a fist in the complainer’s shirt, he jerked him forward, then slammed him back again, pinning his forearm across the other man’s throat. “That’s all she is. Now you can either get on board, or get the fuck out. What’s it to be?”
“He sure as hell isn’t leaving,” another man said. “We’re either in this together, or we’re all out.”
The one being strangled under the muscular arm rasped, “I’m in. Jesus. Let up.”
Seconds ticked by, three, four—and finally the boss shoved away. He flipped on a flashlight and stalked off, the beam bouncing ahead of him.
The remaining two men, the one who’d fucked up and the one who insisted he stay in, stared at each other.
“He’s soft on her,” the half-strangled dude insisted.
“Maybe, but one thing’s for sure, you better keep your fucking mouth shut because either way, he’s touchy when it comes to her.” He loosened the mask to scratch at his neck, then turned to leave.
His friend followed.
A million thoughts went through Brand’s mind, especially the supposed “softness” the head honcho felt for Sahara, but Brand knew they’d only have seconds to go so he shoved them all aside for now. He had to time it perfectly so that they weren’t close enough to hear him running out, but hadn’t yet reached the downed men to know they’d lost their bait.
He could practically feel Sahara’s trepidation. “Stand, slowly,” he whispered. He held her arm and helped her to do that. Then he took that freakishly wicked weapon from her.
Getting accidentally stabbed was not on the agenda.
“You’ll get it back when we’re clear,” he breathed into her ear, then, “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He tucked a shoulder against her middle and silently lifted her, his arm around her thighs to help balance her. Lifting the binoculars, he checked the path he’d take. Night-vision goggles would have been nice, but they weren’t available in the Body Armor inventory.
Later, he’d talk to Sahara about that.
He let the binoculars drop back to his chest and eased out from behind the crates. “Once we hit the street, I’m going fast.”
In answer, she grounded herself by clenching her hands in the waistband of his jeans. “Don’t worry about me. Just get us out of here.”
Brand strode silently toward the opening. A moonlit night would have been welcome, but the scent of the storm still hung thick in the air. His feet had just cleared the garage when he heard the chaos behind him.
Needing no more incentive than that, he ran flat out, first up the street, then into an alley so that he cut through to another street, then into an empty building, across the floor and back out to another alley. He paused, listening, but the sounds were distant now.
“Put me down, please.”
He did, letting her slide the length of his body, his hands going from her warm thighs to her shapely ass, to her small waist. He told himself he wanted to make sure she wasn’t hurt.
His dick told him he was a liar. “You okay?”
“I think you broke a rib, but otherwise I’m fine.”
Brand coasted a hand back up her body until he found her throat. He curved his hand there, using his thumb to tip up her face. “Did I really hurt you?”
“No.” Her hand covered his. She stepped closer. “May I have my shiv back now?”
Insane, but Brand smiled. Crazy, unpredictable, cool as a cucumber Sahara. “Do you actually know how to use it?”
“Stab,” she whispered, “and twist.”
He grimaced. “Yeah, that’d work.” He gave it to her, then said, “Stay right here. I’ll only be a second.”
“It’s dark and I hear rats.”
So there was something she feared? “They won’t bother you.”
“I’ll skewer them if they do, but hustle up.”
Tunneling his fingers into her hair as a guide, he bent and took her mouth in a firm, quick kiss.
Before he did anything else stupid, he edged toward the front of the building. Holding very still, he listened, but didn’t hear anything.
Miles said into his ear, “The van just sped away.”
Damn. “All of the men?”
“Two were carried out, but yeah, there were six of them.”
“Sahara is going to be pissed.”
“Somehow I get the feeling you’ll talk her around.”
Hearing the note of humor in Miles’s voice, Brand said, “Fuck off.”
Moving right past that, Miles asked, “She’s not hurt, is she?”
“Hurt? She was planning a massacre.” Ready to get her to safety, he added, “We’ll head to the corner of South Street and Garfield. You can pick us up there.”
“Dicey area. Watch yourself. I’ll head back to get the car and be there in five.”
Brand returned to Sahara. She was right where he’d left her, eating M&M’s out of her purse. When she heard him coming, she asked, “Brand?”
“Yeah.”
“Have you eaten? Because I’m starved.”
Would she ever cease to amaze him? He knew she had a hundred things on her mind, all of them more important than food. Then again, she was a pragmatist, especially when it came to basic needs.
Her no-nonsense approach meant she’d be doubly disappointed to know she couldn’t question anyone, so he ignored the mention of food and broke the bad news. “I’m sorry, honey, but the goons took off.”
She absorbed that in silence, then slammed her weapon against a rickety wall. “I told you I should have interrogated those men!”
He caught her shoulders before she could begin pacing. “They were carried out, so my guess is they couldn’t have answered your questions, no matter how you tortured them.”
“Oh, they’d have talked,” she promised in an evil voice.
Brand grinned again. “You’re scary, you know that?” He kissed her once more, a little longer this time. “Mmm. You taste like chocolate.”
“It’s the candy.”
He went in for a deeper taste, and damn her, she let him. When he pulled back, she breathed, “I wanted to hold you so badly, but I have M&M’s in one hand and this trusty dagger in the other, so—”
