She led the family to a small partitioned area.
Tory glanced around quickly. Several people sat in chairs in the waiting area, and a doctor in scrubs walked past the desk and down another hallway.
Tory hurried behind the desk and shifted through the papers on the desk. She wasn’t sure if King’s name would be used on file or not. He’d been rescued only three days ago. She assumed he’d be in the critical-care unit.
She scanned the hospital layout and found that those units were on the fourth floor. She walked around the desk as a nurse reappeared.
“Can I help you?” the woman asked in Spanish.
“No, thanks.” Tory got on the elevator and went to the fourth floor.
She stepped off the elevator and came face-to-face with two armed guards.
“Este piso es fuera de límites.”
Tory smiled at the men and got back on the elevator. She went down one floor. She asked where the stairs were and climbed back up to the fourth floor.
She cautiously opened the door and saw the guards still at their post in front of the elevators. She wished she had a doctor’s coat but she didn’t know where they’d be stored here, if at all. Maybe she could find some surgical scrubs to wear.
She eased out into the hallway and kept close to the wall. She felt as if she had a huge orange neon sign on her back. Her heart beat so rapidly that she was convinced Jay could hear it a block away. Finally she turned the corner away from the guards.
She opened the door to the first room on the left and found it empty. She closed the door and started toward the next door.
“¡Parada!”
Tory glanced over her shoulder and saw one of the guards from the elevator. She sprinted away from him around another corner, dashing into the first open doorway and shutting the door. She scanned the dark room. It was empty. I’m going to have a heart attack.
A pair of arms came around her. A hard-gloved hand clamped over her mouth, and her head was tilted back at an uncomfortable angle. The body behind hers was hard, masculine and smelled too damned good.
Tory knew there was no rule that bad guys had to smell bad, but she thought there should be. Her instincts took over. She lifted her left leg and brought her heel down hard on her attacker’s instep, but he didn’t even groan at the impact. Instead he brought one of his legs around hers, trapping her. She tried to move but she was surrounded by his body.
She heard running in the hall. She tried to glance over at her captor but couldn’t until he released her jaw. Her eyes widened as she recognized the man holding her. His grip loosened as he identified her, as well.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Bennington Forsythe asked.
“I think that’s a question I should be asking,” Tory said. She scarcely recognized this Bennington. Instead of flawlessly cut designer clothing, he wore a black T-shirt and jeans. But the biggest change was his expression. Gone was the charming man-about-town and in his place was a dangerous man who made Tory wary.
Footsteps sounded right outside the door. Bennington cursed under his breath. Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her across the room and into a closet.
“Quiet,” he said in a whisper that carried no farther than her ears.
Tory stood tensely next to her friend’s brother, her mind spinning with a totally new puzzle. Bennington Forsythe—international playboy or spy?
Tory was still trying to process what had happened. One minute she was running from an armed guard; the next she was standing nose to nose with one of the best-known playboys in the Western Hemisphere. Had she taken a turn and stumbled into Alice’s rabbit hole?
“Bennington, what are you doing here?”
“Not now.”
One of the door guards entered the room, walking past their hiding place in the closet. The door was partially open, and she could discern the shadows of the men as they searched the room.
Their shapes were large and bulky. Tory closed her eyes and slowed her breathing the way she did for yoga, focusing very carefully on making sure that her body relaxed from the sprint into the building.
Bennington kept his hand over her mouth. Now that the shock of seeing him was rubbing off, her training from her Athena days was kicking in. She heard the men moving in the room and knew the danger implicit in being caught. She’d been the one running from them.
Actually she’d probably have to rescue Bennington if they were discovered. Despite his long-ago military training, the hardest he’d exercised recently would probably have been in bed with those two supermodels he’d been photographed with. She reached behind her and felt along his belt to see if he was armed.
His thumb rubbed against her cheekbone, and for a minute Tory totally forgot everything else. They were alone in a small, dark space. Deprived of sight, she felt her other senses were on hyperalert.
Tingles spread down her body from his caressing thumb. This was the Ben she knew. A charming Casanova with a girl in every port. God, he was an idiot to be on Puerto Isla. But she guessed he wasn’t here for the sport fishing, though it was some of the best in the world.
The arm he had around her waist tightened, and he pulled her more fully back against him. He spread his fingers and she felt his touch at the bottom of her breast. She shifted in his arms. His hand moved up over her ribs, his touch hot through the layer of her thin cotton T-shirt.
She stepped down on his instep again. He didn’t say a word but tightened his grip on her.
Even though two thugs were less than a few feet from them, her mind filled with sexy images of her and Bennington. She needed some space.
She bit his palm when he didn’t move his hand, but he didn’t drop it. She still had on her backpack so they weren’t pressed too closely together, but he seemed to surround her. He was solid muscle. Maybe he’d had more recent training than she’d thought.
Using his grip on her, he tipped her head back and whispered straight in her ear. “Quiet.”
The one word was a command. She nodded to let him know she’d understood. With all those muscles, even if he didn’t have martial-arts training, he’d be able to take care of one of the guys. Quickly she turned, reaching for his waist to see if he was armed or wearing a holster.
Ben grabbed her hand.
“What are you doing?” he asked in that soundless whisper again, his hot breath grazing her ear with each word he spoke.
“Getting ready to rescue you,” she whispered back. Once again she reached for his waist.
“Patton, don’t push me,” he hissed. He captured her hand in another one of his unbreakable grips.
“Oh, why not?”
A chair scraped across the floor in the room, and Tory froze. She strained away from Ben, ready to confront the men searching the room. But he pulled her deeper into the recess of the closet.
“Enough.”
