"Then why are you stopping me?"
He spun around, backing her against the warehouse wall. His voice was a low whisper. "Do you still want me to be honest?"
Shadows hid his face. He was a dark silhouette looming over her. Tall. Male. Insistent. He thrilled her on a level she hadn't known she possessed. "Yes," she said.
"A quick fumble in the corner isn't going to be enough for either of us, Abbie." He pressed her wrists to the wall above her head. "After going without for eight years, you deserve more than that. I want to be alone with you so we can do this right. I want to be someplace where I can peel off every last stitch of your clothes and see you naked."
Her legs shook. She swayed, but his grip on her wrists held her upright. He wasn't touching her anywhere else, yet the mere thought of him doing what he said made her breasts ache.
He dipped his head and inhaled deeply. "I want to smell the apple and cranberry scent of your skin when it gets slick with the sweat of my body sliding over yours."
She was having trouble breathing. "Flynn…"
"Like that. I want to hear you call my name." He stepped closer. There was a mere brush of fabric on fabric. It seared her from her neck to her knees. "On a bed. On the floor. Against the wall. I want to fill you up and feel you tremble around me."
Moist heat blossomed between her legs. She arched toward him.
A tremor shook his frame. His breathing was harsh and rapid. Yet he didn't take the final step that would bring him into contact with her. "It would be lust, Abbie. Sex. That's all. Two people enjoying a physical attraction."
She wanted to weep. "No, don't say that."
"I won't lie." He dropped his forehead against hers. "I respect you too much to lie about this, Abbie. You've drawn me to you since the first moment I saw you at the museum. It's the way you smile as if you know a secret, the quick way you walk, the way your hair curls around my fingers. Hell, I even like your freckles. I can't explain it. I want you."
Why was everything so confusing? She was so sure she knew what she wanted. She'd been positive it wasn't this. She had vowed to hold out for love.
In eight years she'd had no trouble keeping her vow. She had the normal urges of a healthy woman, but she hadn't met any man who drew her strongly enough to tempt her. Until now.
Why was that?
She immersed herself in her schedules, her family and the safe little world of Cherry Hill School, so she seldom ran into handsome, exciting men like Stuart. And she certainly never encountered virile, testosterone-charged men like Flynn and the soldiers of Eagle Squadron. Flynn had said that she wouldn't have been happy with someone like sensible Peter Hedgeworth. Could he be right? Was it possible that she had subconsciously structured her life so she could avoid meeting men who might touch her heart?
Flynn lowered her arms to her sides and released her wrists. "I shouldn't have started something we couldn't finish. I'm sorry, Abbie."
She wasn't sure why she didn't step around him and run for the safety of the tent. Instead, she moved closer, slid her arms around his waist and hugged him. "Don't be sorry, Flynn. It worked."
"It did?"
"It was better than running." She leaned back to look at him. She still couldn't see his face. But then, his looks had already ceased to matter. "You make me feel as if I can do practically anything."
"You can, Abbie. You're stronger than you think."
"I won't ask to go home again until I've seen this through."
He pressed a kiss to her forehead and folded her into his arms. He didn't ask whether she'd been talking about the mission or about what was happening between them. It was just as well. Abbie wasn't ready for that much honesty.
Chapter 11
"The satellite infrared images aren't as clear as I'd like." Sarah stepped through the group of men who were gathered around the mess table and hit a few keys on her laptop computer. The screen cleared. The hard drive crackled as a new image began to form. "There's an area in the northwest corner of the ground floor that we couldn't penetrate at all. The place was a butcher shop, so I assumed it was the meat locker. The blueprints confirmed this."
"Are there any identifiable heat patterns in the rest of the building?" Major Redinger asked.
"Yes. This scan was done at 1630 hours. There appears to be a group of people in a room on the second floor." She tapped another key. "I'll augment the resolution…. Here. I count eleven individuals."
"Then it's definitely more than one cell. This has to be the LLA's base."
Abbie moved to the edge of the group and rose up on her toes so she could get a better view of the computer screen. No one was using the chairs—this gathering was more of a discussion than a briefing. And if the men felt a fraction as tense as she did, they would prefer to stand, anyway.
The computer screen showed a pattern of ghostly red and orange blobs on a background of foggy-gray cubes. The picture had been taken through solid walls from several miles above the earth. Under other circumstances, the classified military reconnaissance technology in evidence here might have awed her—she was sure that regular law enforcement agencies like the FBI didn't have access to resources like this—but what was one more secret added to the rest she now kept? All she cared about were the results.
"By 2240 hours they had left this room," Sarah said. "Because the sun had gone down, we had less interference and could determine areas of interest on the ground floor. Several heat sources that fit the human profile are here and here." She moved the cursor's white arrow over the screen. "The scans done between midnight and 0500 show little change."
"We could be looking at where they sleep," Redinger said.
"Yes. That was my conclusion."
"Can you determine the relative sizes of the people?"
Sarah paused. "Judging by the mass, they have to be adults."
"No sign of the hostage?"
"No. My best guess is that he's being kept in the meat locker," she said. "It would be the logical place."
Images of Matteo flashed into Abbie's mind, the hazel-eyed blond boy who smiled from a photograph taken in a rain-washed garden and who could look so intent over a stranded starfish. Gradually, another image arose. A cold, frightened child, chunks of hair missing from his scalp, a tooth missing from his mouth. Locked in, alone, terrified.
For God's sake, hurry up! she wanted to cry. Why were these people taking so long? It had been a full day since that envelope with its obscene message had been delivered to the embassy. Didn't anyone think of what Matteo was going through?
Flynn moved behind her and squeezed her shoulder.
She exhaled hard and put her hand over his. She had to trust them. These soldiers would know better than anyone what the child was going through. They were more experienced at handling this side of life than she was. She shouldn't mistake their caution and clear thinking for indifference.
"You're only speculating about his location," Redinger said. "The hostage might not be there at all."
"That's a possibility, too," Sarah said.
Redinger moved to the rolled blueprints that were stacked on the opposite side of the table. He chose one and flattened it out. "The top story gives us our best options for entry. The door to the roof leads to a narrow stairwell that opens into the upper hallway. The two windows on either end of the hall don't have bars. We can call up a chopper to put us on the roof. If we hit them at night when they're sleeping we can neutralize them before they have a chance to harm the hostage."
"And if he isn't in the meat locker?" Sarah asked.
"Then our raid on the base would send the other LLA cells underground," Redinger replied. "And the hostage would be executed."
There was a rustle of movement from the men. Abbie could feel Flynn's hand tighten under hers.
"The outside time frame is Friday, so we need to move in before then," Redinger said. "But unless we can confirm the location of the hostage, it would be best to wait until the next drop is scheduled. With Miss Locke s
erving as a diversion, our chances of taking the LLA base by surprise are better. Their attention and manpower will be divided. We can do a sweep by moving on the three rooming houses at the same time and jamming their communications from the base to ensure they don't get off a warning—"
"No," Flynn said.
Redinger lifted an eyebrow at the interruption. "Do you have something constructive to add, Sergeant O'Toole?"
"What you suggest would put Miss Locke at too much risk, sir. Timing a raid to coincide with the ransom drop would expose her to greater danger than doing a straight drop."
"We will take measures to protect her."
"They won't be enough. If it goes sour, Miss Locke will be in as much jeopardy as the hostage."
"Your protest is noted, Sergeant."
"Major—"
"O'Toole, do I need to remind you why Miss Locke is our guest?" The major looked pointedly at their joined hands. "She is not here for your private amusement."
Abbie could sense Major Redinger's irritation and Flynn's growing anger. She let go of his hand and stepped forward. "Excuse me?"
The men's gazes shifted toward her.
Abbie had never been more conscious of her size. She was surrounded by hard-muscled, grim-faced soldiers who towered at least a head above her. As always, they were wearing ordinary clothes rather than uniforms, but that made no difference. She couldn't forget they were trained fighters, waiting for the chance to go into action. What made her think she had anything to contribute?
Sarah caught her eye and nodded once, a silent gesture of encouragement.
Abbie drew herself up to her full five foot four, crossed her arms and tipped her chin to look at the major. "I'm here to return Matteo Vilyas safely to his family," she said. "And if I can do that by being a diversion, I will."
"Thank you, Miss Locke."
"Abbie," Flynn said. "You don't understand what this means."
She kept her gaze on the major. "I'll be wearing the same communication equipment and bullet-proof vest as the last time, right?"
"Yes, of course. We will have sharpshooters around the drop point, as well."
"Then I can do it," she said.
Flynn swore under his breath and caught her elbow. "It won't be the same as the last time, Abbie. The situation could deteriorate too fast. I won't let you do this."
"O'Toole, you're out of line." The major's voice was low, as ominous as a roll of thunder.
Flynn seemed to take no notice of the reprimand from his superior officer or the glances from the other men. He continued to stare at Abbie. "Use your head. You're too involved. You're not thinking objectively."
"Are you?" she asked.
Her question made him pause. A muscle in his jaw jumped. Before he could reply, there was the scrape of footsteps behind them. Rafe and Jack stepped forward from the group to move on either side of Flynn. Rafe gave him a solid nudge in the ribs. Jack caught him as he staggered and neatly moved between Flynn and the major.
"Major Redinger," Rafe said. "There is an alley that runs behind the north wall of the butcher shop. The meat locker is in the northwest corner of the building, correct?"
Redinger gave a crisp nod.
"If we could devise some form of cover that would allow us to be in the alley," Rafe said, "we could drill a small hole through the wall of the building into the locker and insert a cable cam."
Sarah spoke up quickly. "That's an excellent idea, Major. If we can get a visual confirmation of the Vilyas boy's location with the camera, we would be able to move on the base well before the next ransom drop."
"Good. Do it." Redinger stepped back from the table and skewered Flynn with a look. "Sergeant O'Toole, I'll see you outside. Now."
* * *
Flynn finished cleaning the last piece of the submachine gun and set it on the cloth he'd spread over the wooden pallet in front of him. The black lacquer that coated the parts had been developed for durability. The pistol grip was ambidextrous, so the gun could be fired with either hand. The suppressor that fitted over the end of the barrel reduced the noise of a shot to the decibel level of a light tap. It was a versatile weapon, perfect for close-quarters combat, both silent and deadly.
With movements that had the choreographed grace of an action repeated countless times, Flynn assembled the gun. When he was finished, he held it loosely, feeling the familiar weight settle reassuringly into his hands.
Every man in Eagle Squadron had been drilled in the use of deadly force. They knew the stakes and they accepted the risks. This was what Flynn was trained for and what he was good at. It was the life he'd chosen. He didn't know what he'd do without it.
Rafe squatted beside him to reach the ammunition case on the floor. "You okay?" he asked.
Flynn put the weapon down. "Fine."
"The major looked pissed. I thought you'd be pulling guard duty at Bragg for the next year."
"Redinger's fair. Guard duty would be too easy. He figured the worst thing he could do to me is leave me where I am."
Rafe chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like the major."
"Is the camera in place?"
"Norton and Lang are still working on it. First they've got to reposition a dumpster from farther down the alley so it butts against the wall where the meat locker is located."
"Are they going to drill from inside the dumpster? Is that the plan?"
"Uh-huh. Jack wasn't too crazy about that part."
"As long as it works. It was a good idea, Rafe."
"You probably would have thought of it yourself if you hadn't been so wrapped up with Abbie."
Flynn leaned a hip against the corner of a packing crate and raked his fingers through his hair. "Thanks for the save back there. I owe you and Jack."
"You were digging yourself a pretty deep hole with the major. We couldn't stand by and watch you fall in." Rafe paused as he counted out thirty shells and lined them up in neat rows on top of the crate. "And you don't owe me. I was returning the favor."
"What favor?"
Rafe stood up from his crouch and slanted him a look. "I seem to remember one briefing about a few months ago when I couldn't keep my mind on the mission. You didn't pull any punches when you reminded me about my priorities."
Flynn frowned. He knew what Rafe was referring to. They had been planning a raid on the Caribbean island stronghold of the notorious drug lord, Leonardo Juarez. Flynn had been blunt when he'd pointed out Rafe's attention hadn't been with them 100 percent. "That was different."
"Uh-huh. How?"
"You weren't listening to the major's briefing because you were thinking about Glenna."
Rafe picked up the first shell in the closest row, wiped it carefully and inserted it into an empty magazine that would fit the submachine gun Flynn had just assembled. "And how is that different?"
"You were serious about the woman. You ended up proposing to her. I was concerned with Abbie's safety, that's all."
"Yes, so you said."
"It's not the same."
Rafe picked up a second shell, cleaned it and put it in the magazine. "Yeah, she's not your type."
"Damn right."
"You told me tall women fit you better."
Flynn thought about how Abbie had curled up in his arms on the cot, and how she had swayed into him as he'd held her against the wall last night. He hadn't thought about fit. Size had been irrelevant. Their bodies had flowed together as naturally as if they'd been designed for each other.
"She looks like a nester," Rafe continued. "I hope she realizes you're not the man for her."
"She knows. We're straight about that."
"Once you get serious about a woman, you lose your edge, isn't that what you told me?"
"I might have."
Rafe cleaned several more shells. He didn't speak again until he'd finished filling the magazine and had handed it to Flynn. "The rest of the guys figure they know why you're hanging all over Abbie. They think it's the challenge that's got you hooked."
<
br /> "They've got too much time on their hands."
"Is it?"
"What?"
"The challenge." Rafe fixed him with a steady gaze. "Do you consider Abbie sport? Any bets on how much longer it'll take before you get into her pants?"
Anger stiffened Flynn's spine. He remained where he was with an effort. "You're lucky you're already so ugly, Marek," he said quietly. "Otherwise, I might have to rearrange your face for that comment about Abbie."
"Funny, I seem to remember rearranging your uniform when you made a comment like that about Glenna." A dimple folded into the scars on Rafe's bad side. "But go ahead and try, O'Toole. I've always thought you're too pretty for your own good, anyway."
Flynn focused on Rafe's half smile and felt his anger deflate as quickly as it had arisen. Rafe was a good friend, the best man to have at his back in any fight. His crude remark about Abbie had been an attempt to jar Flynn into revealing how he felt.
Problem was, he wasn't sure himself.
You're too involved. You're not thinking objectively. That's what he'd told Abbie. He should have listened to his own advice. "It's my duty to keep Abbie safe," he said. "I don't want her to get hurt."
"I can see that. But are you sure you're not serious about her?"
"I have other plans for my life. I like my freedom."
"That's what I thought until I met Glenna. Loving her opened a whole world of possibilities, made me look at life from a new perspective."
"Geez, can we change the subject? This touchy-feely stuff is giving me hives. Next thing you know you're going to take up knitting."
Rafe continued to look at him, his smile dimming. "Changing the subject won't change what's happening, Flynn. There's something special between you and Abbie. Just think about it, okay? I didn't until it was almost too late. I could have lost Glenna."
"This is different. Nothing's going to happen to Abbie. I'm going to make sure of it."
"Uh-huh. And what happens when the mission's over?" Rafe clapped his hand on Flynn's shoulder and gave him a shake. "Better think about that, too."
* * *
A ragged bush grew beside the loading bay. Its branches scraped against the cement platform in the breeze, a light scrabbling noise. A cricket chirped among the weeds that grew through a crack in the pavement. Answering chirps sounded faintly from the corner of the warehouse. To one side the rusted hulks of derelict cars were heaped behind the fence of a junkyard. On the other, the dark outline of an abandoned factory was silhouetted against the glow of the city. Overhead, the blinking lights of a plane mingled with the stars, its engines a faint rumble in the distance.
Seven Days to Forever Page 15