Ruthless Game (10 page)

He ran his fingers along the edges, looking for a way in. It had to be easy. There would be no time for a combination. Jimenez would want fast access. Could it be that easy? A spring-loaded door that fit snugly but was made for a fast exit? The family wouldn’t hide there. They would run. They could barricade the door from inside the panic room. There was no need to do so in the bedroom. Gun in his fist, finger on the trigger, he put his palm flat on the edge of the inside seam and pushed.

The door swung inward soundlessly. He crouched low and scanned the interior. Inching inside, he took stock of the room. It was built with thick walls, and one side housed a case filled with guns of every caliber, ammunition, and grenades. Nothing had been touched. He frowned over that. If the old man had removed his valuables, why hadn’t he taken the weapons? He could see the metal bars, three of them, that fit across the wall from inside this room. An arched doorway led to the escape tunnel.

Kane followed the passageway all the way to the exit point, grateful he had excellent night vision. It was damned dark, but the tunnel had been formed for a quick escape, and the floor was smooth. Markers, painted in white, gave distance so anyone running could clearly see where they were at any given time. Simple but effective. He was beginning to admire the old man. He didn’t waste time and effort on elaborateness.

Kane followed the winding tunnel about a mile and came out on the other side of the sloping hill. He couldn’t even see the house from where he was. Just inside the tunnel, hidden from view, was an army Humvee. He knew the engine would be gleaming. This Hummer was an M1165 with frag armor and bulletproof windows. More, it was outfitted with the latest weaponry, the CROWS system. He sighed. This scenario became worse with every passing moment. How the hell did a man like Jimenez manage to get his hands on that?

He spent some time booby-trapping the exit, just in case the old man had set Rose up in some way. He had no answers for the why of it, but that didn’t matter so much. Keeping her safe was the main mission. He went back to her, satisfied they could spend the night and get some rest.

“I think we’re good, Rose. I found the escape tunnel in the bedroom. I’ll start the generator, and you can take a shower and get some rest.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice almost hoarse. She stood up with a groan and immediately bent over, taking slow, deep breaths and letting each one out carefully.

“Are you hurt? Don’t lie to me, Rose. If you hurt yourself when you jumped from the sedan, you need to admit it, not be ashamed. It was a dumb plan, but we got away.”

She gritted her teeth, breathing through her mouth. When she could speak, she made a strangling sound deep in her throat. “I’m not hurt.”

He glared down at her with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Nothing is wrong with me. This is called having contractions, you big oaf,” Rose snapped back, her glare maybe outdoing his by a shade.

CHAPTER 4

Contractions. Kane’s stomach dropped right out of his body. He stared down at her, his mind going fuzzy. That was one of those words like menstruation, period, or female products
.
The list just wasn’t uttered in male company. Contractions fit right in there. God. This was
not
happening. He forced his brain under control, ignoring the pounding in his head and the roaring in his ears.

He studied Rose’s body carefully. She wasn’t due for another four or five weeks, right? He knew when she got pregnant. When he’d first seen her, she had looked slim, but that had been an illusion. On the other hand, she never looked as—
big
—as she did at that moment.

“What?” Rose demanded, glaring up at him.

The warning signal flashed bright red in Kane’s head. Telling a woman she was as big as a beach ball wouldn’t win any points. How did one describe how she looked? A basketball? Volleyball? He studied her furious little face. Yeah. He was in trouble no matter what he said. Description was out of the question. He needed diplomacy, something that flew out the window when he was near her and she said words like contractions.

He’d jump out of a plane without hesitation in the heart of enemy territory, but damn it all, ask him to kill someone, not deliver babies. She didn’t take her eyes off him, and that expression on her scowling face demanded an answer.

He cast about desperately in his mind and then hit on a way out. He shrugged, trying to look casual as well as impressed. “You managed such a great illusion, looking slim earlier, it was hard to remember it was an illusion.” There. A compliment. He hadn’t stepped into the mud and sunk—yet. She was still looking at him, hands on her hips, waiting for more. He was beginning to sweat. Hell.

“You can’t possibly be ready to have the baby.”

“Which is why I wasn’t already here.” She had a little bite in her voice. “I still had several weeks to bring in supplies. Thank God the birthing kit I put together is here.”

He squeezed his eyes shut tight and let out a groan of his own. Birthing kit. Just add that to the growing list of banned words. Okay. He took a deep breath and let it out. Someone had to take control of the situation, and obviously she was too exhausted to do so. Someone had to man up and set her straight. There was no one else.

“Then stop. Right now. Just stop.”

“Stop?”
she echoed in a near shriek.

“Look, Rose.” He used his most soothing, reasonable tone. “Doing this now would just be illogical. The baby isn’t quite ready, and we’re too far from help. Just think about something else. You’re upset and worried and you need to rest.”

Her mouth opened and closed twice. She looked at him as if he’d grown two heads. “Are you kidding me?” she demanded. “Because this isn’t the time to be joking around.”

She looked as if she was contemplating ripping his belly open with a knife and proving something to him. He took a cautionary step back and held up a hand to placate her. It was clear to him that pregnancy made women insane.

“I’m trying to help you, Rose. These—these ...” Hell. He wasn’t going to use the word
contractions
; that would make it too real. “These pains you’re experiencing, maybe they’re something else. The fall from the car could have caused them.” And that was more than a reasonable assumption.

“They started before the jump from the car.”

His stomach tightened into half a dozen hard knots. “Then why the hell didn’t you get on that helicopter where we could get you medical help?” he demanded, angry all over again. “Damn it, woman, do you have any sense at all?” Now she was making him just as insane as she obviously was.

“Whitney is
not
getting this baby. I don’t know those men you were so willing to send me off with. I have a plan, and it doesn’t include getting on the helicopter. And don’t yell at me. I’m in a delicate condition.”

She looked suspiciously amused now. He wanted to shake her. Instead he took a long-suffering breath and let it out to force himself to be calm and
reasonable
. Reason and logic were the keys to dealing with a woman in her condition. “Is there a possibility that you hurt yourself in the jump? That these pains are something else?”

She shrugged. “I’m hoping they’re Braxton Hicks contractions. Sometimes a woman can have false labor weeks before she goes into labor.”

Relief exploded through him. Of course. He’d just been thrown for a minute. Braxton Hicks sounded like the real thing. “Okay then. That sounds good. Let’s just get you in bed to rest. All this running around can’t be good for you. I can hike back tomorrow to the ravine and find the tracker and ...” He broke off, frowning. “Why are you shaking your head?”

“You are such a chicken.
Bock. Bock. Bock.
”

He refused to allow her very bad chicken impression to ruffle his feathers. He was above petty name-calling. The point was getting her in bed and out of danger. She couldn’t fixate on the pain, and it would just go away. He was certain of it. “Come on, Rose,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

She rolled her eyes. “Keep in mind I killed a man a few hours ago for less. I can make it to the bathroom on my own. Just turn on the generator and get me some hot water—please.”

He turned away from her before he shook some sense into her. He was trying to help her. Didn’t she get that? Kane stalked through the kitchen into the pantry where she had stocked meager supplies. While searching the house he had discovered the generator. He crouched down to study it. It ran on gas. There were four large cylinders feeding it. He started it, shocked at how loud it was. When he closed the door behind him, he realized the room was soundproof. The generator couldn’t be heard outside the room where it was housed.

“You hungry?” he called. He was starving.

“Not really,” she called back.

She sounded so weary and, if he was not mistaken, close to tears. He needed to find a way to connect with her. For all her bravado, she had to be scared. She’d
chosen
him to be her partner, and she was counting on him. She hadn’t tried to run from him. If she’d been serious about shooting him, she would have pulled the trigger without hesitation. She was a GhostWalker, trained practically from birth. She didn’t want him dead. She wanted his help.

He stood in the middle of the pantry, head hanging down, dragging in deep breaths. He had little fear when it came to confronting an enemy. But assisting at a birth—he shook his head. No way. Not when it was Rose. He had to get her to a hospital. If he could get to Mack, his team would come rescue them and bring a doctor.

Lights flickered on in the bedroom, and he heard her moving around. He turned them on in the pantry to inventory their supplies. She’d stocked the place mainly with canned foods, but she’d included protein such as ham and tuna and chicken. She had several shelves of vegetables and a variety of soups. He wasn’t going to starve. He brought out a can of chicken and rice soup and heated it, hoping to tempt her to eat something.

The shower abruptly went off as he poured two bowls and put them on a tray. The tray was intricate, hand-painted, and expensive. He gave her a few minutes to towel off and slide into bed. “Can I come in, Rose?” He didn’t want her to feel threatened in any way, although, if he was being honest with himself, he believed she belonged to him and he had the right to walk into her bedroom. He wanted her to feel the same way.

“I’ m decent.”

He paused in the doorway. She looked small, a porcelain doll with eyes too big for her face. The shape of almonds, they were dark and mysterious, eyes a man could fall into and never find his way out of. She looked exotic, her hair disheveled and still damp, midnight black, cascading around her face, giving her that little pixie look. He could have sworn tears stained her face, but her eyes were clear.

“I brought soup just in case you changed your mind. Are the pains easing up at all?” He manfully kept the hopeful note out of his tone.

“All the activity must have set them off. They seem to be getting farther apart, and they’re shorter in duration. From all the research I’ve done, that means false labor.”

He felt like a man given a reprieve right before a death sentence, but he kept his features expressionless. He wanted her to count on him, and she couldn’t do that if she knew he was petrified of delivering a baby.

“Will you try to eat something?” He walked farther into the room and set the tray on the end table. “It might help.”

She flashed him a smile that told him he didn’t know what he was talking about, but she picked up the bowl of soup and spoon, sank down in the middle of the bed, tailor fashion, her back against the headboard, and regarded him steadily. “So? You found an escape tunnel. I’ve been looking around. Everything of value is gone. I didn’t pay attention to that when he sent me here the first time. I was just so happy to find a safe place to give birth.”

He nodded his head. “That makes sense.” The son of a bitch would have known she was desperate to find a sanctuary for her child. Jimenez had dangled the house like a carrot in front of her.

“What do you think it all means?” She patted the bed beside her in invitation and moved to the far side of the mattress to give him room.

Sitting with her on a bed might not be the best of ideas. He wouldn’t be making any moves on her, not while she was so pregnant she looked like she might explode, but his body didn’t have the same sense his brain did. The moment he saw her or smelled her, every cell in his body went on alert.

“I’m not going to bite,” she said.

He realized he’d hesitated too long. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” Which was partially true.

“It isn’t like we haven’t shared a bed before,” she reminded.

Immediately the image of her writhing beneath him rose up to haunt him. His cock reacted, hard and full and aching, desperate for the feel of her tight, hot sheath surrounding him. Cursing under his breath, he eased his body gingerly onto the bed, trying not to inhale and draw her scent into his lungs.