Samurai Game (11 page)

You get your men?

Of course.

Sam pushed down the smile that little haughty note brought out and rolled to get his hands under him. He groaned at the sudden crashing pain and tried to push himself onto his hands and knees. This was more than weakness from teleporting too much. The distances had been relatively short and his body felt nearly settled. He’d taken a couple of deep wounds from the stabbing broken branches in the trees, but really . . . in front of Azami?

“It isn’t going to happen,” he muttered. “You’re a fuckin’ GhostWalker. Get on your feet and move, soldier.”

He felt a surge of psychic energy, a strong wash surrounding him, and instinctively he twisted, looking for the threat. Azami materialized on his left side, reaching down to slide her arm around his waist. Shock waves rocked him. There was no way she could use teleportation, yet she’d been a great distance from him. How had she managed to cross that space in under a second? As far as he knew, he was the only one in the world who could do such a thing—and yet, she had. He recognized the burst of power, the alarming buildup of energy and the way her body shimmered for a moment, nearly transparent until all molecules caught up with her speed.

He found himself looking into those dark, mysterious eyes. For one moment, he felt as if he was falling forward and he caught himself. He was not about to lean on anyone, let alone a woman. “Who the hell are you?” Because she was no ordinary woman, and more and more his radar told him he was dealing with a fellow GhostWalker. And if that was so, and she hadn’t identified herself as such, if she was lying about who she was, they had a major problem.

He did
not
want to kill this woman. Everything in him rebelled against the idea, yet that nagging suspicion refused to go away. He held his breath. The wind seemed to cease.

“I’m the woman who happens to be saving your butt right now. Keep walking. We’re about to have more company. If you go down again, you won’t be getting back up.”

Hell. He knew he’d been hit, it just hadn’t registered in his brain yet. He’d been moving too fast, but someone had fired repeatedly and a bullet had clipped him—somewhere. He was used to the aftermath of teleporting, the sheer exhaustion and the pain as bones and tissue realigned, as if somehow, they hadn’t all quite found their rightful places back in his body. He accepted the help from her, not wanting to fall on his face in front of her.

Her waist was very small. His hand was so big, he was almost afraid to put it on her—afraid anywhere he touched would be inappropriate. Fucking hell. He should be thinking about guns and bullets and self-preservation, not how perfectly her body felt against his.

They hobbled away from that scene of death and chaos, back into deeper woods. Azami didn’t go far. She set him down beside a large tree. He could feel the earth trembling.

“The others are close. My team’s about five minutes out.” He blew out his breath and assessed the damage. “I can handle this. Seriously, woman, you’re driving me crazy.” She was too, but not in the way she should be. He should want her hiding in the bunker with her brothers, Kadan and Nico protecting her, but no, she was here, in danger, and all he could think about was how good she smelled. And how very glad he was that Kadan and Nico had wives they adored.

Azami laughed softly. “I seem to have that effect on men—driving them crazy. Apparently my behavior is not normal.”

“You’re damned attractive and you’re distracting me.” The words were out before he could censor them, shocking him and judging by her face, shocking her.

“I think you’re a little delirious.”

The teasing note in her voice slipped inside his guard and warmed him. Damn it all, she wasn’t who she claimed to be and he was responsible for the safety of his team and for Lily’s baby. The woman was overpowering his good sense with sheer sex appeal. He turned his head toward the sound of the engine drawing near, more to distract himself than for any other reason. He’d known all along that Jeep was close.

Overhead they could hear an approaching helicopter, the sound of the blades growing loud. Azami sent him another smile and made a move to rise from behind the brush. Alarm rushed over him and Sam caught her wrist, yanking her back to safety. She didn’t resist, or even look annoyed. She simply looked down at the fingers shackling her and then back up to him, raising an eyebrow.

Damn, she was calm. He liked that. He also liked that her fingers had settled around the hilt of her knife. His curved around hers, holding her hand still. “You don’t trust me.”

“I don’t know you. But I see you lack trust in me as well.”

He flashed a wan grin. “I don’t know you either.” He indicated above the canopy with his chin. “They aren’t ours.”

Thorn glanced at the sky, her heart thudding hard in her chest.
Two
helicopters? That was some serious firepower. Mercenaries and Iranians. What was going on? Someone wanted either Sam Johnson or her—very badly.

Ropes dropped from the helicopter hovering some distance away, and several men began fast-roping down. She assessed the damage to Sam. He’d been shot. It looked like a through and through, but the bullet had entered on his right side and come out the back. He’d lost a lot of blood. It was only his training and iron will that kept the pain at bay and the soldier from passing out.

It was impossible for a woman like Thorn not to admire Sam as he pushed himself up, sliding his weapon forward and going to ground without so much as wincing. The back of his shirt was covered in blood and there was more on his calf. “Stay still,” she advised. “And take a breath.”

She didn’t give him time to think about it, as she pulled a thin, rather large rectangle-shaped bandage from her pack. Shoving up his shirt, she slapped it over the wound. He gasped and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, suspicion in his eyes. She ignored it and reached for the front of his shirt.

“That feels like some form of a drug called Zenith. My blood vessels are expanding rapidly. My body’s going hot and flooding with adrenaline. You get the same reaction from Zenith.” There was accusation in his voice. “I had no idea there was a topical form. Before it was banned, it was given via injections.”

She slapped another medicated patch over the entry wound. “It’s second-generation Zenith. Definitely not going to kill you, so mellow out.”

The suspicion didn’t ease, she could tell by his eyes, but he turned back toward the enemy. There was nothing he could do either way, the patches had been applied, the Zenith was in his system, and so he turned with a casual shrug of his shoulders, making her admire him all the more.

“How would you know about Zenith if you don’t know Dr. Whitney?”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t acquainted with the man. You never asked me.”

Thorn slipped into place beside him, lying on her belly, her eyes watching the enemy force fan out and disappear into the brush. “Military. Trained. I think we’re looking at an elite force.” She assessed the enemy.

“My team is just minutes out,” he reiterated with confidence. “Keep your head down.”

She sent him one dark look of pure reprimand. She’d already given away too many secrets, but then—so had he. She respected him for that. He’d taken his job of protecting her quite seriously, even when he saw she could handle herself. And he hadn’t tried to relegate her to the background as so many other men would have. He treated her as an equal. He hadn’t fought the Zenith patches and he knew the first generation eventually killed its host if one wasn’t administered the antidote within the prescribed time frame. That told her he was very seasoned and completely confident in his abilities. She may have underestimated him just a little.

Sam grinned at her, that quick, cocky smile sending shock waves through her. She’d
never
reacted to a man in the way she was reacting to him. One flash of his white teeth, those dark eyes warming with a teasing light, and her body overheated, her blood rushing through her veins with more exhilaration than she’d ever felt. Sam Johnson made her feel alive.

She’d been in countless perilous situations—it was the very nature of her business—and she’d never encountered such a physical and emotional reaction to anyone. “You’re a dangerous man, Sam,” she accused.

His grin widened into a mischievous smirk. “You have no idea just how dangerous, Ms. Yoshiie.”

That grin promised all sorts of things that had nothing to do with enemy warfare and everything to do with male versus female. Why would that softly whispered taunt turn her into pure melted heat? There was something turbulent and stormy and so seductive in his eyes, so appealing to a woman with her nature.

They were surrounded by an unknown enemy force, and yet the man beside her seemed to turn the experience into an exhilarating roller coaster of emotions. She’d never felt so feminine as she did now, there with her guns and knives and bow and arrows, lying beside Sam in the rotting vegetation and brush. And damn it all, she
loved
that he was dangerous.

They began moving in unison, as if dancing, using elbows and toes to take them over the uneven terrain, two lizards propelling themselves forward soundlessly. Not even the whisper of clothing gave them away as they crab-walked their way closer to the enemy. On the right the sound of the Jeep’s engine suddenly died and a voice called out in Spanish. Another answered in the same language. As if pulled by strings, they looked at one another, both puzzled. Thorn couldn’t believe how in tune they were. Why would mercenaries be in one Jeep and Mexicans in a second along with obviously military-trained Iranian soldiers hunting them?

You really are very popular, aren’t you?
Thorn asked him, a teasing note creeping into her voice. She slipped her knife out of the scabbard and turned toward a sound in front and to the left of her. Someone was near—too near.

Sam laid a restraining hand on her arm.
Bloodthirsty woman. Leave them be. The cavalry is in the air and we want to be able to track them back to whoever sent them. Someone has to be left alive.

That’s a lot of someones to be left alive when they’re determined to kidnap my brother.

What she
should
have said was to quit touching her.
No one
touched her—not without her permission—and she wouldn’t give it if they did ask. Sounds increased all around them. They weren’t going to have much choice soon. The soldiers moving toward them weren’t from the Jeep. These were men who knew what they were doing in the forest. They came in formation, fanned out, covering ground, armed and ready for anything. They were moving swiftly as if they knew they only had minutes to find their quarry.

We’re nearly in the open. We won’t stand a chance like this.
Her hand slipped once again to her gun. She was good in close combat, but there were too many to take down that way. It would have to be loud and that would draw fire. She could smell the coppery flavor of blood, but there was no scent of fear coming off of Sam.

Trust me. I know that’s hard when you don’t know me, but if you trust me, we’ll be fine.

Her heart thudded. The closest she came to trust was her father—maybe Daiki and Eiji—but even then, she preferred to rely on herself. She protected
them
, not the other way around. She swallowed the edge of fear—not from the enemy but from her own strange feelings. In the end, if they tried to take her prisoner, she’d kill as many as she could before they killed her. For one long moment she stared into those dark, fathomless eyes, letting him know silently her intentions. He didn’t flinch away but seemed to understand she had no intention of being taken alive. She would never be a prisoner again. Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but he caught it.

He wrapped his arms around her and turned, pushing her smaller body deep into a depression in the ground beneath a fallen tree. His body on top of hers obliterated everything, so that there was nothing but him in her world. He went completely still, his skin color changing subtly. He was wearing jeans and a loose shirt, a casual, almost elegant look on his muscular frame, his good looks drawing attention from the fact that the clothing reflected his surroundings so that he faded into the background. In an environment such as this one, his clothing was another tool of combat.

The soldiers were around them now, two on either side. The trunk of the tree shuddered as one booted foot stepped atop it. She didn’t move a muscle. Above her, Sam’s body seemed completely relaxed, although she felt the coiled tension in him, much like a snake ready for action. He might give the appearance of relaxed indolence, but he could easily explode into action.

Relax.

They are the enemy.
But it wasn’t the enemy that had her tense. She was feeling things she shouldn’t. For him. Her awareness was frightening. She felt every breath he took, every beat of his heart, the bunching of his stomach muscles. She could almost feel the blood running hot in his veins.

He wouldn’t understand. How could he? She’d read his file. He hadn’t had it easy, but he still wouldn’t understand the demons running her. Her father had worked hard to rid her of them. Demons had no place in a samurai warrior. She admired both Daiki and Eiji. They had overcome their daunting pasts to replace rage with serenity. She had failed to wipe out that terrible anger completely. At the most inconvenient times—like now—anger exploded to the surface.

A dark, black cloud settled over her, and Dr. Whitney with his inhuman, reptilian features stared coldly and dispassionately down at her with absolute, utter distaste. He could take apart a child, dissecting them as he would an insect without so much as noticing they were still alive and suffering—she ought to know, she still had all the scars.

Her heart nearly stopped when Sam’s mouth skimmed, featherlight, across her forehead. She was certain it wasn’t just warm breath, but the actual touch of his lips. Accident or not, it set her blood rushing hotly. An insect crawled over her hand and she controlled the itch that ran up her skin, but it was impossible to control deep inside where something totally unknown to her—something feminine and all woman—reached for him.