Blind Ambition (3 page)

An evening shower had flooded in through the opening, slicking the cement floor so that she had no dry spot on which to lie. But she no longer cared about being wet. She’d been damp nonstop since her arrival in St. Isidore.

After stitching Frederick’s wound, she’d been shoved back into the van’s cargo hold and driven another half hour or so to…wherever this was. Since then, she’d slept as much as possible to keep anxiety for Garfield and Flore from gnawing a hole in her chest.

She’d been counting sunsets to track the days. One of the guards had stolen her watch, but he hadn’t found her locket. She had to take comfort in the little things.

At the sound of a key in the lock, she shifted to a seated position and pressed her back to the rough block wall. So far Frederick’s men had dropped her in the cell and left her alone. Alone was preferable to the alternative, but it didn’t give her much opportunity to escape.

The door swung inward on surprisingly quiet hinges and her guard entered, moonlight glistening off the sweat on his young face. He couldn’t be much over twenty; his neck and shoulders didn’t fill out his T-shirt the way they would in a few more years. He grinned as she tried to become one with the wall.

“I have a proposition for you, lady,” he said, his voice genial as if he were merely passing on a tidbit about the weather or his favorite cricket player.

Her mouth went dry and she could only stare as he stepped inside.

“You be good to me,” he continued, his eyes glinting with something fearsome that didn’t match his friendly tone, “and I’ll be good to you.”

He reached for her and she whimpered, hating that sound of weakness as it escaped her lips. She scrambled to her feet, nearly slipping on the wet floor, eager to give up her position of vulnerability on the ground.

“No,” she said on a harsh breath.

Before she could discern his intent, he yanked her sideways and shoved her face first into the wall. The bruise she’d sustained in her earlier struggle sparked with pain so intense that bright lights flashed in her skull.

She rammed an elbow back into his stomach, but he dodged the worst of the blow and clamped her hands together with one of his own, swearing under his breath. He might not have filled out yet, but he was still strong. And she was weak from lack of food and water.

All of the self-defense lessons Hygiea had paid for were worthless if she couldn’t put any power behind the moves she’d learned.

Her heart walloped her chest as she struggled for purchase on the slick cement without being able to use her hands for balance. If she kicked back, would she go down instead of him? If she screamed, would the others come to her aid, or join her attacker? She wriggled against his hold and sent one heel back into his shin.

“
Salop!
” He hissed the insult, slamming her into the block wall again.

Her mind turned to fog, and nausea climbed her throat. If she let him take her down…

Beyond desperate, she quit fighting and dropped like a stone. Taken off guard, her captor slipped and lost his grip as he flailed toward her with a shout. She scurried to her left, out of his grasp, and launched herself at the doorway. He snagged her collar and yanked her back. The shirt pulled tight against her throat, and she coughed.

The guard flipped her onto her stomach and pinned her with his body. “So you like it rough,” he said with a low chuckle. “I can—”

“Get the fuck off of her,” a deep voice growled.

Alexa’s heartbeat skipped. An American! Her attacker’s weight lifted, accompanied by a gurgling sound. She scrambled to the far wall and faced the man who filled the doorway, barely visible in camouflage-print clothing. He hooked a thick arm around the guard’s neck, his face concealed behind dark camo paint and the shadow of a floppy hat as he waited until her attacker went limp.

She pressed her back against the cool brick and held her arms in a vain attempt to keep the trembling at bay.

“Stay there,” the commando whispered. Then he lowered his unconscious burden to the floor and shackled the kid’s wrists and ankles with zip ties. He stuffed a rag into the guard’s mouth, and turned his attention her way. “Come on.”

Relief flooded her limbs and left her shaky. “Who are you?”

He glanced at the door and hesitated, then removed his hat. She’d recognize his face anywhere. Her heart skipped.

“
Dan?
” Her voice was breathy, his name barely even a whisper. Could it really be him? “What are you doing here?”

He crammed the hat back on his head and reached out a gloved hand. “I came for you. Can you walk?”

She took his hand and pushed aside all of her questions for a better time. He pulled her to her feet, and she winced but managed not to cry out at the pain in her ribs and hip.

As she moved into the moonlight spilling in through the open door, he stilled and reached a hand toward her face. “Fuck, Lys.” He dropped his arm, but held her gaze. “What’d they do to you?”

He was the only one who’d ever called her Lys… She shook off the painful memories and made a dismissive gesture with her hand. “I’m fine. It’s just a few bruises.”

“Like hell.” Dan straightened and stepped to the door to survey the area around the hut. Jerking his head toward the forest, he said, “Let’s move.” He gripped her hand and led her down the stairs.

She followed him into the shadow of the dank hut, and crept through the darkness. Her entire left side ached and her muscles were like jelly, but she took shallow breaths and focused on crossing the open field to the forest. Every sound made her flinch and she continually scanned behind her, sure the alarm would sound any minute and rebels would run them to ground.

They entered a banana plantation that skirted the clearing around the camp. The once neat rows of squat plants were now a mess of undergrowth, dead leaves, and rotten fruit that filled the air with the pungent smell of fermentation.

She and Dan moved slowly through the cool, humid air that made her shiver in her damp clothes. Her brain screamed at her to run, but she knew stealth was better than speed in this case. Not that she could have run if she tried. Dehydration, exhaustion, and pain conspired to bring her down, and she fought to stay upright with every step.

She had no idea where they were—she’d passed out from the pain shortly after Rugby had thrown her over his shoulder to haul her away from the orphanage—but the further they moved from the SIR outpost, the more she relaxed.

Dan stopped next to a small group of banana plants and guided her behind him before going absolutely still. Her heart gave a kick, but she followed suit. What did he see?

A few heartbeats later, the orange glow of a cigarette appeared as a sentry passed no more than twenty yards in front of them, his white shirt nearly glowing in the faint light.

If Dan weren’t blocking her from view, she’d shine like a beacon in the night with her khaki clothes and pale face.

They waited several minutes after the guard trudged off, then Dan prowled forward, silent on the damp earth as he slowly parted the broad banana leaves and guided them back into place after she’d followed.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the plantation gave way to a tight knit of vines and palms and towering trees with thick roots. Dan continued the mind-numbing pace. Questions whirled in her brain as she cautiously trod where her guide had already stepped.

Why was he here? PJs didn’t usually take on this kind of mission, did they? Where were they headed? Would they rendezvous with his team? He must know who she really was now. Was he pissed? Would he understand?

Alexa’s knees buckled, no longer able to support her weight. She lost her grip on Dan’s hand and landed on all fours on the pungent soil, jarring her tender ribs. She had to bite her lip to hold back a cry of agony.

He turned and dropped to one knee in front of her. “What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning in close so his breath fanned her ear.

She shook her head and gulped for air. Her whole body throbbed, but it wasn’t just the physical pain and fatigue that overwhelmed her. It was everything. Flore, Garfield, spending the last day and a half in a constant state of fear. Nearly being raped by a macho kid with a gun who could have been so much more if given the chance.

“Where are you hurt?” Dan asked.

She gestured along her left side and tried to bring her breathing under control. “I’ll be okay in a second.”

“We need to make tracks. I’ll carry you.” Without waiting for her response, he shifted to her right and scooped her up against his chest like a baby. “Put your arm around my neck.”

She complied, resisting the urge to run her fingers into his hair. “You can’t carry me all the way to…” Wherever they were headed.

He made a dismissive sound. “You forget what I used to do for a living.”

Used to?
No, she hadn’t forgotten. How did you forget meeting an honest-to-God hero? Not just special operations, but a man who put his life on the line to save downed pilots, imperiled sailors, and trapped soldiers. A man who could fight his way in or out of anyplace and tend to the wounded with equal skill and care.

No. She might have pushed him away, but she’d never forgotten.

She gave over to the jostling of his long strides eating up the treacherous terrain with ease. He smelled like the ocean and sweat and dirt…and Dan. She inhaled deeply and clung to his neck. Too many times over the years she’d imagined what it would be like to see him again. Had imagined that dark look in his beautiful hazel eyes when he worshipped her body with his hands and mouth.

The anguish on his face that he’d quickly masked when she ended their affair.

A part of her died the day she walked away from Dan Molina. Their time together had encompassed the best moments of her life. But their relationship was based on a lie. And she had committed herself to helping those in need. There was no room for a man in her life.
 

Her brother Thad wanted to know what she was running from. He didn’t understand that she was running toward something. A life of meaning. One where she made a difference. One where no one knew who she really was. Or rather, the other way around. With Hygiea she could be who she really was. Back home in Seattle, she had to be who everyone else expected her to be.

She sighed.

Trees rustled overhead, bent by the constant breeze, and the rush of the surf grew stronger in her ears. They passed the journey in silence, Dan treading like a native through the ferns and vines, before he gently lowered her to her feet.

“Drink.” He shoved a canteen toward her.

She hadn’t realized how thirsty she was. “Thank you.” Gulping in a distinctly unladylike fashion that would give her father the hives, Alexa watched as Dan lit a red-filtered flashlight and studied a map and compass.

He nodded to himself and stowed his gear in various pockets and pouches. When she offered it, he took the water bottle and tipped his head back for a long swallow, exposing his neck and that little spot she’d loved to kiss because it drove him wild.

I missed you.

The thought hit her like a smack to the chest. She still hadn’t recovered when he lowered the bottle and screwed on the cap, studying her face as he secured the container under bungee cords on his backpack. Their eyes locked and her breath stalled.

“We need to keep moving,” he said in a low voice, apparently not as affected by her proximity as she was by his. She’d killed those feelings in him long ago. Her throat tightened.

With a nod, she willed air back into her lungs and turned when he made a twirling gesture with his hand. Again he hefted her against his chest, with only a slight exhale of strain. She leaned her head against his shoulder, and closed her eyes. Being this close to Dan was its own form of torture, reminding her of all she’d given up.

But she’d rather suffer his touch than slow their pace.
 

About twenty minutes later, he stopped, set her on her feet, and crouched low. She followed suit, but dropped to her knees from the pain in her hip. They were so close to the shore she could hear the water lapping at the sand. Shells and pebbles knocked against each other with each wave to soothing, almost musical, effect. Such an innocent sound.

Dan had his red light out again, and he alternated between studying the map and compass, and scanning the trees that lined the dark beach. “Shit,” he whispered.

“What’s wrong?” She kept her voice low so it wouldn’t carry.

He reached over her head and tugged a small piece of twine loose from a branch. “This is the right spot, but my boat is gone.”

FUCK AND DOUBLE FUCK.
HAD someone seen him, or had opportunists run across the dinghy and appropriated it for themselves? Or maybe he hadn’t tied it down as well as he thought. He was careful out of habit and necessity, but that didn’t mean he never made a mistake.

However it had happened, they were screwed. And Alyssa, or rather
Alexa
—would he ever get used to that?—was in no shape to run all over the island with him, looking for another boat. Not to mention he was struggling to keep his head straight with her so close.

He’d spent the entire trip to St. Isidore locking away the raw ache that still cut through him when he thought of her, building an impenetrable wall around his emotions. A wall he needed in order to do his job. And it had worked right up until he’d caught the guard pinning her to the floor. He might have been able to rebuild his defenses had he not seen her battered face and the terror in her eyes.

That look had made him want to kill the guard and rush the rebel camp with guns blazing. The fuckers had
hurt
her. He was afraid to imagine what else they’d done.

No matter how much he’d steeled himself, seeing her again, holding her, was like taking a sucker punch to the gut. She tempted him from top to bottom, and holy hell, he’d forgotten just how much. He was such a goddamned fool for letting her get to him like this.

Focus, Molina.

“Your boat?” she asked, startling him out of his thoughts. “I can’t leave the island.”