Hot as Hell (18 page)

in a grouping of ornamental shrubs. A few seconds later, a low whistle told them to come ahead. They

met up with the SSI boss by some flowering bushes.

They moved behind the foliage and confronted what looked to be a rock wall. Ren opened a

small door camouflaged as part of the rock to reveal a key pad. He entered a code and a door slid open

and led into a LED-floor-lit tunnel that sloped downwards. Entering the tunnel, Sam and Conn followed

as Ren led. The door behind them slid shut with only a change of air pressure to indicate its closing.

Less than two minutes later, they entered a room with beds, supplies, and a computer array

that would make NSA proud. Keely was in the center of it all, the mistress of all she surveyed.

“Sprite,” Ren called out. Keely jumped up and ran to her husband.

“Where’s Dawn?” Sam asked Keely.

“Still outside. She had one guy left at the end of the driveway.”

“Fuck.” Sam walked over and looked at the camera images, switching to infrared to spot human

heat patterns more easily. He spotted Dawn’s small figure as she used the landscaping to cover her

approach to a guard. He admired her stealthy approach.

“They are not in the house. MacLean can waste time inside if he wishes.” Benrabi’s accented

voice came over the audio feed.

Sam hunted for and found Benrabi and another man on a camera image as they exited the

front door of the house.

“Our men are not answering us,” Benrabi continued. “The infidel bitches must have gotten to

them. Outside is where we’ll find the whores.”

“Fuck.” Sam turned and headed for the tunnel. “I’m going out to backup Dawn. Then we’ll

come back and help y’all with MacLean and the rest of them.”

“Hell, buddy,” Conn said. “If Ren and I can’t handle the other assholes, then we might as well

retire and watch soap operas and eat bonbons.”

****

having cuffed and pulled three large men’s bodies into the shadows. Her breathing was overly rapid

and she was hyper-alert to every noise and movement around her.

Leaning against a palm tree, Dawn used the trunk to block the light from the tablet and

rechecked the position of the last guard. He was secreted in a small grouping of ferns by the entrance

to the long driveway leading to the house. She only had cover for about four meters of the twenty

meter distance between them.

Checking over the dart pistol, she took off her holsters and placed them under a bush, then she

tucked her gun into the bum bag and placed the dart gun into the waistband at the back of her shorts.

She rubbed some dirt over her arms and legs and disheveled her hair. Then she ripped her tank top so

that one strap was torn and the front of the shirt revealed far too much of one pale breast.

Faking a limp, she hobbled down the road toward the man whose gaze was fixed in the direction

of the main road and not scanning his surroundings as a more expert guard should be doing.

Where did Benrabi get these jokers? Guards ‘R Us?

When she was about two meters away, she stopped, bent over, and wheezed as if she were out

of breath. She braced her dominant hand on her back, just above the grip of the dart gun.

“Help me! Please,” she panted out, keeping a sharp eye on the man.

He stepped out of the shadows into the light cast by one of a series of ornamental light posts

lining the drive. Bringing his submachine pistol up, he aimed it at her.

“Come here, woman.” His accent was thick, not Yemeni. Maybe Syrian.

Dawn straightened somewhat, but kept her hand on her back as if she was in pain, and then

moved forward with an exaggerated limp.

The man’s expression showed no fear—and no suspicion of her at all. She was, after all, a mere

woman, harmless and needing a man to direct her every action.

Yeah, you just keep thinking I’m harmless, you fuckwit
.

He moved forward, his weapon now aimed at the ground. His gaze was fixed on her naked

breast, which had fallen completely out of her top as she moved. He had an unholy gleam in his eyes.

Was the twatface salivating? He was.

Anger flowed through her veins like molten lava. In one fluid move, she pulled the dart gun,

brought it around, and shot him in the throat. The shocked expression on his face as he fell face down

on the pea-gravel drive made her happy.

She shoved the dart gun into her back waistband and rushed forward. Checking his belt and his

pockets, she couldn’t find a single, bleeding flex cuff on his person.

Luckily, she had an extra set she’d taken off one of the other guards. She cuffed his hands behind

his back and then used his own knife to cut his shirt into pieces and gagged him. She tossed his gun

into a run-off ditch alongside the drive, then turned to head back to the safe room tunnel entrance.

“Bitch!”

The speaker came around a curve in the driveway and ran straight at her. It was Benrabi and the

man MacLean had called Armando was on his heels.

She barely managed to twist away from Benrabi’s grasping hands. She swiped at him with the

downed guard’s knife she still held in her hand and caught the sheikh’s arm. He roared in pain and

anger, but before he could grab her, he tripped over the guard she’d just felled.

Armando moved toward her, slowly, inexorably, with an evil leer on his face. He was huge. His

large hands probably could break her in two as easily as most men could snap a twig.

Shifting the knife into her non-dominant hand, she moved away from Armando and the cursing

Benrabi, back into the landscaping along the driveway. She kept the knife pointed at Armando, warding

him off as she used her other hand to pull the dart gun from her waistband.

Bloody buggering hell. She kept her hand behind her back. The dart gun was empty and her

handgun was in the zipped bum bag. She couldn’t load the dart gun and hold the knife at the same

time or unzip the bum bag with one hand. So she dropped the knife.

Armando looked at the knife lying on the ground and laughed.

Dawn pulled an extra dart from a back pocket in her shorts.

“Come to me,
puta
.” Armando crooked a finger at her. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”

The man was confident that she was the prey and he, the predator. Yeah, right, and the Queen

was a Yank.

Still backing away and with both hands behind her back, Dawn loaded the dart gun by feel.

She’d done it enough this evening that she had the process down. She kept her eyes on Armando and

Benrabi who now struggled to his feet.

“Bitch, you cut me.” Growling like a wild beast, Benrabi stood, a gun in his hand. He pointed it

at her. She dove for a small grassy ditch just as he shot.

Either his aim was off or he’d intended to shoot her in the leg. The bullet creased her thigh.

“Bloody hell!” Dawn hit the grassy berm and rolled down a slight slope. When she stopped

rolling, she was on her back in the shallow ditch. She had managed to hold onto the dart gun and

brought it up and shot Benrabi in the face as he dove at her with a bellow.

The dart lodged in the soft tissue of his cheek. She had an up close and personal view of her

marksmanship since he’d fallen on top of her before she could move out of the way. His gross, smelly

bulk now covered her from head-to-toe like an obscene lover from hell.

“Fucking arsehole weighs a fucking ton.” She gasped, trying to catch a full breath—and not

succeeding. She wiggled and shoved and wasted what little oxygen she had, but couldn’t budge the

arsebadger at all. She needed to get out from under him, because she was seeing spots—evidence she

could lose consciousness soon—and Armando was still a danger.

Suddenly the air thickened like a thunderstorm was about to break. The atmosphere was so

dense, so charged with electricity, she found it even harder to breathe. Or maybe that was because the

arsehole Benrabi was compressing her diaphragm.

Danger was definitely coming. It had to be Armando, stalking her, prolonging the threat, making

her wait before he pounced. Shit, she couldn’t get to her gun or even reload the dart gun, which was

still in her hand, because that arm was pinned down by the ape on top of her.

Bleeding hell. She renewed her efforts to shift Benrabi off her.

Then a roar rent the silence of the night. “Dawn!”

Was she dreaming? That sounded like Sam.

Pounding feet approached her position from the direction of the safe room tunnel.

Armando leaned down to pull Benrabi off her. He’d use her as a hostage, but he didn’t get the

chance.“Motherfucker,” Sam yelled and Armando’s face disappeared from her sight.

Thud. Thwap
. Grunts. Groans. Sam was fighting to protect her and she could do nothing to help

him. She struggled to get out from under Benrabi or at least move him enough so she could see what

was happening.

And then there was silence, heavy and thick, broken only by rapid, harsh breaths.

“Sam… luv…” she cried out.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.”

His words brought tears to her eyes. Benrabi’s bulk was torn away and she took a deep breath

of glorious air. Then she winced as her ribs protested the sudden, violent expansion of her lungs.

“Sweetheart? You hurt?” Sam knelt by her prone body. With his gun in one hand and aimed at

Benrabi—he used his free hand to check over her limbs, testing joints with a competent, gentle touch.

“I’m all right.” She panted like an exhausted puppy. She smiled at his concerned face, backlit

by the lights lining the driveway. “Thanks… getting… arsehole off. Stop… fussing. Benrabi won’t…

unconscious… for long. Armando…”

Sam leaned over and kissed her silent, giving her his breath. “Armando’s dead. If Benrabi

moves, he’s dead. Now, lie still and let me take care of you, little warrior.” He blew out a breath and

leaned his forehead against her. “You did good, little cat. You can partner me on an op any day—God

… sweetheart… I sent you away and put you in danger. Forgive…”

“Shut it, luv. You did what you felt was right.” She soothed the muscle pulsing along his jaw line

with her thumb. “Like a good partner, you were here when I needed you. I’m fine.”

“Herr Crocker?” A man with a Dutch accent called out.

“Over here, Captain Hoffmann.” Sam turned and smiled down at her. “The Dutch marines have

arrived.”“Better late, then never, right?” She returned his smile.

“Does the fraulein need medical attention?” Captain Hoffmann asked as he loomed over them.

Behind the Dutchman, other marines took control of Benrabi and checked over Armando’s body.

“No,” Dawn said then winced when Sam began palpating her ribs.

“Yes, she does,” Sam said. “The fucker bruised, maybe cracked some of your ribs.” Her Marine

moved to block her body with his as he tied her torn top so that her breast was covered. His narrowed

glance went to her shorts and some of the tension in his body released when he saw her shorts were

intact. “Just bruised, luv,” she said in a reassuring, soothing tone since her man was balanced on the

fine edge of putting Benrabi down. “A few anti-inflammatories and I’ll be right as rain.” She caressed

his face. “So relax. I’m fine.” She looked around. “Where’s Ren and Conn? Keely’s back at the…”

“Shh. Ren and Conn are back at the house, taking out the rest of the bad asses, and Keely is,

hopefully, staying put in the safe room.”

Dawn struggled to rise. “We should go help them.”

“We aren’t going anywhere. You’ve done your job, little warrior.” Sam placed a hand on her arm

and lowered her back to the soft grass of the ditch. He ran his hand down her side and then froze and

raised his hand—covered in her blood.

Shit, she’d forgotten Benrabi had tagged her. She aimed a nasty glance at the fuckwit, who

glared at her. “Benrabi’s conscious. He’s a fucking fast metabolizer.”

“Fuck his metabolism. You’re bleeding.” Sam growled and took the small flashlight Captain

Hoffmann handed him and aimed it at her thigh. The Dutchman looked grim. Her Marine looked killing

mad. “Hey, I got the wanker back. I knifed and then darted him. In all the action and him falling on

me, I sort of forgot he shot me.” She petted Sam’s arm. “It’s a crease. Nothing major involved. Just

some fat.”

Sam snapped. “If you’re bleeding, you’re not fucking fine. You’re a mess, baby. Your top was

torn—did the fucker hurt you anywhere else you’re not telling me about?” He began checking over her

hips again as if his earlier look had missed something.

“Sam, luv, I dirtied myself up and tore my top to distract the guard.” She petted him wherever

she could touch him. “That’s all that happened. I promise.”

Dawn looked at Sam and then Captain Hoffmann. “Someone needs to go help Ren and Conn so

Keely can come out of the safe room.”

“I’m not leaving you,” Sam said. “Captain, would…”

“It is done, Herr Crocker. Stay with your woman.” The Captain smiled at her. “You ever want to

join the Dutch marines,
Fraulein
, I would be proud to have you in my unit.” He saluted her and went to

join his men, shouting orders.

“You aren’t joining the Royal Dutch Marines, little warrior,” Sam said with a growl in his voice.

“I’m quitting the CIA and joining SSI to partner with you.”

“Bossy man.” Dawn laughed and winced at the pain in her ribs.

Sam snarled and placed a gentle hand over her ribs. Then he yelled over his shoulder, “I need a