Without a Trace

by Velvet Vaughn

  “What are you doing here, Wyatt?” She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead and let her fingers trail against his cheek. “The last thing I want is for you to be hurt again. It makes me physically ache to see you in pain.”

  His long blond lashes fanned against his cheeks. He’d lost weight since he’d been hurt. He hadn’t been able to work out and his appetite had been non-existent. She knew he’d bulk up again once he recovered.

  A sudden thought struck. What if Wyatt hadn’t gotten on a plane voluntarily? What if he had been taken from the compound and brought here? But for what purpose? Or had her captors contacted him for a ransom, and he decided to come save her himself? It sounded like something he’d do. If so, she hoped he’d brought reinforcements with him. They’d need them to escape this hellhole.

  She hadn’t seen the two men who drug him inside before, so there was no telling how many people stood between them and freedom. Too many. She’d put her money on Wyatt every single time, but they were seriously outnumbered.

  She did a quick check for any broken bones, relieved to find none. His knees were scraped and bleeding from being dragged like a sack of flour through the jungle. It would’ve been worse without the reinforced knees on his pants. Blood coated her fingers when she sifted her fingers through his silky blond hair and gently probed a knot the size of a golf ball. Another head injury so close to the last one was a worry. She needed him to wake up so she could ascertain the extent of his injuries. Her fingers traced down his rugged face, trailing near his lips that had curved into a smile when she touched him. She wanted to linger, soak up his masculine features, but there was no time for that now.

  “Wake up, Wyatt.” Pulling her hand back, her palm connected with his cheek, the sound echoing in the small space.

  #

  Wyatt floated in a state that seemed scarily familiar. Not quite sleep. Not quite awake. As he inched towards consciousness, he felt a soothing touch on his face that also seemed familiar. And a voice that alternated between soft and warm to hard and demanding. He knew that voice!

  He ordered his lids to open, but they ignored him. Was he dreaming Amelia was watching over him? She had been after the explosion and attack on the compound. His personal Florence Nightingale tending to his wounds. He smiled.

  “Wake up, Wyatt.”

  It was the smack on the cheek that finally forced his eyes open with a curse. “Ow. The hell?” He rubbed the sting and blinked. “Flo?” Air rushed from his lungs and he closed his eyes in relief. It wasn’t a dream. She was here. “I’m so damn stoked to see you, darlin’.”

  “No, I’m not Flo.” Her voice was annoyed. “It’s Amelia. Amelia Howell.”

  He smiled and opened his eyes, his hand lifting to her face. “I know, love, I meant Flo as in Florence Nightingale. And yes, I know she was a nurse and not a doctor, but you’ll have to forgive me. My head’s a bit fuzzy.”

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he reached out and tugged her down on top of him, eliciting a startled gasp from her. He wrapped his arms around her and anchored her against him. Damn, she felt good. His head pounded like a jackhammer, his recently healed injuries protested, and some new ones made themselves known, especially his knees that felt like they’d gone a round with a cheese slicer, but he ignored them all. Amelia was alive and she was safe and she was in his arms.

  “Wyatt, let me up. You’re injured.”

  “Don’t care,” he murmured, stroking his hand down her back. His body didn’t care either, and he had no doubt she could feel the reaction of having her intimately plastered against him. Once his head cleared, he’d probably be embarrassed he’d practically attacked her but right now, all was right in his world. He let out a groan when she shifted against him, aligning their bodies perfectly. Oh damn, Heaven couldn’t feel this good.

  It could’ve been minutes or hours later when she lifted her head from his chest to gaze into his eyes.

  “How did you…what are you…when did you…” She stopped and shook her head. “First of all, are you okay?”

  “Right as rain.” It was a teeny fib. His head thrashed like a five-year-old tinkering with his first drum set, small arms flaying about all willy-nilly.

  “What are you doing in Santigo, Wyatt?”

  “Can’t recall at the moment. I’m thinking it had something to do with you.”

  She inhaled sharply. “Is it Maggie? Is she okay? Who is it? What’s happened.”

  He closed his eyes again. “Everyone’s fine. It was me.” They popped open when she lurched out of his arms.

  “Oh, no.” Her hands roamed his body and he bit back a moan. He loved when she touched him. “Where does it hurt?”

  He almost made a cheap joke about the part of his body that was aching, but he managed to control himself. He wasn’t a snarky teenager, for Pete’s sake. Still, if she kept stroking him, she’d find out. He grabbed her hands to still them.

  “I’m fine, Amelia. Truly. Where are we, anyway? How did I get here?”

  “We’re in some kind of cell, I’m not sure where. There are no windows, so I don’t know if it’s night or day. Two men brought you here—actually, they dragged you here. That’s all I know, and you didn’t answer my question. If you’re not hurt, why are you here, Wyatt? In Santigo?”

  This wasn’t how he planned on having this conversation. In his head, the setting was romantic, maybe a babbling brook or a roaring campfire. Not the rock-hard ground in a prison somewhere underground. He sighed. “I wanted to see you. I…missed you.”

  He inwardly winced. Could he sound more pathetic? His coworkers would rag the hell out of him if they heard him just now. Sheesh. He might as well whip out a pen, slap on a beret and start waxing poetic or something. Still, he wanted her to know how he felt about her.

  “I’ve only been gone a few days.”

  “I know.” He watched her closely to gauge her reaction.

  She closed her eyes. “I missed you, too,” she whispered.

  Hope took flight in his heart. Was it possible she felt the same way about him? She was all he thought about, dreamed about. Even when she was riding him to rehabilitate his injuries, she dominated his mind.

  He opened his mouth to tell her, but the sound of footsteps had her scrambling out of his arms. In her haste, her bony knee connected with a part of his anatomy that had been very happy to have her pressed intimately against him. He jackknifed up, grabbing his crotch with a moan as his eyes crossed.

  “Sorry,” she whispered, shoving at his shoulders until he fell backwards. “Pretend you’re unconscious. Maybe we can use it to our advantage.”

  With the torturous pain he was feeling, he might not have to fake it. He curled to his side, burying his face against the ground to mute the whimpers. Despite the agony shooting through his pelvic region, he cracked an eye to see a man approach with a tray. He barked at Amelia in Spanish to get back.

  “This man is hurt,” she told him. “I’m a doctor. Can you get my medical bag so I can treat him, please?”

  “No. Wake him up so I can get his name.”

  “Why do you need his name?”

  “None of your business. Wake him up.”

  “I can’t. I tried but he’s really hurt.”

  The man grunted. “I’ll be back later. He’d better be awake.”

  The door slammed shut and he twisted the key in the lock before stalking away.

  “Oh, thank goodness.” Amelia dropped down beside him with an armful of loot. “They gave us an extra bottle of water.” She uncapped one and held it out to him. He looked from the bottle to her. “No?” With a shrug of her shoulder, she tipped it back to drink. He stared transfixed at the long, elegant column of her neck as she emptied half the container. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she recapped it and held out a banana. Did she really think he could eat right now? It was all he could do not to chunder.

  “You really should drink water, Wyatt. It’s too easy to get dehydrated. Since it’s
bottled, we don’t have to worry about nasty parasites wracking havoc on our digestive systems.”

  No, he only had to worry about stunning flaxen haired doctors wielding knife-like kneecaps.

  She finally noticed his distress. “I’m really sorry. Does it still hurt?”

  “No, these manly whimpers are just for show.”

  She tapped his shoulder. “Roll to your back so I can assess the damage.”

  He gaped at her. “Are you kidding me right now?” Having her “examine” his injury would do more harm than good. His body would predictably react to having her touch him and since it was currently broken, it would be like a car trying to start with an almost-dead battery.

  She pursed her lips. “Wyatt, I’m a physician. It’s my job to assess injuries like this.”

  He narrowed his eyes. “You assess other men’s junk?”

  Her hands fisted on her hips. “Of course, I do.”

  He didn’t like the thought of her hands on another man’s joystick. Call him a caveman. He couldn’t help it. Hell, they weren’t even dating. He had no say over who she touched, when she touched them or why. But that didn’t stop the rush of possessiveness that flooded him and had him grabbing her and pulling her to him again, aches be damned.

  “I don’t want you touching another man,” he growled.

  Her eyes were wide. “It’s my job.”

  “Don’t care.”

  Then he did what he’d been dreaming of for weeks, months, years. He slammed his mouth on hers.

  #

  Amelia had no idea what had come over Wyatt, but she was beyond caring. His lips were fused against hers and he was kissing the breath out of her.

  She’d dreamed of this moment forever, but reality was so much better than she imagined. His lips were firm yet soft, demanding yet supple. She knew if she ever kissed him, it would be life changing. It was.

  He rolled them until she was on her back and he was on top, never breaking contact. When their bodies aligned perfectly, they both groaned. She’d been worried she might’ve done serious damage when she inadvertently kneed him earlier, but judging from the impressive bulge pressed against her, he was back in working order.

  As much as she wanted to continue—and she so did—she twisted her head to the side to break contact. “We can’t do this now, Wyatt,” she panted. “They could come back at any moment.”

  It would be disastrous for the guards to catch them. They might think they could have a go at her, too, and that was not an option.

  He heaved a sigh and rolled off her, tossing an arm over his eyes. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I got carried away.”

  She placed a hand on the slab of rock he called a chest and almost forgot why she stopped. “I want you to know that I didn’t want to stop, but we need to figure out a way to escape.”

  “You’re right and I apologize. It’s just that I lose my ever-loving mind when I’m around you and forget everything else.”

  She blinked. “You do?”

  He sat up and reached out a hand to stroke her face. “Oh, yeah.”

  “How…” She swallowed, hoping to calm her racing heart. “How long has this been happening?”

  “Are you asking me as a doctor or a woman?”

  “Either. Both. Does it matter?”

  “It does. If you’re asking as a doctor, I might be tempted to lie so you don’t try to psychoanalyze my head.”

  “I’m not a shrink,” she argued.

  “If you’re asking as a woman,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “I’d tell you the truth and say it’s been happening for a while.”

  “How long is a while?” she asked for clarification. “Days? Weeks?”

  “Years.”

  She sputtered. “You’ve felt this way for years?”

  “Oh yeah. Since the first moment I laid eyes on you.”

  Amelia’s head spun. He’d had feelings for her for years? She’d had feelings for him for years, too. Why hadn’t one of them said something sooner? Now they were locked in a prison somewhere in the rainforest of a small South American country. They might never get out. There was a very real possibility they could die here.

  So much time wasted and now it might be too late.

  #

  Maggie McQueen jogged in place, ready to take her turn putting Wyatt Hollister through the physical therapy program Amelia, Maggie’s former college roommate, set for him. She was in one of the rooms inside the gym that was used for various classes. She’d already drug mats from the storage room for the first part of the program, which focused on stretching. She checked her watch. Wyatt was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. It wasn’t like him to be late.

  Maybe he decided to warm up on the bikes first. She headed out to the exercise equipment, scanning the overhead track for any sign of the big Aussie. She spotted Kayla on a treadmill and headed over. When Kayla saw her approach, she removed her earbuds and cranked down the speed.

  “So, you get the unenviable task of taming the big, bad bear today, huh? Well, good luck. He’s a handful and I’m pretty sure he hates me now.”

  Maggie chuckled. “He’ll hate me, too, after today. Was he on time for your session?”

  “Well, yeah, but that’s because I ambushed him at his apartment. I didn’t give him a choice. Still, he’s usually early for appointments.”

  Maggie frowned, glancing around the space. “Unless he slipped in the room in the last few minutes, he’s not here.”

  Kayla shut off the treadmill and stepped down. “Maybe I scarred him for life.”

  They shared a laugh. Kayla wiped her face and took a drink from her water bottle. “Let’s see if he snuck inside.”

  They headed back to the room, only to find it empty. “Maybe he overslept.”

  Grant Colton walked by and nodded. “Morning, ladies.”

  “Grant,” Maggie called out. He backtracked and stuck his head inside, his brows raised in question. “Have you seen Wyatt this morning.”

  “Wyatt? He’s gone.”

  Maggie glanced at Kayla to find the same confused look that she was sure was on her face, and then back at Grant. “What do you mean by gone?”

  “I mean he left the compound.”

  “For how long?”

  Grant hitched a shoulder. “Don’t know. He said he was taking a few days to visit a friend.”

  “And he didn’t tell us?” Kayla barked.

  Grant’s lips twitched. “Was he supposed to run it by you first?”

  “Yes,” she and Kayla emphasized at the same time.

  “Amelia left strict instructions that he wasn’t allowed to do anything strenuous until she returned,” Maggie explained. “Kayla and I were tasked with keeping up with his physical therapy. Kayla took the first session. I was on for today.” She slammed her hands on her hips. “It’s extremely rude that he fled without telling us.”

  Grant held up his hands. “Hey, I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Sorry we didn’t mean to take our frustrations out on you,” Kayla apologized. “We’re just irked that he didn’t have the decency to let us know.”

  “He can’t be bothered to tell us what he’s doing so guess what? I’m tattling on him,” Maggie smiled. “I’ll sick Dr. Amelia on him.”

  “He won’t know what hit him,” Grant agreed.

  Chapter Eight

  The sound of footsteps cut the conversation short and had them scrambling to lean their backs against the wall. Wyatt glanced around the small space. He’d been out cold when he’d been dumped here, so he had no idea what the layout of the prison looked like or if they were being held underground. It’d been the afternoon when he arrived, but he had no way to know how long ago. He glanced at his wrist, his heart dropping to his feet when he realized his watch was gone. He’d have been able to alert his coworkers to the situation by pressing the agent in distress button. That option was gone. It worked with his fingerprint, so even if the captors inadvertently pressed it, it wouldn’t sou
nd the alarm. Without his body heat signature, it’d go dead and become useless. He checked his pockets. They’d taken his cell and his Sig, too. Damn, that was his favorite gun.

  Two men appeared dragging a man along the ground. Wyatt shot a look at the stains on his own knees. They must’ve dragged him, too. That would explain the stinging sensation. This man had clearly been beaten soundly. His clothes were ripped and covered with dirt and blood. A canvas bag was secured over his head. Judging from the limpness of his body, he was unconscious. The trio disappeared from sight. Metal bars creaked open close by, followed by a thump and then the sound of the bars slamming shut.

  “What kind of operation is this? Why do you think they took us?” Amelia whispered as they watched the two men walk past their cell.

  He didn’t want to alarm her, but he’d heard of gangs cropping up in Santigo who kidnapped foreigners and held them for ransom, much like Somali pirates off the African horn. Most governments didn’t negotiate with terrorists, but terrified family members usually did. Even a small payoff would go a long way in a struggling country.

  When Amelia told him that Doctors International stationed her in Santigo, Wyatt’s stomach dropped to his feet. He picked up his cell, intending to order her to forget her mission and return home before realizing he couldn’t do that for several reasons. One, it was too high-handed and barbaric. Two, he had no input into Amelia’s life, much as he might want it. And three, she’d flay his skin off with a scalpel. Amelia was strong and self-sufficient. She didn’t need a man to tell her what to do or how to live her life. So he had to bite his tongue, curb his protective instincts and wish her well on her journey. He conveniently ignored the part where he climbed in a plane and flew hundreds of miles to see her after she’d been in the country less than two days.

  A man with a gun approached and unlocked their door. Wyatt had been lost in thought and completely missed hearing him approach. That was unacceptable. He scrambled to his feet and shoved Amelia behind him, shielding her from view. His teeth ground together. The damn wanker was wearing his hat. And it was Wyatt’s favorite Sig pointed at them right now.