An Unconditional Surrender (In Love and War Anthology)

by Candace Irvin

  Given what they both knew he’d have to do to pull this off, he wasn’t sure he trusted himself. Jack pushed off the counter, risking his cover more than he’d ever thought possible as he slid the fingers of his right hand about Dani’s painfully slender neck, directly over the bruises. Using his thumb, he nudged her chin up, frowning as she finally met his gaze.

  “She stinks.”

  The criticism earned him another grin—from Rurik and his deadly sidekick. “We may not have running water restored yet, Jackson, but we do have baths. I will send the other girls up with water for the tub.” Rurik waved his hand. “And, no, before you mention it, her eyes are not green.”

  True. But neither were they basic brown like his. Instead, they were the most incredible shade of soft blue he’d ever seen. That first year after his dad’s death, not much had succeeded in burning though the fog of his grief. But these eyes had. Even then, he’d noticed the color shifted depending on Dani’s moods. It wasn’t until this past year—their first undercover assignment together—that he’d discovered just how dark and stormy her eyes could turn when Dani was aroused…or royally pissed. They were storming now. And she was definitely not aroused.

  Rurik chuckled. “I do not think she likes you.”

  No bombshell there. “You said she speaks English. Where’s she from?” To Jack’s surprise, silence greeted the question.

  Son of a gun. For all the evidence of abuse marring her body, Dani Stanton hadn’t even given up her nationality. If only her father could see her now. Jack masked the surge of fierce pride and swung his gaze to the men in time to catch Rurik’s shrug.

  “Based on her accent…Canada, perhaps. Though she may be American. You all sound the same to me.”

  Jack ignored the dig. “Did you at least catch her name?”

  Again, silence. But this time, he swore Youssef flushed.

  Jack covered the second surge of pride with a taunting chuckle as he returned to Dani. “Damn, Rurik. This must be some woman if neither of you have been able to get so much as a name out of her, despite your impressive—” he managed to smooth his thumb casually down her battered neck “—persuasion.”

  Youssef growled a string of base Arabic and stepped toward him. Right then, Jack knew whose hands had left these marks on Dani’s throat. Who would pay. Unlike the pride, Jack embraced the rage. He released Dani and stepped forward as well, not stopping until he was squarely within Youssef’s personal space.

  “Enough!” Rurik jerked his chin toward Dani. “You want the woman or not?”

  He kept his gaze fused to Youssef’s. “How much?”

  “Four hundred. But I keep her when you leave.”

  The amount slapped Jack back to reality, as did the rest. There’d be time for vengeance later. Right now his only concern was getting Dani out of Rurik’s possession and into his—and there was only one way to accomplish that. That bullet in Mostar notwithstanding, Rurik was first and foremost a businessman. Though there was a chance the debt would help with the price. He hoped. Jack forced a snort and took his first step away from her. “I hope that’s four hundred markas, not dollars.”

  “Dollars. For that, the woman will be at your sole disposal for the duration of your stay.”

  “Four hundred dollars?” He shook his head and took another step. “Christ, Rurik, it’s not as if she was beauty-pageant material, even before your buddy Youssef got ahold of her.”

  Dani stiffened. From the renewed steel in her gaze, she was ticked. Good. But if she didn’t pick up on his unspoken request soon and get downright pissed, they’d be in deep kimchi. He only had three hundred bucks on him. Given the beating Dani had already suffered, he couldn’t risk a trip to Sarajevo and a bank to collect the rest. And there was still his mission.

  “Three hundred…and if I like her, I take her with me when I leave.” He’d already told Rurik he’d recently arrived for a mythical two-year rotation with a UN artillery unit. If he was lucky, Rurik would simply assume he preferred to keep the same sex toy around the entire time he was stuck in Bosnia. Relief flooded Jack as the bastard nodded.

  “Six hundred, and maybe you take her if I am pleased with the other work you do for me.”

  “Six hundred? You offered the Swede a virgin for seven.”

  Rurik shrugged. “You wanted a woman, not a girl.”

  “A woman, yes.” Jack stalked forward and grabbed the curve of Dani’s chin, using it to twist her face beneath the stark light shining down from the bulb at the ceiling. “A battered and bruised hag, no.” He jerked his fingers from her jaw and shoved them down the V of her shirt, determined to ignore the heat that gusted through him as Dani’s breasts filled his hand. He almost succeeded—until the memory slammed in.

  Her, him. On his bed. That sultry, perfect late-August night. These same sky-colored eyes damned near smoke-blue with passion. These gently bowed lips, swollen and slick from his greedy kiss. Dani’s fingers sliding through his hair, down his neck, digging into his shoulders. Her husky moan swirling into his ears as she urged him up over her. Him—hot, hard and excruciatingly ready as he plunged deep inside her.

  The memory shattered beneath Rurik’s crude chuckle.

  Red-hot rage blistered though Jack, incinerating his body’s instinctive reaction to Dani’s flesh after all these months. He tucked his free hand behind his back and clenched his fingers to keep from shaking with renewed fury. To keep from throttling them. God as his witness, Rurik and his goon would pay for tainting what until then had been his most precious, private memory. But most of all, the men would pay for what they’d done to the one woman who for a brief night had been the very center of his world. Jack allowed the barest breath of his roiling disgust to show through as he ordered his hand to fondle Dani’s breasts in front of the bastards.

  “Hell, she’s already sagging.”

  She spat in his face.

  Thank God. Jack wrenched his hand from her shirt and backhanded the good side of her jaw. A fraction of his strength, the smack was ninety percent noise and show. Fortunately Dani had worked undercover long enough to know it was coming. She rolled with it, allowing the illusion of force to send her slamming into the whitewashed wall. The solid whack to the back of her skull left no doubt in Jack’s mind, that groan was real. He stalked forward grabbed her hair, using it to pin her as Youssef had done. Unlike Youssef, he sealed his lips to her ear as he seized the shackles at her wrists, spinning her with him—toward the island counter and away from the men as he asked, “You okay?”

  “Finish it.”

  For a split second he was afraid the cook had caught on. But the woman turned to the stove and busied herself with a large iron pot. His breathing still raw and much too shallow, he wrenched Dani around with him once more as he faced Rurik.

  The yellow grin split wide. “Three hundred to keep a hag that it appears you, too, will have to persuade?”

  Jack shot his own grin toward Youssef. “Unlike your lackey, I’m up to the task.” He was rewarded with another Arabic curse.

  Rurik ignored it. “Three hundred it is.”

  “And if I like her, I take her when I leave.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Done.” Jack shoved Dani to the bucket. “Go bathe, woman. Then wait for me in my room.” He forced himself to turn away and shift the Beretta at his hip to tug his wallet from his camouflaged pocket. Pulling out the three largest bills, he tossed them to Youssef, earning another scowl as the man caught them. “Now, you two ready to discuss why you brought me here?”

  Another of those blasted, decaying grins. “Tomorrow.”

  “Dammit, Rurik, I—”

  The man tsked softly. “You Americans. Everything must always be your way, in your time. Our business can wait, my friend. Tonight is for pleasure.” Rurik clapped him on the back, chuckling as Dani wrenched the bucket off the floor and stalked across the kitchen, slamming the wooden door smartly behind her. “Though I do not think your new slave appears pleased with the change
to her sleeping arrangements.”

  Now there was an understatement. He might not have a clue as to what Dani was doing trapped on this bombed-out dairy farm in eastern Bosnia, much less how he was going to get her off safely, but Jack did know one thing. No matter how many times he’d relived that sultry summer night in his mind this past year, she sure as hell hadn’t. Nor did she ever intend to repeat it. In fact, he was the last man Danielle Stanton ever intended to sleep with again. She’d told him so herself.

  Chapter 2

  She was naked. Clean, but naked. God help her, it was a state she’d give just about anything to fix, especially now, and not because of Youssef and the rest of Rurik’s leering, groping goons. Because of him. U.S. Army Captain Jack Gage. Or had Jack made the major’s list? She didn’t know. She’d refused to look. Not that Jack would refuse to look—at her. If given the chance.

  Dani grabbed Zorah’s hands, furious with herself as the plea tumbled out. “Leave my clothes. A robe, a towel, a blanket.” Something to preserve her shredded dignity. “Please.”

  “I cannot.” Zorah shook her head sadly as she tugged her fingers free. Without missing a beat, the woman nudged Dani down into the tepid water until her shoulders were flush with the back of the claw-footed tub. Only then did Zorah splay the bulk of her hair over the edge of the weathered porcelain and step behind her to work the snarls free. “I am sorry, but Youssef says you must go to the man as you were born.”

  Youssef. One more reason to hate the bastard. As for the other one? She might owe Jack for sparing her another round with Rurik’s henchman, but gratitude would never absolve Jack of his own debt. Much less, his betrayal. She still couldn’t believe he was here. When she’d walked out on the man eleven months before, she’d known she’d see him again. She’d just never expected it would be in Bosnia, a day after she’d been kidnapped outside a women’s clinic in Sarajevo. Then again, given Jack’s relationship with her father, she shouldn’t be surprised. Who else would Daddy send in to clean up after her? After all, according to the all-knowing General Stanton, Jack Gage was the best. At everything.

  Dani winced as Zorah’s comb hit a particularly large snarl. Yeah, she might have been incarcerated at Miss Porter’s School for Girls by the time Jack arrived, but she’d been old enough to realize Daddy had gotten what he’d always wanted. A ready-made son. So what if her father had inherited a twenty-one-year-old Jack by default after a war buddy died in a car crash? Jack was the boy her father had taken under his wing when he was still a colonel and Jack a cadet at West Point. Jack was the boy her father had had over for weekend dinners and Army football tailgate parties, while she was stuck a hundred miles away. And, of course, Jack was the boy her father had tapped to follow in his hallowed Delta Force footsteps. His daughter, on the other hand, had to slink off to a civilian college and claw her way to an ROTC scholarship without Daddy Dearest’s unfailing support, much less more than a cursory acknowledgement on commissioning day.

  But the humiliation hadn’t ended there, had it? Years later, she’d had the honor of standing on the wrong side of a barely cracked door in the Army’s Special Operations Command headquarters at Ft. Bragg while her brand-new SOCOM general of a father had the nerve to discuss her with her brand-new special ops lover. A lover fresh from the first mission they’d completed together. Hell, fresh from their smoldering bed.

  Even now the memory of the devil’s bargain her father and lover had struck had the power to burn through her. She’d been a fool to hope her father could ever change. More so to think his naturalized progeny would be any different. Her patience with Zorah’s rhythmic combing expired, Dani sat up. She stepped out of the tub as Zorah set the comb on the chipped vanity. Neither of them bothered to drain the water. With the ancient well out behind the barn the only source of clean water for miles, the rest of the girls would be shuttled through the bathroom before anyone dared to pull the chain on the rubber stopper. To think, up until last night she’d actually thought her life stunk.

  Lina.

  Don’t. Dani shoved the guilt aside and clung fiercely to hope instead. Until she had proof to the contrary, Lina was alive. Probably inside the dairy barn. Why else had Rurik posted a guard at the doors? Maybe Jack knew something. Maybe Youssef had bragged. Either way, Jack would be able to help her find a way to keep the other girls from falling victim to the same fate. The piercing hope purged the impending indignity of padding down the hall, past God only knew who, with nothing but a collection of purple bruises to conceal herself.

  She blew out her breath. “I’m ready.”

  To her surprise, Zorah touched her arm.

  Dani blinked, stunned to see the bleached towel in the woman’s outstretched hand. “Are you sure? Youssef will—”

  “—not know. Not if you lay the towel out to dry before the sergeant—before he…” Pity filled the woman’s dark-brown eyes, softening the lines a decade of war and not-quite-peace had etched into her forehead and about her otherwise attractive mouth. “Return the towel when I come for you in the morning.”

  “I will. If anyone complains, I’ll tell Youssef I insisted.” A glimpse in the mirror assured her she needed a nice fat bruise on the right side of her jaw to balance out the lump on her left, anyway. Jack’s hand had left the barest splotch of red. While her jaw was grateful, her cover might not be. They might have fared better if he’d struck harder. Dani wrapped the towel around her torso and tucked the end between her breasts, then dragged her hair in front of her shoulders to cover the rest of her exposed flesh. What she could. “Thank you, Zorah.”

  Dani padded down the hall alone, reaching the door at the end far too quickly. Sergeant Jackson’s door. Evidently Jack had revived an uncompromised cover he’d used in and around Sarajevo and after the Bosnian civil war—that of an artillery sergeant of low morals. Given Rurik’s collection of ethnically diverse thugs, it made sense. Sergeant Jackson had been known to steal weapons and ammo from NATO bunkers and then funnel the goods to all three sides within the Bosnian conflict: Croatian, Serb and ethnic Muslim. If the money was good, Jackson didn’t care who bought. And no one would question the shady sergeant’s interest in female slaves. Not with a shameful number of UN peacekeepers up to their tarnished blue helmets in the practice.

  A practice she was supposed to be investigating—not joining, especially on the unfortunate end.

  I told you so.

  Dani slapped the phantom recrimination aside and shoved the bedroom door open. Before she could step over the threshold, an iron hand whipped out, locking about her wrist and jerking her inside the room, straight into a brown, T-shirt-clad chest. Before she could protest, Jack’s hungry mouth crashed on to hers, swallowing her gasp as his tongue invaded her mouth. He consumed her second, deeper gasp as he ripped the towel away. He dumped the towel at his combat boots and replaced it with his hard, muscular arms. She was dimly aware of his body shifting as well, as if he was subtly using his length and bulk to shield her now-naked flesh from…who? Rurik?

  The coarse chuckle behind Jack confirmed it.

  Jack ignored it, appearing to lose himself to lust as he raked the fingers of his right hand through the length of her damp hair to knead and cup her breasts. The pad of his thumb scraped her nipple. To her utter humiliation, it stiffened. She responded by jerking her right knee up as she slammed her hands into the man’s granite chest—for Rurik’s amused benefit, as well as her hijacked pride. Unfortunately, Jack had eight inches of towering height and a much thicker set of muscles on her. He used every one of them to his advantage, too.

  She was pinned. All her futile resistance had done was settle her intimately between Jack’s thighs as he sealed her back against the wall. The chill sent goosebumps rippling down her body—until Jack shifted again, this time bracing his forearm to the wall above her head so he could gain deeper access to her mouth. Just like that, the months seared away. The numbing loneliness and constant heartache that had dogged her since, followed. They were back on J
ack’s bed, tangled up in his dark-blue sheets, sweat slicking their bodies as they fed the frantic need within each other. She could hear his hoarse encouragement, feel him driving in and out—feel herself clamping around him as she’d tried to keep from splintering into a million pieces because it was just too damned soon. He’d felt too damned right.

  The memory had burned in so completely, she clutched Jack’s shoulders as he tore his mouth from hers, instinctively protesting as he scraped his lips and scruffed jaw across her cheeks—until she felt his ragged breath in her ear.

  “Dani…he’s gone.”

  The fantasy evaporated as quickly as it had flashed to life. Unfortunately, the traitorous desire didn’t. Unspent passion continued to race through her veins at double-time, every drop still headed low, to her core, as she struggled to regain control over her errant lungs. It didn’t help that Jack’s breathing was as harsh and unsteady as hers. Or that his biceps were rigid with restraint as he pushed off the wall. Off her.

  Despite the curtain of hair concealing her breasts, the chill returned. The goosebumps followed. A disloyal flush seared them off as Jack’s still-smoking stare followed the tide to her waist, then lower. The jerk. She didn’t care if he’d spent the past year so deep undercover that an eighth of an inch of ankle peeking out from beneath a burka would’ve turned him on. Because of some bastard’s jollies, she was the one standing here, stark-naked and exposed, beneath her ex-lover’s stare, not him.

  Somehow, she managed to infuse the steady cool her skin and nerves lacked into her voice. “May I have my towel?”

  Jack’s gaze snapped up, his confusion at her anger unmistakable as he blinked off his own remaining passion. What had he expected? Open-armed gratitude? Or was he honestly waiting for her to part another set of limbs?