Seduced

by Angel Payne

  He finally forced himself to withdraw, though he clutched her close while rolling to his back. All the while, he inhaled deeply to bring his heart rate back to normal. After trotting to the bathroom and back with clean towels for them both, he cracked, “Why did we wait so long to make that happen?”

  Her reply came quicker and filled with more regret than he expected. “Because of me.” She pulled her towel against her chest. “Because I didn’t trust that you were for real…that you meant all those things you kept telling me.” She tucked her hair behind an ear, actually looking a little sheepish. “You…see me differently than the rest of the world does, Tait. You’ve always believed in me.” Her forehead scrunched once more as if she still couldn’t believe the promise of the words.

  He knelt on the bed in front of her. Cupped her face and lifted it. “And I always will.”

  The conflict didn’t leave her eyes. She sat in expectant silence as if thinking he was about to drop the “just kidding” disclaimer. Tait let her look. Though he longed to press her back down and kiss the truth into her, he held back. Pushing this woman would send her running. Easy does it. Some of the most important battles were won by gaining small but steady ground, not blowing up the whole countryside.

  “Hey,” he finally murmured, “how about some of that soup now?”

  “You bet.” The purple sparks returned to her eyes, and she gave him a soft smile. But before she turned to search for her clothes, Tait caught her by the elbow and dipped one more earnest stare down at her.

  “Luna…if what we did today gets you pregnant—”

  “Psshhh. Weasley! Seriously? Now?”

  He reeled her close again, clutching her other elbow. “Yeah, seriously. And yeah, now.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Morning-after pills come over-the-counter now. I’ll just go to the drugstore—”

  “Which is six blocks away.” He squared his shoulders and slipped his hands around both of hers. “Sorry, flower. Sleeping with a Special Ops guy means you get the photographic memory too—the same recall that’ll also remind you how Stock’s boys are searching for you as much as me.” He kissed her forehead. “So no dice on the drugstore. Now will you listen to me?”

  She skipped the eye roll in favor of averting her gaze completely. “Fine. What?”

  He lifted one hand to the side of her face. “I just need you to know.” He slipped a soft kiss to her lips. “It’d make me the happiest guy on the planet.”

  She shook her head. Uncertainty tangled her features again. “So you’re going to slam a ring on my finger, find us a house in the suburbs, build the kid a jungle gym, and let me make casseroles from Pinterest recipes?”

  The bloom of warmth in his chest shot its way right up to his lips. He couldn’t resist planting a harder kiss on her. “Fuck yeah.”

  That got her to forget about the insecurity, at least. Her lips twitched as she shoved against his chest. “I’m going to make your soup, dork.”

  He laughed and pulled his pants back on while she sashayed out toward the kitchen, deciding to leave the top button undone when her backside mesmerized him with its typical hypnotic powers. Dear Christ, he’d never get tired of that sight. He couldn’t wait for this cluster of a mission to be over so he could get back to the fantasies of waiting for her prison term to be over and treating her to a nice long session at Bastille to celebrate…

  Time for a change of mindset. He was going to be rock hard and very frustrated if he didn’t think of something else. Now.

  While Luna puttered in the kitchen, he fired up the television and instantly regretted the move. It was one of those late-morning “women’s” talk shows where the set looked like a patio from the Hamptons and everyone had a coffee mug with the show’s name on it.

  He hovered his thumb over the buttons, ready to hunt for SportsCenter, when he heard the studio audience on the talk show break out in screams and applause. Since the volume was turned low, that was saying something. He watched for a moment longer in curiosity.

  He gaped for longer than that in open shock. “What the hell?”

  Luna’s gasp confirmed he wasn’t alone in the feeling, joining him to watch as the show’s perky hostesses escorted their new guests to a fake Hamptons seating area.

  Bella Lanza. Cameron Stock.

  And Ethan Archer.

  Chapter Twenty–One

  So this is what it felt like to be brought back from the dead.

  Memories of the morning had returned to Ethan in agonizing flashes, starting with the one that brought him back to consciousness. He’d gone from darkness to light inside a minute, thanks to the epinephrine vial that came into view once he could focus his vision again. The artificial adrenaline got a giant helping hand when he realized it was Cameron Stock who’d jammed it into his thigh. He remembered glaring at the asshole across one of the studio’s dressing trailers. He’d been stripped naked but considered bolting anyway. After the getups forced on him by Grant Fulsom, streaking bare-assed across the back lot wasn’t an unthinkable follow-up. And the idiots hadn’t even bothered to zip tie him.

  That was when his scrutiny had widened to the other corner of the trailer—and fell on Ava, passed out cold in a chair, clad only in her bra and panties. Her purse lay at her feet with its empty epi pen pouch on top. Next to that was a gallon-sized jar that trembled—from the force of the thousand agitated bees inside.

  Cameron had smiled with slow confidence, just as he did now beneath the glaring TV studio lights. Ethan had clenched his jaw against a cold river of bile, recognizing why they hadn’t bothered to cuff him. If he complied with their plan, the bees would stay cooped up. Otherwise, Ava would die in horrific and painful circumstances.

  Thinking of her was the only thing that kept the fake smile plastered on his face now. He sat next to Bella on a hanging love seat in his dress blues, steeling himself against the images that played havoc with his head. One second, he drowned in helplessness while remembering the hotel’s atrium with the soldiers surrounding them, the canister clanking, and the air thickening with deceptive sweetness. The next, he floundered in panic as more recent recollections hit. The windowless room in the back of the trailer that held his captain, battalion mates, Sage, and Rayna, all passed out and chained. The order from Stock to get his ass up and don his dress uniform. The sickening recognition, during the golf cart trip across the back lot, that calling Stock out as a terrorist on live TV was only going to get him labeled as a “poor, traumatized soldier who’d succumbed to the stress of his Special Forces duties.” Not only would Lor and Stock still be free and primed to carry out the plan that still remained a mystery, but he’d be tossed into a padded room faster than anyone could say the lunatics are taking over the asylum.

  He had to put it all away. Scour it all from his mind. Leave a fresh slate for focusing on the materials he had to work with on accomplishing the goals. Lor and Stock had to be taken down. His teammates had to be set free before being used as terrorist bargaining chips.

  He telescoped his mind on a small opening of hope. It was just a pinhole, but it was all he had.

  T-Bomb hadn’t been at Stock’s Kumbaya-fest this morning.

  He had to assume that Tait had somehow been warned off and was watching this somewhere. Right. Because the guy’s so excited for the summer mimosa tips coming up in the next segment, right?

  Fuck it. Even if T-Bomb wasn’t watching, maybe one of Colton’s spook friends was. Maybe Luna had fed them enough details to start piecing things together, and they were in the audience now, hoping they’d get a hint of what Stock had done with Dan and the others.

  Maybe he could give them a little more than a hint.

  “…and he’s been just wonderful, sharing all kinds of stories that are going to help this live broadcast be a special experience for our viewers.” Bella paused for a breath along with the chance to wiggle closer to him, twining their hands together. “Nothing classified, of course.” She playfully nudged him. “Right, dear
?”

  “Umm, yeah. Right.”

  All the ladies, and Cameron for that matter, joined in teasing laughter at his expense. Like he cared. The longer they laughed, the more he could peer around for “props” to help him divulge the team’s location. And the sooner his battalion was secured, the sooner he could redirect his efforts on putting Lor and Stock into prison jumpsuits forever.

  The show hostess across the coffee table from them, a leggy, mocha-skinned model he recognized but couldn’t name, leaned forward and queried, “I imagine this has all been an interesting change of pace for you, hmm, Sergeant? You Special Forces boys travel the world, but I’ll bet you’ve never been anywhere like Hollywood.”

  He tilted his head a little, appearing to weigh out his answer, though he was actually taking time to thank the Creator for plopping this opportunity in his lap. Who needed props when he could get creative with words?

  “That’s an interesting question,” he began. “There’ve been some days, like today for instance, where I’ve seen nothing but the studio’s back lot.”

  The model beamed a commiserating grin. “They’re working you hard, hmm? Beginning to wish for a deployment again?”

  “Well, the food’s much better here.”

  The model giggled. A lot. “Oh, my goodness, that face and that wit.” She glanced at the audience and was answered with a round of squeals that made him squirm. “Tell us more,” she encouraged.

  That he could deal with. What else would help Colton’s team find them? “I really like the dressing-room trailers. I’ve heard that people sleep like babies in them, even in the middle of a studio back lot.”

  The model tittered again. He managed a convincing grin in return until Bella cleared her throat and draped her free hand around his knee. That didn’t shift the other woman an inch toward a yellow light, much less a red.

  “Have you been sleeping in your trailer, Sergeant Archer?”

  He let a meaningful beat go by. “Perhaps.”

  “In your uniform, or out of it?”

  With deceiving calm, Stock rose to his feet. This flummoxed all four of the hostesses so much, they sloshed their coffee in an effort to match his move. The action clearly hadn’t been discussed before the broadcast. Though this was live TV, a general sense of choreography was followed as closely as scripted material. Stock’s impromptu move ensured he had the full attention of everyone on set—except Bella, who was busy sliding a minx’s grin at Ethan. She was definitely “in” on whatever the man had up his sleeve.

  Ethan’s mind responded with only one word, coming right after a thousand cords of tension gripped his muscles. The same cords that the team had termed “Runway’s shitstorm sensors.”

  Fuck.

  “As fascinating as we all find the subject of Sergeant Archer’s sleep apparel”—he let everyone in the studio react with hearty laughs—“I am excited to ask him and my leading lady to join me over here for an even more exciting announcement.”

  The shitstorm alarms pealed through him now. Using mind over matter, he got to his feet along with Bella and let her drag him by one hand to Stock’s side.

  “Tell them already!” she urged the director, bouncing in her stilt-high heels.

  “Patience, patience,” Stock soothed back.

  “Tell us already!” The four hostesses belted it together. One of them motioned at Bella for a high-five on the deal, but she was so riveted on Stock, she didn’t notice.

  Fuck. It gonged through Ethan again, making Stock’s relaxed confidence feel like a goddamn kick in the teeth.

  “All right, all right.” The man held out his hands, milking the moment, making all the woman wail again. At last he continued, “A while ago, we heard that a special celebrity would be rolling through town today. We asked him if we could secure approval from the network to shift the Dress Blues live episode to tonight, if he’d be open to doing a special cameo on the show. To our excitement, he agreed. He’s here now to talk a little about it with all of you too.”

  As Stock finished that, he swept an arm out toward the entranceway, accompanied by a musical swell that turned Ethan’s bloodstream to ice and his heartbeat into a scream.

  Hail to the Chief.

  He slammed his shaking hand to his sweating brow as President Craig Nichols walked onto the stage.

  Chapter Twenty–Two

  Ava moaned. What the hell had she drunk last night? And with how many kinds of hooch? Qué paso? She hadn’t been hung over like this for years. Her head hammered. Her throat felt like the Mojave, cacti plants intact. Hadn’t she already learned this lesson? Who the hell had she been out with last night? She couldn’t remember anything past the beautiful way she’d started the day, in Ethan’s arms at Ricochet.

  Maybe she needed to roll over and sleep off the rest of it.

  A woman’s scream ensured that wasn’t going to happen. It was sad. Horrified. Grieving.

  And oh hell…was she naked?

  She forced her eyes open. She still had her underthings on, thank God. And now that blessed silence surrounded her again…

  Except for the buzzing. Lots of it. Too angry and animalistic to be her inner ears resisting her headache.

  Slowly, she turned her head.

  “Ave Maria!”

  She skittered back in the chair. The large jar of pissed-off bees, anxious to find their queen again, was less than three feet from her toes. If even one of those shits got to her, the situation would be—

  She cut into that thought with a horror-stricken sob.

  “Ssshhh.” A man in desert camouflage, who’d be the poster guy for smoky handsomeness if it wasn’t for the automatic rifle in his grip, issued it. “Cálmate, mija. You’re safe and so is your man, as long as you stay put.”

  Inside seconds, the missing memories rushed back. Ethan on the phone with Luna Lawrence. Their insane drive to the hotel. Ethan spotting Franzen and Colton inside and then parking her car on the sidewalk. And then—

  Holy shit. She wasn’t hung over. She’d been hit by industrial-strength sleeping gas. They all had.

  “I’m not your mija,” she snarled.

  The soldier shrugged. “Fair enough. As long as you stay there with your little amigos, we don’t have a problem.”

  “Where’s Ethan?” From the moment the man had referenced him, her heartbeat had spiked into a new realm of terror. What the hell had they done with him?

  “He is fine as long as you are obedient.” He cocked his head, looking even more like a magazine spread as his black hair fell into his eyes. “You do know how to obey a man, don’t you?”

  She huddled her legs against her chest, shuddering at how the guy raked his stare over her near nakedness. She chose to believe that Lor and Stock had threatened his balls if they got anywhere near her. And if not, she knew plenty of ways to hurt an asshole simply by watching the show’s stunt experts teach the moves to Bella.

  She had to focus. She had to try to think.

  First priority was a quick assessment of her surroundings. She recognized things at once. They were in one of the trailers the studio reserved for guest stars of the show. It had the basics: a couple of couches and chairs, makeup mirror and vanity, kitchenette with a fridge and sink, widescreen TV, and a short hallway into a windowless bedroom. She sensed they weren’t in the structure alone and hoped that instinct was right.

  “Wh-Where are the others?” she asked the soldier. “The ones you and your boss decided to put down along with me?”

  He jerked his chin toward the bedroom. “They are safe.”

  A hurricane in the form of a five-foot-three blond burst from that direction in retaliation. “The hell we are, asshole.” Sage’s face was streaked with tears, fear, and desperation. Her hand shook on top of her protruding belly. “We are not safe! And you aren’t fucking doing anything about it!”

  The guard responded with an impassive stare. Sage sobbed, grimaced, and then sank into the chair next to Ava. Moments later, Rayna appeared. Afte
r locking hands with Ava, openly grateful to see her alive, Ray kneeled next to her friend. As she did, Sage’s face contorted harder. “Sweetie,” she whispered, “you have to try to stay calm. Breathe, Sage. Please breathe.”

  “Good advice,” the soldier stated.

  Rayna snapped a glower at him. “Shut up. Can’t you see what this is doing to her? She’s nearly eight months along, asshat. Do the math. If you don’t radio out and at least try to get a doctor in here, this might get really messy.”

  “Wh-What’s wrong?” Ava reached to Sage. “Are you okay? Is it the baby?”

  Rayna gave the answer since the question seemed to worsen Sage’s distress. “Not yet,” she murmured, “but if Garrett doesn’t get attention soon—”

  “Garrett?” Ava blinked in confusion. “How? Why?”

  Rayna gulped. Her dark-green eyes gained a gloss of tears too. “He’s still out.”

  “Out where?”

  “Out, cuz. Asleep. He and Sage were closest to the sleeping-gas canister when it went off, but he covered her head with his jacket and his own body. He took the brunt of it for all of us. They supposedly ventilated him for a while, but when Stock snapped his fingers and rallied the minions up, nobody was designated to stay and monitor Garrett.”

  Ava processed the revelation as calmly as she could. “But he’s still alive, right?”

  Sage started trembling from head to toe. She pushed Ava’s hand away before baring her teeth in a snarl at the guard. “Depends on what you call alive.”

  Rayna explained, “His pulse is thready and his pupils won’t respond to light. And his spinal reflexes are really slow.”