Trace laughed. “Not very date-ish, huh?”
She smiled, shrugged, and leaned into him. “I don’t think we’re much of what anything should be like.”
“True enough, Cinderella.”
Music came on, and the screen lit up. “Here’s fine. Let’s hurry.” She had the blanket out and food on paper plates before the opening credits finished.
The crowd laughed as the movie rolled on. Marlena and Trace finished the sandwiches and sodas, and she lay against him. The casualness of it was oddly comforting. “I wanted to apologize. I’m not a twelve-year-old. I shouldn’t run off every time I freak out.”
His fingers traced her arm. “I’m sorry you think you have to run.”
“I want to ask you a question.”
He nodded. “All ears.”
“Why do you think you’re a lost cause?”
He sighed but didn’t stop sliding his hand on her skin. “I don’t know that answer anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“I…” He rolled onto his back, tucking her next to him. “I’m a SEAL. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. But I screwed up. I lost that, and it meant the world. Now I’m Titan. Delta. And I’ll always be my brother’s keeper. Both in arms and in blood.”
She didn’t say anything, but he hadn’t really answered her many questions.
“Those dog tags I told you about?” His low voice was hard to hear over the movie.
“Yes.”
Trace let out the longest, saddest sigh. “I’m not going to find them.”
She bit her lip, uncertain of what to say.
The sky was turning purple, and the movie’s laugh track played along with the laughter from the crowd.
“But.” He cleared his throat. “They brought me to you. I was in Germany because someone saw something, and I wanted to know if it was the missing link to what I needed. Those tags have dragged me all over the damn world. And they dropped me off in front of you.”
Her throat felt tight. “If you want to find them, then find them, Trace.”
“That’s mission impossible. Two pieces of metal in a million square miles of sand. But it was my only focus in between jobs. At least, until I was benched and met you.” His gaze fell over her shoulders; his eyes tightening. Very slowly he sat up as his fingers tightened around her forearm. His eyes continued to dart purposefully. “Before, when you mentioned that the loose ends on your project were tied up, what did that mean?”
“I meant I left. I was done. There was a clause that let me out of the contract, and I took advantage of it.”
“Fuck.”
“What?”
He untucked a gun she hadn’t noticed from the back of his belt, laying it between their paper plates, then let go of her to grab his cell. He dialed and held it against his ear. “Brock, I’ve got tangoes.”
His eyes searched.
She tried to turn around, but Trace caught her eye and barely shook his head. Her heart raced. They were coming for her again. Sweat tickled her temples, her neck. Her lungs stuttered, making her feel as if she couldn’t breathe.
“I’ve got a four count in direct view. No telling behind me.”
Another long pause, and she would’ve killed to hear what Brock was saying. Two large men approached Trace from behind.
“Behind you. Twenty feet away,” she whispered. They were outnumbered. She didn’t know how many bullets were in a gun, but a shootout at Screen on the Green would endanger lives.
He nodded to her, calm as the setting-sun sky. “Whatever you do, follow my directions.”
Her hands were shaking, teeth chattering. “Okay.”
“Take a breath, Mar. This will be a piece of cake.”
The two men were a few feet away, and Trace swiftly tucked the gun back under his shirt.
“If we get separated, do what they say.”
Mouth bone dry, she nodded again, her eyes unintentionally locking with a man standing directly above Trace.
“Let’s not make a scene.” The man beckoned to her in with a familiar exotic accent. “You’re surrounded.”
Trace stood between her and the man. “This won’t end well for you.”
“Come with her or not, I don’t care. But we leave now.”
“If you’re after intelligence, it can be bought.”
She knew that was a lie, that Trace wouldn’t sell anything against his country. So he was buying time?
“Why buy the milk when you can get the cow for free. Isn’t that the saying?” The man laughed.
“Hey!” she growled at him.
Trace shook his head. “That was uncalled for.” His fist connected with the man’s face before she had time to process what he was about to do. Seconds later, two other men were on him, punches flying, grunts echoing in the air, as nearby moviegoers screamed and scampered away.
A hand slapped over her mouth and yanked her up. As if Trace had an eye on her, he stopped, hands flying up. “Alright, alright, we go.”
He wiped blood off his lip. The man next to him chuckled, saying something quietly to Trace. Again, Trace’s fist flew. The guy went down.
“For real this time, I’m done.” He reached for her hand, eyeing the guy whose hand was clapped over her mouth.
Campus security officers had arrived on their bikes and were making their way through the crowded hill. Maybe they could help. But didn’t they just carry mace or something? Oh. Her stomach dropped. It was a disaster.
“Let’s go before these morons start a shootout and kill everyone here.”
The hand over her mouth released, and someone said, in a thick South American accent, “You’re making a smart decision.” Marlena, Trace, and the group of men stepped over the man Trace had punched—who was still facedown on the ground.
Marlena’s hand found Trace’s, and he gave it a squeeze. “Smile, Cinderella. Instead of a fairy godmother, we’ve got a team of whoop-ass coming our way.”
Chapter Fifteen
‡
Trace smiled through all the pushing and shoving that their captors dished out. Marlena’s stomach was in knots, and the only thing that kept her from sliding down a miserable, self-pitying slope was the fact that he seemed to enjoy the fighting much more than Screen on the Green.
She held her breath as Trace mopped the slowing trickle of blood on his face and baited the men. He was about a dozen yards away and unarmed, making light of their warehouse dungeon. As soon as their entourage had left campus, the abductors had given both of them a thorough pat down. So thorough that Trace threatened life and limb should their eager-beaver hands stray too far.
“Doing okay over there?” he asked.
She nodded, biting her lip. What other answer was she supposed to volunteer? They’d been gagged and tossed into the back of a windowless van. The entire time, as she tried not to hyperventilate, he’d studied the vehicle and the men. As soon as they arrived at a deserted warehouse park, they said they’d cut the gags off with knives the length of her forearm. Talk about overkill. Untying them would’ve done just fine, but nope, not for those guys.
They spoke in Spanish, and she didn’t recognize any of them from when she was abducted a few weeks ago. Was it a different organization wanting to use the technology that she’d created? Same group, different guys? Why had she ever thought that she could create a biological weapon—or at least the plans for it—and not ruin her life? Even if the project was still in beta testing and had serious kinks to work out, the potential was beyond comprehension.
Trace cleared his throat. “If it’s all the same to you guys, I’m going to walk over there and talk to my girl.” He didn’t wait for an answer as though they didn’t have guns everywhere.
A few guys muttered but ignored them. She wasn’t sure if that was a really bad thing. Either they didn’t care because they were going to kill them, or they had some manners, like the Romatar people.
He sat down on the floor next to her. “Not how I thought I’d see you gagged.”
Instant heat lit her cheeks. “You’re insane.”
“Maybe.” He knocked his shoulder into hers. “But you’re too important to hurt, and they haven’t figured out who I am.”
“And who are you?”
“The asshole who’s gonna kill everyone in this room if a hair on your head gets hurt.”
Somehow, she believed that. “Who do they think you are?”
“I don’t know. A picnic-going boyfriend? A douche who wanted to watch a chick flick in the grass?”
She laughed quietly. “You’re a freakin’ trip.”
“And you’re VIP to a lot of people.” He leaned back against the wall. “We, Delta—or any ops team, for that matter—only ask questions on a need-to-know basis. When Titan sent Delta to bring you home, we did it. That was the contract, and it was done. I never asked why. Never needed to know.” He tilted his head. “Things have changed.”
“You want to know what they want to know?”
“Yup.”
“And that will help us?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
His eyes narrowed. “Because then I know if they’ll really kill for what you know and to what extremes they’ll go through to keep you alive. Right now, they think I’m some gun-totin’ boyfriend who walks around yelling ‘’Merica’ and punching strangers.”
“Then what are you? Because we’ve glossed over that a few times.”
“SEAL for life. Delta right now. I’m a contract killer for the good guys. An assassin when needed. A fucking machine. Other than that, I’m a guy trapped with a girl who has made him question everything. That about explains me.”
“Oh, that’s all, huh?”
“I like that you’re scared to death and sarcastic to boot.”
She smiled. “None of that sounds like a lost cause to me.”
He leaned forward, hanging his head and staring at her with empty eyes. “I never really left the war zone.”
“Because of your brother?”
A sad sigh passed his lips. “Yeah. Anyway, enough of me. Time to let me in on why you’re such a hot commodity. Other than the obvious.” He smiled.
“That’s an awful line.”
“Awful circumstances.”
She rolled her eyes, but her trembling hands had stilled, and her heart had slowed to normal. “I was the lead on a project that, in very basic terms, could weaponize the common cold. Something very easy to manipulate and virtually impossible to track. I was testing variations and mapping out possible consequences.”
“So… give me an example.”
“Ok. Bacterial pneumonia needs an antibiotic. You hit a city—”
His forehead bunched. “It’s incapacitated within days.”
“Yes. Pharmacies can’t stock enough meds. Doctors can’t see enough patients. Everyone goes down and commerce stops. As does law enforcement, first responders. Strategic epidemics could render a region useless.”
“Christ, Marlena.”
She hung her head then peeked at him. “I feel like I created a nuke that people can get their hands on.”
Anger flexed in his jaw. “There’s no way you’ve had enough protection.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“We can blame that on a mixture of denial, tenaciousness, and stupidity.”
He laughed harshly. “Hell…”
“What?”
“We’re two of a kind. You know that? I travel all over the damn world blowing shit up.” He shook his head. “But here you are, all covert projects and trying to take on the world by yourself, wanting to fix something you can’t.”
“Shut up,” a man called from across the room.
Trace grumbled. “They’re still convinced I’m your meathead boyfriend.”
“You’re not?”
He laughed. “I’m a lost cause, remember?”
“You’re full of it—”
“Shut up!” the man barked again.
Trace looked at him—she could have sworn he growled—then back at her. “That fucker’s going down soon enough.”
“So?” she asked. “Meathead boyfriend?”
“Are you kidding me? We’re being held at gunpoint. You want to define our relationship?”
“Yeah. If I’m going to die, I’d like to know if I have a boyfriend. Meathead or not.”
He shook his head, smiling. “I like you.”
She smiled too, scooting over an inch. “I knew that.”
“No. You knew I liked you in bed.”
“Same thing.”
“Bullshit, Cinderella.”
“I know. Just teasing you.”
He nudged her with his shoulder again. “Glad to know you’ve adjusted well to being held captive.”
“Enough!” The man walked toward them. “One more time—”
She put her hands up. “Sorry. Sorry.”
“Leave the girl alone.” That time there was a definite growl in his voice.
The man stood above them, and when her hand dropped, Trace’s grazed hers, sending reassuring shivers up her arm.
“She is the one we need. You, we don’t. Let’s talk, boyfriend.”
“See? Meathead boyfriend.” Trace leaned over to her and let his lips dangle against her earlobe. “No matter what you hear, I’m alright.”
The man above them clapped. “None of that. Up, let’s go.”
“Let’s go with boyfriend. Works for me.” Trace gave her a wink. “Adios for now.”
Chapter Sixteen
‡
As Trace walked away, Marlena’s stomach swirled with anxiety… and excitement. It was the complete wrong time to be caught up in him. But watching him walk away, muscled up, the colorful tattoos on his arms and the just-try-me-pendejo attitude, she skipped all the way down to really falling for the guy.
Confidence was an aphrodisiac. Right? So was adrenaline? Which made sense. Except it felt deeper than that, as if their connection was meant to be. As if there was a reason they’d ended up going all over the world together.
If she was going to fall in love with someone, she never in a million years thought it would be a fallen Navy SEAL with an unachievable vendetta. But… she had. “Trace!”
He looked over his shoulder right before turning a corner with a quick chin lift. There wasn’t anything she could say, so she gave a wave. A tiny smile flashed on his hardened face, and that was good enough for now.
A different man came over to her. “Mr. Romatar said you weren’t finished with your work.”
So these were Mr. Romatar’s men. Okay. They knew she was smart, and they had never hurt her before. Their goal was to make a weapon, probably so they could sell it. They didn’t seem like the mass-destruction-type people, just the kind who profited from it. She drew in a deep breath. “I wasn’t. Yet.”
“We’ve brought everything to you, no time to waste in transport.”
“Um, okay.” She glanced down at her shaking hands. “I need a minute.”
“No. Time to get up.”
Damn it. She scooted off her butt and followed the man around the warehouse until they reached a temporary laboratory setup. The men she’d worked with in Romatar’s compound were there, and all of her work was laid out, in a somewhat completed fashion.
The man who guided her in made a grand sweeping gesture with his hand. When his arm came back down, he took his gun out of its holster. “Mr. Romatar wasn’t so sure you worked your hardest before. He intends you to finish immediately. If you want to live, you finish the job. Today.”
“Today?” Shock strangled anything else coherent she wanted to say.
The man nodded.
“But…” It wasn’t done. She hadn’t figured it all out. That, and the fact that she didn’t want to create this and turn it over to criminals.
“But nothing.” He pointed to a man standing by the makeshift lab table. “If he isn’t suitably impressed, then your boyfriend goes first. If
that incentive doesn’t work, and you don’t produce what we need, then you’re expendable also.”
Hands still shaking, she sat on the stool next to the table and the man she needed to impress, then tried to organize her thoughts.
“I’m sorry,” whispered the other man. “But you need to do this correctly. You can call me Ross.”
She wanted to slap him. “Correctly?”
Even quieter, Ross mumbled, “I know you held back before. They know too, but they don’t know how much you held back. They have my children. This is a no-win for everyone.”
Grabbing the plans, she set to work, ready to fill in the intentional blanks she’d left before. Trace would save her before she finished, or Delta would show up as they did before. Hours passed. The Romatar men brought her a sandwich, coffee, soda, all without her asking, because food was fuel, and it kept her going. And then she had to go.
“Excuse me.”
Ross turned from the latest project she had given him. “Yes?”
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
He looked over at the bossy guy who’d brought her in there. The man jutted his chin. “The project is progressing?”
“Yes.”
The man nodded. “How much longer?”
Ross turned his head to her.
She shrugged. “A couple hours, maybe?”
“Not good enough.” Stepping forward, he brandished his gun as though it would make her not have to pee. Exact opposite, really. “Two more hours. Tops.”
Her stomach turned. “I don’t know if—”
The man shook his head and shouted down the hallway. Another shout sounded in response, all in Spanish, and she had no idea what they were saying. The bossy guy’s phone rang, and he grabbed it, chattering fast. He hung up with a glare.
In the background, a gunshot rang out, and all the blood rushed from her head. She was dizzy. Nauseated. Ready to pass out.
“Go to the bathroom, but finish in two hours.” The man’s harsh glare almost blinded her.
Tears ran down her face. Did they shoot Trace? Did they kill him? Was he hurt? “What happened?”
“That was your incentive to work faster.”
Her insides hurt. Her mind was spinning, and she could barely walk. “Did you kill him?”
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