SEAL of My Dreams
Page 31
It must have been a dream that disturbed her, brought on no doubt by the overpowering heat and the sounds of the city beyond the closed shutters. If only it were safe to open them. The fan secured to the crossbeam did nothing but stir the humid air.
Coated in sweat and desperate for relief, Maddy kicked off the sheet that felt shrink-wrapped to her body. It wasn’t enough. She hauled the confining length of her cotton nightdress to her hips. The suggestion of cooler air had her pulling her arms out of the elbow-length sleeves, as well, and pushing the damp fabric to her waist.
Better. This was how she usually slept—stark naked—but as a teacher of an all-girls’ school it was up to her to set a modest example. With a long-suffering sigh, Maddy flopped back down onto the bed and wondered if she’d ever get a good night’s sleep again.
Hah. The real question was would she live to see her next birthday?
A startled scream erupting out of the alley behind the school, made her gasp. It curtailed abruptly with the shattering of glass. Dear God.
Fisting the damp bedding, Maddy swallowed fear that had leapt up her throat. How long could she keep the drug lords out of the school now that her colleagues had departed? The rest of the staff at El Santuario had abandoned the building weeks ago, all except for Maddy, who’d pleaded with her colleagues to stay.
What would happen to the girls without their protection? The perverse images that crept into her head left her feeling sick. Pimps controlled the streets of Matamoros, forcing girls as young as thirteen into prostitution. She couldn’t just abandon them and hope they managed to fend for themselves. But she was starting to fear that she was going to end up dead. Or worse.
The compound was enclosed by cinderblock walls, all topped with broken bits of glass, but the security guard had fled with the rising violence. The only things keeping the predators out and the girls safely inside were the locks on the doors and shutters. And how long before those were compromised?
With a whimper of helplessness, she closed her eyes and clasped her hands together, raising them in prayer. “God, I need your protection here,” she whispered. “Someone has to keep the girls safe—”
The faintest suggestion of a chuckle cut her petition short. She whipped her head toward the ghostly sound, every muscle in her body jerking with the realization that she was not alone.
Striker Team’s orders were to nab the recovery target as quietly as possible. Her father had warned them that she might resist. They had entered Miss Scott’s chamber with painstaking stealth, hoping to grab her while she slept.
Only, no sooner had they eased into the shadows of her darkened bedroom than she’d lurched awake. Sam, who was using NVGs to make a positive ID, had almost swallowed his tongue.
Viewed through the neon green of his lenses, with her auburn hair in disarray about her shoulders, Miss Scott struck him as the antithesis of a humanitarian aid worker. To him, she looked like an exotic flower, endangered and delicate.
As she stared fearfully into the dark, her breath rasping in the quiet, he ordered his brain to engage and his mouth to announce their presence.
Only the words never made it to his lips. In a flurry of movement, she kicked off the sheet, wriggled her gown over her hips and yanked it off her shoulders, exposing the prettiest thighs and tits this side of the Rio Grande.
Too stunned to speak, Sam watched her lie back down, clasp her hands together, and whisper a fervent prayer.
He was still reeling when Harley, who stood in the shadows behind him, loosed the chuckle he was holding in.
With a shriek of terror, Maddy scrambled to her knees. The shadow she’d mistaken for her wardrobe detached itself from the wall, taking the shape of a very large man. She could hear him speak as he moved in her direction, putting away what looked like . . . binoculars? But blood roared past her eardrums muffling his softly-spoken words.
As he sprang toward her bed to haul aside the mosquito netting, Maddy bolted. She leapt off the far side of the mattress, just avoiding his outstretched hand. With a squeal of terror, she sprinted toward the door, only to draw up short as a second man intercepted her path. Spinning about, she loosed the scream building in her chest as they boxed her in.
A large hand clamped down over her nose and mouth, cutting her scream short. A thick arm encircled her waist and plucked her off her feet. Caught up against a hard, male body, Maddy fought desperately to free herself.
“Quiet,” commanded a gruff voice as he squeezed the air from her diaphragm.
No problem. She couldn’t draw enough breath to make a sound.
How can this be happening to me? She had fought so long and hard to eradicate human trafficking from the earth. Yet here it was, happening to her. These men were abducting her! She would disappear into the underworld, another victim caught up in the sex trade.
Denial surged into her bloodstream. Not if I can help it.
Determined, Maddy bared her teeth and sank them into her captor’s palm, biting down with all defiance she could muster. He yelped, releasing her so suddenly that she crashed to the tiled floor. Pain radiated up her spine. Ignoring it, Maddy scrambled desperately toward the door. Freedom was only a few feet away; she could make it.
“Umph.” A tremendous force hit her from behind, tackling her to the floor. Her right cheek struck the tiles. The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. She tried to struggle free, but her attacker’s weight kept her prisoner. With the air driven from her lungs, she grew lightheaded.
“Hold her still,” hissed a voice she associated with the laughter earlier.
“I’m trying,” panted a deeper voice in her ear. “She’s a maniac.”
“We can’t hurt her.”
“Well, tranquilize her, then, before she kills us both!”
Maddy thrashed and managed to draw a painful breath, at last. “No,” she cried. But the man on top of her was triple her size. The only part of her she could move was her head, so she threw it back without warning, slamming her skull against his face.
Crunch.
“Ow. Damn it, woman! Hold still. We’re not gonna hurt you.”
The prick of a needle piercing the muscle of her upper arm made a liar out of him. She wailed, dreading the immediate lethargy that swamped her limbs and turned them into limp appendages.
Oh, God. They’ve drugged me. That was what they did to their victims, creating addicts too high and too numb to protest the misuse of their bodies.
“Ease up, LT,” said the first voice, and the man crushing her to the floor lifted his weight cautiously.
Maddy drew a second painful breath, but she couldn’t move her tongue at all to speak, let alone a muscle in her body. Oh, God. So, this was how it felt.
“Roll her over. Crap, I hope we didn’t bruise her.”
“She broke my fuckin’ nose,” growled the other shadow.
For a pair of barbarians, their hands were surprisingly gentle. But then they wouldn’t want to mar the merchandise, would they? The realization that they spoke English sawed at her outrage like a serrated blade. How dare Americans participate in such savagery?
Please, she tried to cry, but the word came out as a puff of air.
The man who’d stabbed her with the needle looked up at his companion, his blue eyes visible even in the darkness. “Aren’t you going to tell her?”
Maddy’s gaze swiveled to the brute who nursed his nose while eying her mulishly. Tell me what?
“Later,” he said, on a terse note.
“Suit yourself.”
They spoke with articulate efficiency, like they’d done this many times before, the bastards.
Just then, the room brightened. A neighbor by the east wall had flipped a light switch. Its radiance sliced through the cracks in the shutters, illumining the bully’s face. He struck Maddy as only partly Hispanic. Blood was sliding from his swelling nose, and a frown was carved between his eyebrows. In spite of either disfigurement, he was the most ruthlessly handsome man she’d ever s
een. His dark green gaze looked her over with similar interest.
Oh, my God, I’m naked! The realization doused Maddy in horror. She was lying on the floor with her nightgown in a twisted hoop around her hips, no underwear.
“We need to cover her,” said the brute on a regretful note.
What? Confusion addled Maddy’s already-sluggish thoughts.
His companion openly grinned. “I have to say, sir, this is a first,” he chortled.
Together they worked to make sense of her bunched and twisted gown. Inept and cursing under their breaths, they dressed her with surprising care. Maddy scurried to a safe, dark corner in her mind, fighting her awareness, while at the same time grateful that her brain was still functioning at all. If she could just keep her wits about her . . . Fingers brushed her taut belly. She ground her teeth in denial. That’s not pleasure I’m feeling. It had to be the drugs they’d shot into her system, confusing her senses.
She felt the dark thug thread her arms through her sleeves. As the knuckles of his hand rode the outer curve of her breast, her breath congealed and her nipple stiffened. I did not enjoy that! she berated herself.
It was mortifying, degrading to feel pleasure at his touch. She refused to imagine what the rest of her ill-fated life would be like if she let them take her. You’ve got to help me, God!
Blue Eyes gave a final tug, and she was blessedly covered. “Okay let’s move.”
The first man’s watch flared in the darkness. “We’re three minutes behind,” he clipped, sounding annoyed.
His companion squeezed a button on a cord she hadn’t seen till now, hanging across his chest. “Target recovered,” he murmured. “We’re coming out now.”
Target recovered. Target recovered.
The words both disturbed and comforted Maddy, but the tide of oblivion that had rendered her body useless was now seeping into her brain, keeping her thoughts from processing. Target recovered . . . What did it mean?
Her eyelids sank shut and would not open again, despite her efforts to keep awake. She felt the men hoist her off the floor, felt them carry her to the window on the far side of the room, beyond the wardrobe.
“Hand her down to me,” said the bigger thug, lowering her feet to the floor. She heard the shutter creak, heard him clamber onto the ledge and jump. A light splash sounded in the courtyard below. His companion scooped her up and swung her feet-first out the window.
A wet mist sharpened Maddy’s senses as she felt herself being lowered. Sure hands caught her knees. Powerful, protective arms encircled her thighs securely. The man above relinquished her, and she slid with little fear down the length of the bigger brute’s body. Good lord. Even with her senses dulled, Maddy recognized what a ride that was.
Stay awake! Don’t sleep! she commanded herself.
But a black-velvet current pulled her relentlessly toward oblivion. Her head, too heavy to hold up, lolled against a broad shoulder. Her nose slumped toward a warm neck that smelled like baby wipes and dryer sheets.
As the darkness encapsulated her, that last sensory detail left her bewildered. Weren’t miscreants supposed to reek of body odor and villainy? Just what was that stuff they’d injected into her, anyway?
From their ongoing communications, Sam knew that Teddy and Vinny had cleared the compound, trussing and cuffing two stragglers who’d wandered drunk up the alleyway. He couldn’t see any witnesses as he squeezed out of the gated schoolyard with the recovery target in his arms and waited in the shadows. Harley locked the gate from within to protect its sleeping inhabitants and climbed over the wall via the knotted rope they’d used for their insertion.
Then, with Vinny and Teddy covering them, Sam and Harley dashed across a trash-littered street and slipped into the waiting taxi. The other two dove in after them, wedging Harley into the back like a pair of oversized book ends, and the car took off. Operation Dumb Broad was nearing completion.
As they sped through a maze of streets, headed several miles out of town for the exfil site, the DEA officer cast a curious glance at the woman sprawled across Sam’s lap and nearly plowed into an oncoming vehicle.
“Keep your eyes on the goddamn road,” Sam growled, though he was having difficulty leading by example.
Miss Scott’s nightgown had gone practically transparent in the rain. There wasn’t any question she could win any wet T-shirt contest she entered, hands down. With every lurch of the taxi, her tits swayed enticingly under his nose.
From Sam’s vantage, he could even see the shadow of her naval, the curve of her right hip and a suggestion of amber pubic hair at the apex of her thighs. The crazy woman slept without underwear.
Feeling his body respond, he jerked his attention back to maze of streets down which they raced, spraying water left and right, careening around corners. Focus on the op, damn it.
But her small, soft body remained such a distraction that he was forced to gather up her long auburn hair and draw it over her chest like a sash. There. Out of sight, out of mind.
Only, now the scent of her shampoo, utterly feminine and flowery, filled his head, ratcheting his awareness even higher. He could feel the curve of her ass, nestled right between his thighs, brushing his balls with every jolt of the shocks. The recollection of her satin-soft skin, how good it had felt when she’d slid down the front of his body, seduced him into a state of full-blown arousal.
Chagrined and praying she wouldn’t wake up, he adjusted his hold on her. This was goddamn unprofessional of him.
But, hell, why was he upset with himself? She was the one who’d lacked the sense to leave Matamoros while the leaving was good. She was damn lucky she hadn’t been raped or worse by now. Waking up to a boner jabbing at her sweet ass was nothing compared to what might have happened to her.
He had to give Miss Scott some credit, though. She’d resisted capture with the ferocity of a tigress. The woman had guts. And when she woke up and realized what had happened to her, she was going to be livid.
Remorse pinched Sam’s conscience, followed by a shaft of real concern as the sweeping light of a passing truck illumed the swelling on her left cheek. Oh, shit. Maybe they had been a little rough with her. Sam’s gulped against a suddenly dry mouth.
She was the daughter of a senator after all. She could ruin his career if she was really pissed off.
Maddy awoke to a throbbing in her cheek and the thunder of a helicopter chopping the air with a deafening whuppa, whuppa, whuppa. She lay flat on her back, strapped to some kind of a gurney. Too lethargic to open her eyes, she felt herself being lifted, jostled, then lowered into a gale-force wind that whipped her hair into her face. Light flickered beyond her weighty eyelids as she clawed her way to consciousness.
The wind and thunder faded abruptly, replaced by the cadence of heavy footsteps resonating with a metallic clang. They air felt still and close, now. The walls she sensed on either side emitted a low, throbbing hum.
What’s going on? Where am I?
The gurney made a sharp, right turn, delivering her into a chilly space redolent with the scent of rubbing alcohol. Several pairs of hands went to work unstrapping her, then lifting and lowering her onto a mattress. Someone tossed a blanket over her shivering frame and stuffed a pillow under her head.
“Why is she comatose?” clipped a female in accents of authority. “And why is your nose bleeding, lieutenant?”
“She, uh, resisted us, ma’am.”
The deep male voice sounded vaguely familiar, only Maddy couldn’t identify the speaker any more than she could recall what had happened to bring her here. The last thing she remembered was falling asleep her in her bed at El Santuario . . .
“Just how much lorazepam did you administer?”
“Just two milligrams,” said another male voice.
“Good,” said the woman. “Then she ought to wake soon, only I expect she’ll have trouble remembering.”
Maddy’s nerves tingled. Her urgency rose as her senses grew shaper. Remembering what? Wha
t had happened to her? How had she come to be like this?
“You bruised her face,” stated the woman on a note of disapproval.
A tense silence filled the humming space.
“Her father’s helicopter is still twenty minutes out,” continued the woman. “If you’re lucky, the swelling will go down before he sees her.” Cool, deft fingers lifted Maddy’s eyelids. Blinding light pierced either pupil. “She’s coming out of it now. Stay with her while I fetch two icepacks.” The tramp of her footsteps receded.
Maddy tried to swallow. Her throat felt raw, her mouth like it had been swabbed with cotton. She ran her tongue over her lips, finding them dry and cracked.
“She’s waking up,” said the familiar voice.
“Give her water,” said the second man.
The sound of running water preceded the feel of a hand cradling the back of Maddy’s head, lifting it off the pillow. “Here, take a sip, ma’am. It’ll help.”
Ma’am? The respectful term made her think of the military. As she swallowed a soothing draught, Maddy slitted her eyes and studied her Good Samaritan over the rim of the paper cup.
Definitely military, she confirmed. He was swarthy and gorgeous, still in his twenties. Blood ran in a sluggish line from his aquiline nose to his firmly held mouth. Dark green eyes regarded her with unnerving intensity.
“Who are you?” she croaked, as he lowered her head to the pillow, untangled his fingers from her hair.
“Lieutenant Sam Sasseville,” he introduced himself. “This is my chief, Sean Harlan,” he added, gesturing, and the second man stepped into her line of sight. This one wore a black bandana over his shaved head. Bright blue eyes shone out of an unnaturally tan face.
“Pleasure,” said Chief Harlan, with a hint of a smile on his lips.
The blue eyes. The bandana. Something stirred in Maddy’s memory. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
“You’re aboard the Harry S. Truman, currently in the Gulf of Mexico,” said the lieutenant dispassionately. “We’re SEALs,” he added. “We were tasked to recover you from Matamoros, at your father’s request.”