from one mission to the next, never having enough time for her, always leaving her behind.
No wonder she had walked out.
He watched her in the dim light and fought against the tide of emotions. No regrets. Not now. He walled off the memories. They could reminisce once they got out of this hellhole.
But first he had to placate her and gain her cooperation. Her cooperation! He was here to save her, dammit. She was supposed to jump into his arms, misty with gratitude. If he’d had more time, he would have spent a moment or two enjoying that fantasy.
“How about this? I’ll neutralize as many rebels on our way out as I can, evening the odds for the hostages whom we are temporarily leaving behind.” Even though a silent exit would have been by far preferable and had been specifically requested by the Colonel. “I’ll do whatever I can for the hostages on our way out as long as it doesn’t put you in jeopardy. That’s nonnegotiable.”
She looked around thoughtfully, as if taking stock of the basement, then back at him. “We bring the hostages down here. They can barricade themselves until help comes. There’s only one entrance to the basement. The rebels might not even find them down here by the time the building is taken back. Nobody gets killed because of me. That’s non-negotiable.”
She was managing the problem.
She was insane. And yet, the plan did have some merit. And damn, but he liked her pluck. Always had. He’d always liked everything about her.
All they had to do was go back up to the second floor where the gym was and make sure the hostages got to the coal chute without being seen. The hostages would come down, Kate and he would go up the two extra floors to the roof. They had to pass through the second floor anyway. Once they were at the gym, they’d be halfway to their destination.
Lightning cracked outside. He thought he heard rain.
“Deal,” he said.
August 10, 01:57
“HOW DID you get in?” Kate asked half an hour later—they’d searched the basement inch by inch to make sure there really wasn’t another exit—pretty happy about getting her way. It wasn’t every day that Parker McCall yielded to someone.
“Through the roof.” He stood at the top of the staircase, pulled out his cell phone, opened it, then swore briefly. “Doesn’t work down here.”
He looked a lot cleaner than ten minutes ago. They had spent some time brushing soot off their clothes, off each other. That had been a picnic and a half. She’d just about jumped out of her skin when he touched her. It had taken everything she had not to let him see that he could still affect her with as little as a brush of his knuckles.
“Through the roof how?”
“From the next building. The rebels heavily secured the main entrances. Can’t get in or out through there without a major fight. They were focused on that when I got here, hadn’t gotten to securing the roof yet. I’m sure that has been done by now, but we’ll fight our way out if we have to.”
Fight. Oh God. She was scared stiff. Although if anyone could get her out of here, it was Parker. Especially this new, military version.
“How many are there?”
“Two dozen, tops. They’re spread out over the four floors. Have to keep the whole building secured. They can’t spare more than a handful for the roof. And up there, it’s pitch-dark—a definite advantage.”
For Parker. She, on the other hand, was afraid of the dark, especially when it hid murderous rebels. Parker looked…almost excited, as if this was nothing but a game.
“Are you going to tell me who you really are?” she asked.
He was Parker, but not her Parker. Not the man she had fallen in love with. This Parker was a lot darker and infinitely more dangerous. He moved with feline grace and constant preparedness. He had shot people without blinking an eye. She still couldn’t process that.
He shrugged.
He’d always been darkly mysterious in a brooding-but-gorgeous kind of way, but now… “You—”
He had his hand over her mouth the next second, his hard body pushing her against the wall, into the shadows as he towered over her. But she didn’t feel threatened, not for a second, never with Parker. She felt protected, but she wouldn’t admit to herself just how much she had missed that. Voices filtered down from above.
They stood motionless, although since the stairs were made of stone, they didn’t have to worry about creaking wood giving them away. But she barely dared to breathe, feeling paralyzed all of a sudden, and unsure if it came from the proximity of danger or the proximity of the man who had the power to liquefy her knees.
Parker ran a calming hand down her arm, which she didn’t find calming in the least.
His skin still smelled the same—well, almost, plus hundred-year-old coal dust. On him, it smelled sexy. His body was still incredible, his lips still just as sensuous. He could still arouse her with a touch. The full-frontal contact was wreaking havoc with her senses.
And she panicked, because in her perfect little world, she had managed to convince herself that she was over him, that if they ever met again, she could walk by him without batting an eye. And here she was, assailed by such a sharp sense of longing it stole her breath away. It took all her willpower not to bury her face into the base of his throat and lap at the warm, smooth skin she knew she would find there.
The voices faded.
He didn’t move.
And she didn’t want him to.
No. Not again. She couldn’t fall for him again. He had never truly loved her. He couldn’t have. He had left her every chance he’d had. He had lied to her about things. She was pretty sure about that. She didn’t want to think how many nights she’d lain awake wondering about where he was.
The two of them together spelled disaster, she reminded herself and pushed him away. Maybe with a little more force than was strictly necessary.
“Easy,” he said, watching her with his usual unsettling intensity, as if trying to puzzle out her thoughts.
Not if she could help it. She stepped away from the wall. “Let’s go.”
He moved away from her with some reluctance. “I’ll pick the lock, you see what else you can find here that we could use.”
She moved around him and set to the task.
The opposite wall of the staircase was lined with metal shelves. He already had a length of inch-wide nylon rope twisted around his waist that he had found, and a small screwdriver in his hand that he had gotten from the giant four-feet-by-four-feet toolbox near the bottom of the stairs.
The basement was used by the Russians as a storage facility. It held everything from broken office furniture to security supplies and crowd-control posts, even a crate of sea salt in one-kilo bags.
She opened an oil-stained box and rummaged through it. “What are we looking for exactly?”
