Power: Special Tactical Units Division (In Wilde Country Book 3) (7 page)

She looked up.

“Skinny and Stubby.”

“Whatever.”

“And why would I want a gun?”

“It would be hard to drape a
live
cat around your shoulders.”

The expression on her face said he’d lost his mind. Maybe so. Hadn’t he just told himself that he wasn’t here to sit in judgment on her?

“Okay,” he said briskly. “Stay put. I’m gonna shinny up that tree and see if I can find us a Motel 6.”

She nodded, and for a couple of seconds, all the weariness in the world showed in her eyes. Then she flashed a quick smile.

“As long as it has flush toilets and room service.”

Despite himself, he laughed.

* * *

The place he found was a clearing on a patch of slightly elevated ground.

It lacked toilets and room service, but Alessandra was still ready to call it paradise.

Tall palms stood in a tight cluster, their fronds waving in a breeze just strong enough to discourage mosquitoes and other flying creatures.

Superman grabbed a heavy-looking stick and smacked it against the trunk of the biggest tree. Two small dark things flew out of the top branches and flapped away.

“Bats,” he said.

Bats were okay. There were endless varieties in the rainforest. The only ones that made her shudder were the ones that lived on blood—the vampires—but other kinds, and there were many, she could deal with.

Superman kicked aside a small pile of dead leaves. A centipede made a dash for freedom,

She couldn’t deal with centipedes. Or millipedes. Things with more legs than any creature could possibly need, but she saw the look Supe sent her when the thing scuttled into the surrounding jungle, and she didn’t so much as stir.

She suspected that shuddering would only assure him that she was dislikable, and if there wasn’t such a word, there should be because for all the care he’d taken to get her away from her captors, what emanated from him to her was dislike.

He shrugged off his vicious-looking automatic rifle, leaned it against one of the palms, and did the same with the machete. Then he dumped his pack, squatted down, opened it and took out a cellphone. No. Not a cellphone.

“What is that?” she asked.

He hit a button and held up his free hand. The request—the command—for silence was clear.

“Chay,” he said crisply. “Yes. Subject acquired. No, no problems so far. Good. Out.”

Okay. She knew what the object was. A satellite phone, but just to be sure, she decided to ask.

“Is that a satellite phone?”

“Correct.” He hit a button, then tucked the satphone inside the pack again.

“And who were you talking to?”

“Base.”

“In the States?”

“Yes.”

He reached into the pack and took out something that resembled a folded square of olive-drab canvas. He rose, shook it open, spread it on the ground and then bent to the pack again.

She felt useless, just standing and watching.

“Can I help?”

He shook his head.

“Just stay out of the way. That’s all I require from you.”

He spoke briskly. Impersonally. Two whole sentences this time, but she didn’t like that word,
require
. It made her feel like a ten-year-old being given an assignment by a teacher. That was pretty much his attitude towards her in general.

But he’d saved her life.

Who was she to protest?

She sank down on the ground cloth and watched as he began taking other things out of the backpack.

Impressive.

The man got an
A
for neatness.

Everything was carefully arranged. She recognized the MREs. The coalition used them in the field. There were little plastic containers and baggies, some folded stuff she figured was a change of clothes, a cook pot, nylon rope and other odds and ends that made for typical camping gear—but there was nothing typical about this camper.

This was the first chance she’d had to get a real look at him. The long, lean body. Those muscled arms and that chest. The broad shoulders. The stony face. The short, almost black hair. The sculpted face, strong and handsome despite the dark stripes,

Actually, the stripes added something.

They made him look...dangerous.

Dangerous, and,
be honest, Alessandra,
sexy as hell.

Not that it mattered.

Superman was all attitude. She didn’t like him, and she still didn’t even know his name.

“Maybe that’s all you require,” she said. “But I require a name.”

He looked at her. “What?”

“Your name. I don’t know it.” Her smile was toxic. “And Superman seems a little much.”

“Superman?”

“You know. Man of Steel. Big. Macho. Tough on bad guys. Awkward with regular people.”

To her delight, color rose in his cheeks. She could see it, even under those camouflage stripes.

“Akecheta.”

“Is that your first name or your last name?”

“Last.”

It was like pulling teeth.

“So, Mr. Akecheta, do you have a first name?”

“It’s
Lieutenant
.”

“Lieutenant is your first name?”

“I meant…” He looked at her. There was a glint of laughter in her eyes. He couldn’t blame her. He probably sounded like a fool. This woman was having a bad effect on him. “I meant,” he said coldly, “I’m a lieutenant.”

“And your first name is…?”

“Tanner.”

“Akecheta. It’s an unusual name. Is it Spanish?”

“No.”

“Italian?”

“No.”

“I only meant, you know, all those vowels…”

“Indian,” he said brusquely as he opened one of the little pill containers and shook two capsules into the palm of his hand. “American Indian. Or Native American. Take your choice.”

“What tribe?”

“What’s the difference?”

Alessandra rolled her eyes. “
Che stronzo!
I’m just making conversation.”

“Conversation’s a waste of energy.” He held out the canteen and the capsules. “Take them.”

“What are they?”

“Antibiotics.”

“I’m not sick.”

“They’re a preventive. Take them.”

“You can’t prevent illness by taking antibiotics, Mr. Akecheta.”

“Lieutenant. And no, you probably can’t, but maybe you can lessen the effect of whatever bug you’ve picked up.”

“
If
you’ve picked up a bug.”

His eyes, an amazing shade of hazel, seemed to darken.

“Ms. Wilde. I’m going to be blunt. It has been one fucking hell of one fucking long day and I am most definitely not in the fucking mood for debate. Just take the capsules.”

Her eyes turned icy.

“I think you just broke the record for saying that word.”

He smiled tightly. “What word?” he said, even though he damn well knew the word she meant.

“Fooking,” she said, and blushed.

That little accent. It was barely distinguishable, but it came through loud and clear on a world like
fucking
.

He wanted to laugh, but he wasn’t entirely stupid. Laughter right now not might not be the best policy.

“I’m happy to know you’re familiar with the Guinness Book of World Records.”

“With what?”

“Ms. Wilde—”

“It’s Bellini.”

“Ms. Bellini. Would you rather I held your nose and stuffed the capsules down your throat?”

Alessandra glared at him. “You could use some lessons in civility, Lieutenant.”

“I’ll be sure and mention that to my commanding officer.”

“You do that.”

She snatched the capsules from his outstretched hand, popped them in her mouth, took the canteen and gulped a drink of water before handing it back. He stowed it in his backpack, then clutched her chin.

“What are you doing?”

“Your lip is puffy.”

“My lip is fine.”

He reached for a small tube, opened it, brought it towards her mouth.

“What is that stuff?”

“It’s just a lip balm. It’ll make you feel better.”

“What if I don’t want…”

Tanner held her still and swiped the ointment over her lips. The balm felt cool and soothing, and she felt almost instant relief.

“Better?”

“No.”

He laughed. She glared.

“How’s your eye feel?”

“Wonderful,” she said sweetly. “How’s yours?”

He tilted her head to the side. Her eye and cheek were an amalgam of black, blue and purple. He felt a rush of fury, but he knew better than to let it take over. He had a job to do and the best way to do it was to keep his emotions neutral.

He danced his fingers over the underlying bones. Careful as he was, she winced.

“Hey! Don’t press so hard.”

“I’m checking to see if there are any fractures.”

“There aren’t.”

“No. Luckily, there aren’t.” He picked up an antiseptic pad. “Close your eyes.” She did, and he cleaned her face with slow, steady strokes. “Which of them did this to you?”

The question was simple, but something in his tone sent a shiver down her spine.

“Does it matter?”

“It does, if we run into them again.”

Alessandra opened her eyes. She stared at her rescuer. He didn’t like her. She didn’t much like him. Still, that question just now, the male assertiveness inherent in it…

“And your wrists…” He clasped her hands and turned them over. His mouth tightened at the sight of the raw, red flesh. He looked up, his eyes narrowed. “We need to deal with all this.”

“All what?”

“Your cuts and abrasions. Otherwise, you run the risk of infection.”

There was no point in arguing. He was right and she knew it. Plus, her face and lips felt better already, thanks to the ointment he’d put on her lips and the way he’d cleaned her face.

She watched him as he rummaged through his backpack.

He was a puzzlement, this man. Tough. Tender. Intense. And, not that it mattered in any way whatsoever, he was also what any woman in her right mind would call a hunk.

Who was he, anyway? All he’d given her so far was name and rank. Would his serial number come next?

“Okay.” He took her right hand in his, bent his dark head and touched an antiseptic pad to her skin. “This might sting a little.”

“Lieutenant?”

“Yeah?”

“Who sent you?”

“Take a guess.”

The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to cut with a knife.

“The FURever Fund?”

“Try again. And give me your other hand.”

“I’m not in the mood for guessing games, Lieutenant. It’s a simple question. Who sent you to find me?”

“Your father.”

“Who?”

“General Wilde. Your old man.”

“Stubby and Skinny contacted him?”

“They sent a ransom note to your pals at that wildlife place.” He finished cleaning up her left wrist, tucked the used antiseptic pads into a small baggie and stuffed it into his backpack. “Now take off your shirt.”

“What?”

“Take off the T-shirt.”

“Excuse me?”

“Protocol requires a wounds assessment.”

“Protocol requires you to answer my question. Are you telling me the coalition contacted the general? Because there’s no way that could have happened. Nobody’s aware of the—the connection between the general and me.”

“It’s a small world,” Tanner said flatly. “Evidently, somebody at the coalition knew you and the general are related. He got in touch with State, and a guy at State contacted your father. Take off the shirt, Ms. Wilde.”

“It’s Bellini. And they wasted their time. My father isn’t terribly interested in my branch of the family.”

The lieutenant sat back on his heels. His expression was stony.

“Your problems with your old man aren’t my worry. He wants you back in one piece. That’s why I’m here. And we’re wasting time. Get that shirt off.”

Alessandra glared at the man sent to bring her home. No wonder he was so pissed off.

“You’re here,” she said sharply, “because you’re the general’s lackey. He says jump, you—dammit! Let go!”

Tanner’s hands were hard on her shoulders, his eyes hot with rage as they burned into hers.

“I don’t jump for any man,” he said in a low, dangerous voice. “I’m here because I wanted to be.”

“Right. And I’m here because I couldn’t get a reservation at the Ritz.”

“You’re here because you’re a spoiled little girl with too much money and too little to keep you busy, and maybe some guys like to play your game, but I’m sure as hell not one of them.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“All you have to know is that I’m responsible for you until we’re back in the States, and that means you’ll do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it. Clear?”

“What’s clear,” Alessandra said furiously, “is that you’re not just the general’s flunky you’re also a brainless, muscle-bound bully.”

“I’m going to count to three. If you haven’t taken that shirt off by then, I’ll do it for you.”

“You wait until we’re back home, Lieutenant. You just wait.”

“One.”

“I’ll file charges that will write
finito
to your cushioned career.”

“It’s
cushy
, not
cushioned
. Two.”

Crazy as she knew it was, him correcting her English made her even angrier. She spoke perfect English. Everybody said so. The only time it slipped was when she was upset, really upset, and, goddammit, how could she let this—this lapdog of her father’s upset her?

Except, he couldn’t be a lapdog.

It wasn’t possible to think of him taking orders or even sitting in an office, and what did any of that matter?

What did anything matter, except surviving this nightmare and getting home?

Besides, he was right.

She was a mass of bites and scratches and cuts, and even though she’d had to take a zillion different vaccinations just to come to San Escobal, the coalition had still given her an endless stack of documents to read, most of them about the dangers of botfly bites and killer bee attacks and, worst of all, infections.

“Three,” he said grimly.

Alessandra twisted free of his hands, turned her back and yanked the shirt over her head.

“Do what you have to do,” she said, just as grimly, “and be quick about it.”