The SEAL's Promise

by Grace Alexander

  McKay cleared the splintered door with her still over his shoulder. In the distance, the police sirens sounded. He made double sure the cipher was in his back pocket, then hightailed it to his truck.

  Once he reached the four-door pickup, he set her down. "Stop hollering. I'm not a bad guy. We're getting out of here, then we'll work this all out. Chill."

  A determined flash glinted in her eyes, and he felt her muscles tense before she made a move. Gritting her teeth, she made a swift kick to his groin. Thank goodness for his reflexes. She was a handful, even when gassed.

  "All right. If that's how you want to play it, lady." He tossed her into the backseat of the truck. "I have the ridiculous cipher you're so worked up about. So don't think about jumping out of the truck while it's rolling. We'll make a deal. You'll get something, and I'll keep what I already have."

  McKay scrubbed his face with the palm of his hand, then standing outside the open door, caged her in the backseat with his arms and torso. Why did he care if she bailed on him? He had the cipher. It was his only task, but she'd piqued his interest.

  Propped on her elbows, she kicked at him, landing her feet on his abs. He rolled his eyes. "Come on, lady."

  She would make a run for it given a chance. He knew it. McKay looked at her, then the door locks. She was a liability that he didn't have time for today. He engaged the child safety looks, locking her in the backseat.

  His seat punched forward every few seconds as she beat her heels into it. He dropped his head, suppressing a vicious string of curses. Before the cops could fly into the motel parking lot, McKay eased out the entrance. He wasn't sure where to go for the time being and decided that it'd be a good time to check in with headquarters. He pulled out his cell phone and connected to Joseph.

  The boss answered on the first ring. "Give me an update."

  "I took possession of the cipher. And... the lady came with me." He glanced in his rearview mirror, noting that the fresh air had reinvigorated her.

  She noticed him watching and kicked the back of his seat, shouting, "Let me go."

  McKay grumbled. "I've got it under control."

  "Ha, yeah, McKay, it sounds like it," Joseph said. "Finish up and head home. And, McKay? Play nice."

  Play nice probably meant nothing that involved truth serum. "Yeah, I'll figure out who she works for and everything she knows. Then I'll send her packing."

  She kicked the back of his chair again. "Send me packing now!"

  Her antics were so far beyond annoying that he was amused, in a he-lost-his-mind kind of way. "At least she's an interesting operative."

  She shouted, "Interesting? Push me and see what happens."

  "Good luck," Joseph murmured then ended their connection.

  McKay sighed, resigned to his growing headache.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Not a bad guy? He seemed like one. The man wasn't law enforcement. He didn't have a badge to go with that gun he slung around, and his mannerisms were more lethal than reassuring.

  This nightmare was the makings of a television evening newscast special. The news anchor would look into the camera, earnest and pensive, wondering aloud in a dramatic voice about Tessa Thompson's last hours alive. Or maybe a reporter would interview her coworkers and family, everyone guessing about why she was in Kentucky or how she ended quartered into neat pieces that fit inside a handful of grocery bags.

  Tessa massaged the hammering in her head and tried to swallow against the raw burn in her throat. She sniffled again. Her nose still hadn't stopped running since he threw tear gas at her. Her eyes stung, and no amount of rubbing helped. Mascara smudges covered her knuckles, and her swollen lips were in desperate need of balm. Too bad the men who took her from the airport trashed her purse on the way out the door.

  She had no phone, no identification, and no way to get help. The man driving the pickup truck apparently didn't care how many times she kicked the back of his seat. He just went about his business, making phone calls, and glancing at her in the rearview mirror. It was just as well. What would she do if he turned around? She shuddered. She was trapped in the vehicle with him and desperately needed an escape plan.

  She studied him at the steering wheel, eyeing his dark brown hair. It was mussed and sweat-dampened, but not as raggedy as she first had thought. His strong, tan neck met corded muscles. Every now and again, he rubbed the back of his neck, giving her an up-close examination of scarred knuckles and long fingers.

  That wasn't the only way he fidgeted. The man flipped the radio station as soon as a commercial broke, flicking the dial changer over and over. Nervous tics? Why? He hadn't shown a lick of unease when battering down a door. He was so forceful and brutal that fidgeting seemed comical.

  Seemed but very much wasn't... Tessa shook her head.

  What would help her escape? No technique she knew as a practicing psychologist could get her out of this truck. She needed to scrounge up every memory from the self-defense class provided to civilian women on base.

  Too bad there wasn't anything on escape and evade. That would have been useful. Far more helpful than practiced groin kicks on a plastic dummy. Tessa glanced at the front seat. Her groin kicks to muscleman up there failed. She tried the tactic over and over, and he had laughed each time her knee jabbed his muscled thighs and abdomen. Laughed and rolled his eyes like she was the campy comic relief during an action movie.

  The man adjusted his rearview mirror again. It worked to her advantage this time, giving her a direct view of him. Too bad his eyes were hidden by sunglasses.

  "Want to explain your side?" He sounded rough but more interested in conversation than harming her, which was just as alarming.

  Nope, nothing to share here.

  He had a strong jawline with full lips and a sharp jaw. She committed it to memory, wanting to give a sketch artist the most minute details. When she was done, his profile would be plastered across the nighttime news.

  And what would the headline be? Well-Trained Lunatic Saves Abducted Woman.

  Whoa, whoa, whoa. This guy was not saving her. He was just as bad as the others--or, nearly as bad. Sort of.

  Tessa mentally rewrote the headline. Well-Trained Lunatic Abducts Woman from Abductors

  Well, that was a little wordy. The news desk editors would jazz up the headline to keep out the redundancy, but the gist would remain the same.

  He had used the child safety locks. Those only worked on the backdoors. Right? If she could time it correctly, she could surprise him and get out the front passenger door. They were still in a residential neighborhood. Stop signs and semi-regular traffic. If she could get out, a cop could swoop in and save her. Soon as he slowed, she would make her move.

  He decelerated for a red light. Deep breath in. Time to go.

  She lunged over the headrest. Her foot caught his sunglasses, and she used the leverage, pushing toward the passenger door.

  The man cursed and grabbed her calf. The truck skidded. A scream started from the depths of her lungs and blazed past her raw throat. An adrenaline blast pushed her, and she launched away, her hand clawing at the door handle, the window button, anything to get an outsider's attention.

  He still had her leg in hand. Tessa kicked, connecting with his face. Maybe his chin. Definitely his shoulder.

  He cursed again. "Seriously, woman?"

  Her free leg caught on the steering wheel, jerking their trajectory.

  "Ah!" She cried as the truck jumped and violently swerved. Her temple smacked the front console. Stars exploded in her head, and her bearings were gone--but she was free of his grip!

  The man hit the brakes and righted the vehicle as best he could, forcing her onto the floorboard. Tessa groaned, eyes watering, and she knew that her plan hadn't helped.

  "What are you doing?" he growled.

  His rage boiled, and she decided that he didn't just yell at her. He roared.

  From her awkward, semi-stuck position on the floor, she scampered to escape, only wedging he
rself into a worse place.

  He checked his rearview and side mirrors and then shifted the truck into park. His foot came off the brake, and he sucked in a slow, deep breath. He might've been meditating for all she could tell. Tessa only knew that he was in the middle of an internal battle, deciding how to respond to her.

  With his third, still scary-sounding deep breath, she wanted to scream for the neighbors. Where were the other cars? A helpful policeman? She'd even take a dogwalker with a cell phone. She just needed a hand to pull her out.

  Finally, he looked down at her, still on the floorboard, and glared.

  Oh, boy. This wasn't good. The ridiculous urge to apologize needled. Sorry I made us crash after you kidnapped me.

  Maybe she'd hit her head harder than she realized.

  "Are you going to let me go?" she asked quietly. Perhaps she had caused him enough grief that he'd welcome her escape.

  He snort-laughed and then turned the radio off. The only noise was the hum of the air conditioning until his fingers drummed; tap, tap, tap.

  The floorboard was uncomfortable, and she was mostly upside down yet sideways, eye level with the console cigarette lighter knob and the new-car scent air freshener tied to it. The little pine tree with the rental company logo on it spun one direction, then the next, mocking her own inability to move. "I'm stuck."

  "Of course you are." Aggravation coated his words. He looked like a mountain of a man. His dark shirt did little to obscure his brawn. She saw the sinew in his neck, and…was that restraint tightening his jaw?

  Now seemed like a great time to escape, but, gah, what an awkward angle to be in. Her feet haphazardly splayed above her arms, and with her shoulder jammed between the console and seat, she couldn't grab the door handle, and she couldn't get up.

  "Maybe I'll let you stay there," he muttered. "Seems to work better than the seatbelt."

  Oh, no. Claustrophobia rolled through Tessa like a tidal wave. The pounding anxiety came out of nowhere and squeezed her lungs until she exploded. Tessa kicked, desperate to shove farther away from him, but she only wedged herself into a worse position. Escape would be impossible.

  "Calm down," he demanded with enough gusto to break through her panic.

  Eyes wide, she froze, whispering, "No."

  "Looks like you need a hand up." His menacing roar was gone, replaced by the tickle of amusement.

  Her face felt hot. She tried again to sit up, arms and legs churning in place. If she lived to tell about this day, the moment she was stuck in the truck would be the worst and most embarrassing moment of this debacle.

  "How about this..." He ran his palm over his chin and rechecked the mirrors. "Do you need a hand getting up?"

  Of course she did! But she couldn't answer.

  He offered one of his dangerous hands. "Take it or leave it."

  She had nowhere else to go. If she had to be stuck with him, she didn't want to be upside down on the truck's floorboard.

  Tessa wriggled her wedged arm toward him, and he clasped it with a warm current of strength. He pulled, and Tessa scooted to the seat next to him. Run. Run! But she didn't move, remaining like a statue as he inspected her. What did he see? A pesky gnat? A hostage?

  She returned his obvious once-over, making as many mental notes as she could for her future briefing with the police.

  He dressed as though he walked off the set of a Hollywood action movie... except there weren't blanks in his firearms.

  Then Tessa looked out the front windshield, straight into a ditch, semi-near the red light she'd been hoping to escape at. They were at an impressive angle. The hood pointed down and the tailgate up. The horizon was higher than it should have been. There wasn't another car, policeman, or dogwalker in sight. Time to run. She rushed for the door handle.

  His hand landed on her thigh. "You've gone through a lot to stay close to that cipher."

  She gulped.

  His fingers tightened on her leg. "And now you're just going to leave?" He shook his head. "I don't get it."

  "You don't have to," she snapped.

  "I'm not the bad guy in this situation."

  Tessa scoffed.

  "Believe me or not, I don't care."

  "If you didn't, I wouldn't be here," she said.

  He appeared to think that over. "Maybe we can work something out."

  "And you'll just let me go?"

  He pursed his lips as though strongly considering her release. "Maybe. But I've been told to be on my best behavior."

  "This is your best behavior?" she asked incredulously.

  His forehead tightened. "Maybe."

  "You gassed me in a motel room, tossed me over your shoulder." She ticked each off on her fingers, continuing, "Locked me in a truck."

  "Busy day, huh?"

  "Your worst behavior must keep FBI profilers busy."

  He laughed. It was a potent, all-male bellow that reached deep into his abdomen and somehow disarmed him.

  "It's not funny."

  Still laughing, he shook his head. "I don't know what I expected."

  Her panic washed away, replaced by an unexplainable knot at the pit of her gut.

  She turned for the door handle, but he was right about what she'd done for the cipher already. Leaving it now? If there was a chance, she could get her hands back on the cipher… If he wanted to make a deal... What did she have to barter? "What do you want from me?"

  He sobered, studying her. "No idea, lady."

  Tessa wished she could read minds. None of this made sense, including the part where she considered staying. She studied his eyes, the corners of his mouth. He was a predator. But she wasn't sure that he was a danger to her--or at least as much as she had been sure he was.

  He straightened as though getting ready to shift out of park. "Stick around."

  "Why would I?"

  "Because you want what I have, and I'm more curious about you by the second."

  She narrowed her eyes. Her curiosity rapidly grew also. Without giving herself a second to question her sanity, Tessa pushed onto her knees and climbed into the back seat.

  "Need a hand?" he asked, tacking on a none-too-quiet, "Don't ask for help much, huh?"

  "I'm fine," she snapped, tumbling from the front of the truck with an awkward and uncoordinated finesse. It took several seconds to move from her unintentional downward dog yoga position and sit upright on her bottom.

  Her face flushed again, and her stomach re-tied its knot. She pressed her knees together and hoped to lasso her unease. She needed to be clearheaded to work something out with the cipher.

  "I don't bite," he said, glancing at her in the mirror.

  "Maybe I do." Did that sound as menacing as she hoped?

  His chuckle was answer enough as he slapped the truck back into gear and slid his mirrored sunglasses into place.

  "Hang on." He fed the truck enough gas to rumble onto the road.

  Not five seconds later, a police cruiser drove by from the opposite way. She could've done something to catch their attention but didn't. Tessa leaned her elbows onto her knees and rested her chin on her knuckles and took a contemplative breath. A plan didn't formulate, but she became acutely aware his scent lingered on her hands, maybe her clothes. She shivered, though not cold, and categorized his red-blooded robustness mixed with soap, sweat, and gunpowder. That was an intoxicating combination. It was almost hypnotic.

  Tessa straightened. What was that reaction? Her thoughts weren't logical! Lunatic abductors shouldn't smell... captivating.

  Perhaps this was the early start of a Stockholm Syndrome diagnosis.

  She needed to think her next move through and determine the best way to abscond with the cipher. It brought her to Lexington and got her into this mess. She wouldn't abandon it now only because she'd run headfirst into GI Joe. It was too important.

  Another option had to exist, and Tessa decided to sit in the backseat until that opportunity arrived.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Cartagen
a, Colombia

  "Find out who took her." Mateo Valencia bellowed into his satellite phone and hung up. Standing poolside under the fierce Colombian sun, he dabbed at his brow with a freshly pressed linen kerchief, then smoothed his tailor-cut silk shirt.

  It was bad enough his men traveled all the way to the United States and couldn't complete their mission. The job was to collect a simple cipher. But they ran halfway across that country, only to lose it again? Appalling.

  He inspected the pristine pool water for a speck of dirt. He wanted to find something wrong. An excuse to yell at the knobby-kneed boy charged with caring for his gardens and pool, not that he needed one.

  His neck pain flared, as it did when inept employees prattled their excuses. If he thought the job would be so complicated, he would have sent more men. Men experienced in American subterfuge. His judgment call on this one was foolish, and while it was his fault, it would be easier to take his frustrations out on someone's hide. He cracked his knuckles and called out for the pool boy.

  The phone chirped again, and he considered ignoring it. If those hired goons couldn't find a simple woman who escaped with the cipher, he would get rid of them to prove a point He never should have assigned junior members. But at least two of his men still trailed the woman and that wretched cipher. Mateo would grace them with another opportunity to make it right.

  Answering the chirping phone, he didn't listen to his man. "Retrieve what is mine. Take the woman. Both are more valuable than your life."

  America wasn't Colombia. The practice of kidnapping was frowned upon more so in the States. Though much of his high-end product originated there, usually his men showed more finesse. Abduction was a practiced art.

  Perhaps he should give some direction. As he inspected his manicured fingernails, he wondered what advice would help. No, giving them too much assistance would do him no good. Incentives were most effective. "Pray for guidance. For if you fail, I will hand your mother your head."

  Irritated and sweating, he disconnected the phone with a decisive click, not wanting this added aggravation to sully his appearance. There was a particular look he expected of himself. Sweating was beneath him. He paid people to sweat for him.