Mace grinned. “I think you’re right. What did you make of him?”
“He’s a classic narcissist,” she said promptly. “Underappreciated in the world, overappreciated in his own mind. It’s imperative that he’s looked up to, admired, feared. Without that adulation, he loses his identity.”
“You nailed it.”
“There’s more. He was showing off. Wanted to show us what he could do. Like a little kid saying, ‘Look, Mom. See what I did.’”
Mace grimaced. “Why?”
She took her time in answering. “He’s arrogant, wants everyone around him to bow to him, to be submissive. It’s likely that he requires that in all of his relationships. It’s the only way he can feel powerful.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I took some profiling classes before being deployed to the Middle East the last time. My commanding officer wanted a few of us to be able to get inside the terrorists’ minds.” She made a face. “That’s the last place I wanted to be, but it paid off. My unit was able to predict where the tangos were going to strike next and capture them.”
Mace held the door open for her, and she climbed in the truck. As she buckled her seatbelt, he rounded the truck and climbed in the driver’s side.
On impulse, she reached for his hand, letting her fingers skim the hard, callused palm before linking with his.
He lowered his head, pressed his forehead to hers. When his lips found hers, she was ready. Or thought she was.
It was the barest of kisses, hardly more than a caress, but it sent shock waves exploding through her. She’d known a man’s kisses before, but they didn’t compare to this.
He didn’t take, but gave, the kiss unbearably tender. That was the kind of man he was, strong without being hard, gentle without being weak.
When she lifted her head, she blinked at the intensity of senses bombarding her. Colors were brighter, the air sweeter, sounds more vibrant. What was she doing? Rhapsodizing over a kiss outside a prison, its dreary walls only a short distance away.
Only minutes ago, she’d feared she’d never rid her skin of the stench of that horrible room where disinfectant waged a losing battle with despair, but now the air smelled of wildflowers and meadows and mountain streams.
You’re losing it, girl.
“What just happened?” Her voice came from a long distance. It didn’t sound like hers. She shook her head in a futile attempt to clear it.
“I think it’s called a kiss.” Mace sounded as shaken as she felt. Good. She didn’t want to be the only one whose world had been turned inside out and upside down.
“Yeah. A kiss.” Only it wasn’t like any kiss she’d ever experienced. Certainly not like the tepid kisses she and Jeffrey had shared.
It had shattered her senses and woven its way into her heart. Whatever the future held for her, she would remember the whisper of startling connection with Mace for the rest of her life. “Something’s happening.” Had she actually said that aloud? Obviously, she’d lost the little that remained of her mind.
“I know.”
“I don’t know what to do about it.”
“Neither do I.”
Laurel felt Mace’s gaze on her, the questions plain in his eyes.
She told herself that the kiss was meant to comfort, to remind her that there was goodness in the world, despite the evil spewed by the likes of Ronnie Winston. Mace could not have intended to kiss her there in the shadow of the prison.
Something long-buried inside of her threatened to break free.
She had spent most of her adult life serving her country. The rigorous mental and physical training she’d undergone as a Ranger had taught her to channel her emotions. Giving in to them now wasn’t in her game plan. Still, she was curious. Curious and more than a little afraid of the feelings welling up within her.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“I was out of line,” he said evenly.
His assertion sent a shaft of pain through her, nearly causing her to tell him that she wanted to explore what had just taken place. But she couldn’t. Because she didn’t know.
Mace started the ignition, exited the prison grounds, and pulled into the road’s sparse traffic.
Until learning of Bernice’s murder, she had had her life laid out in a straight trajectory. Join the Army and then make Rangers. Her injury had temporarily derailed her, but she’d power through the remainder of rehab and return to what she’d spent her whole life preparing for.
Lately, though, questions kept popping up. Shelley had ordered DNA tests for herself, Jake and Laurel. What if she was totally wrong in her assumption that she was related to Jake and Shelley? And then there was the question of what had happened when Mace had kissed her.
She wasn’t given time to ponder it, for at that moment, a muscular-looking pickup truck raced toward them. The growl of the engine promised that this was no ordinary truck but one that had been hopped up for maximum power.
Mace swerved, managed to avoid a crash, but the pickup reversed and came at them again. There was nowhere to go. A deafening crash later, one of their wheels slid on the embankment. He slammed on the brakes, but it wasn’t enough to keep the truck from going over.
Seconds later, it was plunging into the river.
NINE
Laurel struggled to unhook the seat belt, but it held fast. She tugged, yanked, pulled, but nothing freed the buckle from its latch. Mace had quickly undone his seat belt. Why wouldn’t hers budge?
Seeing her predicament, he pulled a knife from his boot and worked to cut through the seat belt, but the pressure of the water worked against the effort, and he couldn’t get any traction. The truck wasn’t fully submerged—yet.
She motioned for him to go. No sense in both of them dying. The water was quickly rising in the cab of the truck. Too quickly.
She was trapped.
She knew it, just as he did. Once more she gestured for him to leave her, and he shook his head.
Water filled the cab. Mace couldn’t breathe underwater any more than she could. Without oxygen to their brains, they would die.
He had to leave. Now.
Just when she thought it was all over for both of them, the seat belt gave way under Mace’s persistent sawing with the knife. He kicked the door open.
Laurel pushed with her legs, and started to swim toward the surface, aware every moment that Mace was right behind her. He’d saved her life. Again.
Grateful to be alive, she stumbled out of the water. Drenched clothes dragged at her, slowing her progress. A relieved sigh never made it past her lips. Two goons were waiting for her and Mace on the shore. They must have been watching and seen that she and Mace had made it out of the river.
“We got this,” Mace said.
She gave him a thumbs-up and zeroed in on one of the men.
Both men were the size of small mountains. Not a problem. Their size could make them slow, but first she and Mace had to disarm them.
“So you’re the little girl playing Ranger.” Her opponent moved closer as he pulled a Glock on her.
“I’m the woman who earned her Ranger badge.”
His gaze raked her. “You’re mighty skinny to be out playing war with men.”
“I don’t play at anything.” Thinking of the M4s and M24 SAWs she’d employed in Afghanistan, she added, “Especially war.” Right now, she was wishing she had one or both of those bad boys at the ready. Even her much smaller Sig would have been useful, but it had been lost in the river.
“Seems you have something that belongs to some friends of ours and they want it back. Come along with us and save us all some trouble. No sense in making it harder on yourself.” Contempt rolled through his voice and the sneer on his ugly face.
“No sense in giving in, either, and making it easier on you. Where’d the
Collective find a dirtbag like you anyway?”
The man’s lips drew in a hard line, but he said, pleasantly enough, “Why’d you want to go and say something like that? Just when we were getting along so well.”
“I failed my course at Emily Post.” With that, she kicked the gun from his hand, earning a growl.
Laurel then speared her foot into his gut.
He grunted but didn’t fall. He was built like a redwood and wouldn’t topple easily. She gritted her teeth. She was in for a fight.
He advanced, huge arms dangling from powerful shoulders. She danced back. Though she didn’t have brawn, she did have the best training the United States Army could provide. More, she had a powerful will to survive.
She judged her opponent and her opening. She couldn’t match him for strength. On the other hand, she had agility on her side. Agility and determination.
When he threw himself at her, she dodged, allowing the weight of his body to carry him forward so that he fell flat on his face. He picked himself up and scowled at her. The hatred in his eyes promised that he’d make her regret humiliating him.
Training had her broadening her stance, planting her feet more firmly on the uneven ground. Choose your spot. Her Ranger instructor’s words echoed in her mind. She was making a stand.
She only hoped it wouldn’t be her last.
“Pretty fancy footwork,” he said between clenched teeth.
The gleam in her opponent’s eyes was that of a big cat, toying with his prey, knowing he had the advantage. He sprang again, and though she blocked the blow with her arm, she felt the force of it zing through her body, explode into her injured shoulder.
Agony flooded through her, so intense that she feared she might pass out. She held on to consciousness by sheer force of will.
The second blow came on the heels of the first and sent her sprawling to the muddy riverbank. He was on her, pummeling her with fists the size of country hams.
Laurel rolled free of her captor, got to her feet and assumed a fighting crouch. He mirrored her actions, but still, she was able to jab her fist into his midsection. Though she dodged his blows the best she could, she couldn’t escape all of them. They came too fast, punishing in their force.
Anger surged inside her, and she hardened it into pure resolve. Somehow the Collective had known that she and Mace had planned to visit Winston today and had staged this ambush. Someone had betrayed them.
With strength she didn’t know she possessed, she flipped him over, then placed her knee at the small of his back, anchoring him in place. But he wasn’t done with her and reared back, his head slamming her in the face.
Stunned by the blow, she toppled backward. Spears of light streaked across her vision, and she tasted blood.
Her opponent growled something low in his throat as he got to his feet. When he pulled a knife from the scabbard at his side, she crab-crawled backward. The knife, military issue, gleamed with deadly purpose. It arced toward her. At the last moment, she rolled, catching him off guard.
“You’re done for,” he said.
“Not by a long shot.”
She rolled again, and, as he moved in, kicked out with her right leg, aiming for his face. Her foot connected with his nose.
Blood spurted down his mouth and chin onto his neck. He pressed the palm of his hand to his nose. “You broke it.” He let loose a war cry.
She reveled in it for a moment, but only a moment. The rage in his eyes warned her that if he got his hands on her, he’d enjoy inflicting as much pain as possible. Blood continued to stream down his face.
He swiped a meaty hand across his cheek, scowling when it came away smeared with blood. “Guess I’m gonna have to make sure you’re sorry for that.” He paused. “Real sorry. Sure hate to mess up that pretty face of yourn.”
“I’ll take care of my face. You take care of yourn.”
He’d obviously sensed that he’d been mocked. “We’ll see how pretty you are when this is all over.” In a blind rage, he accidentally dropped his knife.
She made a grab for it, snatching it away before he realized what had happened, got to her feet and closed the small distance between them. She put the knife to his throat. “Tell me who sent you. I want a name.”
“No way. They’ll kill me.”
She nicked his skin with the knife. “I’ll kill you if you don’t.” She didn’t intend on killing him, only scaring him into giving her the information she needed.
But she didn’t have the opportunity to work on the man, as his partner signaled him. Her opponent twisted out of her grasp and ran to the truck parked on the side of the road.
Exhilaration poured through her, and riding on an adrenaline-filled high, she fist bumped Mace. “We did it. We sent them running with their tails between their legs.”
“Don’t be so sure,” he said, pointing to the road where the two men were grabbing extra guns from their truck.
“What are they waiting for?”
“My guess? Reinforcements.”
* * *
Not intending on waiting around to see if he was right, Mace grabbed Laurel’s hand. “We’ve got to get out of here. Now.”
She didn’t ask questions, only gripped his hand harder and ran.
The Georgia forest was thickly wooded. The woods rioted with color as summer waned to autumn, but none of that mattered. Armed men were coming after them with a two-pronged intent: to kill him and take Laurel.
The deeper they plunged into the forest, the darker it grew. A slice of sunlight found its way through the dense forest, casting misshapen shadows on the ground. He noticed Laurel shivering. What he wouldn’t give for the tactical gear he’d routinely carried on Ranger missions.
They jumped over roots big around as his arm, rotted trees, and vines snaking over the forest bed.
Laurel stumbled over a root and went down hard.
He helped her up. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
But he noticed her pace had slowed as she favored her left ankle. He had to hand it to her. She didn’t complain. Not once. She just kept going.
Every few minutes Mace listened, trying to catch any sound of the pursuers behind them. Maybe they had lost them.
Though Laurel had kept up a steady pace, he noticed she was slowing down with every step now. That ankle needed to be iced, wrapped, and her leg elevated. It was up to him to get them out of the woods and to a safe place.
He stopped. Listened. “Do you hear it?”
“What?” Alarm sounded in her voice.
“Nothing. I think we lost them.”
“Good.” She sank down against a tree, leaned back.
It was then he noticed the lines bracketing her mouth. She was obviously in more pain than he’d realized.
He hunkered down beside her. “May I?” He gestured to her ankle.
“Sure.” A groan punctuated her words.
After taking off her boot and sock, he examined the ankle. It didn’t appear to be broken, only sprained, but a sprain could cause a world of hurt. He cut a sleeve from his shirt, wrapped her ankle as tightly as possible and then slipped the sock and boot back on her foot. “That will have to hold for now.”
The screeching of birds and rustling of branches told him he and Laurel were no longer alone. The pounding of feet confirmed it. He paused, listened for a minute. By his estimation, four—or more—tangos were on his and Laurel’s tail. “They’re back, and they’re getting closer.”
Mace calculated the odds of outrunning their pursuers. Not good. If the men had any military training at all, they’d know to split up and flank him and Laurel. In addition, they were already winded from their struggle in the river. “We can’t outrun them.”
“What do we do?” There was no panic in her voice, and he gave her props for that.
“We out
think them.” Mace pointed to a culvert he’d spotted. “Ready to get dirty?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
They moved to the edge, and he counted aloud to three. “Jump!”
TEN
Along with Mace, Laurel jumped, ending in a roll down the steep side of the culvert, collecting leaves and debris as she went. She kept her arms crossed over her chest as she rolled. At last, she came to a stop, ending up in murky water and mud. Would it be enough to conceal her and Mace?
She held her breath and prayed.
Above, she heard the pounding of running footsteps. When the sound of the footfalls grew faint and then disappeared completely, she allowed herself to believe Mace’s ruse had worked. Still, neither she nor Mace moved. Not yet.
“We’re clear,” he said.
With a whoosh, she released her breath in a slow exhale. With Mace’s arm to steady her, she stood, then gave a grimace of disgust. Mud clung to almost every inch of her, including her eyelashes. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, only to discover that she’d succeeded in smearing more mud onto her face.
Something stung her neck. Again. Mosquitos. Great. Now she’d have welts in addition to being covered with mud and muck from head to toe.
Mace helped her up the bank on the other side of the culvert and, after looking her over, gave a mock salute. “Very fetching, Ranger Landry.”
“Same to you.” She looked down at her clothes. “No way will we be able to hitch a ride looking like this.”
“Depends on the ride.”
They made their way to the road.
Mace had been right. A sedan passed without the driver giving them as much as a glance. Then a battered pickup slowed and pulled to a stop.
A man who could have been anywhere between forty and eighty stuck his head out the window. “You folks need a lift?”
Mace grinned. “Sure do.”
“Well, then, climb on in.” The man hitched his thumb toward the back of the truck.
Laurel rounded the truck and burst out laughing. “It’s perfect.”
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