Dance With Me

 Dance With Me

Wounded Warrior

Kristin Leigh

Published 2014

ISBN: 978-1-62210-082-8

Published by Liquid Silver Books, imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana 46235. Copyright © Published 2013, Kristin Leigh. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Manufactured in the United States of America

Liquid Silver Books

http://LSbooks.com

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

Blurb

Rebecca is a woman with a past—one that she keeps hidden from everyone around her. Despite the shadows she left behind, she’s built a wonderful life: an enriching career, friends that she loves, and coping mechanisms that keep her sane. Beneath her tough exterior beats the heart of a warm and loving woman, a woman that just wants to love and be loved in return.

He’s known only as “the major,” and he has sacrificed everything to protect the country he loves. A ghost, a constantly transforming entity, he has but one purpose: let nothing stand in the way of the mission. He’s never failed, never wavered in his devotion, and has more than his fair share of scars to prove it. Lately, the test of time has started to wear thin, and it has something to do with the redheaded hellion that’s pushed her way into his heart. But a man that doesn’t exist, doesn’t even have a name, has nothing to offer except a few stolen moments of desperate passion.

When his world crashes into hers, they both must come to terms with what lies between them. Can Rebecca expose the ravages of her past? And can the major ever be anything more than what he has become?

Dedication

For my husband.

Prologue

The girl was going to die. At least, she was if something wasn’t done quickly. The major tried to meet Harris’ eyes as he slid the bowl of water beneath the bars of her cell. But like every other night she stared at the wall, her eyes glazed and unfocused. It was pitiful. He swallowed hard against the ever-increasing lump in his throat as he turned to the man.

The man was a different story entirely. Every night since he’d arrived four months ago, the major had made sure the two of them had regular sustenance. The man—Paulson—lifted glittering eyes to the major’s every time. And each day the fire hidden behind those eyes grew a little more animalistic. Paulson was the reason Harris had survived this long. But this night…this night was different.

The major tapped on the bars and whispered, “Ma.” He’d whispered it every night, was sure they knew by now that it meant "water." Paulson lifted his head and blinked a few times in puzzlement. The major bit back his native language, the comforting English words hovering on the tip of his tongue that would ease their pain. Or make it worse.

Paulson finally looked at the bowl and, instead of sneering and making a smart-ass comment as usual, simply murmured, “Thank you.” The major stepped back, startled.
I’ve got to get them the hell out of here.
He gritted his teeth and looked around. Most of the men on the compound were in bed already, but two of them were settling in for nightshift guard duties. They were imbeciles, addicted to watching soccer when no one was looking. The major could kill them easily, but that was a huge risk. The entire mission could be compromised.

He looked back at Paulson. Paulson could take them out, if he was in the right frame of mind and had an opportunity. The major frowned, trying to work it out in his mind. He couldn’t call in a team for rescue yet. He hadn’t gotten close enough to Naseem to even meet him. And he
needed
that intel. More lives than Paulson’s and Harris’ were at stake. Thousands more. Maybe millions.

They hadn’t been part of the mission and he couldn’t report their location until he got the information he needed. Reporting it would mean a bunch of SEALs or Delta Force would show up and all hell would break loose—and Naseem would disappear again. So he couldn’t help them that way. He’d have to think of something else.

The major ran through the possibilities. It had fallen to him to lock them up after they were fed at night. They slept in a different building entirely. Apparently Naseem was afraid they could escape from the iron bars of the cell they were kept in by day, so at night they were moved to another, windowless building, and handcuffed to a cinderblock wall in a room with a single door. That door led to the guards’ station.

Even if he wanted to leave the handcuffs off, he couldn’t. The major was too new to Naseem’s operation to be trusted completely. The guards watched him and checked the cuffs every night. They trusted no one.

One of the guards yelled and the major watched as Paulson downed the rest of his water. Harris still hadn’t touched hers. He had to do something
tonight
.

The night guards came in to move them, unlocking the doors and chaining their hands and feet so tightly that they could barely move. Paulson had apparently made a few escape attempts already, prompting them to tighten the restraints to the point that movement was nearly impossible. The major took the lead chain from the chubby guard. When he’d arrived, they’d happily handed over this duty to him. It took nearly a half hour to walk the prisoners to the sleeping room and they were ecstatic to have someone to push around and assign the task to. But it could work in his favor.

The major took care to walk as slowly as they needed to. They would both probably need what little strength they had left. The guards stood watching as he clicked their cuffs in place. When Paulson held his hands out, the major slid his thumb between the cuff and the other man’s wrist before tightening it. Paulson would have to break his thumb, but he could do it.

He looked up into Paulson’s eyes as the cuff snicked into place, trying to send him a message.
This is your chance, SEAL. Take it.

One of the guards grabbed the restraints and checked. The major breathed a sigh of relief when he turned with a shrug and yelled to his friend to turn on the game. He really didn’t want to raise all kinds of alarms and compromise his cover. He would if it came to that, because he was still human somewhere deep inside. But the mission always came first.

He exited with a nonchalant wave at the guards and went to his bunk. The rest was up to Paulson. Paulson wouldn’t leave Harris behind, and the major had done what he could. If they succeeded, good. If not…well, it was just one more thing he’d have to live with.
One life for many.

Chapter 1

Rebecca jumped as another bolt of lightning illuminated the sky outside her window. She was startled, though, not scared. There wasn’t much that could scare Rebecca. No, she loved storms. The rain, the thunder, the lightning ,the raw power called to her, reminded her of the day nine years ago when she’d become free. And freedom was so much more precious when it was achieved instead of given. She opened the window of her two-bedroom duplex and breathed in until the smell of the storm filled her lungs. She wanted to go outside, absorb the energy of the storm, and soak in the chill of the rain until it permeated her bones.

Even though she felt revitalized by the storm, Rebecca wasn’t crazy enough to go outside when the lightning was so close. She would, however, bide her time and hope that the lightning would get far enough away to allow her a few minutes of blissful storm gazing.

Another bolt struck and the power flickered. Good. She wanted it to go out. Rebecca loved the silence when the electric hum was missing while a storm raged. It brought back that feeling, that wonderful sensation, when she’d first realized that God—Allah, Yahweh, whoever—had finally given Rebecca the chance to release herself from the hell she’d endured for eighteen long years.

She watched the storm from a front window, waiting for a sign that the lightning had moved far enough away to allow her to go outside and bask in Mother Nature’s most glorious outpouring of emotion. Time stood still as the storm seethed and she watched, entranced, her heartbeat pounding with each deep rumble of thunder.

Control. That’s what the storm was for her. Rebecca always smiled when she heard a weatherman say a storm was “out of control.” She wanted to ask them who, exactly, they thought was controlling the storm in the first place. God? If someone believed in God and also believed He lost control of the storm, they didn’t believe in a very powerful deity. Rebecca preferred to think of storms as God’s way of reminding mankind of who was actually in control. In her case, the most powerful storm of her life had been a gift from God, a beautiful gift that placed control firmly in her hands. So she loved them.

The lights flickered twice more in rapid succession, then went out entirely. Rebecca closed her eyes against the sudden darkness and then jerked them back open when the bright beam of headlights turned the blackness to red behind her eyelids.

Who the hell was this? The car pulled into the driveway beside hers, which was the parking area for Callie’s side of the duplex. Callie was one of Rebecca’s best friends, and the two of them had been through a lot. Nearly a year ago Callie had become engaged, and her fiancé’s truck sat in the driveway between her car and Rebecca’s. That meant whoever was sitting in the car with the headlights on was a visitor and not a visitor for Rebecca.

Rebecca watched in curiosity as the door opened and a man emerged. He stood straight, his bearing that of someone who’d spent a good deal of time in the military or law enforcement.

Someone Chris knew, then.

Rebecca watched as he closed the door without getting an umbrella or flinching against the rain. His face turned up and she could barely make out the strong line of his nose and jaw as he closed his eyes and savored the storm, much in the same way she was. Lightning struck and a loud
clap
of thunder immediately followed. Rebecca jolted a bit, but not the stranger. He didn’t fear the storm at all. She envied that. Rebecca wanted to stand in a storm again while it raged around her, toss caution aside and invite the tempest to do as it would, consequences be damned. But she’d grown cautious over the years.

Abruptly his face swung toward her window and Rebecca froze. Could he see her? It was dark inside and out, the electricity down and the moon covered by clouds. The only light was that of the occasional lightning. His head lowered and Rebecca could feel his gaze on her before he jerked around and proceeded to Callie’s door.

* * * *

There was a woman at the window. Her features and coloring were indistinguishable in the darkness, but the major could faintly make out her outline in the window. She was watching the storm. He should have been able to brush her off as a nosy neighbor, but nosy neighbors ducked when they were spotted. She’d simply stayed there. Did she love the soothing sound of rain or the angry flashes of lightning, the deep growls of thunder? Did it call to the deep, dark part of her soul the way it did his?

The major jerked his eyes back to the half of the duplex where Lieutenant Chris Paulson was staying. He had to stay on task. He strode briskly to the door and knocked in three short, hard raps. He didn’t have time for daydreaming about mysterious women in a storm. He had a job to do, and the major always did his job.

The door jerked open and Paulson stood there, blocking his view of the interior. He didn’t care. The major had questions to ask, and once Paulson got done with what was bound to be an impressive display of temper, he planned on getting some answers.

Curiosity was the first thing the major noted on Paulson’s face, but recognition, shock, and anger quickly followed. Paulson stepped outside and slammed the door behind him before he grabbed the major’s collar and tugged him to eye level, partially cutting off his oxygen in the process.

The major was not a small man, but Paulson was nearly six-and-a-half feet tall, and much more heavily muscled now than he’d been a year ago. Despite that, the major wasn’t intimidated. He stared into Paulson’s angry eyes and said, “Are you going to strangle me, or do you want to hear what I have to say?”

The major had to hand it to him; Paulson was in control of his temper, although barely.

“You have nothing to say to me that could keep me from killing you.” Paulson’s teeth were clenched and his words were rough.

The major had noticed this anger, a year ago, in the terrorist compound where Paulson had been held prisoner. He’d observed the unbendable will and strength that most men would have lost long before they were able to escape. He’d known Paulson would survive, had even been a silent partner in his escape. Not that Paulson would know that. Ever.

Sick of being hoisted in the air by a man that topped him by more than three inches and outweighed him by more than twenty pounds, the major said in a low voice, “Black Ops, Lieutenant.”