Seducing the Colonel's Daughter: Seducing the Colonel's DaughterThe Secret Soldier

by Jennifer Morey

  Cullen raised only his eyes to look at Noah. Why did it have to be Afghanistan?

  “You’re my only hope of seeing my daughter alive again,” Noah said quietly, urgently. “I’ve made mistakes in my life, but this one will kill me if she dies over there. Before I have a chance to make things right with her.”

  Cullen wanted to groan out loud. How could he say no? To Noah. Any other man, he’d already have been walking out the door. But Noah...

  He couldn’t say no. He had to do it. He owed Noah too much.

  “It’s going to take time to plan,” he heard himself say.

  Noah closed his eyes, a sign that he recognized Cullen’s indirect agreement. “How much time?”

  “A week. Maybe less. I have to be careful.” And wasn’t that just the understatement of the year.

  Noah nodded. “I know you’ll do the best you can.”

  Even his best might not keep him alive, but he held that thought to himself. “What kind of intelligence do you have?” Cullen looked down at the table and saw a map and several satellite images.

  “Before we talk strategy, there’s something you need to understand about my daughter.”

  Cullen looked back at Noah and waited. What could possibly matter when her life was on the line?

  “She despises me.”

  Cullen couldn’t stop his brow from rising.

  “She has for years,” Noah continued. “Ever since she was old enough to think on her own.”

  “I’m sure she’ll change her mind once she sets foot on American soil again, compliments of you.”

  Noah shook his head. “You don’t understand. You can’t tell her I sent you.”

  “What do you want me to—”

  “If you tell her I sent you, she’ll find her own way home as soon as you get her out of Afghanistan. I know her. She won’t stay with you.”

  “What am I supposed to say to her? I can’t tell her who I am, either.” What he did for his government privately had to stay private. No official could admit to asking him to do the things he did in the name of the United States. He couldn’t risk telling Noah’s daughter anything, especially knowing she was estranged from her father. And then there was the media hype to consider.

  “Tell her whatever you want,” Noah said. “Hell, lie to her if you have to. Just get her to me. I’ll explain everything to her then.”

  * * *

  What was that? Had she imagined the sound? Sabine felt every heartbeat in her chest as she lifted her head from where her aching body lay curled on a hard cement floor. She tried to see across the small cell that had been her prison for more than two weeks. Blackness stared back at her. None of this was real, was it? So much horror couldn’t be real.

  The rapid staccato of a man shouting something in Farsi convinced her well enough that she wasn’t dreaming. She pushed herself to a sitting position, her body trembling from lack of water and food and, more than anything, from fear, as she scooted to the wall behind her, away from the door. Strands of her long, dirty red hair hung in front of her face, shivering with the tremors that rippled through her.

  The door creaked open and one of her captors stepped in, holding a paraffin lamp. Beady eyes leered at her above an unkempt, hairy face. The others called him Asad. He wasn’t their leader, but he frightened her nearly as much.

  Glancing behind him, he closed the door. Sabine pressed her back harder against the cement wall as he approached, wishing it would miraculously give way and provide an escape.

  Asad crouched close to her and put the lamp down beside him. He reached to touch her hair. Many of the other men seemed taken with the color, too.

  Had Asad managed to slip away tonight? His presence this late and the look in his dark eyes said as much. Where was Isma’il? Would he stop him as he had all the other times?

  She pulled away from Asad’s hand and scrambled along the wall until the corner stopped her.

  Anger brought Asad’s brow crowding together. “Move when you are told,” he said in Farsi.

  If she lived, Sabine promised herself she’d never speak the language again and forget she’d ever studied it in college.

  Standing, Asad stepped toward her and crouched in front of her again. She turned her face toward the wall and squeezed her eyes shut as he took strands of her hair between his fingers. “I will know this fire,” he murmured, making her stomach churn.

  “I’d rather die,” she whispered in perfect Farsi, a soft hiss of defiance that belied her weakened state.

  He let go of her hair but pulled back his hand for momentum and swung down to strike her face. Sabine grunted with the force of the blow, her head hitting the wall and one hand slapping the floor to stop her fall. She spit blood.

  Voices outside the door of her cell made Asad pivot in his crouched position. He watched the door. When it began to open, he straightened.

  “Isma’il is asking for you,” a man said through the shadows.

  Asad muttered an expletive and turned to look down at Sabine. Whatever he’d come to do to her tonight had once again been thwarted. She watched his anger flare with the snarl of his mouth. “The day will come when Isma’il will not interfere,” he said. “And then you will die just as your friend did.” With that, he picked up the lamp and turned to leave.

  A shaky breath of relief whooshed out of her. Why was Isma’il protecting her? Terrorists would have no regard for a female captive. But who were they, if not terrorists? Were they holding her for ransom? Had they contacted Aden? Was he trying to save his contractors? Perhaps he’d lost some ground and that was why Samuel had been killed. She had no way of knowing. Her captors never spoke of their purpose in front of her and Samuel.

  Samuel. She couldn’t grasp that he was dead. They’d tortured and killed him. And they’d do the same to her. It was only a question of when.

  Her soft, defeated sobs resonated against the cement walls that trapped her in this hellish place. She didn’t want to die like this. Curling her body on the cement again, she stared through the darkness, trying to think of something to console her spirit. Fuel her strength.

  Thoughts of her mother were too painful. She couldn’t reconcile the difference between this place and the quiet innocence of Roaring Creek, Colorado, where her mother had raised her. Mae O’Clery was as much a best friend as she was a mother. When Mae told her this contracting job wasn’t her calling, that she was doing it only to catch her father’s attention, she should have listened. That arrowing insight had annoyed her at the time. But now, after being kidnapped and facing a horrific death, she could see the truth.

  Unrelenting. That’s how she had been when she’d gone after her college degree, and that’s how she was in pursuing her career. Nothing had stopped her from proving to the world that she was...what? Tough? Smart? That she was worthy of envy and respect? She didn’t like to admit that her relationship with her father had driven her to this moment, but it had. Amazing how his occasional visits to her mother had bled over into every aspect of her life. She wasn’t good enough just the way she was. She had to try harder. Always harder.

  A sound outside the door made her stiffen, lift her head. Had Isma’il sent for her? Was tonight her time to die?

  Her heart beat so fast it made her sick. A hissing noise followed by a sort of zap sent a burst of light through spaces in the door frame.

  Surely her mind was playing tricks on her. Wouldn’t her captors use a key? Why was someone using strange explosives on the door?

  The door swung open. A tall figure appeared. Silhouetted by meager light in the doorway, the man stood with an automatic weapon ready to fire. The folds of his black clothes and body armor encased a powerful body that was at least twice the size of any of her captors’. He turned first to his left, then scanned the room until he saw her.

  Her hear
t felt like it skipped several beats as she watched him turn to look over his shoulder and make quick, firm gestures with his hand, holding the automatic rifle with the other. Slinging a strap over his shoulder, he hung the rifle against his back and approached.

  Sabine wavered between elation and fear. Dare she hope this man had come to free her?

  The tall man knelt in front of her, a small scope attached to his helmet and positioned in front of one eye. She guessed it was some sort of night-vision device. He was laden with other gear, too. A pistol strapped to his waist. Straps around his thighs from his parachute. A wide, dark backpack and several bulky pockets gave the appearance of size. Not that he was small; he had to be at least six-five and was no rail of a man.

  “Are you injured?” he asked, putting his hand on her shoulder.

  She jerked away from his touch, so conditioned to fear that the reaction was automatic.

  He pulled his hand up as though in surrender. “I’m from the United States. I’m going to get you out of here. Do you understand?”

  English. Her brain swirled in reverse and forward and sideways. He spoke English. And not just any English. He had a distinctive Western swagger to his vowels, strong and confident, marking him a wholly, one-hundred-percent, proud-to-be-American man. She couldn’t let herself believe it, yet she felt her head nod twice.

  “Where is Samuel Barry?” he asked.

  Reminded of Samuel’s death, the swell of tears renewed in her throat. “I...I’m the only one left.”

  The tall man’s only reaction was the grim set of his mouth as he flipped another device down from his helmet.

  “I’ve got the package. There’s only one,” he said into the small radio that arched in front of his mouth. “Have you found anything?”

  “We’re searching, sir,” a voice said across the radio, barely audible. “So far nothing’s turned up.”

  “Set the explosives and keep looking. Kill anything that moves.”

  “Roger that.”

  The tall man flipped the radio back against his helmet. There was nothing emotional about him. He was focused on his purpose, and right now that seemed to be getting her out of there.

  “Can you stand?” he asked.

  She didn’t know and he didn’t wait for an answer. He helped her to her feet with one arm around her back. She welcomed his strength as he supported her to the door. There, he leaned her against the wall beside the opening. She heard sounds outside. Something moving in the street.

  Had her rescue been discovered?

  “Don’t move,” the tall man said, his eye gleaming through the shadows, the other concealed behind the night-vision device.

  Sabine didn’t think she could move if she tried, she was so weak. Her legs were already trembling with the effort to keep her upright.

  Pulling his weapon from his shoulder, the tall man peered outside. He had wide cheekbones and a prominent brow that gave his intense eyes a fearsome set. She didn’t know how much time passed before she heard the sound of footfalls. The tall man made hand gestures through the open door, then shrugged his weapon back over his shoulder. He bent to lift Sabine, his arms under and behind her.

  She looked over his shoulder as he carried her through the door of the small, six-by-six concrete cell that had been her home for so long. A crippling wave of remorse consumed her. She was leaving without Samuel. His wife. What would it do to her when she found out about her husband? Sabine squeezed her eyes shut to a grief that would stay with her always.

  Outside the door the tall man joined two other men dressed like him. Aiming their weapons, the other men flanked the tall man as he carried her into the street. Two bodies were sprawled on the ground near the door of the concrete cell. She hoped one of them was Asad.

  “Find anything?” the tall man asked.

  “Negative.”

  “Detonate when we reach the Mi-8.”

  “With pleasure, sir.”

  The two other men swung their weapons on either side of the tall man as they moved across the street.

  Shouts erupted behind them. The tall man ran faster while his partners turned and jogged backward, aiming their weapons and firing. Over the tall man’s shoulder, she saw three figures drop in the distance, lifeless shadows in the night.

  The tall man slowed his pace as he carried her through an alley. One of his partners moved ahead and the other fell back. They emerged onto another street. Bombed-out buildings and burned shells of vehicles echoed a violent tale of the past.

  The woof, woof of a helicopter sounded in the distance. The bombed-out buildings thinned as they came to the outskirts of the deserted village where her captors had taken her and Samuel. Sabine could make out the dark shape of a helicopter just ahead of them.

  One of the tall man’s partners jumped into the helicopter. The tall man handed her over to him. He swooped her through a narrow door and inside the pod, and she found herself lowered onto a toboggan-like stretcher. The interior of the helicopter had no seats, but the exposed metal walls contained small, round windows. It was dim inside.

  Sabine kept her gaze fixed on the tall man. He stood to one side of the opening as the helicopter lifted into the air. One of his partners knelt beside him. Both aimed their guns at the ground. The man kneeling depressed a remote of some sort. What she could see of the night sky lit up, and the sound of a giant explosion followed. Something pricked her arm.

  Sabine looked up at the man kneeling beside her. In the light of the fire, she could see his brown hair and blue eyes. He smiled at her while he inserted the IV.

  “You’re goin’ to be okay now,” he said with a rich Southern drawl.

  God bless America, she thought.

  Gunshots made her grip the sides of the stretcher. Bullets sprayed the helicopter, and it dipped. It felt like something vital had been hit. Some of her captors must have survived and discovered her escape.

  The man who’d inserted her IV scrambled to the cockpit.

  “We’re in big trouble if this thing goes down!” the pilot shouted, barely audible over the noise of the rotor.

  The helicopter swayed and rattled amidst rounds of

  machine-gun fire.

  “I can’t go back there.” Sabine struggled to raise her body. She crawled on her hands and knees toward the open door of the helicopter, heedless of the IV that ripped free of her arm and the sting of her raw shins, where her captors had beaten her the most. She searched for a weapon and spotted the pistol in the tall man’s holster. When she reached for it, he put his hand around her wrist and stopped her.

  “They’re out of range now,” he told her, one knee on the floor. “And you’re not going back there.”

  Realizing the sound of gunfire had ceased, Sabine sagged at his words, falling flat onto her stomach with her forehead to the metal floor of the helicopter. Sobs came unbidden. They shook her shoulders and made her gasp for air. Relief. Gratitude. A cacophony of emotion too strong to subdue.

  The tall man put his automatic rifle aside. She heard it settle on the floor of the helicopter. Sitting down, he reached for her. She let him pull her onto his lap, the promise of kindness from another human being too great to resist. Air from the opening at her back blew through her hair. She dug her fingers into the sturdy material of the tall man’s body armor, resting her head on his shoulder until her tears quieted.

  With a shuddering breath, Sabine inhaled the oily smell of the helicopter, the smell of freedom. Comfort she hadn’t felt in weeks washed through her deprived soul. She wanted to stay close to the man who held her so warmly, his hand slowly moving over her back. He cradled her thighs with one arm, his hand pressed over her hip to hold her on his lap.

  Sabine leaned back. Gray eyes fringed by thick, dark lashes looked down at her beneath the edge of his black helmet. He’d moved the night-vis
ion device out of the way. There was sympathy in his eyes but something else, a hovering alertness, a readiness for combat. Her awareness of him grew. Those gray eyes.

  His black hair sprouted from beneath the helmet, and she noticed for the first time that it hung low on the back of his neck. A few strands tickled the top of her hand. Lines bracketed each side of his mouth, his lips soft and full but unmoving. His jaw was broad and strong and covered with stubble.

  “What’s your name?” she asked, wanting to think of him as something other than a tall man.

  “You can call me Rudy,” he answered after a slight hesitation.

  The sound of more gunfire made Sabine look through the door into the night sky. She spotted another helicopter firing at them. Rudy tossed her off his lap at the same instant bullets struck metal. She landed on her rear in a pile of gear and packs in the back of the helicopter. Rudy grabbed his weapon and fired alongside one of his teammates.

  “What the—” The man beside Rudy was cut short when a bullet put a hole in his forehead. He fell forward, out of the helicopter. It happened quickly, but Sabine knew violence like this all too well. The helpless sorrow swimming through her was familiar, something that had clung to her through her captivity.

  Rudy fired his weapon again. Explosions of answering gunfire throttled along with the roar of rotor and blades. Bullets struck the helicopter’s interior, plugging holes in the stretcher where Sabine had lain. She covered her head and buried herself among the gear as much as she could, moaning. Exhaustion did nothing to dull the sickening fear that had been her constant companion for so long.

  Then the flurry of gunfire died. Sabine lifted her head. Rudy crouched, ready for battle.

  “Who the hell was that?” the Southern man asked from his seat in the cockpit.

  The helicopter sputtered and lost elevation with a severe plunge.

  The pilot cursed.

  “What’s our position?” Rudy demanded.

  The pilot shouted back coordinates.