Intimate Danger. Amy J. Fetzer

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      She cocked her hip. “Tits, ass, and a gun.”

      Both brows shot up this time.

      “What could I be hiding? They killed Fuad, took my jeep, and have my good panties and makeup.” She wanted to shout, to really let it loose, but that was just plain stupid. But whispering at him like a madwoman wasn’t helping her case either.

      Mike grabbed her bag, and since it was still looped around her, the motion pulled her close. He dug in it.

      “All you had to do was ask,” she said, yet understood this man didn’t ask for anything.

      Mike fished and found what he was looking for. He opened her passport. “Grace Murray?”

      “Here, teacher.” She grabbed for it.

      He held it away, then found her wallet. It was empty except for some cash and a credit card. “No other ID? Who are you?”

      Clancy just tipped her chin up, refusing to answer, and for a moment she thought he’d given up till he pulled her close and ran his hands firmly over her body. A little gasp escaped when his hand smoothed between her legs, then up the back of her thighs.

      “Shouldn’t we date before you get this familiar?”

      Mike ignored the sound of her voice, but this close, her words skipped down his spine. His hand slid over her tight little rear, and his look went as dark as the ocean floor.

      “Interesting hiding place.”

      His big hand dove down the back of her slacks and pulled out the passport. Inside it was her Virginia driver’s license. He took a step back, examining it, and then only his gaze shifted. “So, Clancy, Moira McRae, why two passports? CIA?”

      “You know, that’s the second time someone’s asked me that. What is this area, spy central?”

      “Other than intel operatives, people who are dealing in illegal contraband need more than one passport.”

      “I’m neither.”

      He studied both, then waved one. “This is the fake.”

      She grabbed them back. “How did you know?” And did Phil screw it up on purpose?

      “I just do.” He inspected her gun, checking the ammo. “Can you even fire this?”

      She took it back. “Yes, I can, and lay the hell off.” She cocked the slide and pushed it down behind her back. “I’m not your problem.”

      “You are right now.” He grasped her arm. “We’re going to do this the hard way.” He forced her ahead, sticking right behind her, then in front, leading her God knew where. She didn’t trust him. He was here, a little too convenient and the whole passport thing was surreal. A merc, she thought as he walked faster to the right.

      She stopped in her tracks when she saw the bodies. One in the water, two on the bank. “Did you do that?”

      “A sniper did.” Mike stilled, a chill of caution tightening the back of his neck. The crates were gone, not even a piece of the contents left behind.

      “And where was he?”

      “That’s a thing about snipers, if you see them, they’ve failed.” He waded into the water after a flatboat.

      Clancy couldn’t take her eyes off the young man floating facedown. She’d seen dead bodies, many times, but something chilled over her when he pushed the corpse aside to get to the boat.

      “Move it, they’re still coming.”

      She looked back, frowning. She didn’t see or hear anything.

      “I can smell them.”

      “Whoa. How’s my perfume, then?”

      “Like a dirty jail.”

      “A man with no tact, how novel.”

      He scoffed. “Clam up and get in.”

      She obeyed, only because she didn’t have any other option, she told herself. She needed to get back on track, and that was far away from whatever he was doing in the jungle around dead bodies.

      He let the boat float while he went to a thin tall tree, pulled a knife from behind his back, and chopped. It sliced through the tree in record time, and as he waded to the boat, he cut off the branches. Then he stabbed holes in the second boat, but it didn’t sink.

      In the craft, his feet wide apart, he pushed them off the bank.

      “Who are you?”

      “Mike.”

      “Just Mike?”

      “All you need.”

      He was scaring her. He let the boat slide over the water for a few yards as he worked off the khaki shirt. Muscles rippled inside a black T-shirt as he pushed the pole into the water.

      “We’ll get to a town first.” When she started to question, he cut in. “I’m dropping you in the safest place I can find. End of story.” The sooner the better. The longer it took to find the UAV, his men, and the Hellfires, the bigger the chance they were long gone or dead. A long to-do list, he thought, and he couldn’t do shit with her along.

      “Fine with me.” She had places to go, people to find. She looked back and her eyes flew wide. “Troops!”

      Before she could draw her weapon, he swung around, aiming his.

      Clancy’s gaze filled with the sight of him. How fast he moved, how comfortable he looked with that weapon.

      “How’s your aim?”

      “Marksman.” But that was when she was young and stupid and really wanted to point a loaded weapon at a homicidal maniac.

      His sideways glance said he wasn’t expecting that. “Good. Get ready to fire.” He pushed his weapon in his waistband.

      He was going to make her defend them? “Oh shit.” Clancy aimed, the gun heavy as her gaze slipped over the bank. She tried remembering everything about her training as footsteps pounded the ground with orders in Spanish to “kill the woman.” Richora was being really pissy about a little bump on the head.

      Mike pushed the pole into the water, swiftly sailing them down the stream. The troops appeared, and a hail of bullets hit the water near the boat.

      “Fire back, woman!”

      Clancy pulled the trigger. Her aim was dead-on.

      Five

      Colonel Carl Cook laid down the phone and spun in his chair. The view outside the window was anything but interesting. More buildings housing laboratories and a hospital near the street side.

      She’d found the tracking СКАЧАТЬ