The SEAL's Promise (Safehouse Security) Page 5
"Yeah. Guess you could say that." He shifted again and ran his hand across his face.
"What did you do overseas?" she asked.
"Strategic and operational targets."
Hmm. "That's a little vague, which is predictable, too, I suppose."
"Oh yeah?" His eyes flashed to hers. He cocked his head, smirking. "I've been predictable?"
The flash memory of his hug froze her in place like a deer in headlights. She had no idea how to respond, so she changed subjects with the smoothness of sandpaper. "Who do you work for now?"
He gave a hushed chuckle. "What's it to you?"
"You're so testy." She mocked him. Childish, yes. She knew better but couldn't help it.
He cracked the knuckles. Tessa closed her eyes, sucked in a breath, and sent off a prayer for strength. No fortifying breath helped right now. She needed a brick wall in between them.
"Safehouse Security," he said. "I work for a tactical operations firm named Safehouse Security. We're just a bunch of ex-military and former agents, taking on the world." He chuckled. "Normally, I wear a cape, but it was at the dry cleaners today."
Did he just make a joke? She loved that. "How about one of those spandex bodysuits?"
"You could always dream."
A quiet giggle escaped her lips. A very nice dream. "I thought you were more like GI Joe, but now that I know about the cape, you sound more like Superman. You fly from one job to the next when there's a light in the sky or the cops aren't around?"
He didn't look amused at her comparison. Guess the jokes are over.
"We work with clients when the normal channels of business can't get the job done. Or, when they won't even consider it."
"How noble of you." She smiled. "And decidedly more GI Joe."
He smirked. "You think you're cute, don't you?"
"Maybe." She could flirt a little with him and learn something. "So this bunch of guys you work with, I assume you're all deadly, virulent, and…antagonistic?"
"Nah, I prefer effective."
"And do they all rescue women and hold them at the end of the day, too, or is that just you?" Her heart thumped in her chest, threatening to jump into her throat. Where did all this boldness come from?
McKay swallowed hard enough she saw his throat bob. The adrenaline was gone. All reactions should have long since fired and ceased. They should have, but she still wanted to be close to him again.
Tessa turned and leaned toward him, inches away from the side of his face. The truck smelled like man and guns. His raspy cheeks beckoned, begging her to stroke the pinpricks of stubble, but she stayed away.
"Nothing to say, McKay?"
Heat emanated between the scant space separating their bodies. Their gazes clashed. Her throat constricted, and the heavy beat of her heart pounded. Seconds passed, loaded with anticipation.
"We need gas." He tore his gaze from hers and eyed a tall gas station sign illuminating the night ahead.
What had she been doing? She needed to say something. "Where are we headed?"
"Virginia."
"Virginia? We're driving home? That's like another twelve hours," she said an octave higher than normal, giving an incredulous glare. She scooted to her side of the vehicle in two side pushes.
"Don't like it? Find another ride." He stopped the truck at the pump and jumped out without looking back. The harsh slam of the door echoed in her ears.
What just happened?
That was cold. He set the gas pump up and ambled into the store. No way was he off the hook after that. He would have to explain why they were booking it cross-country instead of hopping a flight home. Tessa jumped out and followed behind him.
He had his phone to his ear, Twizzlers boxes in hand, and now, he ignored her. Tessa went to the drinks cooler and watched him. He had to be talking about her. She puttered around the beverage coolers, trying to listen, picking up a handful of words. Won't be home. Work. I love you.
Her hand flew to her mouth. Oh my Goodness! He's married? Or, he has a girlfriend?
She grabbed a soda and met him in the snack aisle. He stood awkward, pressing his phone against his ear. Tessa grabbed a bag of pretzels in a big show and slammed both drink and snack into his stomach. The same rock-hard stomach she noticed when he pressed against her.
"I need these." And in a flash of fury, she stormed back out to the truck.
The heck with Drake McKay.
The humid evening air clung to her. The smell of the gasoline radiated from the dirty concrete. The parking lot was empty, the pumps vacant other than McKay's truck. The distant chug, chug, chug of his pickup still filling up was the only sound she heard. No birds singing nighttime songs. No crickets calling out.
Once a safe distance from him, she turned. His steely eyes followed her. He put the phone into his pocket in a slow, deliberate move, and stood there.
He seemed skyscraper tall, just as broad in the chest, and his pants were as well-worn as he seemed dangerous. A sigh escaped from her lips without permission. His T-shirt clung against his waist, somehow hiding the gun she knew was tucked into the back of his jeans. How did someone so menacing come off as attractive? She shook her head. No, there would be none of that.
She didn't become a psychologist only to analyze other people's problems. She could do a serious analysis of herself and knew exactly why he was attractive. It was a simple reaction to her tumultuous day. Any other day, he would just be a jagged-around-the-edges man that she would pass by. One, she might even cross the street to avoid.
She needed sleep, a couple of meals packed with carbs and calorie-dense desserts, and then a lazy soak in her oversized bathtub. She didn't need him, no matter what her body swore. After serious pampering, the chemical reaction that was her attraction to him would be an afterthought.
She looked at him again. His dark expression was analytical. No, he didn't study her, but rather, the area around her, surveying her surroundings. A feeble gas station sign illuminated the dark night. No moon or stars. A flashing neon sign in the store window advertised the lotto and smokes. Bursts of brilliant color decorated the greasy lot.
Surveying was still all wrong. He wasn't surveying. Anticipating, perhaps. He walked toward the cashier without moving his steel hard gaze from her direction.
The unnerving glare sent butterflies swarming in her stomach. As if he knew what evil lurked in the shadows. He grabbed the bag from the store clerk, then his long legs carried him back toward her. He was hurried. Distressed. His face turned darker, to something intent on destruction.
A large hand slapped her mouth, shoving a rancid rag into it, burning her swollen lips. Coarse fabric abraded her tongue. It tasted foul and smelled like the gas station—gasoline, perspiration, and stale tobacco smoke. Bile rose at the back of her throat. The urge to gag pushed until her stomach convulsed. Her head was thick and groggy, her arms and legs weighted. The dim parking lot lights blurred and swirled like a Ferris wheel as she fell into a stranger's arms.
She wanted to turn and pull away, but she couldn't fight. Her limbs were glued to her side as if she'd drowned in cold molasses. She was suffocating and couldn't reach for McKay. He was miles away as her vision skewed sideways, blurring buildings and pumps, now with dim colors. Bright yellows and greens turned soupy orange and tan. The dark and inky sky mixed, and she didn't know which way was up or which way was down.
The arms around her compressed her lungs, moving her against her will. Tessa's feet dragged on the ground, and she couldn't lift them. One shoe slipped off, and her heel scratched over the greasy pavement. Pain blossomed at her heel and ankle, radiating up her paralyzed legs.
Her attacker struggled, wheezing and stumbling. It had been easy enough for McKay to throw her over his shoulder. But now, with these rawboned arms wrapped tight around her chest, he dug into her armpits. Maybe there was still a chance McKay could get to her.
Help. Please, McKay. The thoughts were slow and hazy. Her eyelids became too heavy to hold op
en. The humid night air suffocated her. There were loud noises in the background, but nothing distinguishable. And it all faded to black.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Something felt wrong when he entered the store. His honed instincts flared. He knew it, feeling the tingle of expectation, and he was right. The clerk eyed him with more than a hint of curiosity. A hesitation. McKay always caused a little apprehension, but there was more to it. An alarmed awareness. He failed to act on his gut feeling—that intuition of danger ahead and to get in gear. He was off his game.
Few routes existed from Lexington to Northern Virginia. He chose Interstate 64 East. Safe, fast, and apparently predictable. It took them through the middle of nowhere into the Appalachian Mountains before returning to the buzz of DC's outskirts.
He pulled out his cell after returning the Glock to its holster. Two bars of service. Not bad.
The phone rang once before Joseph picked up.
"What's your problem now? Let me guess. The lady landed one of her kicks." Joseph laughed.
"Please. We had a snatch and grab. I have the cipher but lost the lady. They're on foot. I'm headed after them."
"Jesus, McKay. She wouldn't be your responsibility if you'd left her in the first place."
"But I didn't, and she is." His chest ached as he tried to keep his patience. Now wasn't the time to blow his stack.
"Fix this. I better not hear about Safehouse in some local news report."
"Just reporting in, boss man. I'll go radio silent if you want."
"What I want is to know how this happened."
The storefront windows were shattered. Fragments of glass still hung in the windowpanes but most of it glittered on the sidewalk in front of the store. A small fire skimmed across the gasoline-soaked parking lot. At least the sparks hadn't ignited any pumps. A burglar alarm screeched, and flashing lights spun in bright distress. There wasn't another store for miles, and traffic was minimal. The lights and siren served to alert no one.
"I'm in the middle of nowhere. They anticipated our route, maybe canvassed the stops along the way, and I'm convinced the clerk called them. I don't know. Maybe they pulled the bounty hunter routine. Offered big cash." Bet the clerk regretted that phone call now. "I got a few shots off and took cover from return fire. And I thought you'd want to know what was happening. That cipher, this job, it's hot."
"Talon's running the scanners. We've got nothing. It doesn't look like that alarm is tied to a monitoring system. No 911 call out. And best we can tell, those security cameras are for show. We cut the phone lines. You have a quick minute to find your girl."
"10-4." McKay blew out and ended the call. Simple cipher extraction, my butt.
Seconds ticked by as he planned his next move. The clerk lay curled in a ball on the floor, hands overhead, whimpering near the soda cooler. He didn't move, didn't speak. At least that wasn't a headache he needed to worry about. McKay crunched over the shards of glass and maneuvered back outside to an offensive position.
He crouched behind a thick telephone pole, weapon in hand. There had to be two additional men in the wooded area behind the gas station. It was the only way to explain how the third man had enough cover to drag Tessa's limp body into the woods.
As if he asked for their locations, they fired at him. Amateurs, giving away their position. That was unexpected after the pros at the airport.
McKay peered from behind the pole and squinted toward the woods, narrowing his target zone. Triangulating. He couldn't see the men, but he could predict beginner mistakes. Two more shots pinged out. One sparked off a nearby dumpster. The other one splintered a piece off a telephone pole.
It was precisely what he needed. Those greenhorn gunslingers should've stayed home.
He fired. His shots were accurate, but were they lethal? Both shooters were down, he was sure, but he needed confirmation. He waited. One, one thousand. Two, one thousand. He wanted to wait until a ten count, but he got to nine and about gave up. Giving them a chance to move was torture. He shook his head, forcing himself to focus. He'd be no help if he needed a toe tag. Every second, each passing heartbeat was too long to wait.
No sounds disturbed the night other than the now hysterical store clerk and the rhythmic screech of the alarm system. McKay ducked from his safe position and ran to the dumpster. No one shot at him. He crouched to reload from a clip at his belt, then moved toward the tree line, heading down the same path as Tessa.
Her kidnapper wasn't trying to hide his trail. Thirty yards to the left, McKay saw a downed man. He might have been shooting blind into the woods without a target to set his sights on, but he seemed to have a laser-pointed sense on where to take these guys down. He continued to follow the trampled brush. Tessa's second shoe was in the leaves. Anger rolled through him.
Someone stepped on a branch. Seconds passed. Not even the blaring alarm sounded now. The clerk must have disarmed the system. It would be only a few minutes until police arrived at the gas station, assuming the clerk got his head together and called 911 from a cell phone.
Another cracking sound. McKay's body jerked toward the sound and launched into motion. The kidnapper shuffled, panting hard, struggling to move with his load. This didn't make any sense. It was amateur hour. All of the noise from the man acted as a homing beacon. What happened to the professional level of the earlier team? The man sweated whiskey and tobacco. Even if he weren't making all that noise, McKay could smell him.
I'm coming, honey. Don't you worry. I'm gonna take care of this guy for you.
Silent as a breeze, he closed the gap. McKay pressed through the thick Kentucky backwoods, zeroing in on his target. Her perpetrator panted harder now. Cigarette smoke and cheap booze poured from his sweat. The man circled the same few feet, unsure what direction to commit to. He seemed disoriented, unsure of the path to his getaway vehicle. The woods were blindingly thick. It would be easy for a novice to lose focus.
Tessa gasped. She sucked air like a woman determined to come around.
He saw movement through the trees, less than forty feet away. Target acquired. The man struggled. He was overweight and panic-stricken, glancing in every direction, knowing he was the hunted.
One stealthy step after the next, McKay drew closer. He would sidle up behind the man and snap his neck. He was the Grim Reaper right now and had never been happier to own the role.
Ten feet. He crossed a downed tree. The man stalled. Tessa stirred again, registering a croaky cry. It hit McKay in the gut, blazing fury in his blood.
Five feet. The man had no idea just how close he was to dying.
Tessa roared. Her palm flew straight up, connecting with her captor's nose. McKay heard a clear crack of a nose breaking. A smile crossed his face. That's my girl.
Her attacker released her to cover his nose. She let loose a kick that rang true to the man's nuts, doubling him over. He let go and covered his crotch. Gravity did its job, and she hit the ground, flailing, but then righted herself.
Yes! No doubt. That's my girl.
Not that he needed the distraction, but McKay took full advantage of it. He choked the man until he passed out and let go. His only concern was gathering Tessa against his chest. He tried to calm her, brushing off the leaves and sticks clinging to her. She thrashed wild. Each limb fought for freedom.
"Let me go." Her speech was slurred, but it didn't keep her from shouting.
With one arm around her torso, he attempted to put a hand on her cheek and direct her gaze to him. To assure her that she was safe again. She bit down hard on his finger.
"Ouch!" He didn't let go of her waist, but her struggle lessened a degree as she recognized him, trying to piece it together.
"What?" Her confusion was evident in her unfocused eyes.
"Calm down, Tessa. It's me. Drake." He hushed her, whispering in her ear and trying to counteract her reaction to whatever drug had knocked her out. His lips danced across her temple. Her silken skin was like heaven. "You were drugged, but you're okay."
She hung limp in his arms. Her hard breathing regulated, and her shaking slowed to a gentle shiver. "I thought you liked to be called McKay."
He laughed. The comment was absurd. Her mind didn't work like other victims, and it fascinated him.
He placed her on bare feet, holding her shoulders to keep her upright. As he murmured to her, he smoothed a stray strand of hair. They had to get a move on. But he needed one more minute to confirm she was alright. That she was his. "You're a funny girl, you know that? Are you okay?"
"That's a ridiculous question." She scowled at him, trying to get her balance. Her arms counteracted her sway, outstretched and wavering. Her words slurred, but she didn't try to dust him away like a pestering fly.
McKay laughed again, a smile staying on his cheeks. This is my kind of woman. No messing around and plenty of sass. She impressed him, and it wasn't the first or second time she'd pulled that card.
"Ready to get out of here, doll?"
She nodded, but still, she wobbled, bracing against him. Her palms on his chest, though unsure and drugged, did something to him. He ran his hands over her forearms and dropped to her waist. It was more possessive than steadying.
"Then let's go. I just need to figure out where their car might have been."
She slipped her hands over his and turned to walk. He took one step in the direction of the highway, then dropped his gaze to her bare feet and the underbrush. With a smooth swing, he lifted her into his arms. She didn't fight him and fit perfectly against his chest like the missing piece in a jigsaw puzzle.
She rubbed against his shoulder, bemoaning her lack of strength and judgment. He ignored her words and focused on her nuzzling him. There was no denying how satisfying it was to hold her.
"Why their car? I want our truck."
Her rasp wasn't meant to be seductive. He knew that. It shouldn't have done a thing to turn him on. But it sounded like a morning-after rasp, all scratchy and grated, and it made him twitchy.
What was his problem? Awareness was crucial to their survival. Her survival.