SEAL of My Dreams
Page 10
They made it to the corner when Nate heard another scuffle. Faint lantern light emanated from the open door to another dilapidated building down the alleyway. More laughter. His gut told him not everyone in that hellhole was having fun, but he wasn’t listening. Not your concern, sailor. He had to get Pritchard out of here before Mr. Cigarette came back around.
A muffled scream.
Nate stopped in his tracks. “They’re holding a woman nearby, SC, and she doesn’t sound happy. I’m going to take a look-see.”
“Hold on, cowboy. Our number one objective was to take out Ahmed. Number two, to retrieve Pritchard’s staff. Don’t get sidetracked.”
“You know—”
“I thought you were following orders these days. To the letter.”
Turnham was right, as usual. Nate took several more steps in the direction of the Humvee when another round of laughter sounded from down the alleyway. Gut or no gut, Nate could, so he had to fix this. “This’ll take thirty seconds.”
“Griggs, listen to me . . . ”
Once upon a time, Nate might’ve claimed he was losing his SC’s signal and then disconnected communications. But these days he was trying to be a good boy, so he simply ignored Turnham’s intermittent stream of dialogue and turned to Pritchard. “Wait here.”
“Oh, no!” Pritchard grabbed Nate’s arm. “You’re supposed to get me out of here!”
Nate shoved Pritchard through the front door of what had once been some form of a retail shop. “If you’re not right here when I get back, I won’t come looking for you. Understand?”
Pritchard nodded, and Nate glanced down at his stopwatch. One minute, thirty seconds. The woman’s muted cry sounded again. Moving down the alley, Nate slid through the shadows. He glanced through a dirty, busted-up window to find Mr. Smartass and Corner Guard passing a woman, whose clothing looked American, back and forth between them. Like Pritchard, her hands were tied behind her back and a sack had been cinched around her head. Unlike Pritchard, they’d ripped open her shirt, exposing her bra and bare belly. Nate didn’t have time for this crap.
Slipping through the doorway, he flicked off the lantern, startling the guards. Then he grabbed the first slime bucket, twisting his neck and killing him instantly. The other man released the woman and reached for his weapon. In the blink of an eye, Nate was behind him, silently slitting his throat.
Grabbing the woman’s arm, Nate drew her with him toward the door. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “You’re all right.”
Mumbling something unintelligible, she struggled against him. She was likely gagged, too.
“Be quiet.” He sliced the ropes off her wrists. “There are other guards. I’ll get the bag off your head in a second.”
The moment her hands were free, she fumbled ineffectively with the rope securing the burlap around her neck.
A sound in the alleyway. Footsteps?
He backed up out of sight, pulling the woman with him. “Someone’s coming,” he whispered into her ear.
She fell completely still. The only sound in the dark was the soft puff of her breath. Knowing they might have to move and move fast, Nate very carefully slipped his razor-sharp blade between the rope and woman’s neck and gently tugged. “Quietly,” he whispered. “Slowly.”
She reached for the sack and gradually drew it off her—
Damn. It was Kaley or Carly, or whatever she was calling herself these days. The face might be smudged and dirty, but there was no mistaking that head of red hair. Or that cleavage. For a split second, his gaze was drawn down the open front of her blouse to the pale blue silk of her bra. Unbelievable. He would’ve sworn he caught the barest hint of cherry on her skin.
Even now, even after what she’d done, Nate’s groin tightened at the memory of their last walk on the beach. Their last night together. By the time they’d made it back to her hotel, he would’ve bet another run through Hell Week she’d been ready to invite him up to her room. Instead, she’d wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him, long and slow, for what seemed like forever. As if she’d been branding the memory of his mouth on her lips.
“I want to come up to your room,” he’d whispered, as her scent, a mixture of cherry blossoms and the salty sea air, had been seared into his brain.
“This weekend,” she’d whispered back. “In the mountains. I promise.”
One thing was for sure. This woman knew how to torture a man. Maybe he should’ve left her to the mercy of the guards.
She glanced at Nate for the first time and seemed confused. Her eyes slowly widened as she silently dragged the gag down and off her mouth. Then her gaze shifted toward the dead bodies at her feet, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat.
At that, the footsteps stopped in front of their building. Her terrified gaze flew to his face. He put his index finger to his lips and got ready to silence any intruder.
Mr. Cigarette kicked the door open. The watery light of the quickly vanishing moon illuminated the dead bodies on the ground. Just as Nate was about to take him out, the man pulled out his radio and sped down the alley.
“Let’s go.” Nate ran out of the building, stopping only to grab Pritchard. That’s when the shit hit the fan. Loud shouts sounded from the village center. Shots were fired into the sky.
“You shouldn’t have gone after her,” Pritchard said, shaking his head.
“Shut up and follow me.” Nate zigzagged through the empty alleyways, bypassing more abandoned vehicles, scrub brush and garbage.
“We’re on our way,” Nate said into his radio. “And I picked up a hitchhiker.”
“Of course you have,” muttered Turnham.
A siren sounded. Shouts sounded near the edge of the deserted village not far from where the rest of his team was waiting for them behind a thick stand of acacia and scrub brush. From this distance, Nate could only make out one fender of the Humvee. He glanced around the courtyard. The rebel guards were completely disorganized, but it was still going to be tricky getting past the clearing.
“What’s your ETA?” Turnham asked. “We don’t have much time before they locate out position.”
“Ten seconds—”
“Are those your men?” Pritchard pointed toward the trees.
“Yes, but—”
Pritchard took off at a dead run. The lucky bastard made it to the Humvee just as several guards noticed him. Thanks to Pritchard, Ahmed’s men had zeroed in on the extraction point.
“Lay down some cover,” Nate shouted above the sound of rapid weapons fire. “We’ll come around—”
“Too hot,” Turnham said. “You know what to do.”
“Roger that.”
The Humvee sped away toward its rendezvous with the Chinook helicopter several clicks east. Nate clicked off his radio and glanced around, looking for the safest way out of this mess. There had to be fifty armed guards converging on where the Humvee had been parked.
“Let’s move.” He turned and headed back the way they had come.
“But wasn’t the truck—”
“Was being the operative word.” They had to get back to those abandoned cars. One of them looked like it might get them out of this dusty hellhole. “Your boss just ruined any chance we had of getting out of here today.”
“No surprise there. Pritchard looks out for number one. Always has. Always will. So now what?”
“We have to get out of here. Fast. And we’re going dark.”
“What does that mean?”
“Incommunicado.” He smiled grimly. “Until we can make the alternate extraction point, it’s just you and me, Red.”
Chapter Two
Nate Griggs. Of all the gin joints in the all the . . .
Carly ran to keep up with him as he zigzagged through the deserted streets, her heart hammering from much more than the prospect of getting caught by Ahmed’s men again. “Where is this alternate extraction point?”
“Outside Mogadishu. Along the coast. This time the chopper will c
ome straight for us, but not until after sunset.”
“Is there another option?”
“Sure. You could hang around for one of Ahmed’s yahoos to find you and finish what the others started.”
No way that was going to happen, but the alternative was not good. She couldn’t leave this village, not yet, and especially not with Nate. In Virginia Beach, this man had almost thrown her off course. She was so close, so close to uncovering the truth. She couldn’t let anything get in her way at this point, not even this hunk of a Navy SEAL.
Wait a minute. Maybe he’d help. If she explained, he’d understand. “Listen, Nate, Virginia Beach? I can—”
“No time for confessions, Red. Gotta put some distance between us and Ahmed’s men.”
“Do they know we got left behind?”
“Not yet.” He glanced behind her. “But they’re heading this way.”
“What?”
“Relax. We’ll get out of this.”
“Relax. Sure. Why not? I get kidnapped and nearly raped every day.”
Abruptly, he turned a corner, pushed her into an abandoned house and drew her into the shadows, leaving the door wide open. “Quiet,” he whispered, shielding her behind him.
Carly held her breath as she brushed up against Nate’s camouflage-covered back of steel. The sounds of men running came closer. Closer. Suddenly, the men stopped a mere six feet from their hiding place. One of the men was on his radio, speaking rapidly, and then listening. Then, suddenly, all of them turned and headed back the way they came.
Nate waited a moment and then stepped aside.
“Why did they leave?”
“We got lucky. They don’t know we’re here.”
For now, it appeared, they were safe.
Nate’s gaze flashed to her torn shirt and exposed bra. For a moment, raw desire flickered hot in his eyes, reminding her of every kiss they’d shared, every touch of his hand, both gentle and urgent. He’d wanted her in Virginia Beach. Worst of all, she’d wanted him back. But as quickly as desire had flared to life in his eyes, it had been doused, leaving only unfiltered menace.
Carly sucked in a quick breath. This soldier, this man, wasn’t her Nate. The Nate she’d met and fell for in Virginia Beach would’ve pulled her into his arms and chased away every fear, every bad thought. This man was cold, hard, and very, very angry. At her. And he had every right to be.
Self-consciously, she tried pulling the torn blouse together, but the buttons had been ripped off.
He unzipped his pack and held out a black T-shirt. “Here. Put this on.”
She grabbed the shirt and then hesitated as she caught the faint, but very familiar scent of a fresh sea breeze mixed with spicy aftershave.
“It’s all I’ve got,” he said. “Pink isn’t in the Navy’s repertoire.”
The problem wasn’t the color. The problem was wearing anything that smelled like Nate, but it’s not as if there was a shopping mall nearby. “Thanks.” She yanked the shirt over her head, squirmed out of her torn blouse and tossed it in the corner.
“So what are you doing here, anyway?” He glared at her. “You weren’t on our list of Pritchard’s staff.”
“Just lucky, I guess.”
His stare intensified.
“I quit Pritchard’s group last week. I was in the hotel suite collecting a few things I’d forgotten when they . . . when they ambushed us. Forced us into a truck. And brought us to this . . . place.”
For a moment, he eyed her, as if trying to decide whether or not she was telling the truth. Then without comment, he pulled out a GPS unit and studied their position.
“Don’t you want to know why I quit?”
He didn’t respond. Only studied the digital map.
Too bad. He was going to get an explanation whether he wanted it or not. “I quit because of you and what Pritchard did to your team’s reputation with that show.”
Without glancing at her, he shook his head. “And that’s supposed to make it all better?”
She clenched her mouth shut. No way was she going to apologize, not with what was at stake, but she could explain.
“I guess all’s fair in love and war,” he muttered.
“Look. I thought Pritchard was running a legitimate investigation into how that medical team was killed. If I’d known he was going to distort things and lie . . . If I’d known he cared more about ratings that the truth, I never would’ve agreed to . . . ”
“Use me.”
“If I remember correctly, you didn’t seem to mind at the time.”
At that, he glared up at her as if he might snap her in two with one hand, and at six foot two and two-hundred-twenty pounds of muscle, there was no doubt he could. “What I mind is being lied to and ditched without explanation. What I mind is being led on for weeks over dinners, long walks, moonlit nights.”
The intimate conversations, the intense eye contact. The kisses they’d shared. She understood. That’s why she’d left before going to the Blue Ridge Mountains with him. In truth, she’d been protecting herself as much as him. “What if I had a reason for doing what I did?”
“A lot of good people, a couple of them friends of mine, died that day in route to that refugee camp.”
She understood far better than he realized.
“There is no reason good enough for putting any of them in a bad light.”
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Hadn’t he gotten to know her at all in those three weeks they’d spent practically every waking moment together? A part of her wanted to explain everything, and another part of her wanted to slap him silly for not giving her the benefit of the doubt. Now was clearly not the time for either as the sound of footsteps crunched in the gravel outside.
“Back up,” Nate said, snatching up his gear and heading back into the dark corner.
Carly glanced outside and froze. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. She was a studio photographer, for God’s sake. She took senior high school pictures and family photos. She had no business being in Somalia, of all places. Jason was the risk-taker. Not her.
Strong hands wrapped around her upper arms and she felt herself being pulled into the corner. Instantly memories of being held captive by the Somali radicals popped into her thoughts. Hunger, thirst, having to pee so badly she thought her bladder would burst inside her body. Then the guards man-handling her. Oh, God. She’d always thought she was strong. She’d thought she could handle coming here. For her parents’ sake. She’d found out she wasn’t strong at all.
The hands around her arms slowly loosened. “Hey,” a soft masculine voice whispered. “They’re gone. It’s all right.”
She glanced up.
Nate’s gaze softened and a glimmer of the man she’d known slipped through a crack in his desert camouflage. Memories of other rescues, other kidnap victims—women—who hadn’t been as lucky as Carly, seemed to pass through his thoughts. There he was, her Nate. “Did they hurt you?”
She swallowed. “No. Not really.”
“You sure?”
She’d been punched and pawed, but there was no real damage, at least not on the outside. Inside, Carly felt as raw as hamburger and, obviously, it showed. “I’m okay,” she whispered, absently rubbing her wrists.
“Good.” And just like that, the focused soldier was back, intent on his objective. “We have to find some transportation. Cover some distance before it gets any lighter.”
He glanced out the window and beaded in on an old, beat up beige Fiat parked near a half-dead acacia. Other than the fact that it had only three tires and one of the doors had been battered in, it looked serviceable. “Wait here for a minute.” He left the house and returned moments later with a wheel and an old gas can.
“Where’d you get that stuff?” she asked, heading outside.
“Off another car down the street.” In a matter of minutes, he’d jacked up the vehicle and was replacing the flat tire.
“How long before we have to mee
t that chopper?”
He glanced at his watch. “Twelve hours, sixteen minutes and forty-five seconds.”
A half a day to go fifty miles. That was enough time.
Before she knew it, he’d replaced the tire, had hotwired the Fiat, and had tossed his gear into the back seat. “Get in.”
Everything in her screamed to follow his order and get as far away from these Somali rebels as possible, but she forced herself to stay put. She was here. She had to do this.
“I said get in, Red. Now.”
“No.” She calmed her racing heart as he glared over at her, clenched her sweating palms together and held his stern gaze. “I can’t leave. Not yet.”
Chapter Three
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dumbfounded, Nate stared at Carly. The woman had balls. He’d give her that.
“I can’t—I won’t—leave this village. Not voluntarily.”
Well, then, that only left involuntarily. “Listen,” he said, heading round the car toward the five foot two, one-hundred-twenty pound piece of cake.
“Oh, no you don’t.” She backed up, keeping what she apparently considered a safe distance between them.
He almost smiled. Almost. There she stood, swimming like a little kid in his oversized T-shirt with dried blood in the corner of her mouth and a nasty scrape across her cheek and still she acted as if she was calling the shots. Then he looked again. Beneath the bravado was heart-wrenching vulnerability, and an odd sense of protectiveness—maybe even possessiveness—passed through him, throwing him off his game.
Oh, no, you don’t, Griggs. Do not let her fool you again.
“Hear me out first before you overpower me and shove me in that car,” she went on. “Once you hear what I have to say, you might even offer to help.”
Wouldn’t count on it. He stopped, but stayed on the ready. Any minute the sun was going to rise above the horizon, and they’d be sitting ducks. “Okay. I’m listening.”
“No, you’re not.” She backed up even farther. “You’re just waiting for your opportunity. I can see it in your eyes.”
For having known him only a few weeks she sure as hell could read him well. “All right, fine.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “You going to tell me what’s going on or should we play twenty questions?”