The Marine & the Debutante. Maureen Child
shot through him, followed by a blast of sheer fear. He threw a glance at the door across the room, then looked back at the woman who was about to blow this whole damn thing.
Keeping his voice no more than a whispered threat, he ordered, “Lady, shut up and get moving.”
“Fine,” she said softly, already swinging her legs off the cot and standing up. “But for heaven’s sake, you people took your own sweet time about getting here.”
“Oh, for the love of—” He didn’t even finish the oath. Didn’t have time. Had to get moving before her captors took it into their heads to check on their little pot of gold. “Follow me,” he said, and headed for the window and escape.
“I need my purse.”
“Forget it,” he muttered, peering out into the darkness before turning to help her across the sill. Stunned, he saw she hadn’t followed him at all. Instead she was flat on her belly, reaching under the damn cot for her damn purse.
He stalked back across the room and grabbed her elbow. “There’s no mall here. You don’t need daddy’s credit cards. And there’s no time for this, princess,” he muttered.
She yanked free of his grip, then, meeting hostility with pure venom, she said, “I’ve waited two weeks for you. You can wait another minute for me.”
Short of hitting her over the head and dragging her ass out of there, he didn’t have much choice. Through his headset, he heard a whispered question come through loud and clear. “Where the hell are you?”
Scowling, Travis touched the black band at the base of his neck, pressed the sensitive throat mike to his larynx and muttered, “Waitin’ on princess. Comin’ right out.” He kept one eye on the closed door and mentally ticked off the seconds as they passed. There were too many of them. They were asking for trouble, he told himself. This couldn’t be good. “Move it, lady.”
“Got it,” she said, and stood up, holding a white leather saddle bag dangling from what was probably a real gold chain. She slipped it over her head so that the chain lay across her chest and the purse settled at her hip. Then she nodded at him, and Travis grabbed her and propelled her toward the window—and freedom.
“Come on, now,” he prodded. “Climb out and let’s get gone.”
She sat on the window ledge, gathered up her skirt and started to swing her legs through. Then she stopped. “You know,” she said softly, “you could be a little nicer, here. I am the victim, remember?”
Travis sucked in a gulp of air. He was seriously beginning to doubt that. In fact, another few minutes of this and he was going to start feeling some real sympathy for her abductors.
He bent down, put his face just a breath away from hers and whispered, “Listen up, princess. We got about a minute and a half to get clear of this place and still have time to make the chopper pickup. Now, you want to move that pretty ass of yours before I kick it into gear?”
Her eyes widened and for a second, there, it looked as though she might argue. Then apparently she changed her mind. Swinging her legs over the window ledge, she dropped onto the desert floor and waited for him to follow.
There was just no time to throw her to the ground and try to slink out the way he’d come in, Travis told himself. Instead he took a tight grip on her upper arm and dragged her along behind him as he made a run for cover.
Stumbling and muttering under her breath, she managed to keep up. Barely. And as soon as he hit the low clump of bushes where the others were waiting, he dropped into a crouch, pulling her down beside him, then released her.
Deke glanced at her before fastening his gaze on Travis. “Jeff’s at the rendezvous point. Let’s move.”
“Move where?” the woman asked.
“Right behind ya,” Travis muttered, ignoring her and her question.
In seconds Deke and J.T. had melted into the low-lying bushes, and Travis pushed the woman after them. “Get going,” he said, then added, “and keep low.”
Thankfully, she kept quiet and did as she was told. Travis threw one last look at the stone hut behind them, then moved silently off after her, guarding their escape. His mind blanked out as it always did at times like this. He did what he had to, when he had to. He didn’t think. Didn’t question. Just moved on instinct.
His gaze swept the landscape, back and forth, but kept drifting back to the woman in front of him. Her stupid full skirt snagged on every bush she passed. He shook his head and clenched his teeth together to keep from shouting at her to hurry up. Already the others were too far ahead of them. She was slowing everything down.
“Damn it,” he muttered under his breath. “Can’t you move any faster?”
Lisa Chambers stopped dead and glared at him over her shoulder. She’d had just about enough. Two weeks of sitting in that cramped little hot box, surrounded by men who wore bandoliers of ammunition with the aplomb her father’s friends wore cummerbunds; and now this. She was hot, tired, hungry, cranky and she’d gone way too long without a bath. She for darn sure wasn’t going to stand for some Southern-fried Marine cursing her for walking too slowly.
Cold night air crawled over her skin, sending bone-deep shivers to every inch of her body. The gold chain across her chest chafed her neck and the solid slap of her purse against her hip was beginning to throb.
Hard to believe that in the span of a few minutes a person could experience so many different sorts of emotions. When she’d first awakened to the feel of a man’s hand across her mouth, her first reaction had been sheer terror—followed, naturally, by the instinct to defend herself. For one brief, horrifying moment, she’d thought her captors had finally decided to do more than keep her isolated and afraid.
Then the very next instant, relief had crashed down on her as she’d heard that purely American voice drawl the words, “U.S. Marines.” The “cavalry” had been so long in coming, she’d about given up hope.
Tears she didn’t have time to shed stung her eyes, and she blinked them back with practiced ease. She hadn’t shown her captors any weaknesses, and she wouldn’t let her rescuer see any, either.
“You know,” she said, sarcasm dripping from her words, “a little sensitivity wouldn’t be out of line here.”
He didn’t even look at her. Well, she was pretty sure he didn’t. In the moonless dark, he was almost indistinguishable from the night, so it was hard to be sure. Unlike her. In her sunny-yellow dress, she probably stood out like a spotlight on an empty stage. And that thought gave her a cold chill deep enough to have Lisa give the surrounding darkness a quick, wary look. When she turned back toward him, she saw the whites of his eyes narrow dangerously at her.
“Lady,” he said and his slow, menacing Southern drawl drifted in the air, “you want sensitivity, call the Navy. You want help, call the Marines.” Then he dropped to one knee and pulled something from under the closest bush. Flicking her another quick glance, he ordered, “Get a move on, darlin’.”
“Darlin’?” she repeated, but her voice was lost in the blast of a nearby explosive.
Lisa gasped and staggered back a step or two. Her gaze locked on a fireball that roared up as if thrown from the bowels of hell by a demon bent on destruction. Light showered down on them and the area, but before she could do much more than notice that the Marine was running at her, he had hold of her arm and she was moving, too.
His hand made one warm spot on her body, but his grip was anything but tender. The fabric of her skirt caught, then ripped free as he half dragged, half pushed her along the path. Her high heels sank into the sand as if the desert itself was trying to hold her back. The delicate pumps were perfect for a day of shopping or even a night of dancing. But they weren’t exactly prime jogging equipment. Her feet ached, her head was pounding, and she wondered absently if she would survive her rescue. Her “hero” stayed just a step behind her, obviously guarding