A loud banging and some rustling sounded outside the booth. Then the noisy hum of a nearby generator clicked off, quickly followed by another. The market was closing for the night, the vendors folding away their goods and piling their wares into the carts attached to their bicycles or motorbikes, all to be taken home until tomorrow when the grand parade would repeat itself.
Which meant she only had a few minutes to get someone’s attention. She opened her mouth. But before she could summon a scream—screw Shadow Man and his threats—a third man ducked into the stall.
Some quick words in Malay were exchanged. Shadow Man appeared to be pissed, verbally ripping the arrival a new asshole. That is until New Guy produced a syringe from his pocket. Shadow Man nodded and motioned in her direction. Stalking toward her, New Guy—who looked much like the other two. Dark. Skinny. With hate-filled eyes and nondescript clothes—slapped a bony hand over her lower jaw. His expression was hard, vicious as he wrenched her head to the side, exposing her neck beneath the scarf. But before he hit her with the needle, something caught his eye.
She could see his attention move to her hair or…her ear?
Yes! It was her ear. How could she have forgotten about the faux diamond studs Carlos had insisted she wear?
“I know you trust your security detail and the protocol they’ve established implicitly,” he told her after slipping into her hotel room with two of his teammates soon after their arrival in Kuala Lumpur. God, he looks good, she thought. Grown up. All the softness of his twenties replaced with one hundred percent pure, hard-bodied man. Yowza! Hubba-hubba! And the way he spoke to her? With no nonsense, no hesitation or pause for greeting besides a quick dip of his chin and a flash of that one delectable dimple? It made her feel like it’d been mere days since they last saw each other instead of eight long years. Familiar, she guessed was the word. Then again, he’d always felt familiar. Like something she’d somehow subconsciously known was missing in her life…and maybe in her heart, too? “But for my own peace of mind, I want you to wear these.”
He held out his hand. Broad-palmed and long-fingered, with little crescent moons visible in his neatly tended nails, she’d always thought he had the hands of the surgeon he’d considered becoming once upon a time. They were strong, steady…like his nom de guerre—his war name. And how strange was that? To have gone from a man poised to take the medical community by storm to a man who literally stormed into battle?
A part of her couldn’t help but lament the role she’d played in the sudden left turn in his life path. But she couldn’t let him see the direction of her thoughts, so she concentrated on the two diamond studs glittering in his grip.
“Oh, Carlos!” She batted her lashes at him and clasped her hands together, playing the part he would expect of her. “You shouldn’t have!”
His chin jerked back, his expression startled. “Oh, no. No, they’re not what you think.”
She made a face. “They’re big ol’ diamond studs that look like something a rapper would wear. So, I think they’re transmitters.” When she took the earrings from him, she shivered as her fingertips brushed his warm, calloused palm. What would it be like to feel those hands on my body? It was a question she’d asked herself a million times over the years.
“Then they are what you think,” he told her, winking and giving her arm a squeeze before one of his teammates called him away. It was a friendly squeeze, like one might give a favorite cousin—though there was no convincing her arm of that; the idiotic thing tingled with awareness. And to her eternal chagrin, she knew that despite the fact she was all grown up now, a woman in every way, Carlos still thought of her as nothing more than a wide-eyed schoolgirl.
But that’s for the best, she told herself. Though, unfortunately, herself wasn’t convinced.
Dragging her eyes away—and, yes, she had to drag them—from Carlos’s broad back…or maybe it was his ass? Okay, so sue her. The man had a great ass…she stared down at the glinting studs in her hand. Why knowing he’d gone out of his way to provide one more level of security should cause butterflies to flutter drunkenly in her belly, she couldn’t say. But there they were, the little bastards. Flitting and flapping and making her feel light as air, as if she could float away any minute, and at the same time making her feel a little bit nauseous, like she was two seconds away from tossing her cookies.
Oh, for the love of… It’s time to grow up, Abby. Stop fantasizing about a man you can never have. And while you’re at it, get a hold of yourself and your damn butterflies!
It was good advice. And she determined then and there to do her best to take it. Unfastening the simple gold hoop earrings she wore, she replaced them with the faux diamonds. Was it her imagination or were they warm with Carlos’s body heat?
Okay, and it was official. She was an idiot. An over-estrogenated idiot, and—
A tug on her earlobe brought her crash landing back to the present. The newest arrival to the unholy trio had been distracted by her earrings. And now he was covertly removing them, glancing over his shoulder at Shadow Man—who was deep in conversation with Henchman Number Two—as if he didn’t fancy the thought of being caught. The syringe was clamped between his snaggly Gargamel teeth so he could use both hands to take out the diamond studs and, oh, how she wished her arms worked. She’d grab that syringe and plunge it straight into his retched, evil eye!
With crazed, nearly hysterical scrutiny, she watched him pocket the earrings. Now her only hope for rescue hinged on whether or not he was accompanying her wherever the hell it was they planned to take her. Because he’d just removed the last thing tying her to the outside world.
Carlos! she thought desperately. Where are you?
He had to know she was missing by now, didn’t he? He and the rest of the Black Knights as well as her Secret Service unit? They had to know!
Once again, the needle slid into the flesh of her neck with nothing more than a small, almost gentle sting. Instantly, the gray was back…clouding her vision, stripping away her sense of smell, stealing her pain and fear in one blood-boiling narcotic rush.
This time she succumbed to the beckoning darkness without a fight, welcoming its cool embrace and blessed oblivion. But right before she slipped unconscious, a random yet familiar thought skittered through her fading mind. Carlos…could you ever forgive me for what I did?
Chapter Four
Downy dryer sheets and Palmer’s cocoa butter lotion…
Steady remembered thinking back at Georgetown that a young woman whose father was running for the lofty position of president of the United States should smell expensive and untouchable, like French lace and Chanel No. 5. But to the delight of his libido, Abby’s clean, fresh scent had always made her seem eminently touchable…the girl next door who shopped at the local Walmart, not Barney’s.
In nearly a decade¸ nothing had changed…
And how the hell would he know that, you ask? Well, because, stupid culo that he was, earlier today when he was sitting beside her on the sofa in her hotel room, going over the last sit-rep—situation report—with four of her Secret Service agents, he’d leaned close to brush a lock of honey-blond hair behind her ear. He’d wanted to reassure himself that she hadn’t removed the transmitters he’d given her now that the conference was officially over. Only instead of scrutinizing her earrings, bam! He got hit with a noseful of Downy dryer sheets and Palmer’s cocoa butter lotion. All the blood in his brain double-timed it down to his dick, and he could do nothing but blink at her, his mouth hanging open like a guppy, his entire being infused with…awareness.
“Carlos?” She turned to him with a pixie’s smile, her brilliant, celadon-colored eyes tilted up at the corners. “Did you swallow a bug or something?” She started pounding him on the back. “Why are you looking at me that way? What is it?”
What is it? Lust, he thought. And yearning and longing and…too many memories. He had to shake himself, clear his throat, and nod at her to leave off already with the…uh…h
elpful back beating. “Just, um…just checking to make sure you’re still wearing the earrings.”
She touched one of the studs glinting in her ear, her delicate wrist and long, slim fingers mesmerizing him. “Of course I’m still wearing them. I quite enjoy looking like 50 Cent.” She wiggled her eyebrows, then frowned. “Only next time, try adding a big gold chain, will ya? That’ll complete the look and—”
“Just don’t take them off,” he interrupted before she really got on a roll. The woman was too witty for her own good sometimes.
“I won’t,” she assured him, her expression turning serious. “You told me to wear them, so I will.”
What else would you do if I told you to? Sí, it was official. He was a lowdown, dirty-minded horndog. He adjusted his position on the couch, lifting his foot to rest his right ankle on his opposite knee. It was either that or give everybody in the whole damn room a good long gander at the massive stiffy he’d sprung. Dios! Talk about a hard time in Steadyville. Pun intended.
And speaking of…
It was back. His dick was as engorged now as it’d been then. Which really wasn’t any surprise considering he’d paused in front of her room an hour ago on his way to bed and that familiar, sweet scent of hers had seeped under the door only to tunnel up his nose. He thought he’d heard a murmur, or a soft scuffle coming from inside her room, so he’d stood there, head cocked, listening, breathing her in. But when no other noise sounded from behind the door, he’d been forced to move on. To carry her scent with him down the hall and into his own hotel room, into his own bed. Where visions of her soft, pink lips; long, slim legs; and lovely little breasts just big enough to fill his palms had kept him hard enough to cut glass.
“Hijo de puta!” he cursed—sonofabitch—before reaching beneath the bed sheet and the waistband of his boxers to wrap his fist around his aching erection. Staring into the darkness, watching the faint city lights dance across the ceiling as they spilled in through the gap in the drapes, he stroked himself. Softly at first, and then more forcefully. He stroked himself until his toes curled, his hips arched, and he strained for completion.
How many times over the years had he done this? Jerked himself off while fantasizing that it was Abby’s small hands wrapped around him? Abby’s hot mouth sucking the head of him—
BOOOOMMM!
An explosion rocked the building, thundering and quaking and rattling the headboard against the wall. Steady felt the percussive effects in his chest. His ears popped. A dozen memories of similar detonations—those he’d lived through as a soldier and operator, and the one that’d killed his beloved sister—buzzed through his brain. But they didn’t stop him from hopping out of the bed in an instant and jumping into a pair of jeans. Damnit! And neither did they do anything to abate the boner he was still sporting. It was funny what adrenaline did to a man’s body. Not so funny was how a hard-on and denim went together about as well as oil and water. Gritting his teeth, he yanked up his zipper and hoped he didn’t catch skin in the process. A second later, he nearly wrenched the door from its frame.
Chaos…
He took it in with a glance. Thin smoke filled the hall in a gray film. The overhead lights flickered and failed, plunging the space into momentary darkness before they lit once again. An artistic photo, once displayed on the hallway wall, now lay decimated on the floor, its frame splintered and glass shattered.
“For Chrissakes!” Dan bellowed, and Steady glanced over to find him standing in the doorway of his hotel room wearing nothing but a pair of black Saxx boxer briefs. Besides Abby and her security detail, the Knights were the only other guests on this floor—though technically, and according to the hotel manifest, the three BKI boys were officially booked in rooms one floor below—which was a good thing since Steady had no desire to deal with civilians right now. All he cared about was getting to Abby and getting her the hell out of Dodge. “What the fuck is happening?” Dan yelled.
“Hell if I know!” he barked over his shoulder as he ran toward Abby’s room. “Abby, open up!” He pounded on her door. “We need to vacate the building! There’s been an explosion!”
Der. As if that wasn’t obvious. And where the hell were the Secret Service agents? Why weren’t they pouring out of their rooms like ants from an anthill?
“Abby!” A prickle of dark foreboding skittered up his spine when nothing stirred on the other side of the door. “Open up the—”
“Oh, Jesus!” Dan thundered. “Steady, help!”
He turned to find Ozzie leaning against the doorjamb of Agent Ledbetter’s room, smoke billowing around him in a thin, ominous cloud. But that’s not what immediately struck Steady. Hell no. What immediately struck him was the blood. It was everywhere. Covering Ozzie’s face and naked torso, turning his white boxer shorts an angry crimson, and gushing from between the fingers he used to cover his thigh.
Arterial spray…
Steady knew it in an instant.
“Ah, hell,” he whispered hoarsely, his heart having gone nuclear inside the confines of his rib cage as he raced to Ozzie’s side. Seriously, he wouldn’t be surprised if there were little mushroom clouds puffing out of his ears.
“Lay down, bro,” he told his friend, reaching to cover Ozzie’s blood-soaked hands with his own. Dan was already there, kneeling on the floor, trying to stymie the flow of life-giving fluid by squeezing Ozzie’s thigh above the wound.
“Julia,” Ozzie rasped, coughing. The move caused more blood to pulse between their interlaced hands in a rhythmic spurt, spurt. It was hot, and its scent filled Steady’s nostrils. He would always equate that particular aroma with the delicate path all humans tread between this world and the next, with the awful day his sister died. He’d run into that coffee shop expecting to find something horrible. But the explosion had been so immense there was nothing of her left. Nothing left of any of the patrons save for the iron-rich aroma of their blood slicking the remaining surfaces. He’d come to be grateful for that. Grateful that it’d happened so quickly, been so violent, that Rosa hadn’t felt a thing. He liked to imagine she’d been sitting there enjoying a coffee, and then…lights out. On to the next plane without a moment of pain or doubt or regret…
“Somebody needs to check and see that Julia—” Ozzie continued, dragging him back to the situation at hand.
“Down!” he bellowed. He didn’t have time for Ozzie’s chivalry or heroics. If he didn’t get a clamp on that bleeder soon, the guy was going to hemorrhage out right here in the doorway.
Ozzie didn’t immediately comply, and Steady was forced to stop applying pressure to the wound in order to grab Ozzie’s shoulders and swipe his feet out from under him. With Dan’s help, he carefully controlled Ozzie’s fall. By the time Ozzie was lying on his back, half-in, half-out of the doorway, his skin was ashen.
Too much blood loss. Too much, too fast…
“Move your hands, Ozzie,” he instructed firmly, the acrid smoke filling his nose and scratching his lungs. “I need to see.”
As if the Fates, those evil bitches, were playing some sort of sick joke, the overhead lights chose that exact moment to flicker again. Steady gritted his teeth, praying to Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and all the saints he could remember from his catechism classes that they didn’t go out for good. Without light to work by, Ozzie was as good as dead. Hell, depending on how badly his best friend’s femoral artery was damaged, that might be the case regardless.
No, Dios! Por favor!
From the corner of his eye, Steady saw Penni DePaul emerge from Dan’s room clad only in a T-shirt and panties—no real surprise; he’d heard them laughing and giggling and entering Dan’s suite not thirty minutes ago. She didn’t break stride as she ran toward them. But instead of kneeling to help, she vaulted over them and into Julia’s room. He didn’t spare her a second glance as he wrestled Ozzie’s hands away from his shredded thigh.
“Fuck me,” he rasped when he saw what he was dealing with. The front upper half of Ozzie’s leg looked like
ground beef, the meat and muscle a mess, his femur visible in spots. “Keep pressure above the wound!” he yelled to Dan as he sank his fingers into the horror of Ozzie’s ruined thigh. He searched through the heated gore of internal flesh, through gristle, touching bone.
Where are you? Where are—
“Fuuuuuck!” Ozzie screamed, the heel of his uninjured foot beating against the floor when Steady was forced to shove his whole hand under Ozzie’s quadriceps muscle toward his groin where the severed femoral artery had retracted. “Steady! Stop!”
“Can’t, bro,” he grunted, his fingers slipping through blood and tissue, searching, searching… “Gotcha!” he crowed when he found the end of the artery and clamped it between his thumb and forefinger. “Dan! I need a tourniquet!”
“H-holy shit,” Dan coughed, staring over Steady’s shoulder. Steady turned to see what’d snagged Dan’s attention. Through the thin fog of smoke, he could make out the bed. Or what was left of it, anyway. It’d been blown to smithereens…and Julia Ledbetter along with it. Her partially charred corpse was laying half-on, half-off the smoldering mattress.
“Julia, no!” Agent DePaul cried, her hands covering her mouth as she was wracked by a spate of coughing.
The bomb…er…more like incendiary device—because, after an initial blast of shrapnel, it’d obviously burned hot and fast before instantly putting itself out—had been in Agent Ledbetter’s room? It didn’t make sense. But Steady didn’t have time to dwell on it. “Dan!” he shouted, jolting his teammate out of his temporary shock. “Get my med kit and a belt!” When Dan hesitated, he screamed, “Now!”
Dan jumped to his feet and dashed toward Steady’s room.
“You’re killing me, Steady!” Ozzie shrieked. “You have to stop!”
“No can do, hermano.” He gritted his jaw because he knew the horrendous pain Ozzie was suffering. “If I stop, you’ll die.”
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