SEALs of Summer 2: A Military Romance Superbundle (110 page)

T
he woman didn’t
stir until they bumped onto the graveled helipad at Charter Group’s private airport in the middle of the Yucatán jungle. Mac had worn a wide grin the moment she’d leaned her head against him and promptly fell asleep.

Jackson didn’t understand why he had the urge to reach across and strangle the big man. He barely knew him. Yes, they’d trained together for weeks—the entire team had been pushed to develop unit cohesion before their first mission together, but he didn’t know Mac the same way he did Deke who had been a SEAL with him in DEVGRU. They’d been battle-tested, blooded together. He’d stood beside Deke as his best man when he’d married Commander Martir’s daughter. They’d both left DEVGRU when then-Congressman Martir left office to accept the post of Director of Special Operations at Charter Group. He and Deke were tight.

Still, all of the team except for Jave was ex-SEAL. Jave had been brought on due to his experience with dogs. He’d come straight from Delta Force with glowing commendations. They were all solid warriors. Time would build the bonds that made a unit think like a single entity.

The men peeled out of both doors of the helo, leaving only Jackson and Suri to disembark. He jumped to the ground then held out his arms.

She hesitated only a moment before stepping forward and allowing him to carry her to the ground. Yes, he could have let down the metal steps, but he knew his touch unnerved her. Better to keep her off-kilter until she’d been questioned. Since speaking was difficult due to the noisy helo, he pointed to an open door of a nearby hangar.

Suri grabbed her pillowcase from the edge of the cabin floor, bent beneath the whirring blades and walked toward it, never looking back.

Jackson followed close on her heels. Security was tight around the airstrip. Privately owned and far from any towns, the fenced perimeter was surveilled by walking patrols and cameras. She’d be safe and confined until they got what intel she possessed.

In the meantime, he’d make sure her things were placed inside his hut. She was his responsibility. When she wasn’t surrounded by his team, she’d be with him. To keep her safe.

Funny that he’d had to add that last qualifier. As if he had to remind himself she was his prisoner, not a woman he could show interest in.

But he struggled not to admire her figure as she walked away. Nicely rounded where a woman should be. Legs so long he could envision them wrapping around his waist. And her face… It was hard to describe it in his mind, she was pretty, yes, but also appeared vulnerable. Maybe because her face wasn’t a bit angular and thin like so many women strived for. Hers was soft, her cheeks and chin rounded, her mouth plump—it invited kisses. Her eyes were what had struck him first. Blue as Texas Bluebonnets but so expressive he could read every emotion that swept through her. He’d seen her fear, her irritation…her reluctant interest.

The problem was, Jackson didn’t have as keen an insight into his own emotions. From the first moment he’d found her chained to her bed, he’s been struck. She messed with his objectivity, made him doubt his instincts. If she was who he suspected her to be, his instincts were dead wrong. She wasn’t an innocent and couldn’t be in need of rescue. He’d have to hand her over to the DEA and that thought burned a hole in his gut, because they wouldn’t turn her loose until they’d grilled her thoroughly. His instinct to protect her, to shield her from that sort of fate, didn’t make sense.

She’d been found in Guzman’s compound. Likely as a distraction. And that ploy had definitely worked. Best to pull back the reins, to reengage his brain. Suri McAnally wasn’t the sweet innocent he wanted her to be. The woman was the enemy.

Suri walked into
the hangar, her gaze seeking anything that might look like a restroom. Inside, the men who’d invaded Guzman’s compound were stripping off their gear, storing weapons in metal racks.

She walked to the man whose shoulder she’d probably drooled on. “I need a restroom.”

His gaze went past her to the man who’d dogged her every step. She needed Jackson’s permission to pee? She fisted her hands and turned slowly.

His stone-face was back making her feel like a child asking teacher for permission to relieve herself. “I need a restroom.”

He pointed his chin toward a rough wooden door with open space open and below.

Everyone would hear her pee. Humiliation burned her cheeks, but she nodded and headed to the restroom, locking herself inside. At least, the space was clean. She sat, but couldn’t relax enough to go. She reached for the faucet of the sink and turned it to mask her sounds.

Once she finished and washed, she took time to finger-comb her hair in the cracked mirror over the sink. Alejandro had pulled her straight from her shower, his face wild and pale. He’d handcuffed her to the bed.
For your own safety, chica,
he’d said.

Her safety? She supposed he’d been right after all, which told her he’d known who was coming.

Looking in the mirror, she wondered why she was bothering to try to bring some order to her appearance. Maybe out of habit. She couldn’t allow herself to consider it had anything to do with Jackson.

A knock rapped on the door. “You can’t hide in there all night.”

She bit back a retort. Why would she want to piss him off? He was her only hope to get back home. She wondered how long before he arranged her travel. She had a little money in her bank account, if she could get access to it. Her purse was still in her apartment in Texas. So was her passport.

Suri opened the door and steeled herself to raise her glance. He still wore war paint. He’d removed his gear but not his jacket like the others had.

“Come with me.”

She glanced around at the rest of the men. They didn’t meet her gaze, which clued her in that something bad was about to happen. Her throat tightened but she jutted out her chin.

He led her through the hangar and out a door to a small building that looked like it might be an office.

Inside were two desks, telephones—her gaze snagged there—but he pressed against the small of her back, pushing her toward the door behind the desks. When she opened it, she drew back immediately. It was barely larger than a closet, contained a chair, a camera on a tripod and a bright light—like some black-and-white, B-movie interrogation room.

Which was exactly what it was. A setting constructed to intimidate. And a man was already inside the room, sitting on a stool in front of the chair. He motioned for her take a seat, but she glanced over her shoulder at Jackson, as though he could save her.

Jackson’s gaze was aimed above her. His jaw was taut.

“I just have a few questions, Suri McAnally,” said the man on the stool, “if you’ll take a seat.”

Her gaze lingered on Jackson’s for a moment longer, but his face remained set, as chiseled and hard as block of granite. No help there.

So she turned back to the man on the stool. He was dressed in camouflage pants, a dark tee and military boots. He had a buzz cut and a face that would make her shiver no matter the circumstance. She sat and resettled, tucking her skirt beneath her, and then folded her hands in her lap.

His gaze swept her body then returned to lock with hers. “Tell me about yourself, Miss McAnally.”

She supposed that was a natural place to start. Maybe if he learned she was a simple teacher this would be all over. “I’m American. An American citizen,” she said, hoping that would make a difference. “I’m from Austin, Texas. A schoolteacher. I teach third grade.” She stopped to swallow, not sure what else he needed to know.

He nodded. “You graduated UT.”

If he already knew all about her, why was he asking? But rather than blurt that, she nodded, too. “Yes.”

“What’s the nature of your relationship with the Guzman family?”

Since she was certain this was all about Diego Guzman, she drew a deep breath. “I know his son.” The man didn’t blink. He seemed to be watching her face. She’d seen a crime show where the interrogator judged the veracity of the interrogatee’s words by his or her expressions. What did hers betray? Should she have looked left or right? She decided straight ahead was her best bet.

“How well do you know his son?”

“I’ve known him since college.”

“Is it true you lived together?”

So, he does know about my life.
“Yes, for three years.”

“So you’re lovers?”

She shook her head. “No, just friends.” She winced inside, knowing how lame that sounded, but it was the truth. The only reasons she’d agreed to be his roommate had been because she couldn’t afford an apartment on her own, and he was gay. But the last thing she could admit was that fact. Who knew where that news might wind up, and she sure as hell didn’t want Guzman senior to learn that fact about his son.

Her gaze must have wandered because her interrogator cleared his throat.

“And yet, you’re both engaged.”

She began to shake her head. “Um, it’s complicated. He needed to be engaged.”

“You told our tactical team leader that you’d been kidnapped.”

She nodded slowly. “Yes. Alejandro abducted me from my apartment.”

“The apartment you shared with him.”

He was going too fast. Making her nervous. “He moved out over a year ago. But still had a key, I guess.”

“If you were his fiancée, why did he have to kidnap you?”

“Because I didn’t want to go to Mexico. My work…” And the fact she wouldn’t have stepped foot there with all the reported dangers present in Mexico.

“Alejandro’s made numerous trips across the border and back in the last year. How many times did you see him?”

“Once. Just a few days ago—when he greeted me inside my apartment after work.” His gaze held hers for a long tense moment. He thought she was lying. “I swear, I haven’t seen him since graduation. We’ve Facebooked a couple of times, but that’s it.”

“And yet, you’re engaged to him.”

He was good. His even tone unnerved her. “Not really,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she leaned forward several inches. “He needed his father to believe it. Diego didn’t know Alejandro’d forced me to accompany him.”

The questions continued. Rapid fire. Some repeated. As if he expected her to trip up and tell him something different. He’d repeated the ones about her relationship with Alejandro, but then began asking questions about the people she’d met at the Guzman compound. Since she’d been confined to her room for the most part, she could only describe the maid, the cook, and Guzman himself. The man persisted, asking her how many men surrounded him, the type of vehicle he drove, the color and the make—endless questions she couldn’t answer because she didn’t have a clue. She wasn’t naturally observant, wasn’t a trained cop or SEAL. She’d been too busy worrying about how Alejandro would extricate her from the situation without his daddy springing a surprise wedding on them both to think about anything but herself.

Her stomach growled. “How much longer are you keeping me here?”

The man glanced at Jackson. “See that she gets some food and rest.”

Jackson reached out his hand to help her from her chair. Something she needed when her knees nearly buckled. She hadn’t realized how tense she’d become.

He led her to another building next to the office with its interrogation room. This was a long trailer. The inside was outfitted with a cafeteria-style lunch line, something strangely comforting because it reminded her of her elementary school.

Most of the men who’d been in the helicopter had finished eating and were lingering at the long table situated down the center of the trailer. Their conversation stopped when she entered.

The man behind the line nodded at her. He was Hispanic and wasn’t dressed like the others. Didn’t have the same stature, so likely not a military type. She hoped he was being well paid.

He ladled food onto a plate—rolled tortillas, unidentifiable strips of gray meat, rice and refried beans—then handed it to her along with a plastic cup filled with ice water. When she turned to find a seat, she chose one at the far end of the table.

Jackson brought his plate and cup and sat opposite her, still silent, still expressionless.

Anger sparked. “Do they teach you to be this way?”

“What way is that?”

“Like a cyborg. Robocop.” She waved at his face. “You don’t smile.” She ducked her head and filled a taco. Why had she said that? Maybe his face was just made like that, or he’d had some kind of nerve damage that made it impossible for him to exude human emotion.

“I smile.”

She glanced up. His face was still set, but something about his eyes told her he was laughing at her. Irritation flashed, and she frowned.

“Tell me something,” he said, his voice pitched low. “Why did you pretend to be his fiancée?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“He’s gay, isn’t he?”

Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say that.”

“Didn’t have to. If he lived with you but you were just friends, he had to be gay.”

“That’s not the only conclusion you could reach,” she scoffed. “Maybe he just wasn’t that into me.”

Jackson grunted. “He’s gay.”

“Don’t say that,” she said scowling now as she glanced hard at the men down the table. “That sort of gossip could get him killed.”

“Alejandro tell you that?”

“Yes,” she hissed, “but I met his father. I believe him. He thinks men are only men if they screw a ton of women. He even asked Alejandro why we hadn’t…” She clamped her jaw tight and felt heat rise in her cheeks.

“What did Alejandro tell his old man?”

“That I wanted… that we should wait until…” she tucked her hair behind her ear, and finally blurted, “that I wouldn’t do it until my wedding night.”

His gaze narrowed. “You a virgin?”

“None of your business,” she bit out, and then stuffed her taco in her mouth to prevent any more unwise outbursts. She wasn’t a virgin, but she also wasn’t very experienced. Another reason she’d been okay with a male roommate was that people always thought she was taken. Sometimes, she’d even insinuated they were together, not outright lying, but she’d had enough of boys hitting on her in high school, and one very bad experience, to know that she wasn’t interested in a shallow relationship. Not that she’d wait for a man to put a ring on his finger, but she wanted to be more than a notch on some asshole’s bedpost. And she wanted the man to be experienced, because all she’d known was awkward groping that had made her feel uncomfortable and dirty.