Stolen Heat (26 page)

He exploded inside her on a long groan, and she held on tight as her own climax washed over her seconds later. In that moment, the past was finished and buried. Never to come between them again.

His mouth found hers, hot and wet and possessive. And she loved it. Loved those strong arms of his circling around to hold her close. Loved the way he couldn’t seem to get enough of her. Loved the steady beat of his heart in time with her own.

Still joined together, she collapsed against his chest and pressed her face against his neck as she took long, slow deep breaths. The whole time, he whispered sweet words and trailed his hand up and down her spine.

She snuggled in and closed her eyes. For the first time in years, she was filled with a hope she was almost too afraid to believe in.

Every inch of her body ached.

Hailey lay still on her side and held her breath to keep from crying out. Not an easy thing to do considering it hurt like a son of a bitch even to breathe.

The vehicle she was in bounced and jerked her to the side, sending pain lancing through her torso where she’d been kicked. So much for all that self-defense training.
She’d let these creeps get the jump on her, and now she was in deep shit. And no doubt black and blue from scalp to toe.

Okay, think.

She had no idea where they were heading, but the rhythmic
whap, whap, whap
filtering through her mind told her they were most likely on a bridge.

Bridge…bridge…bridge. Hell, that could be anywhere.

Her memories were vague from the moment Minyawi had knocked her out cold in Lauren’s house in Key Biscayne. She was pretty sure she’d been put on a plane, then stuffed into a car. She knew they’d called her by Lauren’s name several times, so they hadn’t yet figured out they’d fucked up. At one point she remembered being in some sort of dingy motel with Minyawi—yeah, he was a sick fuck—eyeing her like she was the last hooker in a brothel. But now even that, along with everything else, including the beating she’d obviously taken, was a fleeting blur. And thank God for that little side trip into amnesia-land. On top of the rest of the crap in her life, she seriously didn’t need the trauma from this fucked-up nightmare.

With her hands tied behind her and a blindfold covering her eyes, she didn’t know what kind of vehicle she was in now, or how long she’d been on the road. One thing she had paid attention to, though, were the voices of the two men who’d abducted her.

Heavily accented. Middle Eastern. Cold. Hard. Bordering on inhuman. One was definitely Minyawi. The other? She was almost sure he’d responded to the name Busir.

Oh, man. Pete owed her for this one. Owed her bigtime. If she got out of this—
when
she got out of this—she’d make sure he paid up tenfold.

The only way to keep from freaking out was to use her brain and dial back in to her officer training. She counted
the
whap, whap, whap
and the number of turns they took after leaving what had to be a bridge. When the vehicle came to a jolting stop, she clenched her teeth to keep from screaming as pain shot through her entire body.

A car door opened. Footsteps echoed around the back. A door near her feet was pulled open, and a blast of cold air rushed over her body.

They definitely weren’t in Florida anymore. The air here was crisp and frigid and felt of snow. She went completely still.

“I’ll be back for you. With a friend,” the one she was sure was Minyawi said.

The door slammed shut, and a lock clicked, echoing through the interior of the car that had just become her prison cell.

One set of footsteps marched away from the vehicle, then faded altogether. She waited for the other door to open. For breathing to indicate she wasn’t alone. Only there was nothing.

For some reason Busir wasn’t with them anymore. Which meant she was truly alone. And this was her only chance for escape.

She bolted upright. Two things Minyawi didn’t know. One, she wasn’t as drugged as he’d thought. Yeah, she was fuzzy, but she’d been acting the past few hours so he wouldn’t shoot her up again. And two, she wasn’t the helpless female model he believed her to be.

Pulse pounding in her ears, she wriggled against the ropes at her back. When that proved useless, she rolled onto her stomach, eased back on her knees and tried to rub her face against her shoulder to free the blindfold.

It was like working underwater. Her arms and legs refused to work the way she wanted. Finally she realized she wasn’t going to get anywhere until she remedied the situation with her arms. Rolling to her back, she lifted her hips off the floor and groaned as she scooted her lower
body through the hoop her bound arms made and brought her hands to the front of her body.

Sweat covered every inch of her skin. A metal clanging from somewhere outside drew her up short. She waited. And prayed the entire time Minyawi hadn’t come back.

When the sound stopped and it was clear it had been something unrelated to her situation, she went back to work, using her hands to push the blindfold free so she could go to work on the ropes at her feet.

It took a while for her eyes to adjust, but she quickly realized wherever she was, it was still night. City lights streamed in through the front windshield of the vehicle, casting shadows over the interior of what she guessed was a utility van. The walls were metal, the floor hard and cold, and along the back wall she saw two cargo doors. Behind her, a wire mesh net prevented her from accessing the front two seats.

The rope bit into her skin. Her fingers bled as she tried to free herself. But she didn’t stop. Just when she was ready to scream with frustration, the ropes at her feet loosened.

Yes!

She kicked and wriggled free of the bonds and quickly jumped to her feet. No time to worry about her hands. She had to get the hell out of here.

The cargo doors were locked—no surprise—so that left the front. She ran her tied hands over the cage, trying to find a release. When that proved futile, she grabbed the metal between her fingers and cranked hard.

Still nothing.

“
Son of a bitch!
Come on!”

Her breaths grew labored and heavy. Sweating, she glanced along the edge of the cage at two tiny little clamps. Like the unit was snapped into place, not bolted.

Hope burst through her.

On her knees, she worked the latch at the bottom on
the right side until her fingers screamed in pain, then the one at the top. And nearly cried out in glee when the unit opened like a door hinging back.

She crawled through the space, dropped into the driver’s seat and eyed the ignition. No keys.

Dammit.
Well what did she expect? An engraved invitation to motor her way to freedom à la Greg Biffle?

She chewed on her lip. She needed to get to the authorities and get word to Pete about Minyawi. She could get out and run, or…she could hotwire the thing like Rafe had taught her to do when they’d been dating. Crap, she wasn’t sure she remembered which wire went where.

Indecision brewing, she glanced up. Then realized in a flash where she was.

No goddamn way.

Forget NASCAR. She had a faster idea.

Pete was warm all over. Even his toes were toasty.

He smiled as he lay on his side watching Kat sleep, curled up facing him on the mattress in Maria’s guest room. He’d turned the light off earlier, and now only the glow rising from the city outside the huge windows highlighted the angles and curves of her face, the soft skin of her shoulder, the way her hands were tucked in close to her body.

Man, he could just lay here for hours, staring at her.

The rain had turned to a light patter against the windows. The night sounds of the city were drowned out by her rhythmic breathing.

He couldn’t bring himself to wake her, even though he
desperately wanted to make love to her one more time before dawn. So he contented himself with lying next to her, watching her sleep. He stroked her arm, marveled at the way her lashes fanned against her cheeks, how her lips parted as she breathed and that little mole near her mouth beckoned him to kiss her. He traced the line of her shoulder, drew his finger across her collar bone, followed the chain around her neck to the medal that fell between her breasts.

St. Jude. Patron saint of lost causes. She’d told him once she wore it because she was the biggest lost cause of all. But she was wrong. She was so much more than she realized.

A muffled thump cut through the night silence, and Pete’s finger halted on Kat’s medallion. He lifted his head and listened, only to have a second thump meet his ears.

Rolling to his back, he looked toward the tangle of clothing on the floor. He
seriously
didn’t want to get out of bed, but some strange instinct was telling him to get up and check on that noise.

Maria slept like the dead and didn’t get up for anything. And no matter how he tried, he couldn’t come up with a logical reason for her housekeeper to be up and moving this early.

He hesitated until he heard it a third time, then rolled out of bed as quietly as he could so as not to wake Kat and pulled on his slacks. Most likely it was something simple like the wind lifting loose material on the roof of the building, but considering the situation, he didn’t think it wise to ignore it.

He closed the door quietly at his back and moved barefoot through the upstairs. Every room he checked was empty. Nothing moving. Nothing out of the ordinary. He tiptoed down the stairs and hesitated when he reached the entryway.

The heating system hummed. Outside, wind howled,
and rain pattered against the panes of glass in the living room. He was just about to turn around and go upstairs when he heard it again.

A thump. Like something heavy being moved. Coming from Maria’s room.

He eased down the hallway, staying in the shadows. Then wished like hell he’d grabbed his gun from upstairs. Glancing around the darkened passage, he spotted a tall, chunky candlestick on a side table.

Not a bat. But the best he could come up with. He grabbed it with a frown and turned it upside down to use like a weapon. Then he wrapped his hand around Maria’s doorknob.

The room was dark, and it took his eyes a moment to adjust, but he didn’t miss the muffled gasp.

Maria was on the floor between the bed and the window, hands and feet cinched tight, gag stuffed in her mouth and tied behind her head. Her flailing was the noise he’d heard from upstairs.

Oh, shit.

His blood ran cold, and he turned to race back upstairs. Maria’s muffled scream echoed at his back.

He made it as far as the base of the stairs before he was coldcocked from behind and went sprawling to the hardwood floor. The candlestick sailed out of his hand, smacked against the far wall and broke into two. A set of familiar dark eyes and an ass-ugly mop of hair moved into his line of sight.

Minyawi.

No…not Minyawi. Someone he knew a whole lot better.

He flipped quickly to his back and managed one lethal blow before a hypodermic needle was thrust into his arm. He swatted at the sharp stab, flicked it away before the syringe was depressed all the way, then heard a chilling
voice he remembered all too well echo in his already fuzzy head.

“Thank you, Pete, for bringing her right to me.”

Kat woke with a start. She didn’t know what had pulled her from sleep, but one glance around the dark room and a feeling of dread washed over her.

Pete was gone.

She dropped her feet over the side of the bed, pulled on her T-shirt and jeans and felt a moment of relief when she saw his shoes and shirt in a heap on the floor next to her things.

Okay, he wasn’t gone for good. He’d just gotten up for something. She listened to see if she could hear him, and when she couldn’t, that panic washed over her again.

She reached for the gun in her backpack. The house was too quiet.

She checked the magazine and clicked off the safety, then silently walked to the door. When she got to the top of the stairs, she listened again and hoped she could hear Pete clanging around in the kitchen, rummaging for a midnight snack.

Only there was nothing.

That dread ratcheted up a notch. She took the stairs one at a time, continuing to move like a silent shadow. She hesitated mere steps from the kitchen, surveying the area, holding her breath as she listened for sound from the other side of that closed door.

A loud shrill made her jump. She whipped around, gun held in both hands.

With her heart in her throat, Kat realized it was a cell phone chiming.

She blew out a long breath. Rubbed the back of her hand over her forehead and let out a pathetic laugh.

She was really losing it. That was probably what had
woken her. Just a damn cell phone going off somewhere in the house. For all she knew, Pete had probably been in the bathroom when she’d awoken and was now back in bed wondering where she’d gone.

A laugh bubbled through her as she turned for the stairs. The cell phone chimed again, but this time she expected it. She glanced around, curious as to where the thing had been left so she could turn it off.

She walked around the far side of the dining room table. And froze.

A silent scream tore from her throat when she saw Pete lying on his stomach, out cold. His cell phone was on the floor near his head.

“Pete.” She set the gun on the ground and dropped to her knees by his side. Blood ran down his temple and dripped onto his bare shoulder.

She reached quickly for the phone, flipped it open to call 911, and went cold all over when she saw the picture message coming through. It had been sent hours ago by the time stamp, but Pete obviously hadn’t looked at it yet. It read simply:

Pete,

This is the most recent picture INTERPOL has on file for Minyawi.

H

“Oh, God.” Sickness welled in Kat’s stomach as she stared at the image of Sawil Ramirez.

She grabbed the gun and scrambled to her feet to get help. And made it two steps before she was grasped by the hair by a large hand that jerked backward until the air shot out of her lungs.

“It’s about time you showed up, Kat. I’ve been waiting for you for six fucking years.”

Spots shot into Kat’s line of vision. Pain erupted in her
skull. She yelped and tried to swat at the hand that held her, but it pulled so hard the room spun. Sawil’s shoulder plowed into the swinging kitchen door, and before she knew what was happening, she was thrown over the granite island and went skidding off the other side.

Pots and pans and utensils went sailing. The gun flew out of her hand and across the room. Kat hit the tile floor on the other side of the island with a
thwack
that cracked her skull and sent stars firing off behind her eyes. In a daze, she looked up to see Sawil standing over her, but this wasn’t the quiet and friendly man she’d met in Cairo. This one was full of malevolence and a blinding hatred she could never understand.

“This is all your fault, you know. You couldn’t leave well enough alone. And now look where we are.” His accent didn’t sound Brazilian anymore. It was very thickly Middle Eastern, and with his long hair and beard, he fit the terrorist profile better than she could have ever predicted.

She scrambled to her feet.

He threw a chair out of his way as he advanced toward her, eyes dark and evil. “Prove a point. Make my mark. I was doing that until you fucked it all up for me. No one was getting hurt.” She darted behind the table. “Then they came at me. Said it was my problem. That you were my fuckup. That I needed to fix it. Fix you. You should have died that night in the tomb. Then Shannon would still be alive.”

Her eyes flicked to the scar running down his cheek. The scar, she realized, she’d put there. He’d been the one to grab her from behind. He’d lured her, disappeared, then tried to kill her. He just hadn’t expected her to fight back.

“It should have been you who was gutted, not Shannon,” he growled as he threw another chair to the side. “Not her.”

And, oh…shit. She realized then she was in serious
trouble here. What had Bertrand told her in the park?
Minyawi’s been on a killing spree for five years. Rose in the ranks of his group like wildfire spreads across a dry valley.
The man Kat had known six years ago was definitely not the same one she was staring at now. If he hadn’t killed Shannon, then it meant his organization had. To get to Kat. And he hadn’t been able to stop it. Which meant he had double the reason to want to see Kat suffer.

Her adrenaline surged. She stumbled backward when he moved forward.

“No one’s coming for you, woman. Before this is over you will beg me to kill you.”

The hell she would.

When he came at her, she threw a chair from the kitchen table into him. He grunted as it hit him in the knee, then tossed it aside as if it were kindling. And still he kept coming.

“Run from me,” he growled. “That’s it. Run. It’ll be that much better when I catch you and make you pay. I’ve been practicing. All these years, just waiting to make you pay like Shannon did.”

The kitchen was big, but Kat was quickly running out of space. She couldn’t beat him in a hand-to-hand fight. Her only option was to escape and regroup. She spotted the side door that led to the back stairs and turned to run. He dove for her, grasped her ankle, and pulled her down with him before she even got three steps away.

Her body hit the floor hard. She grunted in pain, kicking and struggling, but he flipped her to her back like she was a rag doll.

“Get off me!”

He wrestled her hands, grasped them at the wrists and pinned them beside her head. She continued to fight with everything she had, remembering what Pete had told her he’d done to Bertrand’s wife. Knowing if she lost here, she was dead.

Don’t let Pete be dead.

He growled close to her ear. “I like it when they fight back. Now beg. Beg me not to hurt you. Just like Shannon did before they cut her.”

“No!” Sickness rose in Kat’s stomach. She lifted her knee, nearly landed a jab in his groin, but he moved just before she made contact. The back of his hand sliced through the air and connected with her cheek with a loud crack.

“Do it!” he screamed. He shifted his legs so he had both of hers pinned beneath the weight of his body.

She lashed out. Her hand broke free. She dug her fingernails into his left eye. Blood spurted over her face and chest, making her gag. He screeched and jerked back, one hand flying to his face, the other still holding her tight. She turned her head slightly and saw her gun lying mere feet from her, just out of her grasp.

She was so close.

She kicked, tried to free herself, but he was too strong. Sweat and blood ran down her cheek.

He roared, and a menacing rage coated his features until she barely recognized him anymore. He wrapped his free hand around her throat and squeezed until she was sure her veins would burst.

Her vision dimmed. She gasped for breath, struggled harder. Met…nothing.

Oh, God.
This was it. After all this time, after finally being so close to what she’d always wanted…

“Get your fucking hands off her.” Pete’s arm arced out, and the cast-iron frying pan in his hand cracked against the side of Sawil’s head.

Sawil was thrown to the side and bounced off the kitchen wall.

Pete was on his knees in a flash, not a dream but reality, pulling her to him. “Talk to me, baby.”

Her throat burned, but she held on tight, remembering
the way he’d looked in the dining room. Blood continued to run down the side of his face. “Pete—”

Sawil shot off the floor with a growl and plowed into Pete. Kat screamed as he was torn from her arms. The two sailed across the kitchen. Pete’s head and back hit the cabinets with a deafening whack.

They wrestled across the floor, grunting and struggling. Kat scrambled for her gun and grasped it with two hands, but there was no shot. Their bodies slammed into another cabinet, and a pile of dishes above rocked and tipped and came crashing down around them.

Kat pushed to her feet. Sawil got the upper hand, rolled on top of Pete. He closed his hands around Pete’s neck. “Should have. Killed you. Long ago.”

“Why didn’t you?” Pete spat as he fought back, nailing Sawil with a right hook that made the man reel, stop and shake his head, but still he didn’t let go. Pete managed to push into a sitting position, his back Kat’s way, blocking her shot.

“Because I knew you’d lead me right to her.” Sawil tightened his grip. “You have her to thank for everything I am today. When you’re gone, she’s mine. And I will enjoy every moment of it.”

Something snapped in Pete then. He cracked his skull against Sawil’s. Hard. Dazed, Sawil loosened his grasp on Pete’s neck as his head snapped back. Pete laid two right hooks into Sawil’s face that echoed through the room, then scrambled out from underneath him.

Sawil stumbled, righted himself, shook his head and stood. Kat trained the gun on Sawil as Pete pushed himself up, swayed and caught himself. Both men were breathing heavily and looked like they could go down in a light breeze. Confusion colored Sawil’s eyes. He stumbled back two steps and fell against the counter behind him.