by Julie Miller
“I’m guessin’ your daddy’s in one piece. If Mostek still needs intel from you, he’s gotta give you a reason to call him. You’re too far away for him to control you in any other way besides your love for your daddy.”
“Do you really believe that Papa is all right?” She turned her whole body to face him, and her hopeful energy did silly things to his testosterone level. Yep, he was the big man. He’d made the lady feel better.
And there he was, reachin’ for her again. With the tip of a finger, he smoothed aside a tendril that had fallen across her forehead. “He’s just tryin’ to scare you, honey.”
She raised one eyebrow. “He succeeded.”
Was that a sad stab at humor? Yep, she was gonna be okay. She was still too close to make it easy to keep his hormones in check, but he pulled his hand back to the basket, where he traced his fingers around the rim. “So your daddy said to go for it, hmm?”
“If that means go to work for you, yes. I am ready.” She pulled a big clip from her pocket and twisted all that hair up into a loose bun she secured at the back of her head. “What do we need to do tonight?”
He liked that, too. A woman who knew how to get down to business. “I need a battery or some electricity to power the radio I pieced together.”
She picked up the mesh of gerry-rigged parts he’d been working on, seeming to admire his handiwork. “What about the wires that connect the lights in the passageway?”
“They’d blink.” He’d already considered that option himself. “I need someplace a little more private to tap into, or an independent power source, so I don’t alert anyone.”
“What else?”
“Some recon would be nice.” He didn’t wait for her to question the unfamiliar word. “I need to find out where they store their ammunition. Get my hands on some explosives. I’ve got parts to build a bomb, but not the main ingredient.”
“What would you blow up?”
“The generator. Whatever powers the perimeter alarms.”
“I can look for these things, too.” She handed him the radio in exchange for the basket. “I can carry things in here without being detected. If you need something like this for your work, too, I can make more.”
Bryce held on to his side of the basket as a glimmer of familiarity tried to turn itself into inspiration. “You made this?”
She nodded. “The grass grows like weeds on this island. I think it is the only thing that can stand up to the wind and salt air. I braid it into rope and then weave—”
“Cord grass.” He snapped to his feet, startling her. Yes sir, a good soldier’s training always made the difference when a man’s back was against the wall. “That’s what it’s called. Cord grass.” He picked up Tasiya in his arms and spun her around like he’d just earned shore leave. “Hallelujah, woman, you just gave me the idea of how to let Big Sky know where we are.” He planted a kiss on her before letting her slide down to her feet. “We’re gonna do this thing.”
She clutched at his shoulders, blushing at his excitement, sharing it. “You are like a little boy. The grass is good?”
“The grass is everything. I recognize it from my army training days. You said we were close to North Carolina. That’s Ft. Bragg and Camp Lejeune Marine Base. We used to use these abandoned islands off the coast to practice blowin’ things up.”
He let her go and paced to the window. He needed a little of that cool rain to splash in on him after feelin’ Tasiya’s body pressed so close to his—their thighs tangled together, her breasts rubbing against him, her soft lips answering beneath his. Just like that, he was primed to celebrate their first real possibility of success in the most elemental way a man and woman could. That was hardly what he needed to be thinkin’ about right now.
“I wonder if anyone else would remember it.”
“If you could show the grass on your videotape—”
“Exactly.” He swiped his hand over his scarred, scruffy jaw and turned to face her. Hell. Even with the distance between them, and the reminder of what he must look like to her, his body was still on fire for her. Didn’t matter. “You think you can convince Marcus Smith to tie me up in some of your rope instead of usin’ the chains when he puts me on camera?”
“I will try. I could make the excuse of your injuries. Tomorrow at breakfast, I will speak to him. If he does not agree, I can trade—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t give him anything.”
Major reality check. Bryce didn’t want her to be makin’ deals with any man. He sure as hell didn’t want her to be beholden to Marcus Smith. Another reason why he should never have let his feelings for Tasiya get personal.
“Do you think he will listen to you?” she challenged. She was right. And she knew it. “There is no other way, and we are running out of time. I will get you your rope, and I will take care of Marcus Smith. Tonight we will do your recon.”
Her calm sense of acceptance as she hid her things beneath the cot and slid the keys onto her wrist put him to shame. Tasiya Belov knew as much about duty as any soldier he’d served with. He cared about her and he owed her.
If she got out of this alive, he wouldn’t ask for anything more. He’d do his duty by her. That was all she really needed from him.
“Where’s this Mostek holdin’ your daddy?”
That quizzical frown reappeared. “There are hidden apartments in the Ministry of Finance Building in St. Feodor. Dimitri showed me.”
“Do you wanna be his mistress? I mean—” this was killin’ him “—you have any feelings for this guy?”
“Hatred. I used to fear him but…” A sigh of understanding replaced the frown. “I will do anything for my father. Even strike a bargain with Marcus Smith. Papa is all I have.”
Bryce crossed the cell and framed her face in his hands. “He’s not all you have.” Damn it, he was gonna say it. “When we escape from this place, I want you to come with us.”
“But my father—”
“I will find him. I will take him from Mostek and bring him home, back to you, wherever you two wanna be. Findin’ people and puttin’ ’em where they belong is what I do.”
Her eyes searched his. Maybe she questioned his offer, maybe she simply didn’t believe it. “You would do that for me?”
He’d go to hell and back for this woman. But all he answered was, “Yep.”
Apparently, it was enough. She nodded. “Then I will come with you.”
Chapter Ten
The communication center was crowded with more types of equipment than Tasiya could identify, much less operate. But Bryce seemed right at home, turning machines on and off, monitoring transmissions, taking things apart. Meanwhile, she’d been assigned lookout duty while he read diagrams and borrowed the necessary items to complete his short-range radio and construct something he called a jamming device.
Tasiya hovered by the iron door, keeping one eye on the passageway through the crack they’d left open and one eye on the big man at the console in the center of the room. On first meeting Bryce, with his shocking appearance and muscular physique, one would think this soldier-turned-bounty-hunter’s specialty would be anything involving brute force. But Tasiya had learned that patience and observation, dexterous hands and a vast knowledge of all things technical were the tools of his trade. Bryce Martin was as at home with his gadgets and machinery as she was in her kitchen.
She’d also learned that his brutishness was only skin deep. Beneath the scars lay kindness, compassion and the biggest heart she’d ever known a man to possess. A woman could do far worse than to have Bryce Martin care for her.
“Son of a bitch.” Bryce’s muttered curse pulled Tasiya out of her thoughts.
She was learning to recognize that grim look that hardened his handsome eyes. “What is it?”
He put up his hand to wave off her concern. “Stay put.”
But she had already slipped across the room to look over his shoulder at the video camera’s tiny view screen. Tasiya gasped, pressin
g her fingers to her lips to mute her shock at the cruel pictures. “Oh, my God.”
“Honey, don’t look.” He reached for her hand.
Tasiya held on to his long, strong fingers like they were an anchor. Even when she turned her head, the voice speaking over the picture—Boone Fowler’s voice—couldn’t erase the image of a young soldier kneeling on the ground and being shot in the back of the head. “I will kill one man every day—until our demands are met. Americans should stay in America. Our government should put America first.”
“How horrible.” Bryce rubbed his thumb back and forth across her knuckles, instilling warmth when she felt none. “That is how I imagined my father—”
“No.” He turned off the picture, hit Rewind and turned to capture her hand between both of his. “If Mostek’s the kind of man I think he is, he wouldn’t have the guts to pull the trigger himself. Your daddy’s fine. I can feel it in my bones he’s okay.”
Tasiya smiled at the utter seriousness on Bryce’s upturned face. She rested her palm against his disfigured jaw and brushed her thumb across his lips, coaxing a smile. “What do your bones know about a simple old man who eats too much cake and dozes off every evening before he finishes his newspaper?”
The smile was slow in coming, but it was there. “You make a mean cake, do you?”
There was nothing mean about her cooking. “My cakes are very sweet.”
That unexpected glimpse of boyish joy she’d seen earlier that night reappeared. “I imagine anything you touch is mighty sweet.”
The look in Bryce’s eyes filled her with a curious heat. She’d picked up on many colloquialisms the past few weeks, but with English, there always seemed to be more to learn. But Bryce was smiling, and her fear for her father was once again under control, so she…
Bryce stopped smiling.
“What—”
“Hush.” He put a finger to his lips and stood. Every cell in her body went on rigid alert, matching his wary posture. Pulling her along behind him, he hurried to the door, peeked outside, then pushed her flat against the wall beside him. “We got company.”
Over the pounding of her pulse in her ears, Tasiya could hear the footsteps now, matched by the off-key singing in the passageway. Marcus Smith.
What was he doing here in the middle of the night?
“He must have pulled graveyard duty after pissin’ off Fowler.” Bryce answered her unspoken question. He hadn’t expected an extra patrol tonight, either. Taking a deep, calming breath, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a steel bar. Like the ones in his cell. What did he intend to do with that? “Don’t move.”
He gave her hand a quick squeeze, then inched toward the door.
Tasiya held her breath. Walk on by. She willed the command through a telepathic wish. Walk on by.
She could hear Marcus grumbling now, mimicking Boone Fowler from the sound of it. “You’ve delayed the entire operation with your temper. If the man can’t stand up, we can’t broadcast. Bring him in. Let me look at him.” He was coming for Bryce! Heading down the twisting path to Bryce’s cell! “You’ve got sixteen other prisoners—who’s gonna miss one who doesn’t talk, anyway?”
He wouldn’t find them in the communication room. But when he discovered Bryce’s cell was empty, he’d set off every alarm in the camp to track him down. “What are we going to do?”
Bryce held the bar up like a weapon now. Attacking Marcus would surely wake the other guards. And a steel bar stood little chance against the pistol and hunting knife she knew Marcus wore on his belt. Tasiya clutched at Bryce’s shoulder. “You must get back to your cell.”
“Just how do you suggest I do that?”
Marcus paused, and she heard a stinging splat of sound. Tobacco juice. The nasty habit soured her stomach. How she’d love to clean up… Her gaze fell on the napkins and pitcher in her basket. Could she do that? Did she dare?
Marcus was singing again. Tasiya grabbed her basket.
“‘Roll me o-ver, in the clo-ver.’”
“Tash—” She was out the door before Bryce could stop her. She felt rather than heard his curse and ignored it. He couldn’t help her with this.
“‘Roll me over, lay me down…’ Hey, sugar.”
Tasiya propped the iron door open, blocking Marcus’s view into the communications room but forcing Bryce back into the shadows to stay hidden. It wasn’t hard to act flustered when the stinky ox practically drooled at the sight of her. “Mr. Smith.”
She strolled on past him, and he had to turn his back to the door to keep her in sight. “Whatchya doing over here this late at night, sugar?”
With a steadying breath and a silent prayer that she could pull this off, Tasiya faced him. “I finished delivering the bread to the prisoners. Some of them are very chatty,” she added as an excuse. None of them were, but Marcus didn’t know that.
She retreated another couple of steps, drawing the black-haired giant farther from the door. If she could get him to follow her around the corner, Bryce could slip out into the passageway undetected and return to his cell before he was discovered missing.
“I heard a noise.” She remembered her deferring ways the militiamen liked so much, and ducked her head to focus on the tobacco stain at the center of Marcus’s chest. “I unlocked the room to check. Should I not have done so?”
Marcus took the bait and drifted closer. “And here I thought you were lookin’ for me, sugar. Now I find you’re just trying to take over my job.”
“No.” He reached for a tendril of her hair and turned the corner with her when she backed away. “Please do not touch.”
Run, Bryce.
“Fowler’s not here to make us mind our manners.” Tasiya clasped the basket to her chest, keeping it between her and Marcus. He braced his hands on the wall on either side of her head and leaned in until the basket pushed into her stomach. “You know, I nearly lost my job over you and the big guy. But if Martin says everything he’s supposed to in the morning, Fowler will see that my methods work. Some men need a harder hand.”
No man needed to be tortured so cruelly. But her time with Dimitri Mostek had taught her how to mask her emotions. She feigned ignorance. “The big guy?”
“Yeah, the ugly dude we beat the crap out of. Fowler says I can’t have any more fun with him. But who the hell’s gonna notice if that face is more beat up than usual, eh?”
Tasiya nearly choked on her anger at his crude laugh at Bryce’s expense. She hoped Bryce couldn’t hear any of this. Her palms were sweating at what she must do, but ironically, Marcus’s callous comments infused her with a protective strength that made it easy to turn off both her nerves and her gag reflex. “I have an idea about the big guy that might help you regain favor with Mr. Fowler.”
His tongue circled his lips in the middle of his bushy black beard. “I’m listening.”
Tasiya unwound one of the cord grass braids from the basket’s handle. “When you film him for the camera, so he does not appear to be more abused than he is, you should tie him up with this rope instead of so many chains. You will appear more humane.”
Marcus pushed away from the wall. “He’s too big a risk.”
Had he figured out she was a diversion? When he turned back toward Bryce’s position, Tasiya did the first thing she could think of. Reaching for Marcus’s belt, she pulled out his knife and cut a swath of rope off her basket.
“What are you—”
“The rope is very strong.” He spun around, snatching at the sheath on his belt as if she’d attacked him. Tasiya dropped the knife into the basket and set it on the floor. She held the rope up, taut between her hands. “I will show you.”
“You want to tie me up?” His burst of temper turned into an amused grin. He twirled his finger through the rope and tugged her a step closer. “I didn’t know you were into S&M, sugar.”
Though she didn’t understand the term, anything Marcus Smith seemed so intrigued with would no doubt disgust her. She released the rope
he now held and backed away. “You can tie my hands, then.”
“Now this is gettin’ interesting.”
Please be gone, Bryce Martin. Please be safe.
Tasiya held out her hands, and with no urging, Marcus looped the rope around her wrists. He pinched her skin in the knots he made, and pulled the grass tight.
“You see?” She strained at her bonds, pretending the panic that quivered across her lips wasn’t real. “Very strong.”
“God, you’re a stupid woman,” he laughed as he pushed her back against the wall and nuzzled the side of her neck. Nausea bloomed in her stomach. “But you’re too damn pretty to resist.”
“Mr. Smith.” She inhaled a frightened breath and his gaze went straight to the heave of her bosom. “You are not supposed to touch me.”
“Get real, sugar.” He palmed the side of her waist, squeezed her breast.
Tasiya shoved her bound hands against his chest. “No!”
“You’re waiting for me in a private corner? You ask me to tie you up?”
“I wanted to show you the rope.” Bryce? Bryce!
Marcus’s foul breath washed over her face just before he took her mouth in a bitter-tasting kiss. Tasiya’s stomach churned.
“Smith!” Boone Fowler’s voice crackled over the walkie-talkie strapped to Marcus’s belt. “Get your butt back to my office now.”
Marcus stopped grinding his mouth over hers and he cursed. “Go to the prison. Back to my office. I wish he’d make up his mind.”
“Smith. Get on the walkie-talkie and answer me. Ike says the new camera isn’t working. Bring the old one from the comm room. We’ll switch out batteries and make sure it works before we release one of the prisoners.”
Retrieve the camera from the communications room? No!
Marcus shoved her into the wall as he pushed away. He held up a warning finger as he pulled out his walkie-talkie. “Not one peep out of you when I press this button. I don’t want him to know we’ve been together.”