“Graham,” his contact muttered.
“You know the guy?” Anger gave Terence a small burst of energy. “If I live through this, he’s mine.”
His contact ignored the comments. “You must find them. My...customer...is unused to delay. He will
not
be pleased. The situation could turn ugly.”
“I’ll give you ugly. Half my damn body looks like I went through a meat grinder,” Terence said. “I couldn’t incapacitate the baby right now.”
Terence’s vision grew blurry. He tried to steer the van toward the emergency entrance door. He blinked, then blinked again. The van slammed into a wall and shuddered to a stop. Thrown forward, Terence smashed off the steering wheel and hit the windshield.
Sirens went off, waking him. Terence heard someone yelling.
A medical person opened his door. “Get a stretcher. Now!”
“Where are you?” the tinny voice on his speakerphone shouted.
Terence feebly lifted the phone to his mouth. “Hospital...”
His head slumped, and Terence groaned as someone reached in to move him. They bumped his left side and he screamed.
“We need an O.R. stat. Tell the burn unit to stand by.”
“What is going on? Who is that talking?” The accent grew thicker.
His client’s shrill voice brought Terence out of his stupor again.
“My new best friends,” Terence drawled. “By the way, I quit.”
He let the phone drop to the floorboard and slumped forward into the arms of the waiting medics. This time, all those damn zeros on a check weren’t worth it.
* * *
“C
LAY
!” T
HE
AIRBOAT
SHIFTED
back and forth with the waves. Erin clutched Brandon in her arms and tried to edge closer to the man bleeding, facedown, on the deck. At her movement, the boat tilted.
“Da...owie! Mama, Da owie!” Brandon threw a fit at the sight of all the blood.
She paused to move the boy so he couldn’t see, then eased her way over to Clay’s still body. He hadn’t said anything. She couldn’t see a wound, but the parts of the shirt visible beneath his life jacket were soaked red. Balancing Brandon, she reached for the life vest. Her fingers fumbled at the fastenings.
Clay groaned and tried to move.
“Be careful. Some of these cuts are bad. We have to stop the bleeding.”
“I’m fine.” He rose to his hands and knees. “Just a little dizzy. We have to get out of here. We’re not safe.”
He stood and grabbed hold of the pilot’s seat, steadying himself. “Sit down and hold the baby on your lap,” he said, nodding at the double-wide passenger bench in front of the perched captain’s seat.
Not knowing what else to do, Erin followed his instructions.
She watched him steer the boat. He didn’t even flinch, though every movement had to be agony. His clenched jaw was his only giveaway.
Today had shown her a whole new side to Clay that scared her. He was so hard and...tough. The man she’d fallen in love with on Santorini had swept her off her feet, made her laugh, made her tremble for the touch of his lips.
He even let her drone on endlessly about her prototype, nanotechnology, engineering and every other geeky topic that flitted through her mind. Most men’s eyes would have glazed over, especially when she’d gone off on the potential of her discovery for miniaturization.
Clay hadn’t derided her. He’d listened. Really listened.
But now that she thought about it, he’d shared nothing about himself in return. How had she not seen that?
She didn’t know what to do. She hated uncertainty, and Clay Griffin was an enigma.
Erin buckled Brandon onto the vinyl bench and secured herself before settling him against her. She kissed the top of his head.
Clay eased into his seat, flipped some switches, turned on the key and the huge fan behind the boat roared to life. Within seconds they were skimming across the water toward a swampy maze of tributaries.
“We’re going in there?” she shouted over the noise.
“Yeah, it’s not far,” he yelled. “I need to concentrate.”
She remained silent, studying the determined set of Clay’s jaw, his focused vision.
Her son’s resemblance to his father didn’t stop at the black hair and brown eyes. She’d seen the same look of determination on Brandon’s face as he struggled to stand on his own. She’d wondered where her son got his stubborn streak. Now she knew.
Erin was single-minded, but Brandon took willful to a whole new level.
Brandon stuffed his fist into his mouth. She rocked him back and forth.
The gears shifted and the boat pulsed forward. They had to be edging against the engine’s limit of about forty miles an hour.
She gripped her son tighter to protect him from the wind. The sky had begun to darken fast; their visibility decreased by the minute. She squinted across the deepening blue of the water as the light began to fade.
“How much farther?” she shouted.
Clay didn’t answer. She twisted in her seat and looked up at him.
His face had grown pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He moved the steering stick forward with his left hand, then swayed. The boat veered right; he corrected it.
She didn’t see anything he’d had to avoid. “Clay. Are you okay?”
He didn’t respond. She tapped his knee. “Clay?”
He looked down at her, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What? Oh, right. Clay,” he said, his words a little shaky and forced. “We’re almost there.”
“You don’t look good.” Panic tinged her voice. She tightened the belt around Brandon. She might have to climb back there and take over.
“Just a little light-headed. It’s nothing.” He blinked again, then stared around.
He let out a loud curse. “Hold on. There’s our turnoff.” He pushed the stick forward and accelerated hard. The boat veered to starboard. They whizzed into a narrow channel.
A moment later, he eased off the throttle and the boat slowed, maneuvering into an eerily serene tunnel. Mangrove trees hung over them like a canopy; the ferns and palms edged closer and closer. The unfamiliar scents were cloying.
The boat skimmed over the surface as the airboat pushed deeper and deeper into the channel. The snakelike waterway grew increasingly marshy. Erin glanced at her side. What she thought was a rock nearby moved; it raised the blunt snout. An alligator.
She gasped and clutched Brandon closer, watching the creature submerge again.
“Clay, are we going to die before we get to this supposed safe house?”
He didn’t respond. He released the throttle, and the boat drifted toward the water’s edge.
The outgrowth of plants and roots infiltrating the water made it appear almost solid, as if they could walk from side to side of the narrow passage. The boat shoved the jigsaw puzzle of green plants out of their path.
An image of stability, yet filled underneath with danger and predators.
Much like her life from the moment she’d walked into her door only a short time ago.
Clay slowed the boat until he reached a small dock. The hull knocked against the wooden planks with a dull thud.
Erin peered past a wall of cypress trees, then saw a ramshackle wooden house half-hidden by the foliage. “Please don’t tell me we’re staying
there?
”
Clay turned off the motor, his eyes closed, and he let out a long sigh. “It’s better than it looks. There’s solid steel plating between those walls and bulletproof glass in most of the windows.
“Most?”
“It’s a work in progress. I didn’t expect to need it this fast.”
“Remind me to time my attempted kidnappings better next time.” Erin unbuckled herself, then Brandon. He whimpered in her arms as she rose.
Clay’s eyelids snapped open. “Is the baby all right?”
“Brandon’s fine. You’re not,” Erin said. “You look like you’re going to keel over.”
Clay pushed to his feet. “I’m fine.” He swayed slightly. “I’ve got to secure the boat.”
“I can do it.”
He shook his head. “You need to know how to tie an anchor bend.”
She exhaled. “You mean the knot where you run the line twice around that ring, twice around an object and do two half hitches?
That
anchor bend?”
His mouth dropped. “Okay, then...”
“I have a photographic memory. Just sit there and I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Are you all right to hold Brandon?”
“Yeah,” He held the baby to his chest before sinking gratefully into the captain’s seat.
Uncertain, she hopped out of the airboat and quickly tied off the craft. She checked out Clay. Even though his eyes were closed, his arms held Brandon securely. His skin looked gray and it wasn’t just the dark. He clearly needed medical attention. Clay had to have a good eighty pounds on her. No way could she carry him.
She gently grabbed hold of her son. Clay tightened his arms.
“Clay, it’s me.”
Her voice seemed to soothe him. He loosened his hold. She stood on the small pier. She couldn’t put Brandon down, short of placing him inside the shack.
“Can you get out of the boat?” she asked, studying his every movement. If he fell into the water, she’d never be able to save him.
“Of course.” Clay shoved himself to his feet. His jaw tight, he clutched the back of the captain’s seat, then stepped on the pier. “See, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, you’re ready for a marathon. I want to get a look at your back.”
The shack appeared as if it might fall down any moment. Clay flicked the latch and pressed inside. It seemed like a regular hunting shack, until Clay flicked a switch on the wall. A wall slid open, revealing a stash of weapons, ammo, a first-aid kit and other supplies.
A regular-sized bed took up one corner.
“Lie down,” she ordered Clay, her tone brooking no argument. “I need to look at your back.”
He shook his head. “Not on the bed. Floor. You and Brandon need a place to sleep.”
“Just shut up,” Erin snapped. She grabbed a couple of trash bags to protect the bed and then covered them with a sheet.
“Move it. I need you conscious and healthy to get us out of here.”
Clay didn’t argue. He eased himself onto the bed. “Just give me a minute. I’m sure the burn will go away. I’ll be fine.”
* * *
S
URF
SOUNDED
IN
H
UNTER
’
S
EAR
.
Heat beamed onto his back. From the landing off his bungalow, he faced the ocean, the ebb and flow of the tide against the black sand calling to him. The clear blue of the Aegean Sea teased the shoreline, advancing and retreating.
He shifted his stance, the knife wound on his side pulling against the sutures. Someone had fouled up big-time. His cover had been blown. He’d spent a hellacious month in captivity and had barely gotten out of Iran with his head attached to his body.
General Miller had sent in a rescue force. His boss could have left him for dead. Maybe should have, but the general would never leave anyone behind. He was loyal to a fault.
Hunter just wished he’d had better news for Kent Miller. The first report after Hunter had regained consciousness had been the one to inform the general that his son, Matt, hadn’t made it. He’d died in that hellhole, with the bastard terrorist laughing.
Hunter had tried to save Matt. He’d failed. Hunter still didn’t know why he had survived.
General Miller hadn’t blinked at the horrific news, hadn’t missed a day. The next night the terrorist camp had been decimated by a smart bomb. One less group to murder.
Now all Hunter wanted to do was forget.
A figure in a one-piece swimsuit and a billowy wrap strolled along the beach alone. The sun kissed her blond hair. She crouched down and her fingertips traced in the sand. She picked up something—probably a shell.
She turned to her side. The full curves of her breasts and hips were perfection. She stilled; then as if she’d heard his wish, she faced him.
Her head tilted, and she simply stared.
Now that was a thing of beauty. A definite means to forget.
He strode down the beach toward her.
As he approached, she looked from side to side.
There was no one else on this private beach. They were alone.
His feet sank into the warm sand. And then he stood only a foot from her.
Her eyes widened. Beautiful, emerald-green irises framed with dark lashes.
He couldn’t stop from staring. She was absolutely perfect, and he wanted her.
She shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze and looked away, but strangely, she didn’t run, she didn’t pull away. She simply stared up at him, eyes wide.
“Hello there,” his voice said, low and steady, wanting nothing more than to hear the sound of her voice. “Shell collecting?”
At first she appeared confused. She looked around as if he’d made a mistake.
“Me?” she asked.
He couldn’t stop the grin. “Yes, you.”
She smiled and held out her hand. A flat shell with a distinctive star-shaped design lay in her palm. “
Spatangus purpureus.
This is a small one, only about six centimeters.” Her smile was bright, and her lips kept moving, going on and on about larvae and its life cycle. He couldn’t respond; he could only be tempted by the smoothness of her skin and listen to the lilt of her voice.
Suddenly, she stopped and toyed with her fingers. “Sorry. I get carried away. I’m sure you’re not interested in marine biology.” She bowed her head and started away.
“Don’t apologize. Wicked smart is very, very sexy,” he said softly, his words forcing her to pause and turn back with a strange hope lacing her eyes.
Her shyness hypnotized him. He took the small shell from her palm and stroked its markings.
“Porfyrí kardiá achinós,”
he said, feeling the need to show her wasn’t an idiot, even if he only had a G.E.D.
Her lips parted in surprise. “What did you say?”
“It means purple heart sea urchin.”
Her eyes lit up. “You speak Greek?”
“Languages are easy for me,” he said. “I speak a few.” Mostly those of the world’s hot spots so he could blend in. Turkish, Arabic, Kurdish, Persian, with a bit of Russian thrown in for good measure.