Code Name: Blondie

by Christina Skye

  Max nodded. Following her moods was like trying to catch minnows in turbid water. One minute she complained, the next she was logical and full of apologies. He moved aside, slanting her a warning look. “Remember the time. It’s important.”

  “So you keep saying.” She raised the canteen against her chest, climbing past him up the stairs, but her bare foot hit an uneven plank and she fell sideways.

  Max caught her quickly, his gloved hand circling her waist. Her hair brushed his face and her body slammed against him, surprising them both by the contact. Beneath the damp clothes her skin radiated a subtle but distinct heat, which he felt through the leather of his gloves. He put her down as soon as he could, dropping his arm and trying not to remember how warm she had felt.

  A sudden wind filled the small space, ruffling her hair. She cleared her throat and pulled away. “That was clumsy of me.”

  “No problem.” Max put more space between them. “No more perfume because it bothers my dog. And no noise.” When Max followed her outside, little flecks of white yarn drifted back from her shoulders. She swung her arms wide, trying to balance in the narrow doorway, and in the process nearly knocked him in the face.

  He ducked by reflex, wondering if she was always this clumsy. If it was an act, it was very well rehearsed. Something tickled his nose, squeezing his throat and he sneezed hard, which sent more angora fluff up into his face and nose. Max brushed it away, frowning. The noise discipline rules applied to him as much as her. Cruz could be on the other island waiting and watching right now.

  One mistake could get them all killed.

  Cruz didn’t believe in giving second chances.

  MIKI STILL COULDN’T FIGURE out if he was a recluse or some kind of white-collar criminal. He might even have been a mercenary, she thought. He had the cold eyes to be all of those things. His story about oil field exploration made sense, but she still didn’t buy it. She had been a photographer too long not to have a sharp eye for details and faces, and Max Massey was no pencil-pushing engineer. She was equally certain that his big, intelligent dog wasn’t along as a passive companion. The lab had the same intense focus she’d seen in her friend Kit’s animals. Frankly, both of them gave her the creeps, and the sooner she got away from them, the better.

  She looked around, committing the terrain to memory. Since she might be stuck here, she needed to stockpile as much information as possible. Meanwhile the clock was ticking and she had no doubt that Mr. Hard-as-nails would enforce his four-minute warning.

  The hibiscus bushes were right where he had said, providing a nice wall of privacy. When she’d finished the more pressing necessities, she grabbed his canteen and a handful of sand and went to work on her face and hands. The sand stung her arms, but she managed to remove most of the stickiness left over from the seawater. Closing her eyes and scrubbing her neck and chest, she fantasized about a bar of French milled soap and a loofah sponge. As she tilted her head, a cool wind brushed her face and she almost forgot that she was stranded and she had blisters on her feet. There was no point trying to do anything about her hair. There was no way for a decent shampoo with only a little water and a handful of sand.

  Her time was up, so she tugged her shirt back in place, picking up the canteen from the ground. But a flash of color caught her eye and she leaned down to study a small pink flower. Miki felt a wave of excitement as she recognized a rare orchid, its bright petals soft and fragile. The scene would have made an award-winning photo, if only she had her camera. Maybe if she groveled, the Jerk would return her camera bag and equipment for a few minutes.

  A hand gripped her arm and closed, pulling her to her feet. How did the man manage to be so quiet? “What’s wrong?” she hissed.

  He didn’t speak, pointing at his watch.

  “That’s a very rare orchid,” she whispered excitedly. “I could win a prize with this. You have to let me—”

  He cut her off with a gloved hand to her mouth. Miki felt the soft leather against her mouth as he turned her slowly, looking down the beach. He seemed to be scanning the water, and she realized there was a larger island glinting in the sunlight, its central mountain ridge wreathed in clouds. Though Max’s breathing was low and steady, she felt his tension clearly.

  When she tried to talk, his gloved fingers cut off the sound. His body was absolutely still.

  Why was he looking at the beautiful coves? Did he expect trouble from there? She didn’t struggle when he tugged her back toward the hidden door and the big dog waiting beside it. She took a last deep breath of clean air and then went back down the steps she was already beginning to hate. As soon as the door was in place, she rounded on him.

  “That was a very rare flower back there. I could have gotten a thousand dollars for one shot. You want to tell me again why I can’t have my camera bag and why I can’t make any noise?”

  “I already explained. You should have listened then.” He pushed her back toward the one spare cot. “Sit down.”

  “You think I’ll do whatever you ask? Forget that. I’m tired of taking your orders.”

  “I said to sit down.”

  “Go eat sand.” Miki crossed her arms, furious.

  When she didn’t move, he caught her shoulders, and she tried to push him away, but the man wouldn’t budge. For someone lean, he was incredibly strong.

  Furious, she watched his fingers open, then brush her hair. If he thought this would be some kind of kinky prelude to sex, he had a major surprise coming.

  His thumb combed through her hair, and Miki was amazed at how gentle the movement was. Her confusion grew as he leaned closer, sliding his arm around her shoulder.

  She felt his muscles tighten and his breath play over her cheek.

  “Don’t move.”

  Like hell, she wouldn’t move. He’d saved her life, but that didn’t entitle him to grope her. Enough was enough. When she tried to move, his hand twisted in a blur of motion.

  “Stand still,” he whispered. “Completely still.”

  Her breath caught as something appeared in his hand. Miki saw that it was long and small and frantically alive, wriggling against his glove.

  “Centipede.” He frowned, holding up the restless mass of legs. “Poisonous variety.”

  She gulped air, feeling faint. She hated bugs. Really, really hated bugs. “On me? In my hair?” She swallowed. “How poisonous?”

  “Let’s just say that you wouldn’t have felt your fingers in a few seconds.”

  She fought a shudder as he carried the centipede up the stairs. “Aren’t you going to kill it…or something?”

  “Why? This is its home. We’re the intruders here. I’ll put it where it won’t bother us.”

  Miki stared at him. It was poisonous and he wasn’t going to kill it? That was either religious or downright weird. Just when she thought she had a handle on the guy, he threw her a curve ball. On the other hand, he could be faking. She’d noticed that men did that a lot.

  He turned around, disappearing up the steps, the centipede in his gloved hand. Suddenly escape was all she could think about. She couldn’t stand the thought of the dark, cramped space or the poisonous bugs hidden in the dirt or waiting on the walls. She began to sweat, panicking. She needed open sky and fresh air around her. She needed time to think, away from constant observation.

  Even though she was surrounded by water and there had been no sign of passing boats anywhere, she had to try. The sooner she got away, the sooner she could find help for Dutch.

  She waited until there was no sound from the open door, then crept up the steps. Sunlight spilled over the long curve of the beach, and she saw the glint of the open sea. The Jerk was standing about twenty feet away, giving something to the dog.

  Miki ran for the line of boulders at the top of the beach.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  IT WAS GOING TO BE CLOSE.

  Panting, Miki dug her feet into the sand, throwing all her strength forward as she ran. She was only eight feet from the fir
st of the rocks, and once she was out of sight, she would sprint for the dense trees at the top of the hill.

  Her heart pounded, and sand flew in her face. She squinted, afraid to take her eyes off the tree line as she ran.

  Something cut across her path—the big gold Lab.

  She turned sharply, sprinting for a different opening in the rocks, its shadows three feet closer. There was no noise except the thunder of her heart and the slap of her feet.

  But then a low whine filled her ears as her pulse hammered and sweat trickled down her back. Dimly she realized the sound came from the sky overhead.

  Silver wings glinted, breaking through a wall of clouds. Miki looked up and screamed, jumping wildly and waving her arms at the plane.

  A moment later she was tackled from behind, driven facedown into the sand. She wheezed as a powerful body dropped flat on top of her and a hand gripped her mouth.

  “Stop moving,” Max hissed, his mouth to her ear.

  Like hell she would.

  Her fists flashed, pummeling his shoulders while she kicked wildly. But there was no way to shift his powerful body. As the drum of the engine grew louder, she fought to break free, but he kept her pinned beneath him while she sputtered curses beneath his gloved hand. The thunder of her heart was so loud that she barely heard the airplane drone off into the distance.

  Tears burned. There was no way anyone would see her now. There was no hope of escape.

  Caught between fury and crushing disappointment, she jammed her elbow upward, aiming for his neck, pleased to hear him give a tiny grunt, but she might as well have tried to dislodge a Sherman tank with a flyswatter.

  His thighs opened. He wrapped one foot around her ankles and their bodies ground together intimately. He was stronger than she’d realized, stronger than any man she knew, and she was his captive with no way to escape and nowhere to go even if she succeeded.

  Miki’s face flamed at the pressure of his thigh wedged against hers. She jammed her other elbow upward, fighting blindly. This time he didn’t grunt or show any sign of contact. What kind of man was he? A direct blow like that should have hurt him somewhere.

  As she struggled, she had a glimpse of his face, cold and determined above her. The smooth surface of his leather glove traced her flushed skin.

  His fingers opened at her jaw, tightened.

  He was going to choke her. She twisted as she felt his hands tighten on her neck. He seemed to search her skin carefully, pressing a spot at her ear.

  White lights burst behind her eyes and Miki felt the world drain away to black around her.

  THE FREAKING WOMAN HAD done it now, Max thought. If Cruz had spotters in that plane they’d be down on this beach in minutes.

  He’d had no choice but to knock her out while he tackled damage control. His eyes narrowed as he swept both sides of the beach. There was no sign of a response yet. No energy signatures that matched Cruz’s.

  Max swept her limp body over one shoulder and sprinted for the bunker. After dumping her on a cot, he grabbed a wide palm leaf and worked his way back along the sand, methodically wiping away all their footprints.

  He tapped his leg, summoned Truman and swept away the dog’s prints, too. With the beach clean, Max studied the sky to the west. There was no further sign of air traffic, nor any movement at sea, and he hoped it would stay that way. He would have to face Cruz soon, but first he needed more information about the fortifications on the nearby island.

  Max brushed the sand around the door, and as a final precaution, scattered twigs and torn palm leaves randomly throughout the area. When he finished, untrained eyes would have sworn they were standing on pristine beach.

  But Cruz didn’t have untrained eyes. He had been the first and very best at reading energy trails, and his skills had grown stronger since his escape from Foxfire custody.

  Max had to assume they had been spotted by the plane, their hiding place blown. Once he was back underground he slung Blondie over his shoulder, grabbed a pack with extra supplies, pressed a spot in the wall and watched the cement slowly part to reveal a hidden tunnel.

  TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Max scrambled up the hillside beneath a cover of trees. He’d left Blondie unconscious and secured out of sight in a nearby cave, then retrieved his gear and set up an alternate camp at a spot overlooking the beach. Now he was in the process of carrying Dutch to safety, with Truman walking point. The Lab stopped every few moments, head raised to sniff the air, his eyes on the horizon, but so far there had been no alerts to indicate danger.

  Max’s shoulder felt the first hint of strain from five trips up and down to the beach, but beyond that he’d barely broken a sweat. Good genes, as Wolfe Houston liked to say with a wry smile.

  As he climbed the rim of a rocky slope, Max heard a low vibration behind him. Truman had already stopped, his ears raised, studying the clouds to the south. Racing back, the dog bumped Max’s leg.

  Danger alert.

  A small seaplane appeared, no more than a smudge against the racing clouds. Truman looked up at Max, as if asking for orders.

  “Out of sight ASAP, buddy. Double-time it.” Max sprinted up the steep slope, careful to stay under cover of scattered trees. As the motors droned closer, he calculated the distance to the cave.

  He wasn’t going to make it. Carefully, he lowered Dutch to the ground, hidden beneath an overhanging bush.

  “What’s—wrong?” The pilot roused, his voice cracking. “Have to land. Strict…orders. No time.”

  “It’s okay, pal. Take it easy.”

  But the pilot had already slipped back into unconsciousness. Max made certain he was out of sight, then turned to gauge the distance to the hidden cave.

  Something prickled at his neck. A weight seemed to fall without warning, pinning him to the ground.

  Cruz. Foxfire’s ex-leader could distort and project any kind of energy until Miami Beach looked like Nome, Alaska. If he didn’t know better, Max would have sworn he was being crushed by a chunk of that plane overhead. With focused concentration, Max cut through his sudden immobility and sprinted up the hill, Truman inches behind him. Even at top speed it was going to be damned close.

  The prickling at his neck grew into a sharp stabbing, and Max had no more doubts: it had to be Cruz carrying out an energy scan from the approaching plane.

  A cloud covered the sea, casting a shadow over the slope. Truman brushed past Max’s leg and turned, very still, face to the sky as the wind riffled his hair. The dog’s tail flattened to a rigid line.

  “Take cover, Truman.” Max snapped the order, aware that precious seconds were passing. He brushed his collarbone, pressing an implant in the bone to set off a localized energy disturbance, but he knew the field wouldn’t last long—or possibly not at all, if Cruz’s skills had grown sharp enough to see through this recent Foxfire innovation.

  He glanced back at his training partner. “Tru, heel.”

  But the Lab didn’t move, body stiff, face toward the sky.

  Something drifted out of the air. Light and cold, it danced over Max’s cheek and then vanished. Another speck swirled through the air, and suddenly Max was surrounded by white flakes drifting out of a sunny sky.

  Snow? Impossible.

  As the engine whine grew closer, the delicate flakes seemed to blur, whirling above Truman’s head. Darkening, they gained substance and rippled into a wall of fog, dense and moist, shrouding Max and the dog in an impenetrable curtain.

  The airplane shot past, engines throbbing. Max felt the hairs stand up along his neck as a bar of energy probed the spot where he had been standing moments before. As the fog pressed at his face, he heard the plane bank and circle, dropping lower.

  The energy signature retreated, and still Truman hadn’t moved, his head raised alertly to the sky. The possibilities left Max stunned. This was the new skill that Ryker had hinted at, glimpsed only once before in the training facility. Whether it could be controlled and harnessed, Max didn’t know, or even how long th
e dog could maintain the effect. Max knew how draining a small image distortion could be, and an intense weather disturbance like this had to have cost Truman dearly.

  The plane circled again, and Max breathed in relief as it droned away into the distance. Seconds later the prickling at his shoulders vanished.

  Over his head the fog began to fade. Max picked out the outline of nearby trees as a gust of wind swept up the slope, scattering the unstable gray veil. In a surreal moment, mist gave way to sunlight that beat hot on Max’s neck. If he had not stood here in the middle of the phenomenon and experienced it, he would never have accepted any of it.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes, but the sunshine remained. He looked over at Truman, shaking his head. Wait until Ryker heard about this.

  “Pretty smart, aren’t you?” Max knelt and raised one hand. “How about a high five for a fellow SEAL?”

  Truman turned around in a circle, tail wagging happily as it banged Max in the face. Then the dog sat, raised one paw and waited.

  High five.

  Damned if he didn’t know that, too. Filled with a wave of pride, Max laughed as the big dog licked his face. “Is there anything you can’t do, champ?”

  Truman’s head cocked. He panted hard, tongue lolling. Then he shuddered.

  “What’s wrong, Tru?”

  The dog whimpered softly. Then he collapsed.

  Truman felt cold as Max picked him up and sprinted uphill. Because this was new behavior, Max had no idea of how to treat the dog or even the nature of the problem. The Foxfire science team had given him a medical kit with nutrients, so Max figured he’d start there.

  “What’s wrong with your dog?” Blondie was sitting against the cave wall, her hands on her forehead as if it hurt. “While you’re at it, why do I have the mother of all headaches and how did I get here?”

  Her questions didn’t surprise him. She wouldn’t remember the last minutes before he had put her out. No one ever did. “I knocked you out,” he said curtly. “The men flying in that plane could have been dangerous.”