Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1) (13 page)

CORY SAT on the bench next to her suitcases for about ten minutes, anxiously listening to every sound, getting acclimatized to the rhythm of the villa. She changed into sturdy cargo pants, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved denim shirt over a white tee shirt. She stuffed her money into the sports bra she wore. She dug through her messenger-style bag for pens, distributing the ones she found in various pockets. And she tucked the LifeStraw she’d hidden in the pouch with her tampons into an easily accessible pocket.

She’d learned, after her return from Africa. Taken self-defense classes for the terminally clumsy and weak. Discovered that everyday items—like ink pens—could be weapons. She’d started jogging, eventually working up to running—five kilometers without slowing or getting winded. She would never again be totally helpless.

Getting up her nerve, she approached the open French doors and peeked out. Two guards, one at each end of the veranda running the length of the house on this side. She didn’t step out to look over the railing, betting there was a long drop down the hill. The balcony appeared to turn the corner to her left. Maybe she’d be able to find steps. Or something. All she had to do was evade the guards.

Another thirty minutes ticked by. Hearing footsteps outside, she ducked behind the door and held her breath. One of the guards marched by. She caught a whispered conversation and as she watched, a second guard passed, walking in the opposite direction. Change of guard. She peeked out again. Two different men stood in the same spots.

Maybe if she waited until dark, she could slip out, toss a rope made from sheets over the railing and drop down. Except it was mid-afternoon and anything could happen before dark.

Perhaps she could lure one of the guards into the room, pretend to seduce him, and stab him in the throat with a pen, and slip out. Maybe she’d just wait for Morales to show up and stab
him
.

Cory bit down on her bottom lip. She would not cry again. She would figure a way out of this mess. Thirsty and realizing she should stay hydrated, she wandered into the bathroom. The darn thing was as big as her first apartment, with a sunken whirlpool tub plus a shower an entire platoon could stand in, but more importantly, there was a window.

Forgetting everything, Cory scrambled up on top of the toilet to peer out. No security bars. A short drop to the hillside below. But what excited her most? No guards in sight. The only problem? The window didn’t open. It was a single piece of glass fused in place. If she tossed something through it to break it, the guards would hear.

She sat down on the commode to think, reviewing every episode of MacGyver and the few Die Hard movies she’d watched. Tape. She needed heavy tape. If she ever got out of this, she’d add duct tape to her list of must-pack items. Digging beneath the vanity sink and in drawers, she found a roll of white medical tape. It would have to do.

Using her teeth, she tore off strips of tape and created a giant tic-tac-toe hashtag on the window then taped Xs in each square. It would have to do. After another search, including the colonel’s massive closet, she located a sturdy walking stick with a brass knob. Cory wished now she’d been less focused on academics and had paid at least some attention in PE class—specifically either golf or softball. She needed to be dead-on accurate with her swing.

With her bag draped over one shoulder, the strap crossing her chest, she gripped the stick and swung.

KIN SNIFFED around the base of the building while Moshe stood guard at the corner. Working with the dog and Loch, with Uri in their heads, was both strange and wonderful. Most members of a pack developed the ability for rudimentary mental communication in wolf form. Uri’s unique abilities coordinated Wolf and dog with the humans on the team.

He heard the guards talking around the corner, and the acrid smoke from unfiltered cigarettes drifted into his nose, making him want to sneeze. He was about to retreat into the thick brush when something hard landed on top of him. Bloody hell! He backed away with a barely contained snarl.

A broken pane of glass? Taped together? He glanced up just in time to scramble out of the way of a female body tumbling out of the window. Seemed the good doctor had decided to extricate herself.

Get her moving and undercover, Kin.

Uri didn’t have to tell him twice. He backed up so he could watch while Moshe stalked the woman. He’d let the dog do most of the work. Between the two of them, they could herd her toward Uri and Tank.

Cory froze. Guard dogs. Big, scary ones. She hadn’t even considered the possibility. One was a Belgian Malinois. Brindle brown, he was beautiful, if terrifying. The second dog was black, huge, and… Her breath caught. He looked like a wolf.

“Nice doggies.” Whispering, she pressed up against the wall. “Good doggies.” Cory caught her breath. At least they weren’t barking to alert the guards. “You don’t want to eat me. I promise I don’t taste very good.”

Speak for yerself, lassie. I’d give you a taste.
Echoes of Uri’s smug laughter reminded Kin he wasn’t alone in his own head. He backed further away so Moshe could move in to nudge her along. They didn’t have all bloody evening to stand around making small talk and smoochy noises.

The Belgian obeyed Uri’s mental command. He stalked the redhead, edging her along the side of the building. They’d have to get her to move out into the open soon. Kin wondered what he could do to make her run. She’d be fun prey, an idea his wolf was totally on board with.

Nipping and rushing her, Moshe moved the woman away from the wall. Kin came at her from the other side and working in conjunction they got her headed into the jungle. Two steps past the outer fringe she turned and fled. Moshe stayed right on her heels while Kin dodged around to lope parallel with her, in case they came upon any of the roving guards.

Terrified, Cory ran deeper into the jungle. Maybe these weren’t trained K-9s. Maybe they were wild dogs and when they brought her down, they’d tear her apart. She glanced back over her shoulder. Only one dog chased her, and he almost looked like he was having fun. The thought was odd and distracted her enough that when she turned to see where she was going, it was too late to avoid the large tree branch looming in front of her.

Kin winced as the woman smacked her head. She went down like she’d been pole-axed. Moshe immediately dropped down at her side and licked her face, whining softly. Kin’s wolf was whining a little too.

Uri?

Moshe showed me. Tank and I are coming.

Kin dropped to his haunches, guarding their back trail. They likely had little time before her absence would be discovered. The away team needed to be up on the next ridge before that happened. With luck, they’d have time to come back to finish planting the explosives. Loch was currently setting charges on the outbuildings. They couldn’t plant anything on the house until after dark. The woman’s precipitous escape changed their timetable and not in a good way.

Duke?

Informed.

Their mission was quickly devolving into a Benny Hill routine. A branch snapped nearby and Kin crouched, ready to spring. Tank stepped out from behind a palm frond, Uri a few steps behind. The big gunner checked the woman’s vitals then gathered her into his arms. With Uri leading the way, Tank followed. Kin and Moshe kept up a rear guard until their party reached the base of the ridge where Duke and Dalton waited in their position near the top.

Staying with Loch.

Uri glanced over his shoulder and nodded, murmuring Kin’s message to Tank. The jungle swallowed the three humans and the dog moments later. Kin put his nose to the wind and sniffed. Finding Loch’s scent, he trotted off to cover the other Wolf’s six.

CORY MOANED, the sound a muted whimper, and she needed to throw up. She vaguely remembered getting chased through the jungle by wild dogs. Something had happened. With her eyes scrunched shut, she tried to remember, but the pain throbbing in her head made the process difficult. She heard voices, three of them heavily accented. She did her best to focus on what they were saying, but the words didn’t make much sense to her.

She raised her hand to touch her forehead and encountered a cold pack. Maybe that’s why she had a brain freeze. Opening her eyes, she saw a man hunkered down on his heels beside her, and stared in complete and utter shock. Cory closed her eyes. This was simply not possible. Duke looked just like he had on that riverbank in Africa. She panicked. Maybe she was back in the Sudan. Maybe the past eighteen months hadn’t happened. Maybe she hadn’t made love to Duke. She flushed. Maybe he’d never been blinded.

She opened her eyes again. Nope. This definitely wasn’t Africa. And Duke looked like he had that night on Key West, except he was staring at her, his gray eyes the color of storm clouds, his dark hair shaggy which, with his scruffy beard, gave him an unkempt and dangerous appearance.

“We have to stop meeting like this, princess.”

Her heart pounded at the nickname and his voice. Duke Reagan. It really was him. A part of her turned cartwheels because he’d obviously found treatment that restored his sight and had subsequently returned to duty. The rest of her was swooning like a Regency romance heroine. Duke lived in her dreams, the “hero” she judged all other men against. And here he was rescuing her. Again.

Schooling her face, she searched his. He looked resigned to see her, and maybe disappointed. Something inside her lurched, and she clamped down on feelings of unease. The fine web of scars around his eyes was less visible than the last time she’d seen him. He looked utterly dashing, and she was so glad to see him she was almost hyperventilating. The State Department must have heard about her abduction and sent Duke and a SEAL team after her and despite her misgivings, she couldn’t hide the big smile spreading across her face. “Hello, Master Chief Reagan.”

“I’m not.”

Confusion tugged her forehead into a deep vee, knitting her brows together, which made her head pound harder. “What? Yes, you are, aren’t you? I mean…Duke? SEAL?” She gestured with a wave of her hand to indicate his jungle fatigues.

“Not in the Navy anymore, princess.”

She glanced from his face to the men standing behind Duke then glanced out over the view. Morales’s villa. “Oh dear. Once again, you didn’t come to rescue me.” Just like last time. Tears welled in her eyes before she could stop them. “So once again, I must apologize for compromising your mission.”

Duke shrugged, his mouth turned down in a “who cares” expression. “Why are you here and what are you doing with Colonel Morales?”

As soon as the second part of that question was out of his mouth, Duke wanted to bite his tongue. He didn’t give a damn what she was doing with Morales. The bastard had installed her in his bedroom. That explained everything.

“The State Department sent me. I was supposed to join a medical task force for a fact-finding trip investigating a non-specific fever killing children.”

“What facts did you find?”

“I didn’t. I was to meet the group in Guyana City, but no one else was there. This Venezuelan army lieutenant came to my hotel door this morning, told me to pack up, and here I am.” Her vision swam for a moment, and she swayed. “Owww.” She dropped her head to her knee. “What happened to me?”

“You tried to escape and knocked yourself out.”

Was that laughter in Duke’s voice? Most likely. She’d probably given herself a concussion too.

Duke stood up and moved away. He didn’t like the green tinge to the doc’s skin, nor did he like the pain radiating from her. He wanted to be angry with her. How could anyone smart enough to get through medical school remain so completely clueless?