badass version who’s going to save herself. Okay, maybe with a little help. “Let’s go,” I say.
“Get your shoes.” He sounds like a drill sergeant now, and I instinctively respond. “You have anything else?”
I shake my head. I haven’t seen my handbag since the two thugs grabbed me, but they hadn’t searched me, and Liam’s passport with his bucket list tucked into the back is still in my back pocket. I don’t have anything else, except for McKenzie’s necklace. They hadn’t taken it. I was still wearing it when I came to, and I’d taken it off and slipped it into my pocket so they wouldn’t decide to keep it after all.
With his finger to his lips cautioning me to be quiet, he slowly opens the door. He looks around and then grabs my hand, pulling me out into the night. I carefully disengage my hand from his. I don’t know what the protocol is for a one-night stand who dies and then reappears, or what to do with the sizzling charge of electricity that still flows through me every time we touch.
We tiptoe down the stairs. He gestures for me to wait as he scans the courtyard, then motions me to follow him. As we move through the shadows, I notice the limp body of the armed night guard who has been stationed outside of my room for the last three days. He’s lying naked on a chaise lounge near the pool, his hands folded over his privates and a hibiscus flower tucked behind his ear. I suppress a smile. “What did you do to the guard?” I whisper.
He shoots me a quick grin. “Just making him pretty for the maids.”
It’s hard to stay mad at Liam.
We stop once, and Liam pulls out a wicked-looking knife and cuts the thick, long length of rope used to anchor the pool furniture, quickly coiling it and attaching it to his belt loop with a carabiner clip before urging me on again. We snake our way down a palm tree-lined path, eventually emerging in front of the palatial house.
“Let’s go,” I urge, headed toward the short fence that surrounds the house.
He grabs my arm, stopping me. “It’s an electric fence. I’ve disabled it. Hopefully.” He flashes me another grin. “But I’d better make sure.”
He unbuttons his jeans, and in the moonlight, I can see the arc of urine as it hits the fence. I look away. The last thing I need right now is to catch a glimpse of his package. It’s probably not as impressive as I remember anyway.
Nothing happens. “All clear,” Liam says.
I stare at him, dumbfounded. “What if it hadn’t been disabled?”
He grimaces. “Then I wouldn’t have had to worry about what to name my unborn children. But I don’t plan to have any, so it wasn’t too much of a risk. Come on.”
I balk, imagining electricity sizzling through me. “Wait, why don’t we go down the driveway—”
With a sigh of exasperation, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder. I’m too busy fuming over his bossy manhandling of me to realize we’ve stepped over the fence, unscathed, until he sets me down on the other side.
“Oh.” We’re standing at the edge of the rock wall. I peer over the edge. I’m terrified of heights, and even in the dark, I can see it’s a good fifty-foot drop to the ground below. I take a step closer to him. “Now what?”
“Now we find a way off the wall.”
Oh hell no. “Wait!” I say quickly. “How did you get here?”
“I swam.”
“Let’s do that then.”
“Sure.” His eyes travel slowly over my body, and he smiles lazily. “It’s a couple of miles, and you’ll have to take your clothes off so they don’t weigh you down. Don’t worry. I have a Ziplock bag to keep them dry.”
Oh God. There is something seriously wrong with me. My stomach is lurching with arousal from the look he’s giving me. I should be thinking about survival instead of how sexy he looks.
“I’m not a strong swimmer,” I admit. And the thought of swimming in the black ocean while God knows what swims beneath me seems almost worse than taking my chances jumping off a fifty-foot wall. Neither option seems great. “What if we—”
“Exactly who’s rescuing whom?” His voice holds a hint of amusement. “Let’s go. We’re doing this my way.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course we are,” I mutter.
He chuckles softly and grabs my hand. We inch carefully along the wall for a few minutes and then he stops. “This will work,” he says. There’s a tall, sturdy palm tree, and I watch as he quickly and expertly starts looping the rope around its trunk.
“Are you sure this is a better plan than mine?” There’s an edge of panic to my voice.
He stops tying the rope long enough to tilt my chin up with his forefinger. “Scared?”
“I…no!”
His gaze softens. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you, baby.”
The words bring back a flood of memories better left forgotten. I don’t say anything else as he continues tying knots and then steps into the makeshift harness he’s fashioned. “You ready?”
I’ve done enough rock climbing at the gym to know you need a belayer, although I don’t know exactly how that’s supposed to work here. “Are you going down first?”
He laughs softly and yanks me to his chest. “No, sweetheart. We’re going down together. I’m not going to lose you now.”
They’re words I once dreamed of him saying. I just never imagined we’d be about to hurdle off a wall to our death in the middle of the night in the jungle when he said them.
He steps off the edge, taking me with him. I can’t decide which i
s more terrifying—the near freefall down or the reaction to having Liam’s strong arm wrapped around me, holding me tightly against his solid torso as he rappels down the stone wall. I am so not over him. The masculine scent of him pervades my senses, the jolt of that crazy chemistry from our bodies touching making my blood simmer.
At the bottom, he lets go of me, and we make our way through the jungle. Vines and brush scrape against us, but he goes ahead of me, taking the brunt of the jungle’s ruthlessness. Before long, we’re standing at the edge of a dark, paved road that curves along the sheer edge of cliff. A few feet away, hidden away from view by some trees, is an old sedan. He pulls a key out of his pocket and opens the passenger door, making sure I’m all the way in before closing it and walking around to the driver’s side, like we’re on a date. I suppress a slightly hysterical giggle at the ludicrousness of it all. Now isn’t the time to lose it. I’ve got to keep it together. He starts the car and inches out onto the deserted street, driving without headlights until we turn the corner and the mansion disappears from sight.
Chapter Four
Liam
Fuck! I shouldn’t have kissed her.
I don’t know why I did it. Hell, yes, I do. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a woman, and being with one that looks and smells like Charlotte was too much to resist, especially after the dreams that have haunted me for the last two months. When she tried to run, I had to stop her quickly, so I tackled her. The feel of her under me, the instinctive way she responded to my command to look at me, her full, sensuous lips… I couldn’t help it; I’d had to taste her.
I steal a glance over at her. She’s sitting ramrod straight and rigid in the passenger’s seat, her arms wrapped protectively around her middle as if she’s physically holding herself together, and suddenly I feel like a total asshole. Anyone would be shell-shocked from what she’s been through in the last seventy-two hours—kidnapped and held hostage by one of the most notorious drug cartels, woken up in the middle of the night by a man who’s supposed to be dead, and then spirited out of a house with more security than the White House. For a girl like Charlotte, who likes everything nice and neat and firmly under her control, it’s got to be even worse.
Yeah, I definitely shouldn’t have kissed her.
I run my fingers through my shaggy, overgrown hair. I’m an asshole. Might as well own it. “I’m sorry I kissed you, Charlotte. I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
Something about the tone of her voice makes me think I should definitely worry about it. I know from experience there’s nothing more dangerous than a woman who’s “fine.”
We drive in silence for about fifteen minutes while I give her a little time to process the last hour or so and pull herself together. Finally, I ask what’s been bothering me since I saw her face on the news. “Did they…hurt you?”
She shakes her head. “Not really. At least, I don’t think so. They held me at knifepoint in front of McKenzie’s apartment and drugged me.” Her voice wavers, and I want to pull her into my arms, but I don’t think she would appreciate that, and my balls are still aching enough from her well-placed kick not to risk it. “I woke up in the back of a car on a Mexican highway. When we got to the house, they locked me in that room and pretty much left me there alone, other than bringing me food.” After a minute, she adds, “Where are we going?”
“Playa Nayarit. It’s the closest town with a high concentration of American tourists. We’ll pretend to be a couple on our honeymoon. We should blend right in. That will buy us a little time while I try to figure out how to get you back home.”
After a minute, she says, “So you thought they had McKenzie instead of me?”
There’s a hint of vulnerability in her voice—as if she thinks I wouldn’t have come just for her—and it slays me. McKenzie had hinted that Charlotte’s home life growing up wasn’t great, and I have the sudden urge to chase away all her demons.
“I came back for you,” I reassure her.
She turns away, but not before I see the shimmer of tears in her doe-like brown eyes. What the hell is that about? Then I remind myself she’s been through hell. Trying to keep it light, I add, “The picture in the news was you, but my contact in the cartel said they had McKenzie. It didn’t matter. I wasn’t going to let them take either of you.”
She’s silent, and I have the distinct impression I’ve somehow said something wrong.
“So you haven’t talked to her? She doesn’t know you’re alive?” Her voice is so cool and controlled, I wonder if I imagined the waver in it just minutes before. The way she can check her emotions is scary. And impressive.
I shake my head, keeping my eyes on the road. “No one does. I flew straight from Mumbai to London to Guadalajara, and then took a bus to La Manzanillo to find you.”
“Not even Walker?” she presses, referring to my best friend who’s also on my SEAL team.
“I can’t tell anyone I’m alive. Especially not Walker,” I say flatly. “I sold Iraqi military weapons to the Mexican drug cartel. I could go to jail for federal conspiracy, arms trafficking…maybe even treason. There’s no way I’m implicating Walker in all that.”
“But he could help! He’s your best friend—”
“Which is exactly why I won’t drag him into this. End of subject.” I keep my eyes on the road, my fingers tightening around the steering wheel.
“Why did you do it?” Her question is soft, and surprisingly lacking judgement.
I shrug. “Money, I guess. It was a stupid-ass thing to do, regardless of the reason.”
She lays a hand on my arm. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. Sometimes people do things they don’t want to when it seems like the only option. We’re all just doing the best we can.”
“Maybe. But it was wrong, and I’m going to make it right, or die trying.”
“How?”
That’s a damn good question. “I don’t know. I have to find the guns first.”
“What do you mean? You don’t know where they are?”
“Nope.”
“How is that possible?”
I sigh. “Because I don’t remember anything that’s happened since last November.”
She’s looking at me wide-eyed, her mouth a little “O,” and I have to resist the urge to lean over and kiss her again. Those damn dreams of mine have fucked with my head.
“You know that long story about how I’m alive? I guess now’s a good time to tell it. We’ve got a few hours before we hit Playa Nayarit.”
As we drive along the deserted highway, I fill her in on everything that’s happened in the last month, starting with waking up in the hospital and barely remembering my name and ending with seeing her picture on the news along with the story of her kidnapping and my journey to find her. I tell her everything—about the pictures of the guns on my phone, the incriminating emails to Noah, my contact with the drug cartel, the bank account, and the fact that I don’t remember a damn thing about any of it. By the time I finish, the sun is coming up.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
I shrug. “Going to some biker bar with Walker in San Diego while we were on leave. I think we were going on vacation, but I don’t remember the details.”
“That must have been right before you and Walker met us in Playa del Carmen. You don’t remember going on vacation with Kenzie, Gemma, Walker, and me?”
I shake my head.
“Or getting deployed on an emergency mission a few days after you got back? Or visiting McKenzie a few months later?” she presses.
“Nope. You know more about what I was doing during that time period than I do.”
She whistles softly. “Damn.”
I cock an eyebrow at her. “That’s all you have to say?”
She smiles—a real one this time—and it transforms her face. “You’re right. That was totally inadequate. That definitely deserved at least a ‘hot damn.’ Maybe even a ‘h
oly shit.’”
I chuckle. “I was thinking more along the lines of ‘I’m so sorry I thought you were faking it and kicked you in the nuts.’”
She just laughs, and my cock stirs at the sound. I take my eyes off the road long enough to shoot her a grin. “I’ll let you make it up to me.”
She gives me a prim and proper I don’t think so look, confirming what I’d realized in India. There is no way Charlotte and I hooked up in the months before the explosion. But it has me having hot librarian fantasies nonetheless.
After a minute, she says, “So, what’s your plan?”
I shrug. “I haven’t got one yet.”
“Well, you need one.” Just like that, she morphs into Charlotte the wedding planner. She’s suddenly all business, from the rigid way she sits straighter in the passenger seat to the way she starts ticking things off on her still perfectly manicured fingers. For some reason, it gives me a hard-on.
She continues, oblivious to my reaction. “First, you need to look at your bucket list. Everyone thinks it’s a map to the guns, and if it is, maybe it will spark another memory and you’ll remember where they are. If not, you really need to talk to Walker. He’s been looking at the list and checking things off it, trying to figure out what might be a clue. At least then you’ll know where the guns aren’t. Then you can hit the things on your list that haven’t been crossed off. Eventually you’ll find the guns and return them and no one will have to know.” She sits back and folds her arms across her chest, as if she’s just single-handedly solved all my problems. I wish it was that simple.
She looks so pleased with herself, I can’t help but smile. “Do you have a plan for everything?”
She presses her lips together. “Yes, actually, I do.”
“It’s a good plan, but it’s not gonna work. For starters, I’m not talking to Walker. I got myself into this mess, and I’m going to get myself out of it. I’m certainly not taking my best friend down with me.”
She rolls her eyes. “Fine. Don’t ask for help. Be all macho and do it the hard way.”
“Sometimes that’s the only option.” Since my parents died, leaving me with a pile of bills and a sister to raise, I’ve handled my own shit. When you rely on people, you get vulnerable. And attached. I thrive on the power of fuck it. It’s a recipe for unhappiness to care too much about anything. Or anyone. “Then there’s the small problem that I don’t have my bucket list. Sure, I remember the stuff I put on it when I was a kid, and probably even the stuff I added over the years as a SEAL. But if it’s really a map—and to be honest, that sounds like a load of bullshit—then I would have added the clues after I got the guns, and I don’t remember anything from that time.”
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