Thankfully, the mob didn’t notice, pressing forward and through the gaping gates of the compound.
Alarmed at the ease of their entry, Max paused at the gatehouse where both Trejikistani security forces and the Marine Corps Security Guards normally stood watch. One marine, dressed in his khaki shirt and royal-blue pants, lay in a pool of blood, unmoving.
Max’s heart skipped several beats, and he raced for the back
of the huge embassy building. Separate from the embassy, this structure housed the heating and air-conditioning units for the entire compound. From the basement of that utility building another secret passage led into the embassy. Max prayed that Kate, the ambassador and his staff had found the passage and were hiding in the relative safety of the basement until the Trejikistani military restored order among the protestors, or the American forces could arrange a rescue.
While the rest of the mob beat against the solid-steel front doors of the embassy and threw rocks and bricks through the bars covering the lower level windows, Max ducked around to the back, dodging another mob of people trying to go through the back entrance.
One rioter had a bottle filled with liquid and stuffed with a rag he lit with his cigarette lighter. Max’s body stiffened. If the embassy caught fire, those left inside wouldn’t stand a chance. If they didn’t die from the fire itself, they wouldn’t escape smoke inhalation. And as crazed as the mob was, embassy personnel wouldn’t last long outside.
Fear for Kate and the other staff members sped Max’s steps. He rounded the back of the utility building and edged through a bush, conveniently placed to hide a back entrance.
He wedged the tire iron between the door and the frame and forced the lock to give. It took several attempts before the frame bent, the lock gave, and the door opened outward.
Max rushed down the stairwell to the basement level.
When he hit the last step, the barrels of two M27 Infantry Automatic Rifles slammed into his chest.
Max’s hands shot up and he whipped his hat off his head. “It’s me, Captain Maxwell O’Brien, Army Special Forces.”
The marine poked him in the chest again. “Why the fuck are you wearing that shirt?”
“I was out jogging and got caught up in the crowd. I had to blend in.” Max dropped his hands and pushed past the marines. “Where’s the ambassador and his daughter?”
“We haven’t seen either one since Seward told us to get the staff to the safe house.”
At that moment, two marines emerged from behind a large air-conditioning unit, the ambassador’s arms draped over their shoulders.
“My daughter.” Seward raised his head and coughed, his eyes red, his face blackened. “You have to get her out.”
“Where is she?” Max helped the ambassador to the floor.
The ambassador shook his head. “She said she had to go back to get something important.”
One of the marines stepped forward. “She took off before we could catch her and ran back toward her quarters.”
“The hallways are filling with smoke,” a third marine came out of the hidden passage, his face black with soot. “I didn’t see Miss Seward. Hell, I could barely see my hand in front of my face. It’s suicide to go back.”
“We have to try.” The marines handed off Ambassador Seward and turned to go back.
“I’m going. I know where she might be.” Max pushed past them, ripped his T-shirt off and tied it around his face.
One of the marines who’d challenged him at the entrance grabbed his arm. “You might need these.” He shoved his flashlight into Max’s hand and a M9 pistol. “Semper fi.”
Two marines followed, tugging their shirts up over their noses.
Max raced through the passage, the smoke having barely found its way to the lower levels of the hidden escape route. When he came to the passage the ambassador and the marines would have taken, he turned left instead of right.
“That’s not the way,” a marine called after him.
“Trust me.” The corridor he’d chosen ended in a storage room stacked with large crates. “Help me.” Max leaned his weight into a large wooden crate at the far side of the room.
The marines put their shoulders to it and the crate shifted three feet, exposing a concrete wall with a metal panel in the middle. Max dug his fingers into the side of the panel and pulled it open. He didn’t hesitate, ducking into the long narrow hallway with stairs at the end. Not until he climbed the steps leading up to the second floor where the Ambassador’s quarters were did the smoke begin to bother him.
Once in familiar territory, he didn’t slow, racing past the door panel at the Ambassador’s room to the one beyond it.
“Check that entrance and the next one past here,” he shouted over his shoulder at the marines. “She might be hiding in there.” Max flung open the small door inside Kate’s closet. Smoke filtered through the closed closet door on the other side. Electricity to the building had been cut off and no light filtered through from the room beyond.
Max pushed through to the bedroom. The smoke hit him like a wall and he dropped to a crouch, his eyes stinging, his throat tightening. He fought to keep from coughing and alerting the aggressors to his presence. “Kate,” he said loud enough so she could hear if she was still in the room.
Pounding footsteps sounded in the hallway followed by shouts in Arabic warning the marauders to get out before they were consumed in flames. Max shut off his flashlight.
As the footsteps retreated, Max hit the on switch and swept the beam around the room. The bed they’d shared earlier was empty, the sheets still disturbed. He checked beneath the bed. Nothing. “Kate.”
The bedroom door burst open and a man wearing a T-shirt
around his head brandished an AK47 rifle and a flashlight.
Too late to turn off his own light and hide, Max rolled to the side and brought his pistol up as the terrorist aimed his AK47.
Max pulled the trigger.
His attacker’s shot flew wide, and he slammed back against the wall of the bedroom, sliding down, eyes wide and vacant.
With the smoke thickening and no indication from the other marines that they’d found Kate, Max retreated to the closet, sure the shots fired would alert other rioters. He closed the closet doors behind him and whispered, “Kate, I hope the hell you got out.”
“Max?” A soft voice sounded from deep in the shadows.
Max turned his flashlight toward what looked like a pile of clothing on the floor.
The clothing moved and Kate’s dark head surfaced. “Oh, Max. I knew you’d come.”
“Why the hell didn’t you get out with the others?” He bent and scooped her into his arms.
“The power went out and I couldn’t see.”
He didn’t waste his breath on more words. Instead, he picked her up and shoved her through the small doorway into the hidden hallway. Once on the other side, he closed the panel to limit the amount of smoke filtering into their escape route. The other marines emerged from their doorways.
“Got her.” Max kept his voice low to avoid detection. “Can you walk?”
She held a scarf to her mouth and coughed into it before answering. “Yes.”
He grabbed her hand and led her down the stairs and through the maze to escape into the utility building.
Kate ran to her father and flung her arms around him. “Oh, Daddy, you made it.”
“Why did you go back? You scared years off my life.” He patted her back, the lines in his face more pronounced.
“I had to,” she said. “I’d left it on the counter.”
“Nothing is as important as your life,” her father said.
She smiled at him and held out her left hand. “I left my engagement ring on the bathroom counter. I had to go back and get it.”
Max shook his head. “Damned female thinking. I’d have gotten you another.”
“But I love this one.” She stood, her face smudged in soot, her hair in wild disarray and tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Is there something you two haven’t told me?” Ambassador Seward pushed to his feet. A marine steadied him.
“Sir,” Max stood at attention. “I’d intended to perform the formalities this evening at dinner.”
“But things have changed.” The ambassador waved his hand. “Get on with it.”
All the staff and the uniformed soldiers and marines focused on Max.
He swallowed hard. “I would like your permission to marry your daughter.”
The ambassador’s eyes narrowed, and he seemed to consider it for a moment. Then he turned to his daughter. “And what do you have to say about this?”
“Daddy,” Kate rested a hand on her father’s arm. “I love him.”
Max’s heart sang at Kate’s words. She’d never said them aloud, and to hear her declaration in a room full of trapped and desperate people who might or might not make it out alive, made it all the more meaningful.
Her father covered her hand with his, and then glanced at Max. “Captain O’Brien, given your loyalty and bravery, I
couldn’t think of anyone I’d rather have as a son-in-law. You have my permission.”
A quiet cheer went up from the surrounding audience.
Kate stepped into Max’s arms. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”
“Now we just have to live to the wedding day.” He brushed the hair back from her face.
She smiled up at him. “We will.”
Shouts outside the building drew their attention. The main exterior door opened and footsteps pounded down the stairs.
Max shoved Kate behind him and, along with every armed marine and Trejikistani security guard there, leveled his weapon at the stairwell.
The first man down the staircase was covered in desert camouflage from head to toe and sported an automatic rifle. When he saw the weapons pointed at him, he didn’t back down, didn’t raise his hands, but shouted. “Navy SEAL, Corporal Bryan Larson, reporting. Who’s in charge?”
Max chuckled and lowered his weapon. “Kate, sweetheart, the cavalry has arrived.”
“Navy SEALs, sir,” the young corporal retorted. “Cavalry would be the Army.”
PUMPING IRON
Christine d’Abo
L
ila adjusted her sports bra, unfolding the doubled-over band, and hoped she wasn’t about to make a huge mistake. Her recovery had been a long hard road, one she’d had to fight through inch by inch to be able to reclaim her body. But she’d made it and now stood on the other side, not simply back to her old self, but even better than before.
She only had one challenge left to conquer—Kyle.
Images of him kicking the asses of other UFC fighters were still fresh in her mind. She’d been intimidated as hell when she’d discovered he was going to be her trainer, having watched him beat and bloody men in the cage both on closed-circuit TV and at the gym. Kyle was vicious when he stepped in front of his opponent; any compassion he might have evaporated as the door locked.
Even in retirement he wasn’t soft or compassionate when it came to training. He didn’t give a shit about how much she hurt and kept pushing her to do things right.
Harder, faster, more,
goddammit!
After a few sessions, she stopped being intimidated and really started hating him for making her work so fucking hard. It was a damn good thing her rehab was over and her body was in such good shape, otherwise she would have reamed him out for being an asshole.
Lila still might do that, right after she fucked his brains out.
Tightening the laces on her running shoes, she stepped out into the weight room and quickly found the object of her lust. Stretched out on the weight bench, Kyle was cranking out a series of bench presses with ease. From this angle Lila could see the sheen of sweat covering his biceps, his calves and thighs, the tremble in his body as he pushed himself past the limits of what most people would consider attempting. Typical Kyle. Never letting anyone, not even his body, tell him what he could do.
The clang of metal on metal filled the room as he dropped the weight bar back onto the rack and sat up. He lifted his tank top, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the material, exposing his hard abs to her. His face bore the scars of years in the cage. His nose was crooked from having been repeatedly broken. The long scar down his cheek wasn’t clearly visible from this distance, but she still knew it was there.
Shit, he was beautiful. Not that she’d ever say that to him. No frigging way.
She caught his attention as he stood. Lila swallowed down her nervousness and gave him a little wave. “Hi there.”
“What are you doing here?” No preamble, no pleasantries. “We finished your sessions last week.”
“Yeah, I know. Mike out front said it was okay. I know you’re probably getting ready to go home for the night.”
“I was doing my workout.” His black hair was cropped short against his head, a conservative look that didn’t quite mesh with
his too-direct personality. “Mike closing up?”
His direct stare pierced her, making her squirm and her nipples harden. “I think so. The place is empty.” It was the main reason she’d come on a Monday night. She’d learned the ebb and flow of the client base over the past year, and this was the only time she figured would work. Neutral ground, but no distractions.
Bracing his hands on his hips, Kyle lowered his chin and narrowed his gaze. “Are you okay?”
The little confession she’d spent a week preparing evaporated from her memory. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Kyle crossed the room, swallowing the distance in four wide strides. He was barefoot, but that didn’t make him any less intimidating. She’d seen the damage he could do with a roundhouse kick to someone’s face.
Lila knew she should be talking, explaining that no matter how hard she’d tried, she couldn’t get Kyle out of her dreams. No, dreams were too pedestrian a description. Those were hard-core erotic fantasies, starring her and a very dominant personal trainer.