Circle of Danger (20 page)

For the first time in days, his mind cleared. Their heavy breathing slowed after a few seconds. He slipped out of Marie, his penis limp and sore as she must be after he'd used her so roughly.

He looked at her, expecting to see tears and disgust at his lack of control. Tears pooled in her eyes and she appeared exhausted, but she wore a smirk. She tucked his hair behind his ear. The gesture was so gentle and caring. If they'd been alone, he'd strip her naked and fuck her underneath every tree on the island.

Helping her to her feet, he stepped back and nearly stumbled over the canvas bag. Her hand came out as before to help him regain his balance.

He lurched away from her simple touch. The hurt on her face bothered him, but they'd delayed long enough. He didn't want to admit that her touch had brought a new surge of need racing through his body. His skin tightened everywhere on his body until he wanted to scream. They didn't have time for another go-around.

Besides, if he kept at her like he had, they both wouldn't be able to walk before long.

Using every bit of control he possessed, he took a deep breath and said, “Don't touch me until we're away from the island. I thought once would be enough, but the drug is playing havoc with my libido.” He caught the understanding in her eyes. “Yeah. I guess you would understand.”

After he slipped on the shorts and buttoned up his shirt, he glanced at Marie.

The tight-lip expression on her face as she zipped her shorts—her shirt already buttoned—told him whatever was going through her mind, understanding or not, she was unhappy about it.

The desire to comfort her had to wait. They had lost too much time. He hoped his delay hadn't ruined their chance to escape the island. No way would he allow Mulcahy to touch Marie again.

“Follow me.” He headed for the beach. First he'd see to her safety and then he'd be back to take out that bastard Mulcahy.

M
arie followed Ryker through the palms and prickly bushes as they came closer to the beach. She wanted to cuss out Ice for providing flip-flops instead of sturdy tennis shoes. Every time her feet sank into the deep, loose sand, ants covered and stung her feet.

She hated bugs, especially ants. No matter how quickly she picked up her feet, one or two would get her. She hated feeling helpless.

A silent sigh escaped. Who was she kidding? The helpless feeling was from allowing Ryker's attitude to bother her. So what if he was back to not wanting to touch her again? She'd done what she'd promised him months ago; if the situation was reversed, she would help him as he helped her with the flashbacks.

Even after having mind-blowing sex, he rejected her simple attempt at helping him regain his balance. Though she understood what he'd told her, it didn't make it any easier to take. And no matter how she told herself over and over as they walked toward the beach that he wasn't responsible for his actions—who knew what kind of drug Letitia had shot into his body?—she still hurt from the rebuff.

Nevertheless, they were still in a dire situation.

Helpless. She was helpless. Maybe she needed to stick with her office job in the Crypt. Her plans to save Ryker had failed. Sure, he was alive—but instead of her finding a way to save him as she'd hoped, he'd already had a man inside waiting for the right moment.

No one would be at their best—physically or mentally—after the last few days she'd had. She blushed as she watched Ryker continue to make steady progress through the undergrowth. How rough had it been for her compared to Ryker?

What in the world?

Suddenly it hit her: for the last twenty-four hours, she'd had no flashbacks. Did it mean the drugs Doc gave her had deadened the reaction? Or had the drug just worked its way out of her system? One fact was she'd wanted Ryker for Ryker and not because of a flashback.

How ironic, considering that now Ryker was dealing with a similar drug.

They'd finally reached an area near the beach, and they scooted down a bank onto the white, sandy shore.

Ryker walked into the waves.

“Wait!” The cool waves bathed her burning feet. She fought the urge to scream and run out of the water.

He turned, his forehead wrinkled.

“I can't swim. Well, not well enough in those waves.” If it was the last thing she ever did, when she returned to Sector, she was taking swimming lessons. Something better than the crash course from the other day.

His shoulders slumped. The cap shaded his face. Would she see disappointment?

“Go! I'll hide and you can send someone back to get me.” A burden. That was what she was to him. She had to quit pretending she would be anything else. When she returned to Sector, she would never make trouble again.

She glanced off to the side, gauging which bushes would be best to hide behind. Then someone clasped her waist. Startled, she lifted a foot and stomped on an instep.

“Damn it! I'm carrying you to the boat. There's no way I'm leaving you here.” Ryker shifted her until her cheek rested against his shoulder. “Be still. Once I reach the boat, grab hold of the ladder and pull yourself up. You can do that, right?”

“I'm not a weakling. I just don't know how to swim—that is, well enough.”

The water came to his chest, soaking her too. The up-and-down motion of the boat on the waves caused her to miss a few times until she timed the wave to help her reach the ladder, stumble up the steps, and fall onto the floor.

Just as Ryker pulled up on the ladder and came over the side, landing on his back with the canvas bag cushioning him, Marie heard the popping sound of guns firing. One bullet tinged against a metal rail near her.

On the cliff overlooking the shore stood two black-clad guards, and more poured from the tree line. They had found their exit.

“Stay down!” Ryker turned the key in the ignition and the motors caught on the first try. He slammed the gears down and the boat's bow lifted out of the water.

Marie caught the edge of a built-in seat to stop her downhill slide on the rough, thin carpet.

After about a minute, she lifted her head and looked over the side toward shore. The beach was getting smaller by the second. She breathed deeply. Maybe everything would be okay now. Ryker could send in his people to take it over once Jack and Ice were off the island.

He continued to drive the boat at full speed. Each slap of the hull on the waves jarred every sore joint in her body. She eased onto a cushioned bench and stretched out.

“Rest! I'll let you know when we're in the Florida Straits.” Ryker shouted above the noise of the motors and the wind. She heard him rummaging in the canvas bag.

She was so tired. Her eyes closed and a smile loosened the tightness around her mouth. Ryker's usual grumbling reassured her he was safe. They'd pulled off a miracle and escaped. No way could Mulcahy get them now.

 

C
HAPTER
T
WENTY-
T
HREE

“F
uck! Fuck! Fuck!”

The first thing Marie noticed besides Ryker cussing up a storm was the quietness of the boat. No motors running.

“What happened?” Bruised and stiff, she moved carefully, placing her feet on the floor.

“I'm not sure.” He lifted a panel on the floor and then closed it. “Go over there and sit. Keep an eye out for any boats. I need to look at the motors.”

She had no idea how long she'd slept, but with the contrasting sensation of feeling rested and aching all over, it could've been anywhere from minutes to hours. But surely they'd travelled far enough to be safe. Right?

Though she'd travelled by boat to reach the island, the silence of the engines and the bobbing in the waves frightened her. She clasped her hands together to stop the trembling. What a chicken! No matter how far out of her element, she would prove to Ryker she could hold her own. Taking a few slow, deep breaths, she looked at the moving horizon. The least she could do was keep watch like Ryker had said.

“That's just fucking great!” Ryker kicked the boat. He had a hood opened in the back as he looked at the engines. Though she had no idea what she could do to help, she walked over and peered around his shoulder. The strong smell of oil and gas brought her hand up over her nose.

“See that?” He pointed to a bunch of black hoses and wires. A stream of liquid oozed from a small puncture. “I guess we can count ourselves lucky that one of the bullets only nicked it.” That was when she noticed the hole in the fiberglass side.

“Is that gas?”

“Yeah.” He moved away and began opening and closing cubby doors.

“What are you looking for?”

“Duct tape. That should help save the rest of our gas, but we won't have enough to get through the strait even with the Gulf Stream's help.” He grunted and pulled out a silver roll from underneath a cushion.

“Are we going for another island?” Being on an island again, even if it was land, didn't hold the same appeal as it had at one time.

“Not exactly. From what I can tell, we can head northeast and hit shore in about two hours. We might have just enough gas.” He bent over and tore small strips off the duct tape, tightening it to the hose on each side where the gas leaked. Then he rolled the tape around and around the strips to hold them in place. “That should do it.”

He shut the hood and returned to the controls. The engines didn't start. He jabbed a couple buttons, shifted the gears until the boat vibrated and roared to life. Then the engines settled down to the usual loud hum.

Ryker didn't say a word about how worried he was, but Marie noticed the grim look he gave the water.

She watched him for a few minutes. The bruises on his arms and chin appeared darker. Beads of sweat on his forehead warned her that he was fast approaching the limits of his body's endurance.

“Do you think I can drive the boat?” she asked.

Forehead creased, he looked at her for a moment and returned to staring straight ahead. “Yes. Why?”

She rolled her eyes and bit her lip to keep from saying something sarcastic. No one thought clearly after going through the traumatic experiences he'd survived.

Being careful to keep her feet apart to maintain her balance, she moved next to him and placed her hand on his arm.

“Go and lie down, close your eyes, and I'll drive. You need some rest. If I see anything or have a problem, I'll wake you.”

He opened his mouth to argue.

“Please.” She pulled at his arm. Her hand slid down to the steering wheel.

“Okay.” He sat the compass on the ledge above the wheel. “As long as the needle points to true north in this direction”—he pointed to a spot a few marks to the left of the N—“and the boat keeps heading north-northeast, you'll do fine.”

Without another word, he rubbed her cheek with the tip of a finger. She caught his hand and placed a kiss on his scabbed-over knuckles. For a moment, they didn't move or say a word—only looked at each other. Then he lifted her, placing her in the seat as he scooted past.

A few moments elapsed before she dared glance back at him. He'd dropped the cushions onto the floor and stretched out with his ankles crossed and his hands behind his head. He was sound asleep.

Checking the clock on the control panel, she decided to wake him in two hours unless she spotted land first. She refused to consider that they would run out of gas first. Luck had to be on their side now. She checked on him one last time. His scarred face relaxed as he slept. They deserved better luck. They were due.

M
arie had never experienced the darkness of a moonless night in the Gulf. The stars twinkled brightly in the sky but did little to help her see more than a few yards. With no lights on the boat, she'd slowed it to a crawl. The dangers of running into a sandbar or another boat crossed her mind, but she'd never expected to just run up on the shore. Actually, the motors churned up sand first, before she realized they'd found shore. The awful sound of metal hitting shells, bending and fighting whatever it dredged up in a grinding stop. She tried to push it into reverse. Saving the boat was top priority. They may need to follow the shore until they find civilization, as the possibility of walking miles wasn't at the top of Marie's list of fun times.

With no house, condo, or hotel lights to warn her how near the boat was to shore, she understood what had caused her to drive it so close to the sandy beach. What would Ryker think?

“What the hell!” He jumped to his feet and reached around her to shut off the engine.

“Sorry. It was so dark. One moment we were hitting heavier waves, then the propellers hit bottom.” What little she could make of the land assured her it was land and not a sandbar. “There are no lights. Are we on an island?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. We'll find out in the morning. For now, jump over and make your way to the shore. Once I move the boat out a little and release the anchor, I'll be with you.”

Marie looked over the side. What could be waiting for her to enter the water?

“I'll stay here until you're ready to go,” she said.

“It'll be easier for you now. I can't swim and carry you too.”

Where was her backbone? He was right. She could tell that the whiteness of sand was only a few feet from the boat.

While she contemplated her cowardliness, he stuffed the canvas bag with several items from the boat and tossed it onto shore. Then he opened a small door next to the captain's chair. “Here. Use this.” An orange lifejacket landed at her feet.

She wanted to kick it to the side. After all she'd been through lately, the short distance of unknown water should be a cakewalk. Taking a deep breath, she grabbed the preserver and slipped it on, easing over the side. The water reached her waist. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. In no time, she stood shivering on an abandoned beach, watching Ryker prepare the boat and anchor it a few yards away.

Ryker dove into the water and in seconds walked onto shore like a scarred Poseidon. His wet cotton shirt plastered to broad shoulders and well-defined pecs reminded her how much she enjoyed running her hands across such contours.

He stooped to pull out their hated flip-flops and tossed hers near where she stood. “Put those on. They're better than nothing.” Next, he pulled a small bottle from the bag. “Put your hand out.” She held her hand out and he turned it palm up.

“What is it?”

“It's Jungle Juice, mosquito repellant. A little bit goes a long way. Rub it on your skin but don't touch anything plastic, like your flip-flops. It'll melt it.”

She jerked her hand back, expecting the stuff to burn.

“Don't worry. It attacks plastic—not flesh—but still you don't want too much. It's the best thing to keep mosquitoes away.”

That was when she noticed the buzzing and other sounds behind her. She looked off into the blackness, where she could just make out lots of bushes and a thick stand of trees.

As she rubbed the lotion on, she glanced around, not seeing but a few yards, and everything appeared black and gray. Another shiver raced down her back. Was someone watching?

“How far from a town do you think we are?” She already had a suspicion what the answer would be, but she asked anyway.

Ryker pulled out a beach towel and handed it to her. With one of his own, he ran the cloth over his hair and then unbuttoned his shirt to swipe at his chest.

She wrapped the towel around her shoulders, sat in the loose sand, and hunched over and shuddered.

He eyed her for a second and then dropped to her side. Before she realized what he'd planned, he pulled her into his lap and folded her in his arms, adding the warmth of his body and towel. Heat seeped through her chilled skin. The summer evening was still warm but the last few days had caught up with her. She snuggled her face beneath his chin, touching her chilled nose to his warm neck as she inhaled the unique smell of Ryker.

“It could be forty or a hundred miles. In the morning, we'll see what we can do and where we might be. I checked the tank before I left the boat. It's almost empty. We may have enough for about five minutes or just enough to crank up the engines.” He slipped his warm hand beneath her blouse and rubbed back and forth across her ribs. She snuggled a little closer. “I'll pull out the tent Ice packed for us and we'll get a little sleep before sunrise.”

When she shifted to look up at him, he added, “Yeah. I know what you mean, but Ice can pack a mean bag. If only he'd placed a satellite phone in it. Then we could alert our people. But electronics are a little more dangerous to supply.”

Marie understood. Compasses and bags of dried food and mosquito repellant were easy to sneak out of a compound, but a satellite phone would set off alarms.

“We'll pitch the tent a few feet back. High tide will be in about the time the sun comes up. We don't want to be washed away.”

With the incessant humming behind her, she was glad they had the tent to protect them from insects.

By the time he set up the small tent and doled out the dried jerky, she was dying of thirst. They had a couple of jugs and a six-pack of water. He'd warned her to drink sparingly as the Glades didn't have many places to replenish safe water.

She ran her tongue over her teeth. She hoped Ice had placed a toothbrush or two with a tube of paste in the pack. Maybe she could talk Ryker into sparing a little water to brush her teeth.

“Marie.”

She rubbed her eyes and then looked over to where he stood in front of the tent. He pulled back the flap.

“Take your beach towel into the tent and stretch out on it after you take off your clothes.” Each word emerged darker and harsher as he said it. His good eye almost shined like a predator sensing its prey.

A delicious, warm fever rushed down her back. He'd fought the drug for most of the day.

“The drug they gave you. It wasn't like mine, was it?”

“Why do you say that?”

“Your men. The ones you told me about. The ones who turned into animals after being given the drug—Jack said you had eliminated them.”

“Jack talks too much.”

“Well, was it the same stuff?”

“No. They developed a new one called Morning Glory. It takes booster shots to continue in the system.”

“That you know of.”

He nodded.

“But you're feeling whatever flashback they have.”

He nodded again. His gaze remained on her.

“Okay. You helped me. The least I can do for you is return the favor.” She threw her towel in the tent and bent down to slip inside.

“I'm sorry.”

She twisted to look behind her. “Quit saying that. We didn't ask for any of this. And it's not like I don't enjoy it. You're real good at it.”

He snorted and shook his head.

She stood. “What's that sound?”

“What do you mean?”

“The sound of disbelief. Haven't your other lovers told you how good you are?”

His gaze shifted away from her.

“Ryker?”

He sighed and turned back to her. “Lovers? No. No lovers.” He understood she wasn't talking about Theo. She never could call what Theo did to him loving.

She headed back into the tent and stopped again. Tilting her head, she looked up. “What do you mean, no lovers?”

His broad hand stroked his scarred face. “Women are scared I'll hurt them.”

“So you used prostitutes.”

“I really don't want to talk about it.”

She chewed on her lip. Something about this conversation wasn't right. Then she remembered Jack telling her how hard Theo worked them in the Northern Sector. They never had R&R and weren't allowed to go anywhere without another operative with them. Theo directed Ryker's every move as he trained him to be the best. One thing about Theo was he never shared.

She moved to stand in front of him.

“Am I your first?”

He slowly turned to her. His dark gaze searched her face. “You're my first woman.”