Water shot up his nose and he choked.
Harlow pounded on his back as he sputtered. He held up a hand to let her know he was okay. Where had that thought come from? Kids? With Harlow?
“Are you okay?”
Instead of answering, he slid a hand behind her head and kissed her. She’d removed the dental appliance so there was no risk of tongue damage. She sighed into him and he kissed her deeper.
She broke contact, but kept their foreheads pressed together. “Sawyer?”
“Hum?”
“Are you trying to get me to agree to change Deva’s name to Mutt?”
He chuckled softly. She made him laugh. She made him smile. She made his heart race. “Did it work?”
“Not a chance. Stryker?”
“I didn’t realize he was going to grow up to be a cheesy soap opera star. Oh, and no. Duke.”
“Don’t tell me, your Alma Mater?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Ivy League, baby.”
“You’re a fan of westerns and John Wayne?”
“Not even a little bit.”
“Then why Duke?” She contorted her face and lowered her voice, “Because it sounds manly and butch?”
“Well, yeah, that, but also because it’s your last name…well, a shortened version of it.”
Harlow’s mouth rounded into an adorable ‘O’. “You want to name our dog after me?”
Our dog. Why did two little words gut him? “Yes.”
He let out a grunt when she tackled him. Her lips were soft and warm when they attacked his. He wanted her, had wanted her since the first moment he saw her in a tiny red bikini. He’d been optimistic when he grabbed a jumbo box of condoms from the rack upstairs.
He broke the kiss to blaze a path down her neck. “Duke it is, then.”
“A little generic…oh, right there…but I can live with it.”
He maneuvered them into their hiding space and covered her body with his. Belatedly, he remembered her injury. She let out a startled yelp when he grabbed her hips and flipped so it was his back on the hard ground.
With her hands on his chest, she smiled down at him. He itched to rip off the blond wig and thread his fingers through the ebony silk tresses. He longed to scrape the brown contacts out so he could stare into her gorgeous eyes. It was like he was making out with Harlow…but not.
“How’s the injury?”
She sat back and lifted her shirt, giving him a sweet shot of under-boob. “It stings a little, but it’s fine.”
Duke chose that minute to finish eating. Licking his chops to capture every last crumb, he ambled over, climbed on Sawyer’s chest right in front of Harlow, circled once and plopped down with a doggy sigh.
Sawyer felt like sighing right along with him. It wasn’t Duke’s body he wanted on top of his. Harlow smiled wistfully.
“How sweet. He trusts you.”
“That’s because I fed him.”
“No, dogs have incredible intuition. They’re the best judge of people.”
He wanted to howl like a dog when she climbed off and rolled to his side. The dog stayed where he was. Great.
“I hate to wake sleeping dogs and all that, but we should take him to do his business before we bunk down.”
“I’ll take him. I need to, um, use the facilities, such as they are, too.”
While Harlow took Duke to do their business, he made a cozy nest for them to sleep. He left just enough space for them to crawl through. As soon as they returned, he hustled out for his turn. Once he was back inside, he positioned the boxes to block them in, then he slid onto the blankets beside Harlow. It was cozy and if not for a ten-pound deterrent, he’d strip her clothes off and sink into her sweet body.
“Sawyer? Do you think the troops will—”
“Shh.” He reached up and snapped off the lantern, fighting back the demons that gripped him in the darkness. For just a second, years melted away and he was back in that cold, damp basement, desperately trying to keep from breaking down. Phantom rats crawled over his skin and he shuddered.
Inhaling to center himself, as one of the many shrinks his mother insisted he visit instructed him, he focused on the current situation. He wasn’t that scared young boy anymore. He hadn’t been kidnapped from his bed in the middle of the night and held for ransom. He was a grown man and he had a woman…and dog…to protect.
He’d been embarrassed that Harlow picked up on his weakness so quickly. He worked hard to hide his aversion to the dark, but she’d still picked up on it.
He gathered Harlow to his side with Duke between them as a herd of footsteps thundered down the stairs. That’d been close. If the troops had come a few minutes earlier, they’d have caught them out in the open.
Someone snapped on the bulb and light filled the space and despite the dangerous situation, he could breathe again. He couldn’t tell how many people had filled the basement, just that there were several. The voices were loud and boisterous as they cracked open bottles of wine and set about getting shit-faced.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Eleven
It was pitch black outside when Grant and Wyatt worked their way back across the border into Coslos. Somehow, they’d made it out of the war-torn city without getting shot or blown up. Using a technique he mastered in the military, they fled by going from building to building. It was safer being inside instead of out on the streets. They were able to escape to a part of town where either the troops hadn’t been yet or had already been through. Judging by the lack of destroyed buildings, they assumed it was the former.
They’d managed to “borrow” a car from a side street and had made it to the airport before any destruction had taken place. They flew the Gulfstream across the border to a country that was friendly with the Unites States. Grant had called up a contact in the country and he instructed them on how to get back across the border without being caught.
After borrowing another car to take them close, they hiked the rest of the way and made it across safely. It was the early hours of the morning now as they hiked through the forest. He pulled up a map to discover they should reach a small village soon.
Wyatt clicked off his flashlight. “Heads up.”
He glanced up to see a cluster of small buildings perched on a hilltop, the only light coming from the waxing moon. This must be the village. He slid his phone in his pocket and pulled down his night vision goggles. Wyatt donned his as well. They surveyed the area looking for any threats. Farm animals were everywhere, some lying down, some sniffing around feeding buckets. As they drew closer, the scent of those animals was pungent.
None of the small dwellings were lit, so there was a good chance the entire village was bedded down for the night. Still, to be safe, they navigated with the goggles and kept their flashlights stowed. They didn’t want to risk getting shot by an unseen sniper.
Wyatt slapped his shoulder. “Look over there.”
He followed his teammate’s direction to see a vehicle parked beside a haphazardly constructed lean-to. “Let’s go.”
As they neared the village, a brood of chickens surrounded them, clucking away. He had to bite back laughter at one overly-amorous bird that had taken a liking to Wyatt.
“Shoo,” Wyatt ordered, shaking his leg to distract the fowl. “Ow, damn thing pecked me.”
They managed to extract themselves from the birds and make it to the car…and he used the term loosely.
“Would you look at that,” Wyatt marveled. “It’s an AMC Gremlin. Ain’t she a beaut?”
“Are you kidding me? It looks like a giant roller skate.” Shaped like said skate with a slanted hatch-back, the thing was painted a burnt orange with a brighter orange stripe up the middle.
“Nah,” Wyatt protested, patting the roof affectionately. “With a little elbow grease, you could get this bad boy looking ripper.”
Really great? Seriously? “Let’s just hope it runs.”
“I’m driving this time,” Wyatt call
ed. “Oh look, they left the keys inside. How thoughtful.”
His first official mission and he’d already broken several laws. It wasn’t COBRA Securities policy to steal cars, in fact, he was pretty sure his brother and Logan wouldn’t approve, but this was a unique situation. He’d make sure to facilitate the vehicles were returned to the owners. It was doubtful the people who lived in the village they just left had insurance, so he’d also include a payment for any wear and tear.
After they stashed their packs in the back seat, they each stood with the doors opened. After Wyatt shifted into neutral, they pushed the car from its parking spot and down the rutted path that led down the hill. Once it picked up speed, they hopped inside and closed the doors. Wyatt coasted until they were far enough away and then cranked the ignition. It sputtered and coughed but it finally turned over and started.
“See? A beaut.”
“Whatever,” Grant mumbled, his knees resting uncomfortably against the dashboard. They’d jacked the seats all the way back but there still wasn’t enough room to accommodate their large frames. Their shoulders were even touching. “How much gas do we have?”
“Full tank,” Wyatt proclaimed.
Once they were far enough away from the village, Wyatt flicked on the headlights. “Let’s see if we can find some tunes.” He pushed on the radio, looking entirely too happy for Grant’s current mood. They hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours. The guy ought to be cranky. Grant had grown used to little sleep when he was with the Teams, so this wasn’t unusual for him, so maybe he’d adjusted to civilian life better than he thought.
Though the road they were navigating was technically a highway, the country hadn’t bothered to pave it, so it was a rough ride. After his knees bumped the dash for the hundredth time, he cursed and rubbed his kneecaps. He liked it better when he was driving. He glanced through the windshield. “Look out!”
Wyatt swerved and braked, causing Grant’s knees to crash into the dash again. “Sonofa—”
“What the hell is that?” Wyatt was craning his neck to get a better look at the dark brown creature blocking their forward progress.
Grant leaned closer to the windshield. “I think it’s a tapir.”
“Ah. Never seen one in person.”
“Me, either.”
The mammal was shaped like a pig, but it had a prehensile nose trunk, giving it a very distinctive look. Using his strange-looking proboscis, he was ripping leaves off a plant to eat. Slowly he started to amble out of the way, aided by a tap of the horn from Grant.
Once they were moving again, he reached over and switched off the radio that had produced nothing but static. Then he reached into his pack and pulled out his iPod. They needed some tunes if they were going to stay awake for the long ride ahead.
#
It had taken a while, but Harlow had finally been able to calm down after the two dozen or so troops came storming down the steps to their hidden basement. The men—and women—chatted loudly and laughed uproariously, making it hard to relax. There was off-key singing, a burping contest—that one was gross—and empty wine bottle bowling. Fun game. See who could knock over and shatter the most bottles. At one point, someone banged into the boxes, shifting their fort and sending her heart racing. Thankfully, they stayed hidden. As the evening wore on, the voices grew louder and boisterous. They even attempted drunken karaoke, singing Spanish songs terribly off-key.
A couple had stumbled to the ground, fallen asleep and proceeded to snore loud enough to wake the dead.
She’d managed to fall asleep herself, tucked close to Sawyer’s side. She knew he probably wouldn’t sleep and she wanted to complain, but her eyelids felt heavy and when she couldn’t hold them open any longer, she drifted off.
When she woke, she found herself draped over Sawyer. Sometime during the night, Duke had climbed back onto his chest and fallen sound asleep. She lifted her head and met his eyes. She didn’t want to talk in case the troops were still there. His confirmation nod told her all she needed to know.
How long would they stay? She was worried Mother Nature was going to call soon. She was glad they’d managed—barely—to go last night before the drunken party started. That made her wonder what these people had done when all the ungodly amounts of vino they imbibed needed to come out. She had a feeling the basement was about to smell like a very disgusting subway.
She straightened the wig, which had shifted during the night. Her eyes felt gritty and itchy, no doubt from being unaccustomed to the contacts. Noises were starting to sound as the troops woke from their drunken stupor. Sawyer handed her Duke and he flipped to his belly to position himself with the rifle, just in case.
Several of the people were talking in rapid-fire Spanish and when she caught their discussion, her blood ran cold. Sawyer exchanged a grim look with her. He’d heard it, too. With Duke cradled against her chest, she scooted closer to peek through the hole. As they picked up their gear and headed out of the basement, her heart hammered. They were in serious trouble.
She wanted to talk but was afraid there might be a straggler or two. Sawyer leaned close and whispered, “I’ll check to make sure they’re all gone.”
She nodded as he silently backed out of their hiding space, moved the boxes and eased outside. It was taking a long time for him to return and her heart pounded faster.
When his head suddenly appeared, she stifled a yelp.
“They’re gone. We need to pack up and get out of here.”
“You heard, too?”
“Yeah. They’re about to gas the city.”
Chapter Twelve
Sawyer didn’t want to worry Harlow any more than she already was, but they were in serious trouble. He’d snuck upstairs to grab a couple more supplies and saw troops outside the windows with gas masks. They could’ve been for the noxious odor emanating from the dead bodies that had piled up in the street, but he was afraid it was for the impending release of Sarin gas the troops in the basement bragged about.
He handed her a backpack he’d swiped from the store. It was cheap and flimsy, sporting a cheesy tourism slogan for Coslos, but they didn’t want to be carrying bags while on the run.
He loaded as many supplies as he could fit in his backpack. One of the men had left an AR-15 and even though he’d brought several weapons of his own, it didn’t hurt to have an assault rifle in his arsenal. Once their packs were loaded with food and supplies, he led her out of their make-shift hiding space.
“My gosh,” Harlow gasped as she glanced around the basement. There were bottles everywhere. Dozens and dozens of them. They’d decimated the entire inventory of wine. He wasn’t sure how they were even functioning today. They had to have an incredible tolerance to alcohol. There was broken glass and puddles all over and he was pretty sure they weren’t from a water leak…at least from the pipes in the building.
“I’ll take Duke to use the bathroom before we go.”
Hefting the backpack that was now seriously heavy, he was adjusting the straps when boots clomped down the stairs. He froze, his gaze darting to Harlow. She was out of sight. He stepped back so that the person wouldn’t see him until it was too late. The backpack slid from his shoulders and he crouched to remove the tactical knife from the sheath around his ankle. He didn’t want to use a gun and risk the shot bringing troops running.
The man came into view, his head zigging back and forth, probably looking for the rifle Sawyer had swiped. When the man turned and spotted him, Sawyer had a split-second advantage. As the man went for the gun strapped to his hip, Sawyer lunged for him, the momentum knocking them to the floor. They landed with a thud. Sawyer didn’t want to have to kill the man. He didn’t look old enough to vote. But his eyes were dead, and he had no doubt the man wouldn’t hesitate to kill him.
He heard Harlow’s gasp and it was all the advantage the man needed, knocking the knife from his hand. They rolled around, each trying to get the upper hand. The man was young and strong and tough, but Sawyer had
been trained by Dante Costa, former Navy SEAL, current COBRA Securities badass.
They rolled until he was on top. He grabbed the man around the neck. The guy’s hands pried at his hold but he kept the pressure firm and unrelenting. When the blue tint colored his face, Sawyer asked, “Where is the Sarin?”
The man gritted his teeth and spat out a feat that was physically impossible.
“I will kill you right here. Where is the gas?”
When the man remained defiantly mute he squeezed harder. Suddenly, the man’s eyes rounded until they were huge white disks. It wasn’t until he felt Harlow’s presence behind him that he understood the reaction.
“Answer the question or I will remove your manhood and stuff it down your throat,” she trilled in perfect Spanish. She made the threat of castration sound lyrical. The wicked sharp blade she picked up from where he’d dropped it helped. So did the pointy tip shoved into the man’s crotch.
“Answer,” he demanded.
“I do not know,” the man said in English. “I am nobody.”
“You know,” Sawyer insisted.
Breath hissed through his teeth when Harlow dug the blade in deeper. Damn, he could love this woman.
“It is in a tanker at the airport.”
“What airport?”
“I don’t…Municipal,” he gritted out.
“When are they going to disburse it?”
The man shot daggers at him. “Tonight.”
“Thank you. You’ve been very helpful.” He picked up the man’s head and slammed it into the concrete. The man went limp as blood formed a pool around his head.
After cleaning him of his weapons, he climbed off, his breathing heavy.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded. “We need to get out of here before his buddies come looking for him.” He hefted the backpack, took the knife from her shaking hand and shoved it back into his ankle sheath. Then he picked up Duke and tucked him under an arm like a football. He grabbed Harlow’s hand, having to tug as she was lingering by the man.
“Is he dead?”
“He’ll have the mother of all headaches, but he’s alive.” He assumed. He hadn’t stopped to check for a pulse and he had slammed his skull rather forcefully into the concrete.
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