Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) (23 page)

Across the field separating this house from the others, lights blinked on in several of the adjacent buildings. The firefight had awakened the neighbors. They were bound to draw attention to themselves.

Maddy shuddered against him. He pulled her closer, holding all her weight as her legs seemed to give out.

"You're okay," he crooned. Sweeping a palm over the silky fall of her hair, he wrestled back the urge to break down and sob—he was that relieved to have her back alive, but they'd yet to secure the area. "Tell me what's going on," he requested, prying her gently off him so he could see her face, ascertain whether she was hurt.

She peered back at him, visibly shocked, and he took quick inventory of her injuries—a cut on her forehead, another on her lip. She was still wearing the
chapan
she'd worn in the ransom video. It covered her from head to toe, but she appeared otherwise unharmed.

"There are two still alive," she whispered, her horror evident. "I stabbed the scarred devil, but he's not dead yet."

No sooner had he keyed       his mike alerting his platoon than a spate of semi-automatic gunfire hailed down from the second story window, peppering the other side of the wall and sending Sam sprawling over Maddy just in case.

"He's still alive!" she cried, stiffening with fear beneath him.

"It's okay. We can take him, Maddy." Craning his neck, he could see Bronco waving platoon members into position.

Carl Wolfe pulled the pin out of a smoke grenade and launched it over the wall where it rolled in the sand before spewing a lovely violet cloud that concealed the SEALs as they scurried furtively toward the entrance, skirting the path of the bullets and preparing to storm the house. But before they stepped so much as a foot inside, a single shot rang out, and the semi-automatic gunfire ceased.

What the hell just happened?
Sam wondered.

In his earpiece, the scuffle of rapid footsteps announced the SEALs' push into the house.

"What's going on?" Maddy asked in a frayed voice.

"It's almost over," he crooned, wanting to wipe that haunted expression off her face forever.

"Bullfrog, we need you up here," Bronco said over the inter-team radio.

Apparently, the medic's services were needed, telling Sam that someone was alive, but who? "Sit rep," he demanded, unwilling to get up and check for himself.

"We've got two dead and two men down, both bleeding out. One is definitely that Al-Sadr motherfucker, the other one unknown."

"Salim," Maddy whispered, making Sam wonder if she could overhear his chief.

"Try to keep them both alive," Sam retorted, recalling Kuzinsky's orders.

"Not gonna happen, sir. Al-Sadr was shot in the back by the guy we can't identify. Bullet's in his heart."

"What about the other guy?"

"Multiple gunshot wounds to the chest. Weak vitals. He's on his way out."

Damn.
Sam had wanted to try at least one of the bastards for putting Maddy through hell. The silhouettes of neighbors coming out of their houses wrested his attention toward other matters.

"Haiku, call for immediate extraction," he ordered. Shifting his weight to his knees, he drew Maddy to a seated position. "You okay,
querida
?" The endearment slipped out of him as naturally as breathing. Tipping her chin so she was forced to look into his eyes, he added, "Christ, I am never letting you out of my sight again."

He halfway expected her to protest his assertion. Instead, she fastened her clear wide eyes on him and declared, "I don't ever want you to."

* * *

Maddy sat curled up in a ball in her bathtub while the shower rained down on her in a steady warm stream.

It's over
, she told herself as she'd already done about a hundred times in an effort to subdue the shudders that still wracked her naked frame. Minute by minute, the horror of her captivity and the shock engendered by the violence she'd witnessed trickled down her limbs, out of her hands and feet, and swirled down the drain.

Sam's colleague, a medic with large gentle hands and empathetic eyes had looked her over. "Name's Jeremiah," he'd told her, declaring her to be in good shape. "You're one lucky lady," he'd added.

She boasted a cut just above her eyebrow and another on her lip, but the rest of her had emerged unscathed. And when he'd tactfully inquired whether her captors had hurt her in any way, she'd been able to reply in the negative because Salim, who'd been dead by the time they'd slid his stretcher into the back of one of the Humvees, had kept his word. He'd protected her with his life. With his final gasps, he'd even shot the scarred devil trying to hamper her escape.

A wave of grief pegged Maddy in the chest. Her face crumpled and hot tears mingled with the water that was slowly turning colder. She would never forget Salim's gentleness, nor his apology accompanied by the bittersweet kiss he'd planted on her lips. A vision of Nasrallah, who could not have been more than eighteen, lying in a pool of blood made her sob suddenly. She let herself weep quietly, to honor them both for their willingness to die for a cause they believed in. In that regard, they were kindred spirits, she and the brothers.

By degrees, the low timbre of male voices penetrated Maddy's awareness. Someone, probably Sam, had joined the medic Jeremiah in her living room. With a sharp sniff, Maddy pulled herself together. She couldn't let the men think the trauma of her captivity had broken her spirit. Not at all. If anything, Salim's quest to hold Scott Oil accountable for the slow poisoning of El Chaco bolstered her own resolve.

Shutting off the water, she pushed to her feet, wondering how long she'd dawdled. It was time to shake off recent horrors and move forward. There was work yet to be done.

Toweling off, she girded herself in a thin cotton robe and ventured out of the bathroom. At the sound of the door opening, Sam and Jeremiah both turned to look.

Sam cast a protective gaze over her.

"There she is," the medic said. When neither Sam nor Maddy acknowledged him, he added, "I'd better be heading back." He tossed a knowing smile over his shoulder as he pulled her front door shut behind him.

In some form of silent agreement, Sam and Maddy split the distance between them, meeting in the middle of the room. "I called your father," he volunteered, his unwavering gaze still fixed on her face, possessive, concerned. "Have you ever heard a grown man cry?"

"He does that all the time," she assured him, noting that Sam had scrubbed his face, removing all traces of the dark paint that had covered it earlier. "He's really a big softy."

"He wants to talk to you, no matter how late it is. You can call him. Look." He led her over to the kitchen counter where her phone sat charging.

"You found it," she exclaimed, picking it up and hugging it to her chest—her lifeline to civilization.

"Sure did. That was good thinking hiding it in the van," he praised. "Might have worked, too, if they hadn't abandoned the vehicle out in the middle of nowhere."

She put the phone down, thrusting away the memory of that awful night. "I'll call my father tomorrow," she decided. He would expect her to come home right away, and right now she didn't have the heart to verbally defy him. Looking up at Sam, she found him hovering protectively. His unwavering gaze made her sharply conscious of her nakedness under the thin robe.

"How are you doing,
querida
?" His gruff, gentle tone had a curious, tingling effect on her nipples. His astute gaze took in everything about her face, from her red-rimmed eyes to the cuts that gave testimony to her nightmare.

"I'm good," she said breathlessly.

A spasm of pain hardened his features briefly. "I thought I'd never see you again." He shook his head. "You're so damn lucky to be alive."

"It wasn't luck," she told him, sharing a part of herself she rarely shared with anyone. "It was fate. My mother's spirit watches over me. She kept me safe so I could finish the work she started."

His torn expression made it clear he didn't fully believe her. "Maddy." Her name sounded as if it were torn from his chest. His warm hands gently cupped her face. With a slight tremor in his fingers, he caressed the cut on her lip with his thumb, the one above her eye with his index finger. "Please," he implored, his voice rough with emotion, "please don't put me through anything like this ever again."

If he'd said it any other way, she might have taken exception to his request. But how could she resent his desire to keep her out of harm when he begged her so honestly?

"I'll try not to," she promised. She had no intention of ever being kidnapped again, if that meant anything.

Tears of what might have been relief put a sheen in his eyes. "You must be tired," he said, dropping his hands to her upper arms. "Would you like to rest?"

She glanced thoughtfully toward her bedroom. Honestly, she was too keyed up to sleep.

"I can just hold you if you'd like," he said, stroking her arms through the sleeves of her robe, stirring her desire unintentionally.

"I don't want to sleep," she said, hearing his breath suspend as he waited for her to say more. "But I would like to go to bed," she hinted, boldly.

Comprehension lit his green eyes from the inside out. He gave her one last chance to change her mind. "By yourself or with me?" he asked.

"With you, silly." Sliding her arms around his neck, Maddy rolled up on her tiptoes and carefully touched her lips to his. His indrawn breath and the tightening of his arm around her waist emboldened her to deepen the kiss, parting her lips in invitation. Desire warmed her blood, banishing the last remnants of shock that had congealed in her belly.

With infinite gentleness, Sam accepted her offer. The sweet, seductive glide of his tongue against hers made her moan into his mouth.

In the next instant, he was sweeping her up into his arms, carrying her with long strides into the bedroom where he promptly kicked the door shut. Keeping the light on, he deposited her gently in the center of her bed before stepping away to draw the curtains shut. "I want to see you this time," he explained. "Do you mind?"

She shivered with expectancy. "Only if I get to see you, too." The last time they'd gone this far, he'd left his clothes on. "Is anyone going to knock on the door and interrupt us?"

"Not if they value their lives," he grated, tackling the buttons on his BDU jacket. He shrugged it off before stripping off the tan T-shirt under it with equal expedience. She feasted her gaze on what lay beneath it—olive-toned skin, a flat abdomen rippling with defined muscles, raised pectorals with a dusting of dark hair between them, broad shoulders and powerful arms. A vision of Salim's hairy chest flashed briefly through her mind before she banished it.

"You look good," she admitted, focusing her attention on the black-ink tattoo that adorned his right arm from bicep to shoulder. "What's your tattoo about?"

He turned his shoulder to show it to her. "It's my grandmother's family crest. When Castro took over, her family was forced to flee. She still takes pride in her heritage."

"So do you," she pointed out. "It looks really sexy on you."

He shot her a grin. "Thanks." And then the show continued as he shucked off his boots. With an intentional slowness, he unbuttoned the fly of his desert-pattern cammies then pushed them down and off his legs, discarding his boxer briefs in the same fluid movement. Maddy's mouth went dry at the vision of him, completely nude, blatantly aroused, enduring her wide-eyed scrutiny with mixed confidence and vulnerability. "How do I look now?"

If she told him the truth—that she'd never in her life seen a man as gorgeous as he was—he'd get an overblown ego. "I think I'm overdressed," she said simply, sitting up to take off her robe.

"Oh, no, that's my job," he protested, pushing her gently back and coming to kneel over her.

She watched him undress her, studying every nuance of his reaction as he did so, all but panting with anticipation as he tugged at the belt that kept her gown closed. With reverence in his expression, he peeled back the two halves the way a kid would take the wrapper off his favorite sweet, only more slowly.

"
Dios
," he muttered, inspecting every curve and indent now exposed to him. And then he looked her in the eye. "Do you know how much I've regretted not making love to you the last time?" he asked thickly.

Unexpected relief clogged her throat. How gratifying to know she wasn't the only one who'd entertained that regret.

"I was so afraid I'd never get the chance again. Maddy, you're the most beautiful, most sexy, most
maddening
woman I've ever met."

"Hence the name?" she teased. Her close call had brought them to the same realization. They were meant for each other.

Desire drew his face taut. Stretching his frame over hers, he settled his weight over her body and claimed her mouth with a kiss that promised heaven. Tears of gratitude that she had lived to experience this moment slipped from the edges of her eyes. He caught sight of them, raising his head with a frown of worry.

"I'm okay," she said before he could question her. "I'm more than okay." And she pulled him down to kiss her again, adjusting her body so that their skin touched from shoulder to ankle, a perfect fit.