by Cherry Adair
Bully for her. Courage and cleavage. “I don’t need to know the details,” Tory said tightly. “Just hit the high points.”
“We worked together on several jobs. She was an excellent shot, I trusted her with my life.” They’d been lovers for a year. Krista had been pushing to get married, even knowing that operatives rarely married, and even more rarely married fellow T-FLAC operatives.
The more Krista pressed, the more Marc had started believing that he could have it all. A job he loved, and also a wife and family. He’d liked the idea of having someone to come home to. Kids…It had been a pipe dream, of course.
“I was down in Mexico City. I’d been undercover for seven months. Everything was copacetic until Krista arrived on the scene.
“‘Backup,’ she told me. She played her damn part too well. I believed her. She betrayed me. The mission was scrubbed.” Not just the mission, but their relationship had changed in his absence. How could it not? That he could have lived with. It was what happened later that had changed everything.
“Not all women are like that,” Tory murmured. She laid her cheek against his, then pressed closer, wanting to absorb his pain. Tears stung her eyes.
“Krista isn’t like that anymore, either. She’s dead. But I’ll never let anyone else that close again.” His voice was cold.
“Did you love her?”
“It was a close facsimile. I told you not to get ideas. Sex is all I can offer you. Take it or leave it.”
She met his gaze with a clear-eyed look that went to his heart like a laser. “I’ll take it.”
“CAN YOU SENSE Alex from here?” Marc asked, wishing he could leave her in the caves. But he had two damn good reasons to keep her close. Alex. And the three men he’d killed probably had buddies who’d soon come looking for them.
“It depends…”
“On?” He checked each weapon and grabbed several packs of ammo.
“On how strong he is.” Tory turned her back and indicated her hair. He combed his fingers through it, then tightly braided it. “On if he’s conscious. On…I don’t know. I sensed he’d been in that house this morning. But I didn’t pick up a location. I understand that you’d rather I stay here. But if we want to find him fast, you know I’m going to have to go out with you again.”
Tucking her braid down inside the back of her T-shirt as he’d done the last time, Marc knew she was right. He didn’t like it, goddamn it, but Tory was going to have to accompany him again. Shit. “Make sure no one gets a look at this hair. It’s too damned memorable.” He found a baseball cap stuffed in a side pocket of his pack and pulled it down low over her eyes. “That should do it.”
“Pavina?”
“Yeah.”
“I spent a couple of hours there last time I was here. I didn’t sense Alex there so I headed straight for Pescarna.” She pushed the bill of the cap out of her eyes. “It must be ten miles if not more to Pavina. Surely we’re not going to walk?”
“If you weren’t with me I would.” Crouching down, he opened the A.L.I.C.E. pack. “What the hell were you doing messing around in this pack? Damn it woman, I can’t find anything!”
“Everything is where it’s supposed to be. I had to find the first-aid kit.”
“It was right on top.” He started pulling things out of the pack and tossing them on the sand. “Don’t start nesting, for God’s sake.”
“I tidied it,” she said, striving for lightness. She could see that he was spoiling for a fight—again.
“Leave my things the hell alone.”
“Would you listen to yourself? Why are you suddenly so angry?”
“I don’t like people messing with my gear. I know where everything is and I—”
“Fine.” Tory picked up the plates and got to her feet. “Why don’t I just let you rant and rave in private while I go and wash the coffee mugs?”
When she got back, he was tucking his pant legs into the tops of his boots. His hair had been tied back and he had a gun in his hand.
“Are you planning to shoot someone?” Tory asked, giving him a wary glance.
Marc closed his eyes briefly, then lifted his shirt to tuck the Walther into his waistband at the small of his back. His pale eyes assessed her and his mouth tightened. “You can’t go out with the cast showing. People will see you a mile away and they’ll remember you.”
He looked very tall and menacing as he strode across the sand toward her. She moved her feet slightly apart and tilted her chin. She was getting sick and tired of him sniping and snarling at her.
He had something in his hand, but she couldn’t see what it was. Tory held her ground as he came right up to her. He looked like a desperado with his earring flashing and dark stubble shadowing his face.
The smile was gone as he said briskly, “Lift your arms.”
If he thought for one second that she was going to kiss him, he had another think coming. “Why should I?” she asked belligerently, then recoiled when she saw what he was holding. The blood drained down to her toes. “I hope for your sake that you don’t plan on using that belt on me.” She saw a flash of another man, strap raised…. Her muscles tensed. Until a few weeks ago she’d never had anyone show any form of violence toward her. She’d sworn never to allow herself to be in that situation again.
Yet here she was. Back where the most horrendous hours of her life had been endured. Back in Marezzo. God help her.
Marc Savin help her.
Marc gave her one of his wicked smiles, and she forgot everything in the heat of his pewter gaze. “Have you ever thought about being tied up while someone makes love to you, princess?” The loop of the belt came up and stroked her cheek.
She shivered as the smooth leather skimmed down her bare throat. “N-no,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “You—you know I haven’t.” The hard leather belt brushed her nipple through her T-shirt and Tory almost bit off her tongue.
Her eyes locked with his as he caressed her with the belt. She couldn’t tell from his expression whether he intended to make love to her again, or if he was just using this as another means to taunt her.
“S-stop that!” She stepped back, away from the unfamiliar and highly erotic feel of the leather.
Marc’s hand stilled as he shook his head slightly.
“Just put it on.”
Tory snatched it out of his hand and tugged it around her waist, cinching it tightly. He brushed her hands aside and tugged the shirt out to cover it. That done to his satisfaction, he grabbed another black shirt and started ripping it to shreds.
He then wrapped her cast in the fabric. “That should do it. I wish I could cut the frigging thing off.”
“What? My arm?” She matched his sarcasm, pulling the bill of her cap lower to hide her face.
“That cast is a liability.” Marc finished repacking and dragged the pack into the shadows against the back wall, then stripped everything from the shelf and shoved that into the shadows, too.
“I’m not exactly enjoying being incapacitated, but the cast stays until the doctor says it comes off.”
“Does it still hurt?”
“Only when I laugh,” she said with a small smile. “It’s bearable. Are we ready to go?” She watched as he crammed a lethal-looking knife into the back of his jeans and pulled his shirt down to cover it. He glanced around to see if he’d missed anything.
The belt scratched her bare skin. “I don’t need a belt with these jeans.”
“You need this belt. It might save your life.”
Tory sighed. “Are you going to let me in on this little ‘agent’ secret or am I going to have to improvise when something happens? What does this belt do, anyway? Make me into a kung fu expert?”
“I’ll keep you informed on a need-to-know basis.”
“I need to know now.”
Marc filled a flask from the collapsible water bottle and clipped it to his belt. “Ready?”
“Let’s just go. The sooner we find Alex, the sooner I can
get back to my life.” She followed him out of camp, speaking to his back. “You know what real life is, don’t you? That’s where people have what’s called conversation. That’s where civilized people stay in one mood for more than half an hour. That’s where people don’t go around with who-knows-what wrapped around their waists.”
She impatiently pushed a fern frond out of her way. “There’d better not be the makings of a bomb or anything like that in this stupid belt.”
Marc kept walking, moving quickly ahead of her toward the entrance of the cave. “Scared I’ll blow you to kingdom come, princess?”
“Nothing you could do would surprise me anymore.” She blinked as they emerged from the opening, drawing in deep lungfuls of salty fresh air.
The sky was tinted a pale lavender, the sun just peeking over the horizon in a faint apricot streak. The ocean lay calm and flat like a giant piece of Venetian glass, gilded by the rising sun.
Tory accepted his help down the rocks to the damp sand below. This time, instead of turning right toward Pescarna they headed left, keeping close to the base of the towering limestone cliff.
The few bites of “breakfast” formed a tight knot in Tory’s stomach as she hurried to catch up with him. By the time they reached Pavina there would be people all over the place. Tory shivered. Marc had been right. If just one person recognized her from before, their cover would be blown. Nervously she tugged the T-shirt down in back, feeling the reassuring weight of her braid against her bare skin.
Marc turned to watch her scramble over the rocks partially buried in the sand. “Get a move on. I want to get there in time to blend in with the crowds at the market.”
He slowed his stride enough so that Tory only had to trot to keep up with him. The cast on her arm was getting heavier by the minute. And despite what she’d told him, her arm ached and the cast chafed and itched her skin.
“Are you going to make it?”
There was no way she could walk one more step on wet sand, where each step weighed ten tons. He was standing waiting for her reply. Tory tilted her chin. “Of course, I’m going to make it. Lead on.”
By the time they reached the end of the high cliff she was panting, and her shirt stuck uncomfortably to her back. Marc moved beneath the shadow of a solitary tree that stood on the low bluff, and unclipped the water bottle from his belt. He uncapped it and handed it to her. “Stay here and rest. I’m going to find some transportation.” He vanished over the rise and Tory sank down, hugging her knees to her chest and resting her head on her arm.
She wasn’t cut out for this cloak-and-dagger stuff. Marc took this all in his stride. Nice for him. She wanted her brother back. She wanted to return to civilization and a real bed. She wanted real food and a knife and fork. She wanted her nice predictable spreadsheets and ledgers. She wanted to meet a nice, ordinary, rational man.
Tory lifted her head and picked up the canvas-covered bottle. The water was lukewarm and tasted slightly of sulfur, but her mouth was parched and she drank greedily before recapping the container and setting it upright in the sand beside her.
The sun was a glorious persimmon ball above the horizon by the time Marc came back. He was wearing a beige linen jacket over his black T-shirt and jeans. The unstructured, creased linen jacket should have looked ridiculous, but instead he looked as though he’d just stepped out of GQ. He’d pushed the sleeves up to expose darkly tanned muscular forearms, and there was absolutely no evidence of the arsenal he carried on his body.
“I was in luck. Come on.” He pulled her to her feet and attached the bottle to his belt. “I found a farmer who was willing to part with his truck. We’ll be in Pavina in about thirty minutes.”
He took her hand to pull her up the sandy incline, letting go as soon as they reached flat ground. The truck was parked under a small stand of orange trees. The vehicle looked as if it had survived several wars. It might have been blue, but whatever color it had once been was almost obliterated by rust and pale gray primer.
Tory looked at the vehicle dubiously before climbing into the cab, pushing away debris with her feet. The owner had eaten several weeks’ worth of breakfasts, lunches and dinners there by the look and smell of the papers and containers on the floor and seat. She wrinkled her nose as Marc got in. He had to slam his door twice before it closed.
The windows didn’t open and the smell of garlic and cheap wine was overpowering. The sun beat in on her side. Marc turned the truck with a spray of sand and headed down the dirt road.
To the right she could see the high flat peak of Monte Tolaro, an extinct volcano rising thousands of feet into the clear blue sky. Marc turned onto a tarred road and headed west toward Pavina. He relaxed in the vinyl seat, one hand on the wheel, the other resting alongside the window. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Tory kept her face turned toward the vineyards that flashed by.
“What will we do when we find Alex?” She pinched a tomato-encrusted paper between her fingers and tossed it behind the seat as she turned more fully to face him.
“When we know exactly where he is, you take the truck back to where I picked you up and go to the grotto and wait for us. As soon as Lynx and I get back, I’ll contact Angelo and we’re outta here.”
“You make it sound so simple.” She gazed intensely at him. “But it won’t be. Will it?” Her throat tightened and she had to wait for the threat of tears to pass. “They’re holding him somewhere and he’s badly hurt.”
Marc reached out and linked his fingers with hers on her knee. “He’s trained for just such an eventuality, Tory. Trust me, I’ll get your brother out.”
Tory clenched her fingers within the safe harbor of his hand. “Promise?”
Marc squeezed once and then let go to have both hands on the steering wheel as the truck’s bald tires fought for purchase on the cobblestones. “Promise.”
She believed him. God help her, she did believe he would get Alex out and away safely. The way he treated her was incidental to him saving her brother.
Marc pulled the old pickup in between an open-sided wagon piled high with oranges and a big truck that had a bottle of wine crudely painted on the side. He put his hand on her shoulder as she moved to open the door.
“Remember, we’re just a couple of tourists interested in market day.” He removed the gun and checked it under cover of the cracked dashboard. Pulling the key out of the ignition, he handed it to her.
“I want you to stay as close to me as you can.” His eyes scanned her pale face. “You’ll do fine. The moment you know where they’re holding Alex, just let me know. Walk slowly, look around. And for God’s sake,” he warned lightly, “don’t look so terrified.”
“I am terrified. What if…?”
He kissed her—just pulled her toward him and locked his arms around her and kissed her hard. It was a kiss totally unlike any of the others. His mouth scorched hers, his arms were like a vise around her and she could feel her heart pounding in her ears. The heady, familiar scent of him made her mouth relax under his.
When he lifted his mouth from hers she wanted to beg him for just one more, but the key dug into the tender flesh of her palm.
He leaned back against the seat and said with satisfaction, “We were being watched. That should do it.”
“You…you kissed me like that because someone was watching us?”
Marc adjusted his jacket, checking to make sure his weapons didn’t show. “It’s called a cover, princess.”
Furious, she forgot to be scared. She started to put the key in her front pocket.
Marc plucked the key out of her hand and hid it under his seat. “Leave it here in the truck. If for some reason we become separated, get your ass back here and get the hell out of here. Got it?”
CHAPTER NINE
THEY WERE JOSTLED by hordes of people moving through the enormous gates of the walled city of Pavina. No vehicular traffic was allowed in, and the narrow cobbled streets were crowded with pedestrians. Tory pressed up ag
ainst Marc as they allowed the momentum of the crowd to push them toward the piazza, where the weekly market was in full swing.
The scent of oranges, garlic, hot sweaty bodies and wine filled the air, and she breathed it all in. The day had become blisteringly hot and the press of people almost claustrophobic as they entered the large square. This, Tory realized with surprise, was life—a far cry from the dull, safe existence she’d always led.
Vendors had set up their wares in stalls that displayed the brilliant colors of the Mediterranean. The sunshine bright yellow of lemons, the translucent green of the grapes and the glossy black of olives. Some of the stalls were piled high with fruits and vegetables, others groaned under the weight of fresh fish. Local women had set up their crafts between the produce booths and the small sidewalk cafés. She wanted to absorb and touch and feel it all.
Nobody just talked—they shouted. They yelled their opinions. They laughed. Hands and arms were used as punctuation, and Tory loved it. She felt alarmingly alive as she walked beside the man who held her life and that of her brother in his hands.
Marc was going to find Alex. Tory’s heart pounded as she tightened her hand around his. She might never see Marc Savin again but she would remember this day forever.
Marc glanced down at her. “Okay?”
Tory nodded, melting against him as he pulled her close to avoid a run-in from a cluster of children playing with a puppy. She looked up at him when he didn’t release her. “Is someone watching us again?”
“A couple of hundred someones.” His voice was husky, and filled with amusement.
“You’d better kiss me, then.”
“Yes. I think I had better do just that.” He leaned against a wall and pressed his mouth to hers with a sweetness and tenderness that made her go limp.
“Do you think they’ve gone now?” she asked a little breathlessly as his head moved away and he looked down at her with a bemused expression.
He didn’t even bother to look over her shoulder as he said huskily, “One more kiss should about do it.” And bent back to his task.