Taken by Surprise (4 page)

Then he would drop to his knees, apologize for all he had put her through, and fight like hell to keep her.

* * * *

Rhonda heard the distant explosion a second before the agent in front of her abruptly stopped. She nearly plowed into his ass.

"Shit, shit, shit, boss." Dregs shot a look over his shoulder, shifting slightly to see around her. He wore night vision goggles, the same as Michael.

Despite the dense darkness, Rhonda's eyes adjusted enough to afford her enough sight to make out their silhouettes. She looked back, realizing a faint glow turned the blackness to a penetrable gray.

Michael stopped so close to her that his shoulder brushed her rear as he lifted his right hand, pushed his NVGs to his forehead, and glanced at his watch. He brought his hand to his ear next, just as another explosion caused the ventilation duct to tremble. His lips moved, but she couldn't hear what he said or see his face well enough to read the words. He looked at her again, the new light catching his eyes enough for her to make them out, and her belly did a familiar exotic dance. She saw intense concentration and resignation in his gaze, heard it in his voice as he spoke to Dregs.

"Something happened out there. We're out of time."

"No shit we're out of time. This way's no good." Dregs shifted again, pushing his own NVGs to the top of his head, and Rhonda saw past him, caught the source of the light growing brighter. A glow of what could only be flames flickered up ahead. The second explosion must have penetrated the ceiling. "Hear that? Plan B is a no go, too."

Rhonda wished she could hear that rather than the
rat-a-tat-tat
of a submachine gun that kicked up from some not-so-faraway place. She figured out both men wore earpieces, no doubt receivers for communicating with other agents outside. Apparently the news they were receiving wasn't good. She expected to hear Michael utter a string of cusses behind her. Instead, he sounded calm, cool, completely in control.

"Then we go with plan C." Michael's hand slid over her hip, sending sensual bolts of heat traveling through her system. "Follow me."

Rhonda barely managed to turn in the cramped space. Michael and Dregs didn't stand a chance. She thought she heard Michael give a quiet chuckle, knew she caught a flash of a smile on his lips.

"Being limber has its advantages."

"More than you know." She didn't mean the comment to sound so sexual, but the spark of eroticism in his shadowed expression told her exactly how he took it. She tried to behave like her entire body didn't come alive at the sight of him. Sensations of lust, whips of heat, carnal hunger, everything she tried to bury all these months came rushing back. Even while trying to escape a drug lord's fortress with bombs exploding around them and guns firing at who knew what, she wanted him. She
needed
him. And it pissed her off.

"What's plan C?"

He had already started to crawl backward, returning in the direction they had come. No way would she go back to that room, even if he thought he could find another way out of it.

"Good question," Dregs muttered behind her.

When Michael didn't answer, she asked, "You do have a plan C?"

"I'm working on it."

Rhonda couldn't see his face anymore. She saw only the back of his head as he looked over his shoulder. She heard the determination in his voice, though, and didn't doubt he would come up with something to get them out of here. Adrien told her once that Michael was the best agent he knew. In the beginning, she spent countless hours talking with Adrien. Under the guise of research, she pried information from her friend about Michael as nonchalantly as possible, not wanting to allude to the crush on him she couldn't shake. Later, she spent more countless hours talking with Michael. She learned about the man behind the badge, the man inside the bronzed flesh ripping with powerful muscles who could drive her wild with a glance. She learned that, despite his position as team leader and boss, he preferred to be in the field. He liked going against the bad guys, as Adrien put it, and taking the bastards down.

Adrenaline made the man tick. Confident, almost to the point of arrogance, and dedicated to the job, he stayed cool under pressure and let nothing stand in his way of success. She had failed to learn how well he took suggestions when in the middle of a hostile situation. She was about to find out.

"Where are we exactly?" She didn't ask if they studied plans of the layout before coming after her. She took it as a given that they would. She knew they had made it a good distance down the ventilation duct before the first explosion that stopped them in their tracks. They'd taken a couple of turns along the way, too. If she ventured an educated guess, she would put them somewhere between the second-floor kitchen and the back parlor.

"We should be over the kitchen," Dregs answered.

Rhonda nodded, more to dislodge the visions that threatened to settle than in agreement to anything. Phay's men had taken the FBI agent to the second-floor kitchen the night they brought her here. She could still feel Phay's grip on her arm as he stood with her in the doorway. She could still hear his cold, calculating voice as he ordered his men to torture the agent. She could still see the blood fly across the room with each blow, the gleam of the razor-sharp knife as it came down. The resulting scream stayed with her long after Phay pulled her from that doorway and led her to the room that became her prison.

She breathed deep and forced her mind to concentrate on the vision she wanted, the things she saw two nights ago when Phay took her on a stroll around the compound before dinner. She carefully took it all in that night, made sure to catch every detail possible of the layout of the area without giving away the fact that she was desperately looking for a way out. She didn't know if she succeeded. Things Phay said to her over dinner and the day after led her to believe he'd known exactly what she'd been doing. She grew to believe he even took her for that walk to purposely give her false hope of escape. Now, she just might be able to turn that false hope into reality.

"This duct forks a few feet ahead, correct?" She tried to see past Michael, but his broad body coupled with the darkness made it next to impossible. "We came from the left."

"Yes." Michael's single-word answer gave her all the information she needed.

"Go right instead."

He faltered in his brisk crawl backward and finally looked at her. "Right is a dead end."

Rhonda shook her head. "Right is a parlor in the east end." She thought it appeared to be newer than the rest of the compound. She had even asked Phay about it. He'd answered her by telling a long-winded story about a politician with the Cambodian People's Party who thought he could get the best of Phay by taking him out with a hand grenade over brandies. "The east side of this place has been recently renovated."

"She's right, Michael," Dregs said. "Remember Stone blowing his top because the plans we had weren't the newest?"

"Yeah, I remember. Can we get out through the parlor?" Michael's question was obviously directed at Rhonda because he didn't look away from her.

The fact that he listened to her appeased some of her anger with him. It didn't erase it by a long shot. She was still pissed at him for walking away from her without so much as a "kiss my ass" or explanation. She still hurt from a far deeper pain than she could analyze right now. But the fact that he consulted her, that he wanted to hear her suggestion made her feel…good.

"There's a terrace off the east parlor, a wide set of stairs leading down, and the forest beyond that. I'm assuming that's a team of agents or somebody you've been talking to over those headsets. We can get lost in the trees, make our way around to the other agents, and get out of this hellhole, right?"

She half expected him to laugh, to tell her she read too many suspense novels. She never expected the show of white teeth as he graced her with the most brilliant smile she had ever seen on his handsome face.

"You're sure about this?"

"I'm positive."

"Sounds like a plan C to me," Dregs agreed.

Michael shook his head, and her heart did a disappointed dive into her stomach. Then she realized his smile came accompanied with a soft chuckle that sounded more of amazement than ridicule. When he touched the tip of her nose, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Remind me later to tell you how much I love you."

Rhonda's heart lodged securely in her throat. He didn't wait to hear her response. Good thing, too, because she couldn't speak now if her life depended on it. Come to think of it, her life depended on moving, which was exactly what he did.

Dregs's gentle, but pressured push to her foot set her moving after Michael. An equally pressured shove sent Michael's words to the back of her mind. She couldn't think about them now. She wouldn't allow herself to analyze the statement, her feelings for him, or if his words were brought on simply by the adrenaline of the moment. Did kick-ass DEA agents fall privy to the heat of the moment when they rescued a damsel in the middle of a war?

It didn't matter. If walking away spelled "I love you" to him, then she didn't want it. She had put up with enough thinly veiled love. If she couldn't find it written in great big neon letters, then she would rather do without, and she didn't care how unreasonable she sounded.

The passage narrowed as the duct cut right, barely leaving enough room for Michael's broad shoulders to squeeze through. When he stopped, he held up a hand in a silent gesture for her to stay.

She nodded and waited with bated breath as he crawled over the opening to get into position for removing the grating. She watched as he eased it down, then took a knife from a sheath on his side. She had already seen more of those than she cared to see in the days she spent in this place. If her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the weapon, it thumped triple time when he pulled a gun from the small of his back a moment later.

Rhonda wanted to tell him to be careful, but she clamped her teeth over the words. The time between his lowering himself through the opening and peering up at her through the hole seemed to stretch forever.

"We're clear." He motioned for her to come down, held up his arms.

"We're clear," she said to Dregs as she turned in the crawl space, not wanting to go down headfirst.

"Give me your hands."

She got her first good look at Dregs as she put her hands in his. A quick, assessing glance put him at a full year or more older than Michael, with deep lines etched in what might have been a surly face if he didn't smile right then.

"I won't let you fall, and you know the boss man will catch you."

The amused knowing that laced his words didn't escape her notice. Apparently her—relationship? friendship?—whatever-ship with Michael didn't escape Dregs's notice. She didn't comment as she shimmied through the opening, keeping her legs straight as not to kick Michael on the way down.

The first contact of his hands on her ankles sent a magical sensation traveling straight to her center. His hands closed around her legs, gliding up as she slid down. He held her, taking her full weight seemingly with ease, and lowered her slowly. With every inch she descended, her body skimmed his, front to front, pliant curve to ridged line, until she stood before him in his arms.

Rhonda tipped her head back, and the velocity of need swirling in his green eyes took her aback. She peeled herself away from him just as Dregs started to come down from the ceiling.

"Is that the way?"

Rhonda realized Michael was talking to her. He tipped his chin at the closed doors on the opposite side of the parlor. "The terrace is through those doors, yes."

"Then let's go." Dregs moved between them on his way to the doors. "I'm sick of this place already."

Rather than comment, Rhonda moved to Michael's side. His approving glance made her toes tingle. Though she had lived for years with a man who thought her stupid, she was anything but. She knew when to take necessary risks and when not to. The men were in possession of the guns. If the terrace beyond those doors wasn't empty, the highly trained men with the deadly weapons needed to go first.

"Stay behind me." Michael strode to one side of the double doors. Dregs took the other. Both peeked through the slits in the blinds covering the glass.

"Looks clear, boss. Cover me."

Michael made a “stay” motion with his hand as he moved into position behind Dregs. The agent opened one door, keeping his gun trained, scanning for any sign of life on the terrace as Michael did the same at the agent's back.

Rhonda kept her gaze locked on Michael, watching, waiting. She noted the way he held his gun, one long finger on the trigger ready to fire. She saw him reach his free hand back, turning it palm up for her. He didn't look back as she walked quickly to him, but his fingers closed around hers when she took his hand. She stepped through the door, moved with him toward the stairs. At his instruction, she started to move to his side. In the next heartbeat, she watched in horror as a gaping hole appeared in Dregs's back. The man fell forward, tumbling feet over head down the stairs to land lifelessly at the bottom.

"Fuck!" Michael jerked her arm, slamming her against his body. He spun to protect her even as he fired.

He blocked her view, but he couldn't muffle her hearing. Rhonda deduced the shots came from the stairs, knew there were probably more of Phay's men on the ground. She would rather face off with them than go back inside that compound.