Navy SEALs Complete Series: 3 Books + 3 Novellas (Tempting Navy SEALs) (147 page)

He turned to the SEAL with him, meeting the wild blue eyes of the demon stalking behind.

Nineteen months of torture and drug experimentation on Nathan had nearly broken him. It had definitely changed the SEAL for all time, but a year later, he was holding his own. Honed, savage, a creature of rage, but holding his own.

He held up three fingers. There were three guards posted at the entrance to the warehouse. He held up two more and pointed inside the warehouse. He was getting ready to give the command for Nathan to work his way around to the other side of the warehouse when the son of a bitch held up the flat of his hand and shook his head.

Before Macey could argue, Nathan was striding around the warehouse, calm, cool as hell, and crazier than a fucking loon. Son of a bitch. Macey gritted his teeth again, grinding his molars and cursing crazy Irish men to hell and back.

“Hey, dude, I need a light.” Nathan’s voice was ruined, slurred as he stumbled against the warehouse.

“Get the fuck out of here,” one of the guards cursed.

Macey peeked around, trained his weapon on the three guards.

Macey saw Nathan’s knife gleam in the darkness a second before he buried it in a smooth, hard upward strike into the heart of the first guard. The guard gasped, gave a shudder, then appeared to stagger with Nathan’s weight, taking him closer to the other two.

Three seconds later blood coated the asphalt and three French nationals, one of whom had embassy clearance, Macey had been informed, were propped up against the wall as Nathan moved into place beside the door, his demon eyes glaring across the distance.

Who needed a whole team of SEALs? He and Nathan were enough SEALs for this job. Nathan might be a tad mentally unstable in Macey’s opinion, but he was a hell of a killer. And that sucked. It used to be that Nathan shed blood only when there was no other alternative. Now, he killed without mercy, with expediency. He gave nothing or no one a chance to strike first.

“Your godfather Admiral Holloran will regret his part in the strike against our leader,” the terrorist was raging, as though Emerson was going to give a damn. “He and that bitch daughter that betrayed her father. Once we have her, you will be executed, your deaths viewed by millions and cheered on by the loyal followers of Sorrell.”

Sorrell, the son of a bitch terrorist and white slaver they had taken down months before was rearing his ugly head again, even after death.

“Wish you luck with that.” Emerson’s voice was weak. “I really wouldn’t expect more than a few dozen loyal hits; the rest will be for entertainment value alone. Kind of like a train wreck.” Her voice was flippant, but Macey could hear the fear in it.

Nathan smiled that demon smile of his. A hard curl of his lips, the flash of strong white teeth and cold hard death. He was a killing machine now, determined to take down the last cells of the terrorist organization that had backed Sorrell. Until it was finished, he couldn’t return to his own life, couldn’t reclaim his wife.

Nathan gestured, signifying that they go in low,
catch the two inside off guard, and snatch the girl. Hell, it would be risky. Too fucking risky. He shook his head and began to gesture a less risky move when Nathan crouched, slammed the door open and went in shooting.

“You stupid bastard!” Macey snarled, fury and an edge of fear growing in his gut as the sounds of gunfire exploded through the night.

He threw himself into the room, rolling to the chair Emerson was tied in and tipping it over. He jerked the knife from his boot and sliced the ropes holding her wrists and ankles. The two men with her lay in their own blood as Nathan moved quickly to cover Macey.

“There’s more coming,” Nathan hissed as Macey checked the girl quickly for injuries.

She was glaring at him. Her hazel eyes were pinpoints of fury, the green in them nearly overshadowing the brown, glittering in a rush of anger as she snarled back at him. That was Emerson—fear made her angry. Made her snap and snarl and that was a hell of a lot preferable to tears. Could he handle tears from Emerson?

“We have to run for it,” he warned her.

“You have to drag your heavy ass off me first,” she panted. “Dammit, Macey, you weigh a ton.”

“Move!” Nathan snapped behind him. “Here they come!”

He jerked her to her feet, ignoring her gasp, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her through the shadowed, cavernous building at a low run.

“I lost a shoe,” she gasped.

“So lose the other one,” he growled, checking behind them and praying Nathan kept up rather than dropping behind to shed more blood.

That boy was going to end up getting himself killed, if he didn’t end up getting them all killed.

“I’ll put those on your tab,” she informed him, her voice bland despite the breathless quality of it and the fear in her eyes. “You can pay for them later.”

“Sure,” he snarled, jerking her around another crate as the front of the warehouse erupted in curses. “I’ll go right out and buy you a new pair.”

“They’re very hard to find,” she informed him with testy patience as he jerked her low to the floor, within feet of the back entrance, and motioned Nathan to secure the exit.

“Should he be going out there by himself?” she leaned close to his ear and voiced the question. “The bad guys would cover the back, wouldn’t they?”

Nathan gave the all-clear.

“Not this time. Shut up and run.” He pulled her behind him, moving past Nathan as he collected the automatic rifle they had hidden in the back. He followed at Emerson’s back, placing himself between her and any bullets that would have flown through the night.

Lights illuminated the warehouse and the lot in a flood of color, only a millisecond behind their rapid push through the chain-link fence that they had cut earlier. The truck was on the other side of the neighboring lot, less than a quarter of a mile
and with plenty of cover. With any luck they were home free.

“I can’t run like this,” Emerson gasped behind him.

God, did he think “luck”? Didn’t he remember that luck didn’t exactly look favorably toward him, even at the best of times?

He looked back and nearly groaned. As she ran, those impressive, make-a-man’s-mouth-water breasts were jiggling, reminding him of more than one night’s worth of erotic dreams that he’d had concerning them.

“We’re almost there.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and half carried her as they snaked through the hulking, shadowed crates, equipment and vehicles that filled the industrial warehouse lot they were running through.

Nathan moved quickly ahead of them now, securing the area to the truck as Macey gritted his teeth again. Her left breast was moving against his side, a firm, erotic weight that he should be shot for noticing.

Save the girl first
, he reminded himself.

But it wasn’t the breasts that drew him and Macey knew it. It was the woman, and that was what terrified him clear down to his combat boots. The woman could take him down, and he had a feeling he was getting ready to go down hard.

EMERSON DELANEY KNEW SHE
was in trouble the minute hard hands jerked her from her bed and
pulled her from her home. She had been driven through Atlanta surrounded by hard, cold-eyed terrorists intent on death. There hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that they intended to kill her. Just as there hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that Macey would be sent to rescue her.

Tall, over six feet four inches, perhaps six five, dark brown eyes, long dark hair, and a bad-boy sexy face. He was the rebel, the troublemaker. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about or dreaming about. And the one she knew would come for her.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Macey March tossed her into the backseat of the dual cab pickup, followed in after her, and gave the other man the order to drive. They eased out of the parking lot slowly, lights out, rather than tearing out of it in a scream of tires, which would have surely alerted any terrorists nearby.

The dark vehicle blended in with the shadows of hulking semis and eased out of the warehouse district and into the stream of traffic bordering it. The headlights came on then, and she wondered if it was okay to breathe yet.

She glanced over at Macey, aware that he was watching the traffic with narrow-eyed intent, his weapon held low against his thigh, his hand still pressing her shoulders against the soft leather seat, keeping her hidden from view.

“Could you pull my skirt down? It’s riding up.” There was a demon imp that came out every time she came in contact with the huge, taciturn SEAL.
She couldn’t help it. Needling him was her favorite sport.

A large, broad hand smoothed her skirt from high on her thigh back to her knees. And he did it … slowly. As though he were savoring the act.
She
sure as hell was. She stared up at him in the darkness, aware of the fact that he was apparently unaffected.

“Thanks, I appreciate it.” She shifted her legs against his. “Next time I get kidnapped, remind me to wear panties.”

His expression tightened, as did the hand on her knee. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

“I’m fully dressed, Lieutenant, so ‘fucking’ with you is the least of your worries at the moment.”

He smiled a slow, predatory smile.

“If you don’t shut that smart mouth of yours, I’ll have to shut it for you.”

“How are you going to do that?” she whispered back. Excitement churned inside her as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer, his lips so much closer, making her mouth water.

“By cutting out your tongue. I’ll blame it on the terrorists.”

She sighed with dejection. “Damn. There goes that tongue ring I was going to invest in.”

A rough chuckle sounded from the driver as Macey’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

“Give me trouble, Em, and you’ll regret it.”

“Give me lip, Macey, and I’ll bite it.” She snapped her teeth back at him and was rewarded with a flare of lust in his gaze. Unfortunately, the lust came with
more than she expected. It came with a wolf’s grin and a knowing smirk.

“Be careful, Emerson, because I’ve been known to bite back.”

EMERSON JENNIFER DELANEY WAS
shaking. At least on the inside. She’d be damned if she would let Macey, the big, tough, larger-than-life Navy SEAL she’d always lusted over, see her shake on the outside. She wouldn’t let
anyone
see her shake on the outside if she could help it. It wasn’t acceptable. Good Navy children had a stiff upper lip and kept their fears to themselves. They weren’t whiny babies or wimps, and if they made the mistake of being one in her family, then they learned fast the error of their ways.

So she let herself shake inside. All through the ride, while her legs remained draped over his, his large hand occasionally cupping her knees as he flicked a heated look at her.

Otherwise, he watched the traffic, kept a careful check through the back window, and talked to Nathan Malone in SEAL jargon that Emerson had only halfway learned to translate throughout her
life of dealing with Navy SEALs, admirals, and various officers. Even her mother was an officer, as were her aunts on her father’s side, various uncles, and cousins. Out of her entire family on her father’s side, in three generations, Emerson was the only one to buck tradition and make a life and a career outside that hallowed institution.

So, translating SEAL talk wasn’t easy.

She knew they were driving aimlessly around Atlanta to make certain there were no tails. Then, Lieutenant Malone was going to drop them off and report to the admiral. After that, there was something about hiding her in a cave. She hoped that was a joke, because, well, caves had bugs and bats and stuff, and she did not do bugs and bats and stuff.

“All’s clear,” Macey finally murmured after watching the back window for what seemed like hours. “Take us to the drop-off then head out. Clint will be straggling back into the States around daylight. Catch up with him and let him know what’s going on. Kell and Reno are OOC for a few more days.”

OOC. Okay, she could handle that one. Out of Country. “Admiral’s gonna wanna know your location,” Nathan reminded him. His ruined voice was harsh, but there was just a hint, the slightest flavor of Ireland sneaking through. She bet his voice had been a panty-wetter before he was tortured by Sorrell and his associates.

“You don’t know,” Macey reminded him. “Clint
doesn’t know. Until I know we’re secure, Nathan, I trust no one. Not even the admiral.”

It was too important. Emerson was too important. And the hairs at the nape of his neck tingled at the thought of letting the location out to even the admiral.

Nathan nodded sharply as the inner city streetlights became further apart and the dimmer, more distant lights of the residential areas threw longer, darker shadows into the truck.

“Can I sit up now?” She was tired of laying on her back and staring at Macey or the ceiling. Not that Macey wasn’t a fine thing to look at, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her, so it made the discomfort a bit more noticeable.

“Not yet.” His hand tightened on her knee again and gave her a thrill. She was pathetic, really. Creaming her panties for a shift of fingers against her knee. How low could a woman sink?

“This is uncomfortable, Macey.”

“So is death.” Clipped and impersonal. She hated that voice.

“Do you believe death is uncomfortable? I’d think you’d be unaware—”

“You’re going to be gagged if you don’t shut up.” He glowered down at her.

Emerson twitched her nose. The imp inside her was shaking in fear and staying quiet wouldn’t be easy. If she wasn’t talking, goading or taunting, then she was going to start crying. And she really hated crying.

“Here we go.” Macey jerked the door open, jumped out and grabbed her legs, pulling her across the leather seat as she jerked up in response.

“Let’s go,” he ordered as he gripped her waist and set her down on the sidewalk of a less than reputable residential area.

“I don’t have shoes,” she reminded him.

He began dragging her through a row of scraggly hedges as the pickup pulled away from the curb and drove off.