“You can put your foot in my hand, or you can climb on my shoulders. Which do you prefer?”
With the window open, more light was coming through. He could see her doubtful expression as she stared at the window, and for the first time he appreciated the evenness of her features. He already knew how sweetly her body was shaped, but now he knew that Miss Lovejoy didn’t hurt his eyes at all.
“Can you get through there?” she whispered, ignoring his question as she eyed first the expanse of his shoulders and then the narrowness of the window.
Zane had already made those mental measurements. “It’ll be a tight fit, but I’ve been through tighter ones.”
She gazed at his darkened face, then gave one of her sturdy nods, the one that said she was ready to go on. Now he could see her calculating the difficulty of maneuvering through the window with the blanket tied around her waist, and he saw the exact moment when she made her decision. Her shoulders squared and her chin came up as she untied the blanket and draped it around her like a long scarf, winding it around her neck and tossing the ends over her shoulders to dangle rakishly down her back.
“I think I’d better climb on your shoulders,” she said. “I’ll have more leverage that way.”
He knelt on the floor and held his hands up for her to catch and brace herself. She went around behind him and daintily placed her right foot on his right shoulder, then lifted herself into a half crouch. As soon as her left foot had settled into place and her hands were securely in his, he rose steadily until he was standing erect. Her weight was negligible compared to what he handled during training. He moved closer to the wall, and she released his right hand to brace her hand against the sill. “Here I go,” she whispered, and boosted herself through the window.
She went through it headfirst. It was the fastest way, but not the easiest, because she had no way of breaking her fall on the other side. He looked up and saw the gleam of pale, bare legs and the naked curves of her buttocks; then she vanished from sight, and there was a thump as she hit the ground.
Quickly Zane boosted himself up again. “Are you all right?” he whispered harshly.
There was silence for a moment, then a shaky, whispered answer. “I think so.”
“Take the rifle.” He handed the weapon to her, then dropped to the floor while he removed his web gear. That, too, went through the window. Then he followed, feet first, twisting his shoulders at an angle to fit through the narrow opening and landing in a crouch. Obediently, she had moved to the side and was sitting against the wall with the blanket once more clutched around her and his rifle cradled in her arms.
Dawn was coming fast, the remnants of darkness no more than a deep twilight. “Hurry,” he said as he shrugged into the web vest and took the rifle from her. He slid it into position, then drew the pistol again. The heavy butt felt reassuring and infinitely familiar in his palm. With the weapon in his right hand and her hand clasped in his left, he pulled her into the nearest alley.
Benghazi was a modern city, fairly Westernized, and Libya’s chief port. They were near the docks, and the smell of the sea was strong in his nostrils. Like the vast majority of waterfronts, it was one of the rougher areas of the city. From what he’d been able to tell, no authorities had shown up to investigate the gunfire, even supposing it had been reported. The Libyan government wasn’t friendly—there were no diplomatic relations between the United States and Libya—but that didn’t mean the government would necessarily turn a blind eye to the kidnapping of an ambassador’s daughter. Of course, it was just as likely that it would, which was why diplomatic channels hadn’t been considered. The best option had seemed to go in and get Miss Lovejoy out as quickly as possible.
There were plenty of ramshackle, abandoned buildings in the waterfront area. The rest of the team had withdrawn to one, drawing any pursuers away from Zane and Miss Lovejoy, while they holed up in another. They would rendezvous at oh-one-hundred hours the next morning.
Spooky had chosen the sites, so Zane trusted their relative safety. Now he and Miss Lovejoy wended their way through a rat’s nest of alleyways. She made a stifled sound of disgust once, and he knew she’d stepped on something objectionable, but other than that she soldiered on in silence.
It took only a few minutes to reach the designated safe area. The building looked more down than up, but Spooky had investigated and reported an intact inner room. One outer wall was crumbled to little more than rubble. Zane straddled it, then caught Miss Lovejoy around the waist and effortlessly lifted her over the heap, twisting his torso to set her on the other side. Then he joined her, leading her under half-fallen timbers and around spiderwebs that he wanted left undisturbed. The fact that he could see those webs meant they had to get under cover, fast.
The door to the interior room hung haphazardly on one hinge, and the wood was rotting away at the top. He pulled her inside the protective walls. “Stay here while I take care of our tracks,” he whispered, then dropped to a crouch and moved to where they had crossed the remnants of the outer wall. He worked backward from there, scattering dirt to hide the signs of their passage. There were dark, wet places on the broken pieces of stone that were all that remained of the floor. He frowned, knowing what those dark patches meant. Damn it, why hadn’t she said something? Had she left a trail of blood straight to their hiding place?
Carefully he obliterated the marks. It wasn’t completely her fault; he should have given more thought to her bare feet. The truth was, his mind had been more on her bare butt and the other details of her body that he’d already seen. He was far too aware of her sexually; the proof of it was heavy in his loins. After what she had been through that was the last thing she needed, so he would ignore his desire, but that didn’t make it go away.
When he had worked his way to the room, he silently lifted the door and reset it in the frame, bracing it so it wouldn’t sag again. Only then did he turn to face her. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d cut your foot? When did it happen?” His voice was low and very even.
She was still standing where he’d left her, her face colorless in the half light coming through the open shutters of the window, her eyes so huge with fatigue and strain that she looked like a forlorn, bedraggled little owl. A puzzled frown knit her brows as she looked at her feet. “Oh,” she said in dazed discovery as she examined the dark stains on her left foot. “I didn’t realize it was cut. It must have happened when I stepped in that…whatever…in the alley. I remember that it hurt, but I thought there was just a sharp rock under the…stuff.”
At least it hadn’t happened any sooner than that. Their position should still be safe. He keyed the radio, giving the prearranged one click that told the team he was in the safe area and receiving two clicks in return, meaning his men were secure in their position, too. They would check in with each other at set intervals, but for the most part they would spend the day resting. Relieved, Zane turned his mind to other matters.
“Sit down and let me see your foot,” he ordered. The last thing he needed was for her to be hobbled, though from what he’d seen of her so far, she wouldn’t breathe a word of complaint, merely limp along as fast as she could.
There was nothing to sit on except the broken stones of the floor, so that was where she sat, carefully keeping the blanket wrapped around her waist. Her feet were filthy, caked with the same mess that caked his boots. Blood oozed sullenly from a cut on the instep of her left foot.
Zane shucked off his black hood and headset, took off his web vest and removed his gloves; then he unpacked his survival gear, which included a small and very basic first-aid kit. He sat cross-legged in front of her and lifted her foot to rest on his thigh. After tearing open a small packet containing a premoistened antiseptic pad, he thoroughly cleaned the cut and the area around it, pretending not to notice her involuntary flinches of pain, which she quickly tried to control.
The cut was deep enough that it probably needed a couple of stitches. He took out another antiseptic pad and
pressed it hard over the wound until the bleeding stopped. “How long has it been since your last tetanus vaccination?” he asked.
Barrie thought that she had never heard anything as calm as his voice. She could see him clearly now; it was probably a good thing she hadn’t been able to do so before, because her nerves likely couldn’t have stood the pressure. She cleared her throat and managed to say, “I don’t remember. Years,” but her mind wasn’t on what she was saying.
His thick black hair was matted with sweat, and his face was streaked with black and green paint. The black T-shirt he wore was grimy with mingled dust and sweat, not that the shirt she had on was in much better shape. The material strained over shoulders that looked a yard wide, clung to a broad chest and flat stomach, stretched over powerful biceps. His arms were corded with long, steely muscles, his wrists almost twice as thick as hers; his long-fingered hands were well-shaped, callused, harder than any human hands should be—and immensely gentle as he cleansed the wound on her foot.
His head was bent over the task. She saw the dense black eyelashes, the bold sweep of his eyebrows, the thin and arrogantly high bridge of his nose, the chiseled plane of his cheekbones. She saw his mouth, so clear-cut and stern, as if he seldom smiled. Beard stubble darkened his jaw beneath the camouflage paint. Then his gaze flicked up to her for a moment, cool and assessing, as if he was gauging her reaction to the sting of the antiseptic, and she was stunned by the clear, pale beauty of his blue gray eyes. He had silently and efficiently killed that guard, then stepped over the body as if it didn’t exist. A wicked, ten-inch black blade rode in a scabbard strapped to his thigh, and he handled both pistol and rifle with an ease that bespoke a familiarity that went far beyond the normal. He was the most savage, dangerous, lethal thing, man or beast, that she had ever seen—and she felt utterly safe with him.
He had given her the shirt off his back, treating her with a courtesy and tenderness that had eased her shock, calmed her fears. He had seen her naked; she had been able to ignore that while they were still trapped in the same building with her kidnappers, but now they were relatively safe, and alone, and she was burningly aware of both his intense masculinity and of her nakedness beneath his shirt. Her skin felt unusually sensitive, as if it was too hot and tight, and the rasp of the fabric against her nipples was almost painfully acute.
Her foot looked small and fragile in his big hands. He frowned in concentration as he applied an antibiotic ointment to the cut, then fashioned a butterfly bandage to close the wound. He worked with a swift, sure dexterity, and it was only a moment before the bandaging was complete. Gently he lifted her foot off his leg. “There. You should be able to walk with no problem, but as soon as we get you to the ship, get the doc to put in a couple of stitches and give you an injection for tetanus.”
“Yes, sir,” she said softly.
He looked up with a swift, faint smile. “I’m Navy. That’s, ‘Aye, aye, sir.”’
The smile nearly took her breath. If he ever truly smiled, she thought, she might have heart failure. To hide her reaction, she held out her hand to him. “Barrie Lovejoy. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
He folded his fingers around hers and solemnly shook hands. “Lieutenant-Commander Zane Mackenzie, United States Navy SEALs.”
A SEAL. Her heart jumped in her chest. That explained it, then. SEALs were known as the most dangerous men alive, men so skilled in the arts of warfare that they were in a class by themselves. He didn’t just look lethal; he was lethal.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“My pleasure, ma’am.”
Hot color flooded her face as she looked at her blanket-covered lap. “Please, call me Barrie. After all, your shirt is the only thing I…” Her voice trailed off, and she bit her lip. “I mean, formality at this point is—”
“I understand,” he said gently, breaking into her stumbling explanation. “I don’t want you to be embarrassed, so the circumstances are strictly between us, if you prefer. But I advise you to tell the ship’s surgeon, or your own doctor, for the sake of your health.”
Barrie blinked at him in confusion, wondering what on earth her health had to do with the fact that he’d seen her naked. Then comprehension dawned; if she hadn’t been so tired, she would have realized immediately what conclusion he had drawn from the situation.
“They didn’t rape me,” she whispered. Her face flushed even hotter. “They—they touched me, they hurt me and did some…other things, but they didn’t actually rape me. They were saving that for today. Some important guy in their organization was supposed to arrive, and I suppose they were planning a sort of p-party.”
Zane’s expression remained calm and grave, and she knew he didn’t believe her. Why should he? He’d found her tied up and naked, and she’d already been in the kidnappers’ hands for most of a day. Chivalry wasn’t part of their code; they had refrained from rape only on orders from their leader, because he wanted to be there to enjoy her himself before the others had their turn on her.
He didn’t say anything, and Barrie busied herself with the used antiseptic pads, which were still damp enough to clean the rest of the disgusting muck from her feet. She longed for a bath, but that was so far out of the question that she didn’t even voice the wish.
While she busied herself with tidying up, he explored the small room, which didn’t take long, because there was nothing in it. He closed the broken shutters over the window; the wooden slats were rotted away at the top, allowing some light through but preventing any passersby from seeing inside.
With the room mostly dark once more, it was like being in a snug, private cave. Barrie smothered a yawn, fighting the fatigue that dragged on her like lead weights. The only sleep she’d had was that brief nap while Zane had been finding a way out of the building, and she was so tired that even her hunger paled in comparison.
He noticed, of course; he didn’t miss anything. “Why don’t you go to sleep?” he suggested. “In a couple of hours, when more people are moving around and I won’t be as noticeable, I’ll go scrounge up something for us to eat and liberate some clothes for you.”
Barrie eyed the paint streaking his face. “With makeup like that, I don’t believe you’re going to go unnoticed no matter how crowded the streets are.”
That faint smile touched his lips again, then was gone. “I’ll take it off first.”
The smile almost kept her awake. Almost. She felt her muscles slowly loosening, as if his permission to sleep was all her body needed to hear. Her eyelids were too heavy for her to hold open anymore; it was like a veil of darkness descending. With her last fraction of consciousness, she was aware of his arms around her, gently lowering her to the floor.
Chapter 4
She had gone to sleep like a baby, Zane thought, watching her. He’d seen it often enough in his ten nephews, the way little children had of dropping off so abruptly, their bodies looking almost boneless as they toppled over into waiting arms. His gaze drifted over her face. Now that dawn was here, even with the shutters closed, he could plainly see the exhaustion etched on her face; the wonder was that she had held up so well, rather than that she’d gone to sleep now.
He could use some rest himself. He stretched out beside her, keeping a slight distance between them; not touching, but close enough that he could reach her immediately if their hiding place was discovered. He was still wired, too full of adrenaline to sleep yet, but it felt good to relax and let himself wind down while he waited for the city to come completely awake.
Now he could also see the fire in her hair, the dark auburn shade that, when she stood in the sun, would glint with gold and bronze. Her eyes were a deep, soft green, her brows and lashes like brown mink. He wouldn’t have been surprised by freckles, but her skin was clear and creamy, except for the bruise that mottled one cheek. There were bruises on her arms, and though he couldn’t see them, he knew the shirt covered other marks left by brutal men. She’d insisted they hadn’t raped her, but prob
ably she was ashamed for anyone else to know, as if she’d had any choice in the matter. Maybe she wanted to keep it quiet for her father’s sake. Zane didn’t care about her reasons; he just hoped she would get the proper medical care.
He thought dispassionately about slipping to the building where they’d held her and killing any and all of the bastards who were still there. God knew they deserved it, and he wouldn’t lose a minute’s worth of sleep over any of them. But his mission was to rescue Miss Lovejoy—Barrie—and he hadn’t accomplished that yet. If he went back, there was the chance that he would be killed, and that would endanger her, as well as his men. He’d long ago learned how to divorce his emotions from the action so he could think clearly, and he wasn’t about to compromise a mission now…But damn, he wanted to kill them.
He liked the way she looked. She wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous or anything like that, but her features were regular, and asleep, with her woes put aside for the moment, her expression was sweetly serene. She was a pretty little thing, as finely made as an expensive porcelain figurine. Oh, he supposed she was probably of middle height for a woman, about five feet five, but he was six-three and outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds, so to him she was little. Not as little as his mother and sister, but they were truly slight, as delicate as fairies. Barrie Lovejoy, for all her aristocratic bloodlines, had the sturdiness of a pioneer. Most women, with good reason, would have broken down long before now.
He was surprised to feel himself getting a little drowsy. Despite their situation, there was something calming about lying here beside her, watching her sleep. Though he was solitary by nature and had always preferred sleeping alone after his sexual appetite had been satisfied, it felt elementally right, somehow, to guard her with his body as they slept. Had cavemen done this, putting themselves between the mouth of the cave and the sleeping forms of their women and children, drowsily watching the gentle movements of their breathing as the fires died down and night claimed the land? If it was an ancient instinct, Zane mused, he sure as hell hadn’t felt it before now.