Hidden Away (28 page)

“What do we do?” she whispered.

“We wait,” he said simply. “And in the meantime, you do nothing, and I mean
nothing
to draw their ire. You become invisible and if they question you, you cooperate. You do whatever it is you have to do to survive. I’ll get us out of this, I swear.”

She could feel his gaze burning into her even though the darkness prevented her from seeing much more than the outline of his face. He caressed her cheek, rubbing his thumb over her skin as she continued to rub against his palm. She knew what he was telling her. Don’t fight. Even if it came to the worst. And he knew what he was asking because he already knew what she’d endured.

It was telling that even now when he was so beaten that his strength held them both up. It bled into her soul and firmed her resolve. If he could endure so much, then so could she.

“You survive, Sarah. Let me take the heat. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before and likely will again. My job takes me into bad situations all the time. It’s knowledge I live with on a daily basis. Have faith that I can endure and don’t react to anything they do to me.”

Hot tears slipped over his fingers. “But this time ... this time you’re here because of me.”

“This isn’t your fault.”

He slipped his hand around her nape and tugged her down until his lips touched hers. It was just a gentle brush and he was careful to keep the side of his mouth that was bleeding from her lips.

“Come here,” he urged as he pulled her down farther.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she protested.

“You won’t. Lie next to me. Let me hold you.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll hold you.”

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke. “I won’t argue one bit. Come hold me then.”

Carefully she stretched out beside him, mindful of the injuries to his ribs. Only when he coaxed her closer, did she put herself flush against his body. Then she curled her arm over his waist and nuzzled her cheek against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to offer. Her heart ached and she was so damn angry that she wanted to rage against the bastards who’d done this. She’d doubted that she would have the wherewithal to shoot a person when she’d procured the pistol, but now she knew without a doubt that she could. Without hesitation.

Hate was an emotion that she’d done without for most of her life. She hated Allen Cross and his bastard brother as much as she imagined ever hating anyone, but here and now, her anger was a terrible, ugly thing. It consumed her and with it came a hatred she didn’t think she was capable of.

“Shhh,” he said against her hair. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“What now?” she asked, infusing strength into her voice. She didn’t want to come across as a whiny twit. She wanted to sound positive and as confident as he did. The least she could do was offer whatever support she could.

“They’ll probably leave us here. No food or water. Try to wear me down. Then they’ll probably take another shot at me. If that doesn’t work, they’ll use you.”

Despite her resolve not to show weakness, she couldn’t control the shiver that racked her body.

“They’re not going to get that far. My team will come for us, Sarah. I just have to buy us enough time for them to get here. That’s why I want you to keep your head down. They will come for us. You can help me by doing as I ask you.”

“Okay,” she whispered.

He squeezed her a little and then tensed in pain. She raised her head and found his lips there in the dark. She didn’t care about the blood. All she cared about was finding him, showing him her love. And maybe give him something of herself when he’d already given so much to her.

Love.

It was nothing like the movies or books. No big lightning bolt from the sky where she instantaneously discovered she’d fallen in love. As if it were something random, like winning the lottery or a momentary high caused by hormones.

Maybe she’d started falling the day he saved her on the island. Or when he left her books with wine and chocolate on her porch. Or maybe it was his unwavering devotion to keeping her safe.

What she knew was that he was a good man, the kind she’d always dreamed of having. Loyal and protective. Willing to sacrifice for her. But love also meant sacrificing for him, and no matter her promise, she could not and would not go down without a fight. She wouldn’t allow him to suffer endlessly while they waited for rescue.

And what she knew was that she had fallen and was still falling for the badass with the big heart and gentle soul.

She whispered the words in her mind, savoring them as she rested in his arms. Now wasn’t the time for emotional outbursts, but when they were safe—and they would be because she believed him without reservation—then she’d tell him what she thought about the man he was. The man she wanted.

And if he walked away, she’d never have any regrets. Love was a gift, but it was up to the recipient to accept and cherish or to reject the offering. All she could do was give unreservedly. And for the first time since her assault, she realized that she could give something she’d never thought to give again. Her trust and her love.

“SON
of a bitch. Son of a bitch!” Donovan exclaimed.

He got up from the desk and hit the floor at a dead run. He left the war room and sprinted over to the house. He burst into the living room, where Sophie was feeding Charlotte. Sam was sprawled on the couch beside her and looked up in alarm when he saw Donovan.

Donovan didn’t waste time trying to preserve Sophie’s modesty. Nor did he bother trying to hold back so as not to frighten her. “We’ve got a situation.”

Sam was on his feet in an instant. Sophie’s eyes widened in alarm and the baby let out a mewl of protest.

“Garrett?” she asked fearfully.

“His locater was activated several hours ago,” Donovan said to Sam.

“Why the hell didn’t we know until now?” Sam demanded.

“Fuck if I know,” Donovan bit out. “Signal may have been interrupted. Maybe it was the damn satellite. But the time stamp was during the night.”

“What does that mean?” Sophie asked. “Is he in trouble?”

Sam gave a short nod. Then his expression softened as he looked at his wife and child. “He wouldn’t have activated unless he was in trouble and needed help. It’s our SOS system. It means he’s down or in deep shit.”

“Go,” she said. “He needs you. I’ll be fine. I have Marlene and Rachel.”

Sam only hesitated a brief moment before leaning down to kiss Sophie and then Charlotte.

“Bring him home, Sam,” she said in an urgent voice.

“I will, baby. I promise.”

Donovan had already turned and ran back toward the war room with Sam on his heels.

“Rio will be closest. I’ll reroute Steele and his team from Alaska, but we’ll get there first after Rio,” Donovan said. “I don’t know what we’re dealing with but I’m going to assume the worst and pull every available man to get the hell down there.”

While Donovan hailed Steele and gave him the order to pull out, Sam picked up the phone and punched in a number. A few moments later, he said, “Ethan, Garrett’s in trouble. We need you.”

Donovan was already opening the gun locker. He pulled out an array of weapons and tossed two rifles in Sam’s direction. When they had their gear packed, they hustled out to the truck.

“I’ll drive. We’ll swing by to get Ethan and then head to the jet. You raise Rio and give him the coordinates,” Sam said.

The drive was silent, but Donovan knew Sam was as worried as he was. And Donovan blamed himself. He should have put a team with Garrett from day one. When he smelled a rat, he put Rio and Steele in place but it was too little, too late. He should have hog-tied Garrett to a chair if necessary to make sure he didn’t go to Mexico alone.

It was always the cake jobs that went all to shit.

 

 

GARRETT
lay with Sarah in his arms listening to the quiet rhythm of her sleep. He’d shamelessly lied to her about the condition he was in. Not that he was ready for a pine box, but his ribs hurt like a bitch, and he hadn’t been able to sleep for the discomfort.

But he hadn’t wanted to scare her any more than she already was. He was damn proud of her for not losing it completely. She was scared witless, but she was also one pissed-off woman. It was the pissed-off part that worried him.

Pissed-off women were unpredictable.

He’d lost sense of time but he figured it ought to be daylight soon. Sarah had slipped into an uneasy sleep during the night and when she stirred, he’d soothed and quieted her as much for her peace of mind as to prevent her from moving too much against his ribs.

He hoped to hell he’d told her the truth about what their captors would do. Again there was that whole predictability factor at work. And while it made sense that they’d leave them to worry and wonder over their fate, wear them down, they’d already proved what stupid sons of bitches they were. He didn’t have a whole lot of faith in their intelligence.

He hadn’t fought them, which rankled. He’d meekly gone along, like some lamb to a slaughter, because he hadn’t wanted to risk anything happening to Sarah. If it had been him alone, he would have kicked some serious ass and enjoyed every minute of it. But Sarah was with him, and he’d die before allowing any harm to come to her.

His growing discomfort signaled a need to shift positions, but he didn’t want to wake Sarah. She’d finally settled into a more peaceful rhythm and he liked the sensation of her warm breath on his neck.

She’d kissed him the night before. The first time she’d initiated any intimacy between them. It was soft and so damn sweet he’d been able to forget the pain for that barest moment when her mouth had met his.

When he could stand the position no longer, he tried to edge to the side so he could turn more fully onto his back. She came awake instantly, her head shooting off his shoulder. She leaned over him, her hair falling onto his chest as she stared down at him, concern blazing in her eyes.

“Are you okay? Are you hurting?”

“I didn’t mean to wake you. I just need to turn onto my back for a while.”

Her hands ran lightly over his chest as she helped him roll the quarter turn onto his back. He felt an instant relief as some of the pressure on his ribs subsided. His breaths came easier and he took in several deep ones.

“Better?”

“Better,” he said. “Now come back here. I like you close to me.”

She settled into the crook of his arm and laid her head on his shoulder. Her hand ventured lightly over his chest and down toward his ribs. It was cool against the heat of his pain. A soothing balm; he closed his eyes at the sheer pleasure of her touch.

“Am I hurting you?” she asked.

“No, don’t stop. It feels damn good. I like you touching me.” He felt her smile against his shoulder.

Carefully she skimmed over his shirt, her touch so light it was almost not there. She rubbed a path to his belly and then back up again, taking care around his rib cage. Then she settled her palm against his chest, right over his heart as if reassuring herself that he was there and alive with her.

After a moment, she retraced her path downward again. He could stand it no longer. The damn shirt was in the way and he wanted to feel her hands on his bare skin like he wanted nothing else.

“Push up my shirt,” he said. “Touch me, not my shirt.”

He waited to see if she’d balk, but she lifted the end and slowly pushed upward until his shirt was bunched under his arms. Then she put her palm on his bare chest and he almost groaned from the sheer pleasure of it.

Such gentleness in the face of such violence and pain. So warm and sweet. He drank it up greedily, wanting to be soothed by her fingers.

When she ventured lower, down to the band of his pants, his body reacted. His dick surged to life and swelled, begging to be included in her tender ministrations.

Hell, the last thing he wanted was to frighten her or put her off.

“Watch your hand,” he said hoarsely. “I seem to have this problem around you.”

She chuckled softly and raised her head up again. “I wouldn’t have imagined, I mean not now. You have to be hurting so much.”

“I’m not dead,” he muttered. “And my dick isn’t particularly concerned with what the rest of my body’s feeling.”

To his further surprise, she leaned down and pressed her lips to his chest. She kissed him softly and then moved down an inch and kissed him again. All the while her palm smoothed over the skin of his belly awfully damn close to his waistband. The discomfort in his groin was fast overtaking the pain in his ribs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. “Tell me to stop if I do.”

Like that was ever going to happen. He could be missing a leg and he’d be damned if he called a halt to her sweet seduction. An angel in hell. That’s the only descriptor he could come up with. His sweet angel.

“I can guarantee that I’m not going to tell you to stop,” he groaned. “I only wish to hell I could make love to you. I want to touch you, damn it.”

Again her husky laughter washed over him like a healing wind.

She lovingly kissed and caressed every part of him that hurt. Every bruise. Every cut. Her soft mouth moved over his flesh as if she were absorbing the pain. She placed one hand on the other side of him and pushed herself up and over him until her hair fell down around his face. Then she lowered her lips tentatively to his.

The first brush tasted like ambrosia. Sweet. So damn sweet. Fire raced through his veins when the tip of her tongue rubbed shyly over his mouth. Her hand left the mattress and cupped his cheek. Her fingers stroked gently over his jaw, feathering up to his temple as she kissed around the cut at the corner of his mouth.

He’d give anything to be able to turn her over, hold her tight and slide between her legs. It certainly gave him incentive to get the fuck out of this hellhole, because when they did, he was going to do everything to her that he was currently fantasizing about.