by Bruhns, Nina
“What’s happened?” she asked.
He considered keeping his mouth shut. Or even lying. But she had just given him a promise to be straight with him. It was the least he could do to be honest with her in return.
“Looks like I’m on my own out here,” he said, his feelings walking a thin line between betrayal and fury. Her gaze held his, brimming with concern, and he felt a complicated knot of emotion tighten in his chest. “Other than you,” he added. And hoped that came out tender and appreciative, not whiney like a two-year-old.
“I don’t understand,” she said, sounding confused.
“Hell, neither do I.” He paced away from her, rubbing a hand over his short-cropped hair. A dozen possibilities log-jammed in his mind. “Someone deliberately blew my cover. Someone from our side.”
Her eyes widened. “Who? Why would they do that?”
“That’s a damn good question,” he gritted out. “Believe me, I intend to get some answers.”
She swallowed, watched him pace for a few moments, then asked, “What should we do?”
He halted and took in the sight of her—her practical clothes and sensible shoes all disheveled and dusty from hiking, her ponytail all sagging and crooked so tendrils of chestnut hair had escaped to feather around her face and neck. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. And she looked so earnest and upset for him, his heart completely melted. Another flood of protectiveness washed over him, ten times stronger than the first.
There wasn’t a chance in hell he’d drag her any further into this . . . whatever the hell this was.
He limped over to her and gently took her face between his hands. “You need to go back to your embassy and forget about me,” he said. She started to protest, but he moved a thumb over her lips. “I’m so damn sorry I got you mixed up in this shit, DeAnne. You’re so— Damn, princess, I really wish—” He cut off what he was about to say. No sense going there. “You need to get back to where it’s safe. Away from me.”
“Kip—”
“No arguing. I mean it.”
She wanted to argue, he could tell. But just then her phone rang. She glanced down at it and puffed out a breath.
“Tell Roger what’s-his-name you need to be picked up. I’ll take you as far as the main road.”
She looked mutinous. The phone rang again.
She checked the number, hit the “talk” button, and without preamble said, “So what’s the plan for getting him off this island?”
Kip hiked his brows. Had she not heard a word he said?
She listened impatiently on the phone for a few moments, then said, “I understand that. So what’s the plan?”
A muscled twitched in her jaw. Uh-oh. But for once her face was unreadable.
“I see.” She listened. “Oh?” She listened some more, and the muscle twitched again. “Trust me, yes, I do know. So what are you going to do about it?”
Kip had heard enough. “Tell him you need transport, DeAnne.”
She glared at him. “Roger? What are you not telling me about this situation?”
Somewhere along the line her voice had acquired a razor-sharp edge. As she listened, the edge shifted to her eyes.
“No,” she said in growing agitation. Then, “No!” And, “I said no.” Then she got very, very calm.
It was downright scary how she did that.
“Roger?” She smiled serenely at Kip, her face a one-eighty from seconds before. “Roger, listen. Will you please listen to me?”
Finally. She was finally going to ask to be picked up.
“Rog— Roger—”
Kip began to relax. She’d soon be out of here and safe.
“Roger! Will you shut up and listen, for Pete’s sake?” she snapped. She took a breath, and said, “Because I am only going to say this once.”
She smiled at Kip again when his eyes went big at her strident tone.
“Thank you. Are you listening?” She lifted her chin and spoke very succinctly. “Roger. I. Quit.”
Wait.
What?
She pressed the phone’s “off” button very firmly and exhaled. “Lord, that felt good.”
But Kip was feeling the opposite of good. What had she just done? “Are you nuts? You can’t quit!” he exploded.
“Oh, but I just did.”
He was horrified. “But why? Call him back. Tell him you were kidding.”
“Not going to happen.”
“What the fuck?”
This time her smile was genuine, if tremulous. Those guileless blue eyes looked up at him, filling with the uncertain reality of what she’d just done. She cleared her throat. “Well, Major Llowell. Looks like you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future.”
11
Darcy was feeling restless again.
It happened every now and then. More so lately.
She opened her eyes and checked her watch, careful not to wake Bobby Lee. They were sharing the narrow bottom bunk and, as always for the past two years, he was spooned up against her, his back to the door, one arm thrown protectively around her, his Ruger P345 tucked under the pillow.
She still hadn’t gotten used to sleeping with him. Well, with anybody, really. Sleeping sleeping. This close. All of the time. There were nights she thought she’d never get used to it.
As much as she loved him.
The team had decided to grab a couple precious hours of shut-eye before resuming the heated debate over how best to execute their mission. Despite her head spinning from exhaustion, Darcy had woken up several times. Now the alarm was about to go off, and she felt even more drained than she had before lying down.
“What is it, sugar?” Bobby Lee whispered in her ear. “I could bounce quarters off your muscles. Why so tense?”
She had an inkling, but it wasn’t something she wanted to discuss. Not with Bobby Lee. And certainly not with Jaeger and Zane sleeping in the other bunks six feet away. Even though her soft whisper was unlikely to be heard above the steady, ambient rumble of the ship’s engines.
“Can’t stop thinking,” she said quietly, knowing he’d assume she meant about the mission. Bobby Lee was laser focused while on an op.
“It’s a bitch,” he agreed, his soft Alabama drawl smooth as Southern Comfort. “But we’ll figure somethin’.”
“Yeah.”
“Meanwhile, you need to relax.” His voice was barely a whisper as he slid his hand up under her tank top to her breast.
She stifled a small gasp that turned to a breathy moan as his long fingers gently grasped her nipple and squeezed.
“Stop,” she said on an inhale, but her body reacted all on its own. Her backside wriggled against him, finding the hard erection she’d known would be there and pressing into it.
She felt his breath quicken, stirring her hair.
He found her other breast and tugged at that nipple, making electric streaks of need stab through her. “Bobby . . .”
“Hush now, baby. Just relax,” he soothed, his hand on her breasts having the opposite effect.
His other hand slipped down the front of her PJ shorts. She wanted to move away. She wasn’t into public exhibition. But his fingers found her and she was lost. He’d always known just how to melt her body and her willpower to warm molasses. A soft moan escaped.
“That’s right,” he quietly urged.
His fingertips teased and slid, circling the slick center of need that instantly throbbed for his touch. She writhed a little, seeking more, her mind a blissful blank, absorbed in the pleasure only he could give her.
She felt his head lift and his lips trailed over her temple, warm and moist and loving. His hand enveloped her breast, powerful and possessive. She felt totally secure, completely loved, and hopelessly in love.
So why couldn’t she give him what he w
anted?
A date. That’s all he wanted from her.
A wedding date.
He held her tighter, and increased the pressure of his fingertips. He twisted a nipple, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out.
His tongue trailed down the shell of her ear and pulled her earlobe into his mouth. He sucked on the sensitive lobe, making her writhe. He knew that always drove her mad with want.
He was relentless, and it didn’t take long for the first trembles of orgasm to take over her body. His fingers flicked over her need, around the aching nub, driving her deeper toward the hurtling climax.
It hit hard, just as his hand clamped over her mouth.
Her body quaked in a silent explosion of pleasure, and she rode it to the very end, letting herself go, absorbing the pure, sweet ecstasy of Bobby Lee’s touch, knowing he held her in his powerful arms, and that she was safe in his care.
When she’d finally stilled, he kissed her hair and lowered his hand from her mouth, but held her fast when she tried to turn to face him.
“Sleep, sugar. We’ve still got a few minutes.”
She let out a sigh and drifted on the sea of contentment, lulled by the rumbling of the engines.
And resolved that tomorrow she’d do it for sure.
She’d pick her wedding date.
She really would.
* * *
“It’s getting too dark to see the trail,” DeAnne said from behind Kip.
He had pushed them longer than he’d planned, but he’d wanted to get as far as possible down toward the coast, now that they’d made their phone calls.
“Yeah. I’ve been looking for a place to stop,” he told her. He’d taken a different route down the mountain, so wasn’t totally sure of the possibilities.
Not only was it getting too dark to see, but they were also approaching the lower valleys where more and more villages would start to spring up along their path. If he were alone, he’d take full advantage of the nighttime to get past them unseen, but he didn’t want to risk DeAnne falling in the darkness and getting injured.
“We should find something soon.”
“Um . . .” she glanced around hesitantly. “You mean . . . like, here? Outside?”
Right. She definitely looked like a city girl, from a family that stayed in fancy hotels when they traveled, not makeshift campsites. He slanted her an apologetic grimace. “Not a lot of choice, I’m afraid. By now everyone’s probably heard about the dangerous American spy on the loose.” He made a face. “I don’t think we dare ask for shelter, even if you do speak the lingo.”
She blinked a few times and nibbled on her lip. “Okay.”
“We’ll be all right. Nights are warm this time of year. And I saw you put a jacket in your shoulder bag, right?”
She was resting her hands on it in front of her. She looked down, as if she’d forgotten all about it. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a down jac— The thing is, I’m not really . . .” Her words trailed off.
She suddenly looked so damn vulnerable. Not like the strong spitfire he’d come to know.
“Not a camper, eh?”
She shook her head.
“Come here.” He reached out and pulled her into his arms, nestling her close against his chest. “You are amazing, you know that?”
She made a snorting noise into his peasant jacket.
“I’m serious, DeAnne. You’re incredibly brave, and haven’t complained once, even though I’m making you hike through the jungle in a damn business suit and camp in the middle of nowhere, all while being chased by nasty guys with big guns. Jesus, princess, you even gave up your damn job for me. I’d call that fucking amazing.”
He felt her breath sough onto his chest in a puff of warmth. “I didn’t quit for you. It was on principle.”
Which was a good thing. He didn’t need that on his conscience, too. “You quit because your boss was disregarding his prime directive, to protect American citizens.”
“Exactly.”
She’d told him what Roger Achity had said when she’d called. That they couldn’t help Kip because of some order they’d received from higher up. Ol’ Roger’s hands were tied. Have a nice day. Just as he’d thought.
And in light of what Jake had said, it made perfect sense.
But DeAnne hadn’t seen it that way. She’d been outraged.
His little warrior princess.
Okay, not so little. She was tall and curvy, her breasts round and full as they pillowed into his chest.
Which reminded him . . .
He lifted her chin up with a finger, brushed his lips across her cheek, and murmured, “Well, I think you’re amazing.” Amazingly desirable . . .
Her cornflower eyes glistened, like the darkening sky reflected in a clear pool. She looked almost fragile. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I . . .”
He bent down and kissed her. She did a tiny intake of breath, then melted into him. She opened to his kiss, warm and willing, and all sensual woman. He raked his fingers into her hair and pulled out the rest of her bedraggled ponytail, luxuriating in the silky feel of the strands as he spread them over her shoulders. And kissed her some more.
Finally, he drew back. “Amazing kisser, too,” he murmured, his voice rough with want of her.
She blushed. “Just following your lead.”
He liked the sound of that. A lot. But he made himself kiss her forehead, and gathered his willpower to step away from her. They were still on the trail, out in the open and exposed.
“There’s a place up ahead I’m hoping will work for us,” he said. “And we need to find some food, too. Come on. Just a little farther.”
They walked another couple of miles, and he spotted what he’d been looking for. He’d remembered a farm on the map, an outlier that had several outbuildings. With any luck they’d find food and potable water, as well as shelter where they could tuck themselves out of sight to sleep.
And whatever else was going to happen between them.
He hadn’t forgotten that part.
She hadn’t either, judging by that intense kiss.
“This is it,” he said, taking her off the path to a small clearing hidden by a hedge of dense foliage. “You stay here while I take a look around. See what I can scrounge up.”
She looked instantly alarmed. “Can’t we stay together?”
“I just want to make sure it’s safe. I’ll be right back.”
She reluctantly nodded. He slid off his rucksack, patted the M9 in his shoulder holster and the extra clip in his pocket, and slipped out past the hedge.
He went to check the outbuildings. The first was filled with burlap bags stuffed with manure. He nearly fell over backward from the stench. He’d rather be captured by the PLA than sleep in there.
The next one had chickens. Lots of chickens. He didn’t even approach that one. He knew from experience the ruckus those birds would make if anyone invaded their home. They didn’t need eggs that bad.
The third shack was better. It was a toolshed, small and weather-tight with an earthen floor. The four walls and a small table were laden with ancient but pristine iron tools with well-worn wooden handles. Sacks of seed stood in one corner.
This would do. They just needed to be gone before daybreak in case the farmer came looking for his tools or seed.
Now Kip just had to find some food.
It was tempting to grab one of those chickens. A few had escaped the coop and were strutting around pecking at the ground. He’d leave money, of course. But no. The noise factor scared him too much. Then there was the neck wringing and the feather plucking. Not his favorite jobs. And he couldn’t even imagine how DeAnne would react to that mess. He grinned in spite of himself. But the real clincher was the fact they’d need to light a fire to cook it. That would be a dead giveaway to the enemy. Not a bright
idea.
Good thing he liked fruit. He hoped DeAnne did, too.
Or maybe there was a root cellar around.
It was completely dark by now. But there was a sliver of moon up, giving off just enough light to see the dim outlines of his surroundings. He scanned the orchards and the farm and the hills behind it. Bingo.
He made his way carefully through the groves to a wooden door built into the hillside. The underground cellar where the farmer’s food stores were kept, if he wasn’t mistaken. Kip assumed there wasn’t much crime in these parts because it wasn’t locked.
Inside, it was cool and dark, and smelled of damp earth and ripe vegetables. He risked turning on his pocket flashlight, and found stacked woven baskets of apples and carrots, potatoes and radishes, and several vegetables he couldn’t identify. Bags of rice, beans, and peas were lined up in an orderly row. There were even a few hanging slabs of dried meat. He helped himself to a few of the things that wouldn’t need cooking, and sliced off a small portion of the dried meat, filling the roomy pockets of his peasant jacket with enough for tonight and for breakfast in the morning.
After leaving the farmer a generous payment, he cracked open the cellar door and peeked out.
He was greeted by two glowing amber eyes and a deep, throaty growl.
12
Ah, hell.
The dog was big and brown with black spots on its rump and ragged ears. With long, nasty teeth. Every one of which was bared at him.
“Nice doggie,” Kip muttered.
He liked dogs. He did. Usually. He’d had to deal with many of them over his years of boots-on-ground. Farm dogs could be a bit on the territorial side.
He swiped a hand over his mouth. Bribes sometimes worked.
He dug the slices of meat out of his pocket and tossed one to the growling beast.
It totally ignored the treat.
Figured.
It growled again.
He ducked back into the cellar and shone his flashlight around, grabbing a coil of rope lying on the floor. He tied several large knots in one end, then stretched it taut between his hands, wrapping the other end around his palm, and snapped it a couple of times for good measure. Returning to the door, he opened it wide, took aim at the growling dog, and tossed the rope’s knotted end to it.