Taken By the Spy. Cindy Dees
where you saved my hide. Thanks, by the way.”
“You’re welcome, I think. You are one of the good guys, aren’t you?”
“I am.”
That was it? No explanation? No identification? No reason offered for carrying around that monstrous gun and using it on someone? “And the guy you shot?”
“Definite bad guy.”
It would be far too easy to take this man at his word. She needed to believe him. Needed to believe he wouldn’t turn that gun on her with the same casual ease he had those other guys. Heck, she needed to get on the radio and call the British Coast Guard. She reached for the radio mike and jumped violently when her passenger’s hand whipped out to cover hers. His grip wasn’t painful, but was unmistakably powerful.
“What are you doing?” His voice was a low, dangerous rumble.
The sound vibrated deep in her belly, stirring part fear and part something else altogether. She replied lightly, “I’m calling in the cavalry.”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“You don’t know what you’re involved in. Don’t call the authorities or the blood of a whole lot of good men could end up on your hands.”
“But those guys were shooting at us—”
“And we shot back.”
“You shot back.”
“I shot back. I need you to leave the police out of this for now. I can’t go into the details but you have to trust me.”
Riiight. Trust him. Not.
“I need you to promise you won’t contact the police. I don’t want to have to restrain you.”
“Restrain—”
He cut her off with a sharp slash of his hand through the air. “Promise.”
Their gazes clashed, hers defiant and his…the sun turned his a molten gold that could consume her whole and melt her down to nothing. A girl could lose herself in those eyes if she wasn’t careful. Very careful.
“Well?” he demanded. “Do we do this the easy way or the hard way?”
Chapter 2
Her gaze narrowed. Oh, how tempting it was to tell him to go to hell. But he was bigger than she was, stronger than she was, and undoubtedly meaner. Then there was his machine gun to consider. Reining in her surliness, she retorted, “I won’t call the police if you’ll put that gun away.”
He stared intently at her for a moment more, clearly weighing her honesty. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.” He pivoted with that extreme, muscular grace of his and padded to the back of the deck where his duffel still lay. She caught the wince that passed across his features.
“Are you okay?” she asked in quick concern. If those guys in the black boat came back, Mitch was her only protection.
“Yeah. It’s a flesh wound. I’ll clean it up when I know we’re safe.”
“It looks bad.”
He glanced down, surprised. “Nah, that’s a little scratch. No organs hanging out or bones showing. I’m good.”
He wasn’t good—he was hurt.
She watched cautiously as he wiped down the machine gun and stowed it in the canvas bag.
Thank God. Being in the presence of that giant weapon made her too nervous to function rationally. Not to mention, he was gorgeous enough to send her pulse into the stratosphere. Her thoughts jumped around as disjointedly as caged monkeys.
“I know your name, but who are you?” she asked more sharply than she’d intended. Panic hovered too close, waiting for the slightest opening in which to pounce.
“I’m American.”
“I can tell you’re American from your accent. But who are you?”
Silence. A frown wrinkled his brow, but he ignored her question. Or maybe chose not to answer.
How rude was that? He’d dragged her into the middle of a shoot-out, for goodness’ sake. A tiny voice in the back of her head said her anger was irrational, but the much louder voice of her fear-morphed-to-fury overruled it. “Who were those men chasing you?”
That got more reaction out of him. A full-blown shrug. Wow. Some communicator. A flinch flickered across his face, then his expression went smooth and impassive again. Except for those incredible eyes of his. They all but ate her alive.
Her insides quailing with some reaction she chose not to examine closely, she tried again. “Why were they shooting at you?”
His gaze, now tinted orange by the blossoming sunset, snapped with irritation. What did he have to be irritated about? She was the injured party here. She announced, “I want you off the boat. Now.”
“I’ll bet you do,” he purred.
He could stop sending shivers across her skin like that any time now. “I’m serious.”
He glanced around at the water on all sides with distaste. “You want me to jump overboard?”
“I was thinking more in terms of walking the plank. But I want you off the Baby Doll. I want no part of whatever it is you’re mixed up in.”
Dammit, the guy had a smile so hot it threatened to melt her righteous fury into a completely ineffectual puddle of lust. Spine, woman. Spine! Her gaze narrowed belatedly.
The humor drained from his expression, abruptly leaving it as cold as the arctic. Dread clawed her gut. Absolutely nothing radiated off him now. Not anger, not irritation, not even danger. He went absolutely, totally, completely still.
“There are sharks in these waters,” he finally muttered.
Yeah, and she was looking at the most deadly one of all. Taking a deep breath and mustering up all her courage to stare him down, she replied, “There’s no history in this area of shark attacks on humans. I don’t want any trouble. Please go. The water’s warm and it’s only about a quarter mile to shore.”
The southwestern tip of Tortola was sliding past their port side now.
He sighed and replied almost soothingly, “I’m sorry. I can’t leave you.”
“Can’t you swim?” she challenged a bit tartly.
Aggravation flashed in his gaze, and matching satisfaction surged in her. He snapped, “I swim very well, thank you. Why, I’ve swum with—” He broke off. “Look. We have a little problem. The driver of that boat got a good look at you. Too good a look.”
“And this is a problem why?”
“Because now he has to kill you.”
She huffed in disbelieving laughter. “I’ve never seen that man in my life! Why in the world would he hurt me?”
Perovski’s voice dropped into a careful, reasonable timbre. “I didn’t say hurt. I said kill. And he’d do it because he thinks you got too good a look at him.”
“I barely caught a glimpse of him what with all the bullets flying and wild driving I was doing.”
In an even gentler tone, he replied, “But he doesn’t know that. For all he knows, you could pick him out of a mug book or a lineup. He can’t afford to let you live.”
Her jaw dropped. A killer thought she could finger him? She felt a distinct urge to throw up. “Great. Why did I have to get dragged into this?”
Sounding downright apologetic now, he answered, “No one said anything about there being anyone aboard the Baby Doll. Congressman Hollingsworth