by Bruhns, Nina
He almost choked, and shot her a glance. She was doing it again. Saying something completely unsexy—goading, even . . . but in a way that made him squirm with awareness. Anti-flirting?
He said, “Just like Kate Hepburn.”
The tiniest muscle in her lips quirked. “Good save,” she conceded.
He tore his attention from her lips to watch the road. He seemed to recall from his pre-mission map studies that there was a steep cliff right around—
There. He swung onto the narrow shoulder and brought the SUV to a gravel-flying halt.
“Hey! What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Time to bail,” he said, yanked on the brake, and turned to her. “What kind of supplies are in the vehicle?”
Taken aback, she hesitated, then tossed a glance toward the back seat. “Nothing much. A first aid kit. A cooler with water. Chrissie’s and my overnight bags. Some fabrics she picked up earlier. I saw an extra petrol can. I . . . I’m not sure what else the driver has in back. Tools, maybe? Why? What do you mean, bail?”
“I mean ditch the car. Even as we speak, descriptions of this SUV are being flashed across every TV screen, and sent to every law enforcement outpost in China. They’ll be coming for me in full force. I do not intend to be caught.” He leaned across her legs, snapped open the glove box, and started riffling through it.
“But how will we get back down to the coast? To Sanya?”
“We don’t. Well. I don’t.” Giving up on the glove box, he pointed at the terrain above them. “I’m going that way. Into the mountains.” He straightened away from her. Mostly. “But as you said, we’re close to the government checkpoint. Just walk down there and turn yourself in. Say you escaped your raving lunatic kidnapper. You should be okay.”
“Should be?”
He wasn’t going to lie. “You’re obviously familiar with this country. Nothing here is ever certain. Especially when it concerns Westerners.”
She considered that somberly. “I was just kidding about the Chinese prison thing, you know.”
He reached out and tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear. “Yeah. I’m really sorry about dragging you into this mess. I’d never have—” Frustration stabbed at him and he shook his head. “I have no idea how they located me so fast.”
Unconsciously, she started to touch his leg, then thought better of it and curled her fingers away. “Don’t worry, Major,” she said. “I’ll get you out of this.”
Her expression was so damn sincere he had to smile. Ironic, considering he’d just been saying the same thing in his head about her. “Hey. Don’t forget, I’m the Marine. I do the rescuing around here.”
He’d expected her to smile back, maybe take one of her unflirty little jabs at him, but instead her eyes went cool and she turned away. “No. I won’t forget.”
Oka-ay.
She opened her door and climbed out, yanked open the rear door and started going through the things that were scattered on the back seat and floor. He did the same, glancing up at her every few seconds, but she wasn’t meeting his eyes. Was it something he said?
Not that it mattered. In a few minutes they’d part ways and they’d never see each other again.
Which felt surprisingly disappointing.
Damn if he didn’t like the woman and her dry sense of humor. And her very kissable lips. Which he’d hardly gotten to taste.
Even more disappointing.
But he’d get over it. Such was his life—never in one spot long enough to enjoy all the benefits. Not that he’d ever go beyond the physical with her, even if he had the opportunity.
Kip didn’t do relationships. Not serious ones.
Getting serious meant falling in love.
Falling in love meant getting married.
And marriage was not an option for him.
Definitely not now.
Possibly not ever.
There were lots more lips in the world to kiss. Tomorrow he wouldn’t even remember how amazing that kiss with her was.
He grabbed his rucksack from the front and loaded the water bottles into it from the cooler, along with a bag of chocolate and a few chilled apples.
“Here,” she said, and handed him a plastic box with a red cross on the lid, which he stuck in the rucksack, too. She went to the back of the SUV and lifted the hatch to study the contents. “Hammer and screwdriver?” she asked.
“Nah,” he said.
“Ax?” She lifted a small folding hatchet for him to see.
“That could come in handy.”
She tossed it his way and kept scrounging for a moment. “That seems to be it. Except for these.” She shook a small, orange waterproof container and he recognized the rattle of wooden matches.
“Definitely,” he said, reaching for them over the seat and looking at them consideringly. “All right. Got everything you need out of the vehicle?”
“Hang on.”
He pulled out a long piece of Chrissie’s fabric bits that he’d already selected, unscrewed the lid of the petrol can and stuffed part of the cloth inside. Meanwhile, DeAnne fetched a fabric shoulder bag off the rear seat, emptied the entire contents of her sensible leather purse into it, along with a few other things, then pulled the strap over her head and settled the bag against her hip. Grabbing a jacket from the seat, she said, “Okay. I’m ready,” and stood looking at him expectantly.
He nodded, slammed the doors shut, and reached in through the window to release the parking break. “Stand back. It’s showtime.”
He strode to the shattered back window, lit a match, aimed and tossed it into the vehicle, and gave the SUV a solid push when he saw where the match had landed. The SUV started rolling toward the edge of the cliff.
DeAnne’s jaw dropped in astonishment and she jumped back. “What on earth are you doing?”
He gave it another two-handed shove so it gained momentum. “Killing myself.”
She looked from him to the SUV as it sailed over the cliff. It was a long way down to the canyon floor below. They both stepped to the edge and watched its elegant dive. It hit the boulders below with a resounding crunch of metal on rock. Then all went silent again.
She swallowed hard as they stared. “They won’t find a body,” she ventured. “Or blood. They’ll think you survived and are okay.”
Seconds later, the canyon echoed with a loud ka-boom. The SUV exploded into a huge fireball of flame.
“Well,” she said in a strangled voice, “no, probably not now.”
Quirking a smile, he swiped up his rucksack from the ground and slid on the straps. “You can tell them you witnessed the whole thing. I slowed to take the curve and you jumped out of the SUV to get away. I grabbed for you, lost control of the vehicle, and it went over the cliff.” He gave the burning fireball a little wave. “So long, Major Llowell.”
“It could work,” she said.
“They’ll believe you. You’re a diplomat.”
She wadded up the puffy jacket and stuffed it into her fabric bag, making it poof out like a pillow. “There’s just one problem.”
He tilted his head at her mildly stubborn expression. “What’s that?” he asked.
“I can’t do it.”
He frowned. “Why not? Surely, you can tell a small lie to save my life?”
She turned, looking somewhat offended. “Of course I could.”
He should have felt relief at that. He didn’t. “Then what’s the problem?” he asked.
She peered at him as though he were dense in the head. “Because I’m going with you.”
6
He actually laughed.
DeAnne wanted to kick the obnoxious man in the shin. Instead she lifted her chin. “Is there something funny I’m not aware of?”
He stared at her for a second. His smile faltered. “You’re serious.”
Why was it that men never took her seriously? It was maddening. She wasn’t even a blonde!
“Do I look like I’m joking?” She tried to keep the annoyance from her voice but failed.
He sobered quickly. “No. But the idea is ludicrous. You can’t come with me. It’s much too dangerous.”
“And being arrested and thrown into a Chinese prison isn’t?”
He shifted his rucksack a little and walked onto the road, limping slightly. “That isn’t going to happen.”
She followed after him. “Really? I could have sworn you just said—”
“Even if that did happen,” he cut her off, “which it won’t—do the words ‘diplomatic immunity’ ring a bell?” He stopped to peer down the road for a moment in the direction of the checkpoint. Apparently satisfied, he did an about-face.
She stepped into his path before he could start walking away from her. “That won’t help when they put me in front of a firing squad for aiding and abetting a traitorous spy.”
No, she didn’t actually believe they would go that far. But he obviously had a skewed idea about how diplomacy worked.
He looked at her impatiently. “Why the hell would you want to come with me, anyway? I’ll be moving nonstop, hiding from the entire population of China. It’ll be exhausting during the day, cold at night, and—”
“You see? Right there”—she emphasized her point with a finger poke to his chest—“that’s exactly why you need me to come with you.”
He blinked down at her, and she could practically see his mind fastening on the cold night part.
She gave him a withering look. “What I mean is, your natural response to this situation is to run and hide. To sneak away without being caught.”
His eyes narrowed. “I prefer the term ‘covert,’ or ‘off– grid.’”
She held up her hands. “No insult intended.”
“Fine.” He started to limp around her. “But your point is . . . ?”
“There are other ways to handle this. Better ways.”
He shook his head and kept walking. “You’re talking about using your words again, aren’t you?”
She hurried after him. “Is there a problem with that?”
“Yeah. Words don’t work.”
“Spoken like a true Marine,” she muttered. Using words had never been big on her father’s agenda, either. Maybe if he’d tried it once in a while instead of—
Llowell spun around and scowled down at her, his hands fisted on his hips. “You’ve got something against the Marines, lady?”
Telling him the truth was not going to advance her cause. “I have nothing against you personally, Major Llowell—”
“For Chrissakes, it’s Kip,” he ground out.
She held up her hands. “Okay, okay. Kip. I’m just saying maybe we can solve this without you having to run . . . go off-grid, and maybe get yourself killed in the process. Those guys chasing us were not shooting over our heads.”
“You noticed, huh?”
“Let me call my boss at the State Department. Get him to set up a dialogue with the Chinese government about letting you out.”
He moved in closer and laid his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, DeAnne. I appreciate the thought. I really do. But I’m a fucking spy. The Chinese know that, somehow. There’s no way in hell they’ll willingly let me off this island. Not while I’m still breathing.” She must have flinched because his expression softened. “I’ll be okay. I promise. This is my job. It’s what I do.”
“I’ve no doubt you’re good at what you do. But so am I. Give me a chance,” she said earnestly. “It’s my job to protect American citizens in trouble abroad. What have you got to lose? I’m not asking you to turn yourself in. Just one phone call.”
He hesitated. “Even if I thought it was a good idea—which I don’t—there’s no cell reception here.”
She smiled, triumphant. “But there will be further up the mountain, where you’re headed anyway. Let me come. Just far enough to make the phone call.”
His fingers tightened on her shoulders, leashed strength radiating through them. “And when the State Department says, sorry, their hands are tied, have a nice day, you promise you won’t interfere anymore? You’ll go back to your embassy and leave me to do what I have to do? Right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
But State wouldn’t say that. Her boss would see to it. Because a quiet, successful rescue of an American spy right from under Chinese noses could be used as a trump card in the intricate game of diplomacy with China, which often shifted on the merest suggestion of superiority, or losing face. Let alone the actual fact.
Probably best not to tell Major—er, Kip—that the government would be using him as a pawn. It shouldn’t matter, though, as long as he received the help he needed and got off the island in one piece.
“This is such a bad idea on so many levels,” he muttered, and glanced down at her clothes, looking even more pained. “How do you expect to hike through the jungle in a damn business suit?”
“I’ll manage,” she said, easing out from his grasp. Thank goodness she’d worn her walking shoes today. “What about your leg?”
He scowled. “What about it?”
Touchy. “Nothing at all. We should get going. So. What’s the plan?” She took off up the road at a brisk pace.
She could feel his eyes on her back. After a brief moment of hesitation, his boot-steps crunched up unevenly behind her.
“No plan. Just get up the mountain and don’t get caught. But we need to be off this road, ASAP.”
“Agreed.” They definitely did not want to be seen by anyone, and this was the main thoroughfare over the mountains. The problem was the steep incline going up from the shoulder of the pavement. Only a mountain goat could climb that.
He moved up beside her and matched his pace to hers. “There should be a dirt track that branches off pretty soon.”
That was the second time he’d known what was coming up ahead. “You have a GPS hidden in that backpack or something?”
“Nope. The enemy could locate my position by tracking it. I do everything old-school.”
Good grief. He must have memorized the map.
Sure enough, about a mile later, a narrow, deeply rutted path veered off into the mountains, following a small, tumbling stream up into the thick forest. They took it, and were soon immersed in the cool, damp dimness under the jungle canopy. The path was only wide enough for one, so Kip took point and she fell in behind him. The track wasn’t goat-steep, but steep enough to require all her breath and prevent them from chatting.
Which was just as well. She had enough to do to keep from tripping over her own feet.
Not because of the uneven path, but because her gaze kept fastening on Kip’s very attractive posterior. Even under the rough cotton homespun of his peasant pants, she could see the impressive muscles of his thighs and backside flex and bunch as his legs worked. It was tough to keep from drooling. The man was in amazing shape.
DeAnne’s male colleagues at the embassy ran to analysts and intellectuals, more at home behind their desks or in a tuxedo than pumping iron at the gym or hiking through the wilderness. The Marine guards were always fit and toned, of course, but they tended to be young, fresh-faced kids right out of school who were too cocky and full of themselves to be attractive. In her opinion, anyway. But the major was a grown man in every respect of the word. The whole package—mature, handsome, strong, and capable. And obviously intelligent.
If he weren’t so completely and utterly wrong for her, she’d be crushing on him big-time. Good grief. She hadn’t had these kinds of butterflies since high school. What was wrong with her? She was smarter than this. She knew better.
Boy howdy, did she ever.
The man was nothing but pure unadulterated trouble.
T.R.O.U.
B.L.E.
But oh, man.
Major Kiptyn Llowell was nothing less than pure walking temptation.
And DeAnne had the sinking feeling she was getting dumber by the minute.
7
Darcy and Jaeger had set up their laptops in the wardroom where everyone had finally gathered for a hot meal. They desperately needed some shut-eye, but the whole team was too wound up to sleep. The Russian, Romanov, and his fiancée, Julie, were having afternoon tea with the ship’s captain, but Clint Walker had joined them—after making a phone call to his wife.
“She worries,” he’d said with a little smile. He seemed like a good guy.
They’d all been arguing over the best way to steal a thousand-pound, ten-foot-long, torpedo-like object from a highly secure army transport or an even more secure navy base without the Chinese noticing.
But Darcy had overheard a couple of the ship’s officers talking excitedly at the coffee urn about some alleged American spy who had the Chinese authorities’ knickers all in a twist over on Hainan Island. Which just happened to be where the team was supposed to be stealing that AUV sometime in the next few days.
Now, there was an interesting coincidence.
Except Darcy didn’t believe in coincidences.
So between interjecting her opinions on the various outlandish operational proposals being tossed around, she was scouring the Internet for information about this supposed American spy.
Turned out the Chinese somehow knew the guy’s name, and had gotten hold of his passport photo, and they were plastering it all over the Chinese media in hopes a conscientious citizen would spot him and turn him in.
She dug further, and learned that—
Jesus. Kiptyn Llowell was a major in Marine Corps Intelligence—the MCOIB. What the hell was a Marine doing in China? She was pretty sure Marine Corps Intelligence concerned itself almost exclusively with war theater recon. And as far as she knew there were no impending U.S. battles in China.
The whole thing smelled fishy to her, start to finish.
“I still say we hijack the transport,” Alex Zane was saying, continuing the debate on mission strategy, “before the AUV reaches the navy base. It’s the only reasonable option.”