Point of No Return (35 page)

He took her hand and fanned his thumb over the bandage. “Honey.” He blew out a breath as if he was in pain. “I know the group I work for is connected to the Thorn foundations.”

Well. That was straight and to the point. “How long have you known?” she asked hesitantly.

“Today. I was never interested in knowing who my bosses were. Only the end result of their efforts.”

“How did you find out?”

He gave her a wry smile. “When I pretend to be asleep I hear things. Listening to the chatter inside, knowing what the group I work for does, what the Thorn foundations are rumored to do, it came together.”

She was instantly relieved knowing he wasn’t upset.

“Have you known I worked for you all along?”

“Not until yesterday.”

A long silence followed.

“I’m taking Mom and Ali away tomorrow,” he said softly.

“Why?”

“The bureau is going to make the connection if they haven’t already. In the event details and identities leak, I want them out of reach.”

She knew this was the right move but it didn’t make it any easier to deal with.

“Your sister overheard me talking to Mom about a safe place and offered us a house in a small town in Florida. Said it was private and no one would bother us. You know it?”

She nodded. The house was a few miles south of St. Augustine, a beach house on a barrier island with views of the Atlantic on one side and the Intracoastal Waterway on the other.

“I know you belong to the Marine Corps and have to get things right there.”

She nodded.

“Will you be able to insulate them”—he tipped his head in the direction of the house—“if the shit hits the fan? After everything they did for me I’ll do anything to make sure they’ll be okay.”

“Yes. I’ll use everything I have to protect them. I don’t believe we’ll see a worst-case scenario. Once the story plays out in the media, it will go away. Moore could stir things up,” she said and paused thoughtfully. “I have enough on him to make him think long and hard before he did anything.”

“Good.” He took her hands. “Now we talk about us.”

“There’s an . . . us?”

“Damn straight there is. That is, if you want there to be,” he quickly added.

“What about our deal?”

“In the past. This is now. I want to spend the future with you.”

“Are you sure? This isn’t lust, or post-combat turn-on talking?”

“Absolutely sure.” He pressed one hand to his lips and kissed the center of her palm. “I don’t want to spend any more time without you. What happened to Lee and Becca . . . I would have . . .”

She stroked his cheek.

“Honey, in case I’m not making myself clear. I. Love. You. When I’m with you, I’m different. Better. You know me like no one else. I’ve shared things with you no one else knows. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He paused and his eyes scanned her face.

She said nothing, wanting to memorize everything about the moment this sexy, complicated man said he loved her.

“
Jeesus.
Tell me what you’re thinking. Say something.”

“I’m thinking all the things you said to me are exactly the things I planned on saying to you. As for saying something, I love you and want to give this forever stuff a shot.”

He leaned and kissed her. A long, slow, soft kiss. The first of the rest of her life.

Be sure to pick up the hot, erotic

short story of how Jack and Honey met,

No Holding Back
,

available free now!

While on assignment, the last thing Marine Major Honey Thornton expected was to be called away for a meeting with the acting station chief in Istanbul. Even more surprising was the former CIA operative she met there, the ruggedly handsome and built-to-last Jack O’Brien. When attraction sizzles and the meeting turns out to be a bust, Honey and Jack decide to put their time together to more pleasurable uses.

Slipping off to Jack’s hotel, the two quickly come to an understanding: no commitments, and no holding back. As the two mesh perfectly and surrender to the intense passion, the only question is whether they’ll stick to the rules of their casual hookup or give in to the deeper connection that sparks between them.

Keep reading to see the first chapter from

Under Fire: The Admiral

by Rita Henuber,

available now!

Chapter 1

Ecuador

Gemma Hendrickson sank to her knees in the powdery white sand watching Pacific waves crash over a brand-fucking-new million-dollar plane. All her years in the Coast Guard and she’d never had a plane shot from under her. Three days into helping out as a medical mission pilot in Ecuador and she’d been rat-a-tat-tatted out of the sky . . . “Oh, hell.”

It had happened so fast. She’d seen the trawler in the cove, seen the flashes coming from the 50 cal on the bow, and instinctively attempted an evasive maneuver. It was futile. The Beechcraft was crippled. The best she could do was use air currents coming off the surf to glide as far away from the trawler as possible.

“Don’t worry about the plane,” Ben Walsh, the doctor she’d been flying to remote villages, said. He used a hand to shield his eyes from the equatorial afternoon sun as he watched the plane sink.

She wasn’t worried about the plane, she was worried about the men on the trawler coming to finish what they started.

Walsh put a hand on her shoulder. “I know Sam Carver. He isn’t going to give you grief about crashing.”

“I didn’t crash. We were hit by gunfire and I had to ditch.” Fine line, but her ego was involved. She shrugged from his touch and
damn
her shoulder hurt.

“Yeah,” Walsh said sarcastically.

She squinted up at him. In the two and a half days they’d spent together she’d learned he was opinionated and a perfectionist used to getting his way. And from what she’d seen, a good doctor who cared about the people he was helping.

He swiveled his head, looking up and down the pristine coastline. She did the same. No cabanas on the brilliant white sand. No condos jutting from the lush green jungle. Walsh let out a long sigh.

Gemma pushed to her feet. “I know Sam also. He won’t give a damn about the plane, only that we’re safe.”

“Sure,” he said dismissively.

Gemma had made her career dealing with high-stress scenarios and instructing others in the techniques. She’d often found heavy on testosterone men like Walsh tended to try and take charge in stressful situations whether they knew what they were doing or not.

She began to quantify. Sharing her identity with Walsh could make it easier for him to accept her direction and the next couple of days easier for her. That is, if he believed her. She had no proof. All he knew was she was a pilot volunteering her time. Convincing him she was a United States Coast Guard admiral on leave and the company owners’ mother could be a hard sell. Her passport, her wallet, any and all papers that could identify her to the bad guys were jammed under the pilot’s seat, fifty yards off the beach and thirty feet deep. Besides, Walsh knowing who she was created a different set of issues. The men who shot them out of the sky were not duck hunting. She had every reason to believe that boat belonged to a cartel and would very soon appear on the horizon. Chaos theory—what can go wrong will—prevailed. The
go wrong
being the men on that boat finding them, at worst killing them, at best taking them hostage to garner a huge ransom. Kidnapping for profit was a cottage industry in this part of the world. One slip on Walsh’s part about who she was would endanger him. If the cartel had a U.S. admiral to bargain with they might not care about keeping him alive. Nope. She wouldn’t tell him unless it was necessary, and she couldn’t conceive of a situation where it would become necessary. Walsh was an unknown factor. All she could do was let it play out and deal as it came. There was always the chance he’d play nice and follow her lead.

“This makes me rethink my plan to move here permanently,” Walsh said.

“Yeah, I can see how getting shot at might put a damper on things.” She turned her attention to scanning the blue-green water for any sign of the boat.

“We should make an SOS in the sand for the rescuers,” he said.

“I don’t think that’s—” she started.

“Maybe I can get a signal on my phone now,” Walsh interrupted, bringing his cell out of a soggy pocket.

Gemma scanned his face. They were in the middle of freaking nowhere and the phone had been swimming. What was he thinking? She tensed.
Geesus
. They’d been knocked around while the plane bounced and skidded over the water. She had seen a trickle of blood coming from his head as they scrambled out of the plane. Was that bang on the head making him wonky? “You okay, Doc?”

He looked at the phone and made an exasperated sound. “Yeah, I’m okay.” He shook the BlackBerry, flinging water droplets that caught the sun, creating a mini rainbow. “You
get so used to having them whenever you want.” He cocked his arm to pitch it into the ocean.

“Don’t.” Gemma reached out and held his arm. “Never know what we can use.” She also didn’t want anything left behind for the wrong people to use.

He frowned. She watched him return the instrument to a pocket. She blinked when she saw the way his wet shirt and pants were plastered to his body. Then quickly glanced away when she saw he was a commando kinda guy. She fixed her expression in neutral and busied herself pulling her own wet shirt away from her body and slapping sand off her pants, anything to keep her eyes off him.

She stopped the exercise in futility and moved so he wouldn’t be in her line of sight, once again scanning the horizon for the boat. “
Damn
. The glare off the sand and water is wicked.” She folded her arms over her head to shade her eyes, regretting the loss of her Oakley sunglasses to the surf. “We need to get off the beach.” Two vertical objects,
them
, on the white sand would be easily visible to that boat.

Walsh looked toward the jungle. “Go into that?”

“Doc, it’s one”—she pointed her index finger to the sky—“stay in the open and take a chance the men on that trawler appear and finish the job they started, two”—the second finger went up—“go into the water and swim with the sharks, or three”—her thumb joined the party—“in there.” She tipped her head in the direction of the tree line. “I choose . . .” she said and leaned to pick up her pack, “the jungle and out of this blazing sun.”

Walsh laid a hand on her arm and she jerked away. “I’m getting out of the sun.”

“You’re cut.”

She followed his gaze to her shoulder and found a pinkish bloom spreading from a rip in the wet sleeve. “It’s nothing.” But as soon as her adrenaline high vanished she’d feel it
and
every other bump and bang she’d gotten.

“Let me see it.” He reached for her and she moved away.

“In there.” She tipped her head toward the trees. “Out of the sun.” Gemma trudged across the beach, her wet boots and pants glazing with sand like powdered sugar on her favorite French pastry. At the edge of the jungle, she stomped and kicked at fallen fronds. Satisfied land crabs, brown bugs that looked like roaches on roids and other unidentifiable critters had vacated, she dropped to her knees and pulled the Blowout medical bag from her backpack, handed it to Walsh and offered up her cut arm.

“I have one of these in my pack?” he said, dropping to his knees across from her.

“Yes. Specific to
your
medical needs. I’m allergic to a lot of antibiotics. What I can take is in mine.”

“How would meds
I
need be in here?” Walsh narrowed his eyes at her.