Dance With Me (17 page)

Martinez just grunted and Chris sighed. “Look, dude. Remember what Major said. Put it away, take it out later. Right now you need to focus.”

Martinez turned to face him and said, “I
loved
her. Do you get that, sir? I asked her to marry me. She said she wasn’t ready, to give her time. Meanwhile, she was trying to get us all killed. Who knows how many deaths I was directly responsible for because I was thinking with my dick.” He laughed morbidly. “And tonight…” Martinez looked back out the window. “Tonight I killed her. And let a spook ‘dispose of the body.’ I killed her.
Que Dios se apiade de mi alma
.”

May God have mercy on my soul.
Chris clenched his jaw. This had to be hard. He couldn’t imagine finding out that Callie…and then having to…he gulped.
Fuck.
He couldn’t even
think
about it without wanting to cry like a baby. Martinez was living it.

“Not your fault. She was drugging you in your sleep. Put it away. Take it out later.” Chris wasn’t a shrink, didn’t even want to try to help Martinez deal with this. He’d just end up making it worse. “Right now we have a civilian being held by an unknown number of captors associated with a terrorist organization. Possible rape, probable brutality and torture. Secluded location with one road in and one road out. Get your mind around it. Tell me the plan.” Chris knew what the plan should be, but Martinez was new at this. He needed the practice, and he needed to get his thoughts straight.

Martinez was silent for several minutes before he started laying out a strategy. Chris listened in approval. Martinez was going to be a damn fine team leader.

* * * *

The major climbed into the cargo bay of a C17 and nodded to the loadmaster. The man smiled and approached. The major rolled his eyes. Great, he wanted to talk. The airman looked at the major’s flight suit to note his rank.

“Hey First Sergeant, any idea why we got called out of bed to do a training drop over the UK?”

The major tried not to smile. Training. Of course. It was always training with the military. He eventually did smile, just a little, and said, “Seems some British big wig wants a case of American beer. No idea why. Theirs is better.” He patted the wooden crate full of packing peanuts and a whole lot of things that went ‘BOOM’. “That’s what we’re dropping. I’ve gotta HALO jump with it. Gonna need you to open the doors about seven klicks outside London. There’s a drop zone there. Just put the ramp into airdrop position. No need to open the jump doors.” The major pulled a map out of his cargo pocket and showed the airman the circled area he’d already chosen. He’d already told the pilots, but this was the guy that would be in charge of opening the doors. “Right here. That’s where they want it.”

The airman took the map and noted the location before he made the motion of jerking off. “Must be nice, huh? Being able to pull strings like that.”

The major nodded.
Not really, no.
“I wouldn’t know. I’m gonna catch some shut-eye. Wake me up when we’re an hour out so I can get my chute on, all right?”

“Roger that, Shirt.” The airman waved as he moved toward the front of the aircraft to the loadmaster station where he sat down as the aircraft rumbled to life.

The major settled into one of the hard seats against the wall and tried to outline his plan. But all he could see was Rebecca; tortured, beaten…possibly dead already. The walls of the huge aircraft closed in around him and the major battled rising panic. He’d always done everything alone, part of a team but separated for so long that letting someone else deal with a situation felt like procrastination. And it wasn’t just any mission he was leaving to someone else: it was Rebecca.

Rebecca, who had stood up to him, tried to push him around, accepted and loved him. Rebecca, who gave him hell at every opportunity. She’d probably given her captors hell too. The major frowned and gulped against the obstruction in his throat.
When did I start thinking of her in past tense?
But he knew. He’d begun thinking of her that way as soon as he confirmed her capture. If she wasn’t already dead, she would be soon. Her captors weren’t the type to show mercy just because she was innocent or a woman. And he’d drug her into this, just by his presence. If the major had ever needed any proof that he would never be able to leave this life, there it was. He’d sold his soul long ago and Fate was shaking her finger at him to say “no backsies.”

If Rebecca survived—and the major was afraid it was a
very
big if—he couldn’t go back. He’d make sure she was safe and leave her alone. He’d stay far, far away, where he couldn’t hurt her ever again. As for the second mole or leak…well, whoever it was would probably be there when Paulson and Martinez found Rebecca. They’d take care of it, and more than likely the major’s team would verify and clean up. It was all going to tie up into a neat little bow. As long as she survived. If she didn’t…

The major fought to push aside thoughts of Rebecca. He focused on Javid instead. Javid had probably been the one to order Rebecca captured and tortured. Maybe even killed. The major let that anger take over and consume him. Javid had been the driving force behind Paulson’s nine months of hell. He’d commanded the IED and subsequent attack that had killed four Rangers, wounded seven, and taken Davis’s leg. Javid had taken Harris’s sanity from her and replaced it with nothing but pain. He routinely planned murders and attacks on innocent civilians and carried them out without thought to the lives he was destroying. Javid had the blood of thousands on his hands. Thousands that the major couldn’t name, didn’t even know. But they would all have justice.

The anger festered and simmered, nursed by the major’s anguish over losing Rebecca before he’d really even had her. And he let it boil, let the hope drip from his system until it puddled at his feet and was replaced by bitterness and rage.
Just a little longer
. He would release the mania on Javid and anyone else who stood in his way. The major would take revenge, but not coldly, the way he had in the past. No, this time, he would let the madness rule him.

And when he hit the ground and met the Delta Force squad he’d requested, the major made sure they knew the score. No survivors. No prisoners.

Chapter 13

Rebecca woke, unsure of how much time had passed, her body in excruciating pain. She lay still for several seconds before she turned her head to look at the bottle of water. The condensation had dripped down the sides and pooled at the bottom, making a puddle beneath the bottle. Her first instinct—despite her thirst—was to clean it up. Then the thirst registered and Rebecca forgot about everything but getting a drink of water. She opened her mouth and tried to scream, but her throat was too dry and it came out sounding like rustling paper. Rebecca fought back panic and tried to think of something else. What woke her? Was it thirst?

Just then a short rat-a-tat came from…somewhere. Outside maybe? Maybe that’s what woke her. Rebecca tried to sit up a little and look out the window on the other side of the room. The handcuffs held her though, and she flopped back down to the bed.
Water.
Rebecca remembered an old cartoon from childhood where buzzards in the desert circled above a guy crying for water. Well, the buzzards were here somewhere, she knew it.

Another strange popping noise reached her ears and more raised voices, closer this time. Maybe even in the house. Downstairs? Was there a downstairs?

The popping became even louder for a few seconds and then went completely silent. No voices, no rat-a-tat. Nothing. Rebecca did panic then. What if they’d killed each other down there? She’d die of thirst, but it would take two or three days. Unless…Rebecca racked her brain trying to figure out how long she’d been handcuffed to the bed.

Surely no more than a day. She’d just reasoned that out when the bedroom door burst open and two men dressed entirely in black, brandishing huge, scary-looking guns rushed in. Their faces were painted black, or maybe covered. Like ski masks. Rebecca couldn’t tell, but looking at them, how horrifying they were, she was ready to talk. About what, she didn’t know. But she’d make something up this time.

“Sit tight, Red; we’re gonna clear this floor and get you out of here.”

Rebecca tensed.
Red.
She knew that voice. “Chris!” She tried to call out but her throat still wouldn’t work. He paused, halfway out the door and looked back at her. Rebecca struggled against the cuffs and stared at the water. “Please!” she begged, but it came out sounding like “puuuu.”

Chris seemed to understand though and called out, “Martinez, clear the floor.” He turned and checked the closet and under the bed before reaching in his cargo pocket to pull out what looked like a pair of really thick, mean scissors and snipping the chains on her cuffs.

Rebecca tried to sit up, but her arms wouldn’t work. Chris sat down on the bed and lifted her into his arms, then pushed the water bottle against her lips. Rebecca tried to gulp, but he pulled it away.

“Slowly, Red. Give it a chance to soak in.” He tipped the bottle up again and Rebecca leaned against him as she drank. “Water deprivation is effective torture, but only works for a couple of days. You’re lucky you were here less than twelve hours.”

Rebecca nodded. Chris probably knew that from experience. She shuddered at the thought that he’d endured this for nine months. “I…”

He pushed the bottle against her lips again and said, “For once, just shut up. You’re gonna have a sore throat anyway. Talking will make it worse; trust me. Just drink.”

Rebecca tried to glare at him, but he was holding the water for her with one hand and rubbing the sore muscles of her shoulders with the other. It was a little difficult to be angry at someone who was rescuing you and being courteous about it.

The other guy—Martinez?—walked back in the room and said, “All clear.” He watched her for a few minutes, then said, “She gonna be okay, sir?”

Chris nodded and said, “Yeah. But you’re gonna have to carry her out. That fu…guy with the nine mil got me in the arm. It’s just a through and through. Probably needs some stitches, but no real harm done.”

Rebecca motioned for more water and after swallowing she tried to speak. She was barely capable of a whisper. Chris leaned down and Rebecca rasped out, “Don’t call me ‘Red.’ And what in the hell is a through and through?”

The bastard laughed and said, “She’ll be fine. Nothing wrong with that attitude. Through and through means the bullet went in and out without touching anything major. Easy fix.” He stood and Rebecca nearly fell before the other guy caught her and snipped the ropes holding her legs.

When he lifted her into his arms, he met her eyes and said in an unbelievably sexy Spanish accent, “Lt. Martinez, ma’am. Pleased to meet you.”

Rebecca laughed as much as she was able at his formality and then promptly passed out.

* * * *

Someone Chris called “Doc” was waiting for them when they arrived at Chris’s apartment. He stitched Chris up and checked Rebecca’s pupils and pulse before giving her IV fluids and declaring them both well on the road to recovery. He didn’t ask any questions, but did refer to Chris as “sir” so Rebecca assumed it was someone from the base. She didn’t ask.

After Doc left, Lt. Martinez followed closely behind and Rebecca was alone with Callie and Chris. Callie was full of questions and concerns, but Chris gently shooed her away. Rebecca was glad. She loved Callie like a sister but wasn’t in the mood to answer questions or be mothered.

Callie made a bed for Rebecca on the couch, hovering as long as she could. Rebecca hugged her friend and Callie hurried from the room as though she sensed the lecture coming. Rebecca watched her go with a smile.

Chris sat next to Rebecca and said gently, “I told you to stay away from him. He almost got you killed.”

Rebecca rubbed at the tears gathering. She
knew
that. But she also knew that Major—Max, whoever he was—was worth it. “Do you know…?” She swallowed and continued, “If he’s still alive?”

Chris watched her for a full minute before answering. “I don’t know. We probably never will.”

Rebecca shook her head. “No, he’ll come back. He promised.”

Chris sighed and leaned forward, linking his hands together. “Rebecca, men like him…they don’t come back. Don’t wait for something that will never happen.”

Rebecca scowled at him and gripped the fabric of the pajama pants Callie had loaned her. “He said he’ll come back. He will. You don’t know him like I do.”

Chris watched her with that ridiculously unnerving stare. As though suddenly realizing something, he sat up straight and stared at her in amazement. “You know something about him, don’t you? He told you something. That’s why you think he’s coming back.”

Rebecca didn’t answer, just turned her head and looked at the blank television.

“Fuck. No wonder they came after you.” He stood and paced the room. “Do you realize how dangerous he is?”

“He would never…”

“I’m not saying he would hurt
you
dammit!” Chris leaned down and got in her face. “I’m saying that others will hurt you to get to him.” Rebecca sniffed and looked away again. He followed her. “Haven’t you been through enough?” he whispered.

Rebecca jerked her head around and stared at Chris in awe. “What the hell does that mean?”

Chris stood and paced again, looking uncomfortable. He stopped in the middle of the room and turned to her. “I know, all right? I ran a background check on you ages ago. When you were marrying Henderson. I didn’t know who you were until after Callie and I got engaged. She mentioned your last name and I realized…Anyway, some things didn’t…add up when I ran the check. So I dug a little deeper. I
know
and I’m sorry that I know.”

Rebecca stared at him in horror.
No! This is a fresh start dammit!
She stood and stalked up to Chris and pushed him. He didn’t budge an inch, same as Max. And just like that, Rebecca’s anger deflated and she crumpled. Chris caught her and helped her walk to the couch and lie down.