Miki swayed, fighting the pain burning down her arm. The wound felt as if it was directly over her scar, tearing open the fragile tissue all over again.
Sometimes life sucked.
Her knees buckled a little and she felt Max’s arm brace her shoulder as he gently cleaned the wound. “Lean on me.”
“Not allowed.” She gave a shaky laugh. “I don’t lean on anyone. By the way, if you’re ever planning to kill me, do it fast, because I’m not very good with pain.”
Miki thought she saw his lips curve slightly. “Looks to me like you’re pretty damned tough, Blondie.”
His hand at her shoulder was surprisingly gentle and Miki leaned on him just a little as he placed a bandage over the slash.
Then there was a noise behind her. The man on the floor came to life and made a swift jab with his foot. Max parried, hit him twice and sent him toppling back to the floor.
All she could do was stare, too tired to move. She didn’t want to die. There were too many places she hadn’t seen, too many pictures she hadn’t taken. She looked down at the blood on her arm, oozing over her jeans. Now the denim was slashed at both knees. “Damn,” she whispered. “These used to be my favorite. Do you have any idea how hard it is to find a pair of jeans that really f-fit?”
“Afraid I don’t. I’m not into clothes.” Max took a white cloth from his inside his vest, softly brushed back her hair and studied her face. “You’re a mess, honey.”
“What about him?”
“He won’t be getting up for a while.”
“Is he…dead?” Miki heard the words echo as if she was moving through a tunnel.
“He would have killed you.”
No arguing with that. “Who is he?”
“Someone who plays for keeps,” Max said grimly.
Miki took a tight breath. “Will there be more of them?”
“More than likely. That’s why Truman is keeping watch up top. He’s the one who saw that you had company. Sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”
“No problem. I took c-care of him.”
“You sure did, honey.”
“And this has something to do with that guy Cruz you mentioned?”
Max’s eyes hardened. “More than likely,” he said again, folding the cloth and pressing it gently to her upper lip.
“I don’t understand any of this.” Miki squared her shoulders. “But I can handle myself.” Her nose was running and she wiped it on her shirt. “I took care of Creepy over there by myself, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, I noticed.” Max’s lips curved again.
He had a nice smile, Miki realized. It was just a little awkward, as if he didn’t use it much, but that made it all the more interesting.
“You’re some kind of hard-ass, aren’t you?” He refolded the cloth and replaced it against her top lip. “A hard-ass with a nosebleed that’s not stopping,” he said grimly.
He was wearing the gloves again, she noticed. They almost seemed like they belonged on him. “Me? You’re the one who gets nosebleeds.”
He didn’t answer.
“I’ve never had a nosebleed in my life. Okay, once when I jumped out of a cottonwood tree on a bet with Kit’s brother, but that was it. What the heck is happening to me?”
As he examined her face carefully, Miki felt more blood well up.
“Take deep breaths and try to relax.”
Right, like she could really relax sitting with G.I. Joe on a rusty battleship in the middle of nowhere. It was going to take more than a few cleansing yoga breaths to deal with this nightmare.
“Breathe, damn it. Come on, honey. Don’t faint on me.”
“I n-never faint,” she said raggedly, feeling the floor sway.
“Who’s Kit? You mentioned her just now.” His fingers traced her lip, wiping away blood with a fresh cloth.
“My best friend. She’s Trace’s sister.”
He didn’t seem to hear, busy pulling something out of his vest pocket.
“I have to get back to Dutch,” Miki said hoarsely. Max was too close, too gentle and suddenly she wanted to close her eyes and let him hold her. She wanted to lean, to touch. Very tempting. Very dangerous.
She tried to pull away, only to feel his hands tighten. “Don’t rush it, Blondie. Take a few more deep breaths while I look at your arm.”
“I want to leave.” Miki winced as he moved her hand. “You can check me out after you take care of Dutch.”
He stared at her in silence as he zipped up his black tactical vest. “Dutch is lucky to have you watching over him.” The words were so quiet, she wondered if she’d imagined them. “Take it slow. Lean on me if you need to.”
His voice was low and husky. For some reason the rough tone made heat swirl into Miki’s face as she thought about sliding her arm around his waist, her thigh pressed against his.
She cleared her throat. “What about Creepy over there?”
“Don’t worry about him. He’s going nowhere.” Max’s cold, professional stare was back. “No more noise until we’re back in the bunker, understand?”
For a moment there had been something dark and hungry in his eyes. There had even been respect in his smile. Now both were gone. Miki had seen that same kind of closed expression on the face of Kit’s brother, a Navy SEAL with a very hush-hush unit. “Are you in the Navy?”
His eyes cut back to her, cold and focused. “What makes you think that?”
“Your control. The way you watch things around you and say as little as possible. Nothing seems to upset you.”
“Why would that make me Navy?”
She shrugged. Her arm was burning, but she tried to ignore it. “My friend swears SEALs are the best of the best. Of course, she’s biased because she’s going to marry one. Her brother’s a SEAL, too.” She studied Max’s face, noting the hard jaw and the keen eyes. “Watching people is part of my job as a photographer. I’m good at it,” she said with sudden pride. “If my last job had worked out…Never mind.”
“The calendar you were shooting, right? Best Beaches of the World?”
She laughed tightly. “My big break that turned into my big disaster. Plane crash, cameras ruined, boss dead.” She concentrated on stepping over the tangled parachute. “But, hey, I’m alive.” Her voice hardened.
Her nose itched and she swiped at it again. Blood covered her fingers, making her feel sick. She looked away, staring through the rusted porthole. “I want to go.”
He tightened the straps on his vest and nodded. “You’d better take that parachute. We might need it.” He picked up the man from the floor and tossed him over one shoulder with no apparent effort. “Maintain a positive outlook. It influences tactical outcome.”
The man was definitely military, Miki thought. She tried to feel positive, but all she could see was blood—hers and her attacker’s, dark against the rusting floor. “What if more men come back?”
“No need to worry.” He gave another faint smile. “I’m a hard-ass, too.”
“Let me tell you—you have a great ass.”
Something came and went in his eyes. “A compliment, ma’am?”
“Definitely. Your abs are pretty buff, too.” It was the least she could do since he’d saved her life—again. Her smile turned shaky.
But Max didn’t hear because he was busy locking Creepy in a small room at the bottom of the stairs.
Miki followed slowly. She was trying to stay upbeat like he said, but it was pretty hard when you had someone else’s blood on your arm and you felt like throwing up.
Why did paradise always come with thorns?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
RAGGED CLOUDS COVERED the sky and there was a hint of rain in the air as they crossed the beach. Max tapped Miki’s arm, directing her through two rocks half-hidden by thick hibiscus bushes. He saw her eyes widen when he pushed aside the heavy branches and pointed out stone steps descending between the rocks.
Max took point, blooms dropping like bright rain as he followed the moss-cove
red steps underground. An earlier reconnaissance team had found a dozen tunnels scattered over the island, and this one would lead them back very close to Dutch’s resting place. Once they were underground, Max restored the wall of greenery to its original appearance and waited for Miki to pass. He didn’t miss her slow step and occasional clumsiness.
It was his job to assess field situations and evaluate threats. Where people were concerned he had an innate skepticism that had been heavily reinforced by his military experiences. He had to remain suspicious until he had an explanation for Truman’s alert, even if instinct told him she had been pulled in blind and had no knowledge of Cruz’s stolen guidance system.
He couldn’t risk being wrong.
If she made the slightest hostile move, he would immobilize her without a qualm.
Truman trotted ahead of them, sure-footed in spite of deep shadows. When Miki stumbled, Max raised his Mini Maglite to give her more light and took her good arm. Despite her obvious exhaustion, she managed a smile and plunged gamely after Truman.
Max took a deep breath. He had always liked women with guts.
Suddenly the Lab reappeared, shooting straight toward Max. He stopped short and sat down at Max’s feet, head cocked.
Danger.
Something moved in the tunnel beyond them. Max tracked his light around the tunnel through dust that whirled up in random patterns. Small rodent eyes flashed across the floor. He felt Miki start and then draw back.
But Truman wouldn’t signal for a few rats. Silently, Max eased out his .45 and thumbed off the safety, careful to keep the woman to his left, out of his range of fire. Well trained, Truman had already inched to the left for the same reason.
The faintest breeze whispered around them. Truman growled again, ears flat to his head, back tense. Max leveled the gun, focused on locating Cruz’s energy signature.
A current of air brushed his cheek as something dropped from the ceiling, hitting his shoulders. Max had a quick impression of muscle and cold skin before he flung the thing against the stone wall. Shadows rippled, and a black snake with orange stripes tumbled to the floor.
“Stay back,” he hissed to Miki. Then he patted his leg, signaling Truman to heel.
But the big dog stayed right where it was, in full defensive mode, trained to defend at any cost even when ordered back to safety. Max felt something tighten in his chest at the sight of the dog’s unflinching loyalty.
Before he knew it, Miki pushed past him. The parachute flared out, shimmering ghostly white in the beam of his flashlight.
“What the hell are you—” Max stopped. A second black shape slid along the edge of the parachute, within striking distance of Truman. The snake raised its head, its tongue flickering as it tested the air.
“Truman, freeze.” Max gave the low, harsh order as the dog growled loudly. The snake slithered across the tunnel floor and stopped within inches of the snarling Lab. The flat, triangular head weaved back and forth, poised to strike.
“Don’t move, buddy.” Max’s voice was soothing. “Freeze,” he repeated.
Truman stood frozen.
Finally the snake vanished under the nylon parachute. A muscle twitched at Max’s jaw and he released a breath, flipping on the safety of his .45.
“Truman, heel.”
The dog looked back, then turned toward the parachute, as if determined to defend against a further attack. Max patted his leg again. “Truman, heel.”
This time the Lab bounded closer. Once the dog was safely out of range, Max grabbed a stick and flipped the nylon closed, twisting the ends together in a knot so that the snakes were caught inside, writhing madly but safely out of range. In two minutes he had dumped them outside and carried the parachute back, while Miki watched him wide-eyed.
“Your dog is amazing,” she said quietly. “He didn’t back down even when you called him. He could have been killed—assuming that pair was poisonous.”
“Definitely poisonous.” Max leaned down to pat Truman’s head. “Nice alert, buddy.” He chuckled as Truman’s tail banged his face.
Miki knelt, too, but kept her distance, avoiding Truman’s eyes while speaking softly. It was exactly the way to approach an unfamiliar dog, and Max wondered how she knew the drill so well.
The big Lab approached slowly, sniffed her arm, then lapped at her hand. When Miki didn’t move, he bumped her side and whimpered, licking her face.
“Good dog.” Miki laughed, scratching the dog’s ears until Truman huffed in pleasure. “Big, brave guy,” she said huskily. “Nothing scares you, does it? How could I have been so stupid about you?”
Her voice was soft, her hands gentle and soothing.
Truman pressed against her leg, yawned and scratched behind one ear, then trotted toward Max and waited, ears alert.
Max pointed and the dog shot forward into the shadows. Max pulled a spider web out of Miki’s hair. “You could probably do without this. And thanks for picking up that other snake.”
“It was blind luck,” Miki whispered and Max heard the ragged edge of fear in her voice. “If I hadn’t been looking at the ceiling, trying to figure out when this tunnel was built, I would never have seen the second one.” She touched her face carefully. “Is my nose still bleeding?”
“Looks that way.” He tracked his light over the tunnel floor. “How do you know so much about dogs?”
“I don’t.”
“You know what not to do and how to put Truman at ease. He’s pretty damned picky about strangers, believe me.”
She shrugged. “I told you, my friend trains service dogs. I’ve managed to pick up a few crumbs of wisdom over the years. Kit insists that dogs are smarter and kinder than most people.”
Something slipped through Max’s mind, but he couldn’t pin it down. “She could be right,” he muttered.
MIKI BRUSHED COLD, STRINGY cobwebs off her face and took a quick glance at Max. He was only a few feet away, but he might as well have been on Mars, his attention centered on the shadows around them.
In some subtle way, things had changed between them. She didn’t trust Max completely yet. She would still grab the first chance to leave the island. She was hungry and exhausted and her knee throbbed, but in spite of all those things she owed her life to this hard man.
How far could she trust him when he continued to be suspicious of her? More to the point, how far could she trust herself, when she found herself more and more fascinated by his cool control, broken by elusive flashes of humor and vulnerability?
She frowned into the darkness, watching Truman pace alertly in front of them. Her arm throbbed savagely. “Is it much farther?”
“A few hundred yards.” He glanced over at her, eyes narrowed. “Need some help?”
Miki shook her head. She wasn’t a leaner. She was reckless, stubborn and clumsy, but never dependent.
Her foot hit a fallen rock and she stumbled, throwing out her arms with a gasp. Instantly a hand grasped her elbow, holding her steady in a firm grip like it was the most natural thing in the world. The feel of soft leather sliding across skin reminded her of those unusual gloves that he wore constantly. She didn’t buy Max’s story about chemical sensitivities.
Was it a scar or a deformity he wanted to hide? He didn’t seem the kind of man who worried about his looks, which meant that the problem had to be very serious. There had been no time to see his hand when he’d removed the glove once before. Miki shivered a little, conjuring up pictures of old wounds and mangled fingers with all the graphic detail that came from being a photographer.
But he had saved her life. She was determined to force some kind of stalemate in their mutual suspicions. Without basic trust, they might not make their way out of this place alive.
She felt him release her arm and move ahead without a word, touching Truman gently. His bond with the dog was another strange thing. Her friend Kit raised service dogs back in Santa Fe, and her four current training animals were beyond amazing, but even she lacked this kind of
taut, controlled communication with her dogs. Though Kit didn’t talk about it, Miki knew her friend had been in some kind of trouble recently, and her dogs had been involved. But the trouble had brought a remarkable man into her life. Sometimes life worked that way, hardships bringing unexpected gifts.
Miki frowned, wondering if she, too, would find something positive in this nightmare.
“Yeah, right,” she muttered.
Max looked back at her, one eyebrow raised. “Everything okay?”
“Sure,” she lied.
She wasn’t going to discuss her throbbing arm, her hunger or her confusion with him. She didn’t lean.
When she looked up, they were facing a steep row of stone steps. Max pointed through the shadows. “The door is at the top of the stairs. From there, it’s about twenty yards across the beach. Follow Truman. No noise, remember.”
Miki realized his warning was real. Someone had tried to kill her and there could be more like him out there.
You didn’t hide from the facts, even when they were unpleasant. Miki had learned that rule the hard way, after her mother’s diagnosis of leukemia and four agonizing years spent watching her fade away moment by painful moment. She had hated the x-rays and the needles, the thermometers and taking blood. She had hated being helpless to make things better.
Grimly, she forced the memories away.
When she got to the top of the stairs, Max pointed past a row of bushes. Weak sunlight bathed the beach as the sun went down.
Just another day in paradise.
Beside her Truman sniffed the air, ears raised as he studied a group of boulders above the beach, shadowed beneath high palm trees.
Truman looked back at Max, who made a small gesture with his hand.
Instantly the dog trotted over the sand and vanished.
Another bunker, Miki thought. The island was probably covered with them. But for some reason, she couldn’t move. The sand glinted, too open, too exposed. She half expected to hear another airplane or feel a hail of bullets.
The hand on her arm was firm and reassuring, and Miki closed her eyes, wishing that just once she could relax and lean, letting herself go into those strong arms.
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