by Vanessa Kier
Gabby lowered her legs, then stared up at him in shock. This was the first time she’d seen his face. Even though the flashlight left more of it in shadow than she’d like, she only had one word for him. Stunning.
His face was an intriguing mix of planes and hollows. Pure male strength with a hint of sensuality that made her blood quicken. Dark eyes. Dark hair. A slightly Roman nose. And a mouth made to give a woman pleasure.
Gabby shook her head, wondering if she had a mild concussion. What else could explain this reaction?
“I promise not to bite,” the man said. His eyes laughed down at her, then sparked with wicked intent. “At least, not unless you ask.”
Huffing out a thoroughly confused breath, Gabby nodded agreement and tried to pretend that his change from tormenter to flirt was perfectly normal. A second later she squeaked as he reached down, grabbed her by the upper arms and lifted her out of the tub.
He set her on her feet and they stood facing one another. His fingers drew tiny circles on the bare skin of her upper arm beneath the sleeve of her t-shirt. She was trapped. Engulfed as much by the intensity of his gaze, as by his grip on her arm.
It was the strangest thing, staring at him in the dark, knowing he would have authorized his man to do serious harm to her in order to get the location of his teammate. Yet sensing that now, inexplicably, she was one of the ones he would protect. And she swore she felt something shift inside her. Something that made her blood warm, her nipples tighten, and caused her body to sway toward him.
She thought she saw an answering flare of heat in his eyes before he gave a muttered curse and turned her to face away from him. A second later the bindings at her wrists, then her ankles, fell off.
“Boss?” The quiet question from the doorway snapped the spell.
“Coming,” the man replied. With a tug on her arm he led her into the bedroom.
She stopped cold, staring in horror at the two dead bodies on the floor. Her eyes rose to the leader’s face, but he was deep in discussion with one of his men. Swallowing heavily against the sick fear of violent death, Gabby grabbed her go bag containing the rest of her notes, the other vials, a change of clothes, and her wallet.
Hoping she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life, she let the men lead her into the night.
Rafe kept an eye on Dr. Montague as he led his team toward the rendezvous point. He was thankful there hadn’t been any backup waiting outside for the two dead security men. It meant his team had been able to slip undetected into the woods. But as they drew closer to the point where they were supposed to meet Muldovsky and the others, he heard gunfire. Both single action and automatic fire. “Muldovsky, we’re in position,” he breathed into the com link. “We’ve got Dr. Montague with us.”
“The more the merrier, boss, the more the merrier. We should be seeing you any…there you are.”
The stolen transport truck slowed as it came into view. Rafe grabbed Dr. Montague’s wrist and pulled her into a jog. She barely kept up with him as the rest of the team raced past. “Come on,” he urged. “Just a bit further.” But when it was their turn to climb into the truck, her arms didn’t have the strength to pull herself aboard. Not surprising after all she’d been through. So Rafe boosted her up, then slipped over the tailgate after her. “Go,” he commanded Muldovsky through the link.
The truck leapt forward.
A dark blue sedan hurtled around the bend behind them, its headlights illuminating the interior of the truck. Jurgenson, their medic, was patching up a bullet graze on the side of Thompson’s neck. Dr. Montague and the rest of Rafe’s men crouched or sat along the truck’s walls. Eight unconscious men, including Nate, lay on the floor in the center of the truck. “Shit,” Rafe swore quietly.
“Sorry, boss,” Brown murmured as he and Daniels secured the unconscious men’s hands. “But they went berserk. We had to knock them out for our own safety.”
Dr. Montague made a soft sound of sympathy deep in her throat and Rafe glanced over at her. He was still reeling from how close he’d come to kissing her back in her bathroom. How easily he’d put aside his anger and his doubts regarding her innocence and moved her from the category of enemy to potential lover.
“Wha—what happened to my friend?” Dr. Montague stammered. “To Laurel? She was supposed to leave with the men. And…” She nodded her head, mouthing numbers as she counted the unconscious men. “There should be sixteen more men who escaped the lab. Where are the others?”
Daniels raised his head and met Rafe’s eyes briefly before looking at Dr. Montague. “This Laurel, did she have long, dark hair? Not very tall?”
Dr. Montague nodded.
“The guards shot her. She’s dead.”
Dr. Montague winced and caught her lower lip between her teeth, clamping down hard. “And the other men?”
“Five dead.” Daniels shrugged. “We didn’t see any others.”
Dr. Montague’s shoulders sagged. “Then they’re still inside. Is…the lab still operational?”
Daniels nodded.
Dr. Montague’s breath hissed out. Her gaze lifted to Rafe’s. “The lab was supposed to be destroyed. We set chemical reactions to catch fire tonight and explode. We wanted the buildings destroyed and all the notes, too. The project was supposed to end tonight. We—”
Bullets pinged against the raised tailgate. “Down!” Rafe ordered.
The truck veered to the left, then slid around a curve, throwing Rafe and the others hard against the side of the truck. Dr. Montague gasped as Rafe’s shoulder collided with her chest. Once the truck’s balance returned to center, Rafe pushed away from her. “Sorry,” he said, although he’d enjoyed the brief contact with the softness of her breasts.
Willits grabbed an automatic rifle, took aim over the tailgate and shot out the windshield of the sedan. The car swerved into a tree. Willits stayed in position, waiting for additional pursuit.
“We can’t go back tonight for the other men,” Rafe told Dr. Montague. “It’s too dangerous.”
She nodded, her eyes on Daniels and Brown as they finished securing the hands of the unconscious men. She rubbed her arms as if cold, even though with this many bodies in the truck the temperature was comfortable.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“Headquarters is sending a plane to extract us.”
“Headquarters? Who are you guys?”
Rafe shot her a grin. “We’re the good guys, of course.”
Dr. Montague rolled her eyes. “I want to check their vitals,” she said, kneeling before the first unconscious man. She took his wrist in her hand, then shook back her sleeve on the other arm so she could see her watch.
Jurgenson started doing the same to the escapee closest to him.
The truck made another sharp turn and Rafe darted forward just in time to save Dr. Montague from crashing to the floor. “Here, brace against me as you work.” He wrapped one arm around her waist and grabbed hold of the side of the truck with his other hand. She glanced at him in surprise and shifted her body to give her arms more access, but he was pleased she didn’t fight him.
With her pressed against his side, he could feel how delicate she was, and feel the small tremors of exhaustion still shaking her body. He was just about to take off his jacket and offer it to her when one of the unconscious men started to gasp for air.
Dr. Montague broke free of Rafe’s arm and slid across the truck bed to the man. “Flashlight,” she ordered, all signs of her fatigue disappearing.
Daniels swung his light over, revealing frothy, dark liquid bubbling from the man’s mouth and nose.
“Christ.” Rafe grabbed Dr. Montague’s arm, holding her back from touching the man. “Are you nuts? You can’t touch them without gloves.”
She ignored him, twisting to get free. “Let me go. I need to help him.”
“How?” Jurgenson demanded. He moved his own flashlight toward the sound of choking coming from his left. “Here’s another one. Fucking bl
eeding from every hole he’s got.” He quickly spotlighted every unconscious man, but only those two were bleeding.
Jurgenson glared at Dr. Montague as if it were all her fault. “You got some miracle cure, sister? ‘Cause otherwise, these men are dead.”
“There is no cure,” Dr. Montague snapped. She jerked free of Rafe’s grip and turned the choking man onto his side, tipping his face slightly down so that the bloody froth spilled onto the truck floor. When the man stopped choking, she slid one of her thighs forward, then set his head on her leg.
She returned Jurgenson’s glare. “I just want to make him more comfortable before he dies.” Her voice thrummed with frustrated anger that contrasted with the gentleness of her actions. Pulling a tissue from her pants pocket, she wiped the man’s face.
On the opposite side of the truck, Jurgenson scowled and mirrored her actions.
Rafe raised his brow. Jurgenson was former Force Recon with a bedside personality like a pit viper. All the men were wary of him. The worse they were hurt, the surlier his mood and the more forceful his treatment. They’d all learned to keep their mouths shut and play submissive.
Watching Dr. Montague put the surly medic in his place totally turned Rafe on. He loved confident, intelligent women. Add compassionate and brave and he was in trouble.
Rafe wet his handkerchief from his canteen and handed it to her. She flicked him a grateful smile then stroked the damp cloth over her patient’s face. Watching her tend the man so gently, Rafe had to admire her strength. Her body was still shivering slightly, but all her focus was on the dying man.
The man coughed, then gave a wheezing death sigh. Dr. Montague gently closed his lids and murmured some benediction Rafe couldn’t make out, before sliding her legs out from under his head.
She ran her hands up and down her arms. “They didn’t have to die like this,” she said almost too quietly for Rafe to hear. “He could have changed the formula.”
Rafe removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “Here,” he said. “Come sit down.” He led her over to the side of the truck as nearby, the man in Jurgenson’s arms gasped out his last breath.
Dr. Montague slid down to the floor, pulled her knees to her chest, and wrapped his coat tighter around her torso as she tilted her head back against the wall. “Why,” she breathed, rolling her head back and forth. “Why didn’t Kaufmann care that his formula killed?”
A single tear slid down her cheek, breaking Rafe’s heart. She’d cried way too much tonight. He wished he could have spared her tears.
“If Kaufmann is the same man we think he is, all that matters to him is the end result.”
“To create the ultimate soldier,” she supplied wearily. “A man deprived of all traces of humanity in order to protect our country.” She shook her head. “I wouldn’t wish that on our worst enemy.”
Rafe couldn’t argue with her. He looked over to where Nate lay unconscious. Nate had chosen to serve his country. To place his life on the line. But he’d never volunteered to give up his humanity. And because that choice had been forced on him, Nate was going to die a horrible death.
Dr. Montague lifted her head and stared at Jurgenson as he eased the dead man onto the floor of the truck. Another tear slipped free, then she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the truck wall.
She was silent for so long, Rafe thought she’d fallen asleep.
“You’ve heard of Kaufmann,” she said, not opening her eyes. “How? Are you military?”
Rafe almost gave her his standard reply, a light, teasing remark that only hinted at what he did. But after what she’d been through tonight, much of it his fault, he figured she deserved the truth.
“We’re a private special operations force that does mostly contract work for the government.”
She opened her eyes and studied him. Her hazel eyes probed deep, stripping him bare as she searched for an answer to a question he couldn’t even guess at.
He had the strongest urge to squirm under her scrutiny, wanting to give her whatever she sought.
Finally, without any change in expression, she asked, “Do you have a name, or do you go by a number?”
Normally, Rafe would wink and give her his best James Bond impression. But something about the way she looked at him, the focus in her eyes despite the lines of exhaustion on her face and the dried tears on her cheeks, killed his instinctive flirtation.
A part of him knew if he treated her question lightly he’d lose any respect he’d earned since leaving her cabin. And having her respect was suddenly as vital as breathing.
“Rafe Andros.” He offered his hand for a shake. “I apologize for scaring you earlier.”
Shit. Where the hell had that come from? Since when did he apologize for carrying out his mission? He’d needed information on Nate’s location. Given the same situation, he’d do it again.
So why did it matter that she forgive him?
She eyed his hand with the same solemn regard. Damn, he wished he knew what was going on in that amazing brain of hers. Finally, the corners of her lips lifted in a small smile and she took his hand.
“Gabby Montague.” Her handshake was firm, but her slender fingers were cold. He wanted to warm them. To pull all of her against him and give her his heat and strength. Her hand was so light and fragile inside his, filling him with the need to protect.
But before he could act, she withdrew, crossing her arms over her chest. “Apology accepted,” she said quietly, her eyes drifting over the unconscious men. “I suppose I might do violence, too, if one of my friends suffered in such a program.”
Her eyes sought his. Beneath the sorrow and the remnants of fear, he saw the slow burn of anger. Oh yeah. She might seem the cold scientist, but she had fire within her just waiting to be released.
Another of the men began coughing. Gabby threw off his jacket and beat Jurgenson to the man’s side.
Rafe met O’Ryan’s worried eyes and they both shifted closer to Nate. None of the dead men had shown any external symptoms before dying. Had they come all this way only to watch Nate die?
Chapter 7
SSU Compound
Oregon
Gabby pulled crisp mountain air deep into her lungs as she followed the last stretcher off the plane. They’d lost a total of four men during their escape from Kaufmann’s lab. Three died in the back of the truck. One more died after they’d taken off in the small plane sent to meet them at a nearby airport. At some point after the fourth death, Gabby’s energy had deserted her and she’d dozed just long enough to leave her groggy and emotionally vulnerable.
Uneasy over the strange events of the night, Gabby remained tense and wary, keeping an alert eye on the pine forest ringing the landing strip. Ahead of her, silhouetted by the early morning sun, men in civilian clothes pushed stretchers holding the survivors toward a transport truck. The airfield remained quiet except for the squeak of the stretchers’ wheels over the tarmac and the distant call of what she thought was a hawk.
When she reached the truck Gabby averted her eyes, unable to bear watching the body bags being loaded. She didn’t understand why the men’s bodies had failed, and so dramatically. Throughout the trip she’d asked herself what she could have done to save them. Each time the answer had been the same. Nothing.
She couldn’t fight what she didn’t understand. Unfortunately, she also couldn’t shake the suspicion that her research had contributed to the men’s deaths.
She shook her head. No time to worry about that now. Or to wallow in guilt. She had to make certain the same fate didn’t await the survivors.
Particularly not to Rafe’s friend, Nate.
“These men aren’t sane,” she warned the short, muscular man with a stethoscope around his neck who was examining one of the survivors. The doctor looked up at her with compassionate eyes refreshingly different from the brusque medic onboard the truck. “And their physical strength is above normal. Ordinary restraints won’t hold them. Sedate them like
you would an elephant. They need—”
“You can finish giving Dr. Smith instructions later,” Rafe interrupted, grabbing her arm. “The director wants to talk to you.”
“But—”
“Now, doctor.” Rafe pulled her away from the truck.
Gabby scowled at him, then turned her head back toward the medical team.
“It’s okay,” Dr. Smith assured her. “We’ll be careful with the men.”
Gabby searched his face and saw nothing but genuine concern. Maybe these really were good people who’d treat the men with the decency they deserved instead of like disposable lab rats.
She nodded and let Rafe guide her across the tarmac.
“What’s the hurry?” she snapped.
“You’ve got information the director needs,” Rafe replied. Then he grinned at her. “And I want a hot shower.”
“Oh, well then,” she answered drily. “Maybe we should run?”
“Nah, we’re almost there.” The glint of laughter in his eye emphasized the difference between Rafe the deadly soldier who’d terrorized her during his mission to rescue Nate, and Rafe the man who flirted as easily as other men breathed. Still reeling from the night’s events, Gabby let Rafe’s good humor surround her, further soothing her overloaded nerves.
Minutes later, Rafe led her through the stained glass door of a stately Victorian mansion. “This is the administration building.”
Gabby gaped. The exterior might be pure 1800s, but although the interior retained the charming molding and scrollwork on the ceiling, it had been modernized into a high-tech office complex complete with palm readers at the doors and security cameras in the corners.
A sharp-eyed young man with auburn hair stepped out from a room to the right of the foyer.
“McDermott, this is Dr. Montague. Director Ryker is waiting for her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Rafe turned to Gabby. Before she knew what he was about, he took her hand and raised it to his mouth, placing a kiss on the back.