The Sharpshooter's Secret Son. Mallory Kane

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СКАЧАТЬ breath whooshed out and his trigger finger relaxed. He took another step, eyeing the dark room beyond the arched doorway. He figured it was the dining room.

      What was the raccoon running from? He crossed the lobby and angled around the arch so his back stayed to the wall.

      Heavy curtains revealed only slivers of the late afternoon sun. The smell of mildew and rotting wood tickled his nostrils. He held his breath, resisting the urge to sneeze as he moved silently across to the shrouded windows and reached up to push the drapes apart. Too late, he saw the flash and heard the report.

      Something stung the curve of his cheek. He whirled, ready to shoot, but whirling turned out not to be such a good idea.

      Things got real hazy real fast. A fuzzy shadow loomed in front of him. He aimed, but as hard as he tried, he couldn’t make his fingers hold on to the gun, and he couldn’t make his legs hold him up.

      As the room tilted sideways, the haze before his eyes turned to black.

      

       DAMN, HE HATED THE WAITING. He liked to be the one making the phone calls. When he had to wait to be called, he couldn’t control who might be listening.

       He paced back and forth in front of the big picture window, with its panoramic view of the Black Hills, until he couldn’t stand it any longer. He yanked the blinds shut. He despised those desolate looming mountains. He’d seen enough of them to last him the rest of his life and beyond.

       The prepaid cell phone hidden in his shaving kit rang.

       Finally.

       “Everything’s in place here.”

       “No change here.”

       “There better be a change soon.”

       “I’m working on it. Do you have any idea of the level of security around this place? It’s tripled since—”

       “Do you have any idea of the time constraints we’re facing?”

       “I think I’m close—”

       “You think? You’d better know! We’ve only got one chance. I’m guessing you remember what’ll happen if you fail me.”

       “Why all the mind games? It’d be a hell of a lot easier to just go in and get it over with.”

       “Are you questioning my methods? Because you’re not indispensable. Nobody is.”

      SOMETHING SOFT ROCKED against his side, rousing him. His mouth felt stuffed with cotton and his stomach clenched. Beneath the nauseating smell of mildew and rotten wood, he noticed a sweet, familiar scent.

      He tried to push through the drowsiness, but whoever had filled his mouth with cotton had put lead weights on his eyelids. He wanted to turn over, but he was too tired.

      The unmistakable supple firmness of a female body rocked against him again. “Eee!”

      “Mindy, sugar,” Deke mumbled. “Move over.”

      Whoa. A sharp blade of reality sliced through his mental fog. That wasn’t right—on so many levels. For one thing, his tongue wasn’t working, so all he’d managed to do was grunt unintelligibly.

      “Eee, ake uk,” she retorted.

      What was she saying? Maybe she was dreaming. Maybe he was.

      “Okay,” he whispered, smiling drowsily to himself. “You know what happens when you don’t move over.” Anticipating her giggles and kisses, he turned—or tried to.

      He couldn’t move.

      He wasn’t in bed. He sure wasn’t in bed with Mindy. That hadn’t happened in a long, long time.

       So where the hell was he?

      More shards of reality ripped through his brain. The flash of gunpowder. The biting sting in his cheek.

      He forced his eyes open. It was dark. Totally dark.

      Danger! His heart rate skyrocketed and his Special Forces training kicked in.

      Judging by the way his head wobbled like a bobblehead doll, he figured he’d been drugged. He clenched his jaw and worked to gather his thoughts.

      The gunpowder. The sting. He’d been shot with a tranquilizer gun. Ah, hell.

      He bit down on his tongue, using the pain to clear his brain. Giving in to drugs—or fatigue, or torture—in combat rescue missions could be fatal. Not only to the rescuer, but also to the innocents depending on him for their safety, their protection, their very lives.

      Before he could help anyone else, he had to assess his own condition. He needed to take inventory.

      Blood? No stickiness or wet warmth.

      Broken bones? He shifted enough that his arms ached and his legs cramped. No.

      Other injuries? Nope. Just the sting from the tranq dart. That and the drug it had delivered.

      Location? Somewhere dark and damp.

      Position? Tied up—arms behind his back, and gagged. He pushed his dry tongue against the cloth in his mouth. Gagged tight. Then, gingerly, he moved his legs—and nearly fell off the crate.

      That explained the cramps. His ankles were tied.

      Mission? Not quite as easy. What was he doing here, tied up and drugged?

      “Eee!”

      Mindy. Her voice ripped the haze from his brain. That was it. He’d come here to rescue her. Novus Ordo had kidnapped her to get to him.

      Her soft warmth was close—way too close for comfort. Her shoulder was touching his. Judging by her restricted movements and incoherent mutterings, she was tied up and gagged, too.

      He wanted to reassure her, but that would be a waste of breath with the gag in his mouth. So he spent his energy getting rid of it. He rubbed his mouth and chin against his shoulder, not easy with his hands tethered behind his back.

      His neck and jaw ached like a sonofabitch, and the skin on his chin was raw by the time the cloth peeled away from his tongue and lips.

      His throat was too dry to swallow. “Mindy? You all right?” he croaked.

      Her answer was a frustrated growl.

      “Okay, okay, just a second.” He scooted closer and twisted until he was leaning heavily against her shoulder.

      Another not-so-good idea. But this time it was because he got a whiff of that tangerine bath stuff she always used. He bent his head and nuzzled her cheek, feeling for her gag СКАЧАТЬ