Rogue Soldier (12 page)

She struck out over and over again, but the men attacking her were no slouches. Apparently, hauling
in nets that weighed a ton had a way of putting muscle on a person.

She neutralized one with a powerful chop to the side of the head. Rather than taking heed, the other guy came at her with even more conviction.

Damn, she was tired. All that seasickness had worn her out. She could no longer see Mike. He and the other man had moved out of her range of vision, the only reminder of their presence an occasional grunt. She gathered her breath and charged forward with full steam, catching her opponent off guard.

They tangled and fell to the floor with a painful thud, she on the bottom. Luck wasn't with her on this trip so far. She hoped that would change quickly.

She saw movement from the corner of her eye as she struggled to get the man under her, spotted Mike at last, standing alone, breathing hard. He made no move to help her.

Oh, hell. The extra splash of fury was just enough to push her over the edge. She brought her fist up and hooked the guy with full force, sending him sprawling next to her. He didn't get up.

She lay there, gasping for air for a minute.

Mike came over and offered his hand.
Now,
he was all Mr. Let-Me-Help? She flashed him her best “evil” look.

“I could have used that hand a few minutes ago,” she snapped at him as she got up on her own.

“Who are you kidding?” He drew up his eyebrows. “If I took over, you would have wanted to kick my ass.”

He bent to take the belt off the man at his feet, and tied the guy's hands with it.

She shrugged, then went to help him with the next fisherman. “It's harder to beat four Russians unconscious than I thought.”

“You don't know the half of it. When I was in Siberia before, there was this one guy—” He fell silent. “I think they grow up wrestling bears.”

She grinned at the image that appeared in her head. “I always thought it was the vodka.”

“Hey, don't knock vodka,” he said. “You'll wish we had some before this is all over.”

 

M
IKE FOLLOWED
as she led the way. She knew the lay of the land better than he did. A lot more snow covered the ground here than on the Nome side, the buildings older and more weather-beaten, the place more of a village than a town. He followed her into the shadow of a warehouse-type brick building.

“This is as far as I've been,” she said.

He nodded. They had a little better vantage point from here, the town spreading in front of them,
smaller than he had expected, a few dozen buildings, no more. What had the smugglers done when they got to shore? Uelen hadn't been their original destination, he was fairly sure of that. They'd had a plane. Where had it been supposed to take them?

“How well do you know Siberia?” he asked.

“Not at all.” Tessa shook her head.

“I'm thinking they are heading to Providenya. It's the closest airport. We have to head them off before they get there. Once they charter a plane, we'll never catch up.”

“How far?”

“About sixty miles.” He scanned the area again and spotted a small dark van on the other end of the harbor. Its windshield was free of snow. “I bet that belongs to our fishermen friends.”

She nudged him around the corner of the building and nodded toward the three Kamaz trucks lined up in the back. “No need to go that far.”

He flashed her a grin. “I like the way you think.”

They made their way over carefully, watching for any danger. He brushed the snow off the driver's-side window and looked in. According to the red needle on the dashboard, the gas tank was almost full, plenty to get them where they were going. He cleaned off the windshield and the side mirror, Tessa already doing her share of the work on the other side.

Popping the lock posed little difficulty, and hot-wiring the truck was just as easy. He put it in reverse and pulled out, grinned. They were on their way.

He loved the chase, despite the inherent dangers of his job. He loved being on the road, going after the bad guys, making plans as he went, utilizing whatever happened to be at his disposal. There was such an adrenaline rush to it all, such a feeling of being alive, perhaps especially because not a single moment of his life was a given.

Maybe it was the Scottish blood in him, passed down by centuries of highland warriors.

“The adventure begins.” He glanced over at her.

“With you, every day is an adventure,” she said in a dry voice, but then smiled at him.

“I wouldn't trade it for a quiet ranch in Colorado if someone sweetened the deal with a cool million.”

“Me, neither.” She grinned. “We're both sick.”

He stepped on the gas and bounced down the pothole-ridden road with as much speed as he could, the rising sun behind them. “Let's catch us some warheads, honey.”

 

“H
OW FAR AHEAD
of us do you think they are?” Tessa blinked her eyes to keep from falling asleep.

The heater was blowing warm air in her face, the radio tuned to a channel that aired Russian folk music, the only station that came in without static.

“Half a day, maybe. The man who'd brought them over said he had stopped on Big Diomede Island each way, which means their passage took longer. Handling and transporting the crates had to be cumbersome, too. I'm sure we're moving faster.”

Another long silence nestled between them. It had been like this since the action had settled down. Probably both of them were feeling awkward about what had transpired in the dark recess of the cargo hold. She was, in any case.

“What happened on the boat—” Now that they were out of immediate danger, she couldn't keep her mind from the unbidden passion that had erupted between them. “I don't know what to say.”

“Then don't say anything. You're not going to overanalyze this, are you?” He flashed her a purely male look of long suffering.

“Yes, I am,” she said, because perversely, annoying him made her feel better. She hated that she was more shaken by the experience than he was.

“We're still good together,” he said.

The smug look of satisfaction on his face irritated her.

“That was never in question.”

“What is, then?” He sounded exasperated.

“Whether or not we're good
for
each other.”

“You're good for me.”

“For your ego, you mean?” The muscles tightened in her neck. “Conquering the one that got away?”

“You don't get it. I don't want to conquer you, or dominate you, or keep you in the kitchen barefoot and pregnant…” He glanced at her. “I
have
fantasized about you naked, but it wasn't confined to any specific room of the house, or to the house for that matter.”

She smacked his shoulder. “See? You can't even be serious about us for a moment.”

“You have no idea how serious I am.” His gaze held hers until a pothole shook the truck and he returned his attention to the road.

“You wouldn't
mean
to take over, but you wouldn't be able to help it. You're too strong to do anything else.” And she could not live in the shadow of anyone; her independence was too dear to her, too hard-won. She could never live the life her mother lived.

“I'm not your father, Tess,” he said in a quiet voice. “And you're definitely not your mother.”

“I hate when you do that. When you use something I shared in confidence and use it to work against me.”

“We are not working against each other.”

“Aren't we?”

“We both want the same thing.”

“Like you know what I want.”
She
didn't even know what she wanted. Independence for sure. Love? More than anything, but could she have that
without giving up the independence? To love would mean to have to trust, and trusting opened up a person for letdown and a world of hurt.

“I'm not like your father,” he said again.

And he was right. He was nothing like her dad.

“What do I want, then?” she challenged him.

“To be happy. What's wrong with being happy together?”

“I want my own identity.”

“What makes you think you would lose it?”

She took a deep breath. “Do you know what they used to call me on the base when someone couldn't remember my name?”

“Honey-buns?” A smile hovered over his lips.

“McNair's girl,” she said. And they hadn't known the half of it, saying it only because Mike and she had been paired up for training.

“That's terrible.”

“Right, like you think there's something wrong with that?”

“Not a damn thing. It sounds great. Awesome. But I'm sorry if it made you upset. You can keep your maiden name if it helps.”

She opened her mouth, but her mind went blank so she closed it again.

“You want to marry me?” she asked after a few seconds, when she found her train of thought. The
idea was so incredible, she could barely form the words. Was it possible that tough-guy, hell-raiser, playboy Mike McNair was—

“Where did you
think
we were going with this?” he asked, sounding offended.

Insane. They were going insane, both of them. She shook her head. “You just want me because you can't have me.”

“I've just had you.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel.

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “That's not what I meant, and you know it. I'm probably the only woman who ever left you.”

His silence confirmed her suspicions.

He focused on the road as he steered the truck over a patch of sheer ice. The highway wasn't much out here, the only thing distinguishing it from the rest of the snow-covered tundra were the parallel lines of piled-up snow and ice left behind by the last snow-plow that had come this way—from the looks of it quite some time ago.

She was about to settle into pretend sleep, unwilling to continue this line of conversation, when she spotted the small dark dot on the horizon. “There.”

He leaned forward over the steering wheel. “Too far to tell for sure.” But he stepped on the gas a little harder, maneuvering to correct the slide of the tires,
which had trouble sticking to the road despite the chain mesh that covered them.

In half an hour they were close enough to be able to tell that indeed it was another truck. An hour after that, they caught up and were preparing to pass it. The plowed strip was wide enough for one vehicle only, so they had to wait until they got to a spot where the wind had blown sufficient snow over the road to create a natural widening.

“Get down,” Mike said.

“It's not your job to protect me.”

“They know your face.”

She slid down in her seat with a growl, hating that he was right.

“You hate it when I'm right, don't you?”

“The only thing I hate more is when you read my mind.”

“Look now,” he said after a few moments, and she straightened so she could catch a glimpse of them in the side-view mirror.

“Do you recognize them?” Mike drove on at the same speed.

“I think so.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

“That's what I counted. Didn't want to stare too hard.”

“How far ahead should we get?”

“Fifteen to twenty miles. It will give us enough time to get ready to attack.”

Mike kicked the tire that lay on the snow, shuffling to keep warm. Where the hell was the other truck? The gun smugglers should have caught up with them by now.

Maybe they had stopped to take a leak. Maybe they had a flat for real. He opened the door and hopped up into the cab. Might as well warm up for a little while. Stiff joints didn't make for good fighting.

Tessa was peering into the side-view mirror. “Can't believe they're not here yet.”

He shrugged. “They'll come sooner or later. There's no other way.” He took off his gloves to let in some warm air.

She riffled through the glove compartment, pulling out crunched up papers, screwdrivers, all kinds of junk. “Man, I'm hungry.”

“Should have brought some ravioli.” His stomach was tormenting him, too.

“Would you like some water?”

He glanced at the metal cup on the dashboard. They'd been melting snow in it. “I've had enough for now. You take it. It'll help fill up your stomach.”

He watched her drink, the way her slim neck moved with every swallow. She had her parka on, but not her hood and gloves.

“Are you warm enough?”

She nodded.

They'd shut off the engine to conserve fuel, and without that the heater didn't work. It was cold in the cab, but not bad. At least they were out of the wind.

He slid to the middle of the wide bench seat next to her, where the steering wheel wasn't in his way and he could get comfortable.

An awkward silence stretched between them.

“It won't be long now,” he said, having no idea how long it would be, just wanting to say something.

“Mmm.” She nodded.

Great.

“So you like the U.S.A.C.E.?”

“Not really. It's kind of boring.”

Damn, but he loved that sexy voice of hers. The thought hit him out of nowhere. He shifted so their thighs touched. She didn't move away.

“How long did you stay with SF?” she asked.

“A year. Shorty and I were borrowed by the CIA for a special assignment at that point, and we ended up staying. Then I was recruited by yet another outfit after a while.”

“Very mysterious.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “I don't suppose you'd tell me who?”

He loved it when she was playful like this. “Not even under torture.” He tried to look James Bondish.

“There are all kinds of torture, wouldn't you say?” She outlined his jaw with a slim finger.

She was right about that. His body tightened at her touch. He glanced at the side-view mirror. The road behind them was empty.

“You think you can make me talk?” A slow smile spread on his lips.

She lifted an eyebrow. “I think I can make you do just about anything.” Her finger brushed over his lips.

He captured it with his mouth and bit it gently. He could get into this game.

“Does this team of yours have women in it?” She pulled her finger back but shifted her body closer.

He nodded. “As a matter of fact.”

Interest sparked in her eyes. “Congressional policy notwithstanding?”

“They can't regulate something they have no knowledge of, now can they?” He smiled, seeing the wheels turn in her head.

“Ooh, I like that.” She leaned forward until their cheeks touched. “Tell me more,” she whispered into his ear.

His body was hard and ready. “Are we going somewhere with this or are you just teasing me?”

She closed her teeth over his earlobe for a second. Then she said, “Harmless play, that's all.”

He'd be the judge of that.

He captured her and pulled her onto his lap, unzipped her parka and pushed it off her shoulders. Instead of protesting, she shrugged it off the rest of the way.

She was slipping her fingers into his hair as he took her mouth. He kissed her long and slow, enjoying every soft moan, every brush of the tongue. Her cheeks looked flushed by the time he pulled back.

He dragged his gaze from her face to the side-view mirror. No truck in sight.

“Take off your boots.”

Her eyes widened. “No.”

“Chicken.” He held her gaze as he reached over and turned the key in the ignition, bringing the heater to life.

She took a slow breath. Her mukluks fell to the floor with a thud.

“Your pants.”

“Who made you boss?” She lifted her chin.

“Fine, I'll do it for you.” And he did.

When she was naked, he arranged her legs until she straddled him, and he ground his hard desire against her soft center.

“You're nuts,” she said as her eyes glazed over. She didn't protest.

He glanced at the mirror again. They were still okay.

He unzipped his pants and shoved off his clothes to midthigh. The feel of her silky bottom on his skin sent him straining against her.

“I don't suppose this is going to be slow and languorous,” she teased.

“Hard and fast,” he said, gratified at the sound of her breath catching in her throat.

“What if I won't let you?” She was watching his face.

“I'm letting
you
.” He leaned back. “Take me.”

A quick predatory grin flashed over her features and she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him into the seat further. She lifted her bottom and, without warning, slid down on him in one smooth glide, taking him into her moist heat fully.

He bit his lips as a small groan escaped them, keeping one eye on the side-view mirror.

“I thought we said fast,” he said when she stayed in place.

She lifted up and came down hard, slamming
herself against him. The bolt of pleasure that shot up his body was blinding.

And she didn't stop.

He reached out to encircle her waist with his hands and sneaked his fingers up her hot skin under her layers of clothing. He could get as far as the under-side of her breasts, but no further, damn it.

He gripped her rib cage as she rode him with abandon, stealing away his purpose, his very sanity. The energy between them was combustible, the heat scorching. They were fogging up the windows.

Glide, thrust, squeeze. Glide, thrust, squeeze. She was working him mercilessly.

He loved every second of it.

His body clenched tighter. He didn't bother holding back. This was what she wanted, to take his release from him. He gave it to her, shuddering, filling her with his seed as she still kept moving. Then she finally began to contract and squeezed him tighter still.

She arched her back and closed her eyes, and crumpled slowly against him.

He tried to catch his breath, breathing hard, caught a small movement in the mirror. She slid off him as soon as she felt him shift.

“Doesn't look like we're going to get to snuggle.” He pulled up his pants and zipped his fly, trying to
get his mind to come back to functioning from its shattered pieces. He watched the truck in the side-view mirror as it came closer and closer.

He slid over to the driver's seat, pulled his gloves back on and pushed his hood up. “I better get out there.”

“Be careful.”

“Caution is my middle name.” He winked at her.

She gave him an impolite snort, still half-naked, reaching for her pants.

It was a sight worth memorizing.

He slammed the door shut behind him and narrowed his eyes against the cold wind. His body was warm, relaxed and limber. The men were closing on them, just a few hundred feet down the road now. They would have to stop. The Kamaz blocked the way.

He moved closer to the tire iron on the ground. The four men were probably armed to the teeth, while Tessa and he had one gun between them. He'd insisted that she keep it. His knife was a comforting weight in his pocket.

The truck drew closer, close enough now that he could see the displeasure and suspicion on the men's faces. They came to a slow halt, beeped the horn. He pointed at the tire he was changing and shrugged.

He took his sweet time, messing up and starting
over several times, stopping to scrape ice off the metal with the tire iron. He didn't look up when he heard the other truck's door open.

The man's boots crunched the snow with each step as he came closer.

“Busted a tire,” Mike looked at him at last when he was but a few feet away.

“Americanyetz,” he yelled back to his truck. He was short but built like a tank, his face obscured by a scraggly beard. A rifle hung on his shoulder, within easy reach.

Another man jumped to the ground and came over. “What's going on?” This one was American, judging by both the way he talked and his clothing—a down ski jacket and matching pants, blue with white stripes. It looked funny with his AK-47.

“Having some trouble here,” Mike said apologetically. “I'm not that handy. My partner is sick. I never realized how heavy these damned things were.”

The man looked down both sides of the truck, no doubt measuring the ridges of snow and ice, calculating whether going around was possible or would get their vehicle stuck.

“We'll help,” he said, apparently deciding to play it safe.

“I can't tell you how grateful I'd be. I'm Mike McDonald from Anchorage. The boss is a real hard-ass.
I can't afford to be late with another delivery. You know what I mean?” He reached his hand for a handshake.

The man didn't take it. He was looking at the tire. “This one is no good either.”

“Right. Of course. There's another one in the back if you can help me get it down.” He went for the opening of the tarp and hauled himself up.

The American nodded to the Russian and sent him up.

“In the back.” Mike let the tarp fall, enveloping them in darkness.

The Russian swore angrily.

Mike went for the spot where he'd seen the man's rifle, but didn't connect at once. “Sorry, let me get my flashlight.” He fumbled around then his elbow hit against the butt of the gun and he grabbed for it, had the barrel shoved against the man's chest the next second. “Don't move.”

The Russian lunged at Mike, but he brought the man down, his knee on the man's windpipe before he could raise a shout. They struggled for control of the gun. The man was strong and determined.

Mike doubled over when a fist slammed into his groin. Pain shot through his body. The Russian was going for the rifle. Mike put his full weight on his knee, still seeing stars as he heard the man's windpipe crush under the pressure. He held steady until all movement stopped.

“What the hell is taking so long?” The question came from outside.

He stood slowly, his teeth gritted together. “I think we're gonna need some help here.” The pain and breathlessness in his voice sounded very much like someone who was straining to lift a heavy object, making it perfect for his purposes.

The man outside the canvas swore, something with “useless idiots” in it.

Mike slipped the rifle onto the dead man's shoulder and pulled him into a sitting position, just as the American parted the canvas and stepped up.

“What's going on?”

“I think he hurt his back.” He slapped the Russian on the shoulder, waiting for the other one to drop the canvas so the two sitting in the cab of the truck behind them couldn't see what was going on.

Instead, the American lifted his gun. “Yurii?”

Mike stepped in front of the body and bent to grab the man's hands, started to pull him up. “Come on, buddy. I'll give you a hand.” He closed his eyes, but could tell when the canvas dropped at last.

“He can handle it,” the man said. “Let's take care of that damned tire.”

Mike grabbed his knife, keeping his eyes closed for as long as possible, then opened them and went for the American. His eyes had less of an adjustment
than the other man's whose had to go from light to dark, giving Mike a moment of advantage. It was all he needed. He buried the knife in the man's chest to the hilt. There. That one wasn't going to get up.

He waited, hoping the other two would come to investigate, but he waited in vain. He left the rifles, too big to hide and not much use to him anyhow. He couldn't very well be shooting at a truck that held nuclear weapons. All they needed was a bullet to hit the gas tank by accident.

He wiped off his knife on the man's coat and tucked it away, opened the canvas and jumped to the ground, waved to the two men before walking to the front of the Kamaz. He opened his door and sat next to Tessa.

“How's it going?”

“I took two out.”

“Want me to try the other two?”

“They know your face.” He shook his head. “They'd be shooting at you and you couldn't shoot back.”

“Why the hell won't they get out?”

“They're smarter than they look, I suppose.”

She rubbed the ridge of her nose, then dropped her hand and looked at him. “Remember those war games when we took the oil tanker?”

A second passed before he figured out what she
was talking about. “Too dangerous. We're not playing with training lasers now.”

“Got a better idea?”

Unfortunately, he didn't.

The truck behind them beeped its horn.

“You don't trust me.”

“Of course I trust you.”

“We're doing it then?” She tilted her head.

“Fine, we're doing it.”

The scowl on her face turned into an excited smile as she threw herself into his arms and pressed her lips to his. He didn't need more invitation than that. Unfortunately, their situation didn't provide them with nearly enough time. He had to pull away all too soon.

“Be careful,” he said, and turned off the motor.

She flashed him a cocky smile as she lifted her chin. “I'll be brilliant.”

He slid out of the cab just as she was stashing the handgun in her parka's large pocket. He walked around the front, opened her door and tugged on her shoulder until her listless body fell into his arms. He let her down to the snow gently, making sure her hood covered as much of her face as possible, then hooked his hands under her arms and started to drag her toward the truck behind them.