Thrill Ride Read online

  Frickin’ frackin’ shitballs! It’s just not fair!

  “Well, don’t you just have the answer for everything this morning?” she griped then wished she could call the words back. One sure way to let him know that her whole hey, I’m cool you just want to bone me and toss me aside demeanor was all just a big fat act was to turn into Lady McBitchesAlot. “Sorry,” she added hurriedly, wincing and rubbing a thumb in the center of her forehead. “Headaches turn me into a total bear.”

  “Take this,” Rock passed her the canteen. They’d emptied it last night—scratch that, she’d emptied it last night; it was the only way she’d been able to choke down the woodchips and habanero granola bar—but Rock must’ve already made a trip down to the river to refill it.

  And it was good thing she hadn’t been sleeping like a baby with a whole group of CIA agents out to kill her or anything. Sheesh! She hadn’t even heard him leave, much less return.

  Then again, she comforted herself with the knowledge that Rock was incredibly stealthy. Maybe not scare-the-holy-crap-out-of-you silent like Ghost, the Black Knights’ crackerjack sniper, but he could still hold his own against the best of them. And let’s admit it, she wasn’t the best of them.

  Tilting the canteen to her lips, she hesitated when she remembered the number of untold microscopic organisms that bred in these jungle waters, most of them nasty enough to cause an otherwise healthy person to turn into a sweating, convulsing, shitting machine.

  “Did you add iodine tablets to this?” she asked.

  Rock slid her a look that questioned the validity of both her college degrees. “This isn’t my first rodeo, chere.” And, okay, so she wasn’t the only one who was cranky this morning. He was doing a fairly decent impression of Lord McBitchesAlot.

  Raising her brows, she eyed him over the top of the cantina as she let the cool, slightly chemical-tasting water slip down her parched throat.

  “Sorry,” he winced. “Playing hide-and-seek with two hit squads obviously makes me a bear.”

  And…there was that.

  Okay, so the truth of the matter was that she had much bigger things to worry about than her bruised pride and wounded ego. Number one being she was running from a group of operatives bent on putting a bullet in Rock’s brain…and hers, too, if last night’s shoot-out was any indication.

  She guessed that’s what she got for consorting with a supposed rogue operator…

  And she still believed in the supposed part, didn’t she?

  Yes. Yes, I do.

  Although, in the short time they’d been together, he’d made two cryptic remarks—you don’t know a damn thing about me, and what makes you so sure my name can be cleared?—that, admittedly, caused her to once again entertain a sliver, just a teensy, tiny, ever-so-little sliver of doubt.

  And she hated that feeling. Hated looking at this man she’d grown to both respect and like—yes, like, even if he had shot her down like a duck hunter shoots a mallard, because at least he’d been honest, and a gal had to appreciate that—and wonder if maybe she’d been wrong about him. If maybe he was capable of cold-blooded—

  “You ready?” he asked, and she raked in a deep, bracing breath.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.” She searched his eyes, looking for something to let her know she was mistaken in harboring any doubts. But his expression was unreadable.

  “Then let’s do it.” Even in the low light, she caught the flicker of chagrin that quickly passed over his face at his choice of words. And a little part of her, an evil part of her, was glad he was suffering at least some discomfort after last night’s discussion.

  After all, what’s good for the goose is good for the gander…and what is with all the water-foul references bouncing around inside my head this morning? It gave whole new meaning to the expression bird-brained. Obviously Rock was right. She was suffering from heat exhaustion…

  He pressed a finger to his lips, calling for silence—had her thoughts been that loud?—before quietly scooting down to the base of the log. She followed suit, crab-walking in the tight space until she had to stop to wait for him to push the foliage aside. He did so slowly, the barrels of his 9mms peeking through the green curtain first. After what seemed eons, he shoved the guns in his waistband and brushed the ferns and small shrubs aside before climbing out.

  Vanessa was right on his heels. And even though the jungle canopy was dense and the sunlight filtering through weak, the brightness outside when compared to the interior of the log had her squinting and blinking. She raised her hand to shield her eyes just as a shadow moved in her peripheral vision.

  She barely had time to turn before Rock burst into action, moving so quickly he was nothing but a blur. With a roundhouse kick, he booted the black-clad agent’s M4 machine gun out of his hands, dodging blows aimed for his head as he landed a few hard punches that sounded loud and obscene against the natural buzzing chatter of jungle life.

  The agent responded with moves to rival Jet Li, but Rock somehow countered each one. Ducking, swaying, blocking…

  For a moment, Vanessa was stunned, staring in slack-jawed horror. But she quickly regained her wits and raced around the grappling men toward the discarded weapon. Bending to snatch it off the ground, she ran through the steps of her weapons training…

  One: slap the magazine to ensure it’s fully seated. Check. Two: pull the charging handle to the rear and watch to see a live round or expended cartridge eject. Check. Three: release the charging handle and tap the forward assist assembly to make sure the bolt closes. Check. Four: turn and fire.

  But when she spun to aim the M4 at their would-be assassin, it was to find that her help was no longer needed. Because Rock had the guy in a choke hold, applying a buttload of pressure to the arm he’d wrenched behind the man’s back. The agent was up on his tiptoes, aiming ineffectual body blows at Rock with his free hand, but it appeared Rock barely felt them.

  Vanessa’s heart thundered, the blood pounding in her ears, so she was equal parts stunned and impressed when she heard Rock say, in a remarkably calm tone, “Hurts like hell, doesn’t it?”

  Their assailant answered with a high-pitched grunt, his face turning red and his eyes bulging from their sockets.

  “How long before your team arrives?” Rock asked, and when the man garbled, “Fuck you!” Rock bent the dude’s arm up and back even further.

  Vanessa winced in sympathy as the agent’s face contorted with pain.

  “F-fuck you!” the man bellowed again, a little louder.

  “Sorry, but you’re not my type.” Rock released just enough pressure so the man stopped turning purple but not enough to give him a chance to escape or enough oxygen to launch an effective counterattack. It was sort of amazing how quickly and easily Rock had mitigated the threat. No muss, no fuss, no blood. Just one very pissed-off CIA agent. “And since you’re making a pretty good racket, and since I don’t hear any of your folks racin’ to the rescue, that must mean you’re all by your lonesome out here. If I had to guess, I’d say you’ve fanned out far enough that you’re all spread, what? Twenty, thirty minutes apart from one another? This is a big jungle, after all. Non?”

  Something in the agent’s face must’ve clued Rock into the fact that he’d hit the nail on the head, because a knowing smile curved his lips before he said, “Now the way I see it, mon ami, you got three options here. One, I can make sure you never shoot with this arm again—which will certainly put a damper on your career. Two, I can let my lady friend over there put a bullet in your leg that’ll guaran-damn-tee you don’t walk right for six months—which will likely put a damper on your career.” The agent’s bulging, bloodshot eyes rolled toward Vanessa. She raised a brow, indicating that, yes, she would have no trouble doing exactly what Rock said. “Or three, you can be a good boy and stop fighting so we can tie you up, real quick like.”

  “You…you’re not gonna kill me?” the man panted, beads of sweat sliding down his forehead.

  “Come on no
w. Why would I do that?” Rock frowned. “You’re not doin’ anything but what you’ve been ordered to do.”

  Vanessa watched the agent’s gaze dart about. Then he looked up and back into Rock’s face, frantically searching his eyes. And he must’ve found what he was looking for, because he managed a jerky nod, saying, “Okay. Tie me up.”

  “Bon,” Rock winked. “Good choice. Now, chere,” Rock turned to her, “I need you to hurry and get in the main compartment of my pack and pull out that bundle of zip ties.”

  Looping the M4’s strap over her shoulder, Vanessa felt a little like Rambo—sans the spiffy red bandana—and did as Rock instructed. Less than ninety seconds later, the operative was tied to a small tree. His ankles and wrists secured by plastic zip ties and a strip of duct tape over his mouth.

  She stepped away from the trussed-up man and turned to Rock, a wonderful lightness filling her being despite the fact that they were still in a shitload of trouble.

  “What?” he demanded, frowning so fiercely the corners of his goatee drooped, his lush bottom lip pouting in the most delicious way. “Why are you grinning at me like a possum eatin’ a sweet ’tater?”

  “You didn’t kill all those men, did you? You really didn’t.”

  He blew out a deep breath, rubbing a hand over his goatee and turning away to squint into the distant foliage. “ʼCourse I didn’t,” he muttered.

  ***

  “I knew it!” Vanessa shot a fist in the air—that’s right, a fist. Rock felt one corner of his mouth twitch. He’d never seen someone—outside of the stoner dude at the end of The Breakfast Club—actually do that.

  “I knew those charges were trumped up.” She nudged the tied-up operator with her foot and pointed a finger in Rock’s direction. “And when your buddies find you, you should tell them to leave Rock alone. He’s innocent. I mean, if he’d really killed all those men do you think he’d think twice about killing you? No.” She shook her head adamantly. “And another thing—”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Rock cut her off because he could tell she was about to get herself on a roll. “We need to get goin’.”

  “Oh,” she blinked at him. “Uh…yeah. Sure.” But instead of coming to his side, she once more nudged the operator’s foot. “I’m serious,” she hissed. “You’re going to tell them, right?”

  And seeing her, with her inky black hair—shorter now, thanks to his knife work—all down around her shoulders, and an M4 strapped to her back, railing in his defense, a veritable tigress determined to help him clear his name, he felt himself fall…just a little. Because, mon dieu, she was something.

  But he shook his head and reminded himself of all the pain and suffering that resulted from loving someone, reminded himself of Lacy’s sunken eyes and sallow skin in those last months, and his resolve once more hardened to stone.

  Vanessa was obviously satisfied when the operator vigorously nodded his head, because she smiled triumphantly and strolled over to Rock. And when she glanced up at him, the dreamy look in her eyes disturbed him more than if she’d chucked a grenade in his direction.

  “Get that thought right out of your pretty head,” he warned, adjusting his pack and turning into the jungle.

  “What thought?” she inquired, following close behind him.

  “The one that says, oh, Rock,” he raised his voice into a terrible falsetto, “you’re my knight in shinin’ armor, my hero.”

  “Pfft. For one thing, I’ve known a lot of heroes in my life, so don’t go thinking you’re anything special.”

  And that caught him off guard. Because it was the first time he considered the fact that Vanessa had spent most of her career as a linguistics and communications specialist in the spec-ops community surrounded by men who tended to not only come equipped with far more than their fair share of testosterone, but also the ability to bag just about anything that moved—and it occurred to him to wonder just how many of those heroes she’d invited into her bed.

  And following right on the heels of that thought was a burst of jealously so intense he actually lost his footing. Had a vine not been handy, he’d have face-planted into the forest floor. As it was, he had to grab onto the sucker and breathe past the hot vise gripping his chest.

  Just the thought of her arching into some bastard who grunted above her was enough to have red easing into the edge of his vision.

  And he knew it was absolutely ridiculous to feel that way. He had no claims on her. Didn’t want any claims on her. But he still couldn’t shake the images in his head or the way they made him want to tear some nameless, faceless A-hole’s head clean off his shoulders.

  “And secondly,” Vanessa continued, unaware that he was about to burst an aneurism on the spot, “your armor isn’t all that shiny. In fact, if you must know, it’s actually pretty dingy and, I’m not trying to pick a fight or anything, but you could use a washing machine and a healthy spritz of cologne.”

  Just like that, the green-eyed monster that’d perched on his shoulder disappeared, and a surprised laugh burst from him.

  “Wow,” he said, trudging through particularly dense undergrowth, wincing when he crushed some of the plant life beneath his boot since it was basically the same thing as waving a semaphore flag for the guys who were hunting them. Of course, if his calculations were correct, and he was right about how far back that agent’s teammates were, they had enough of a head start to make it to the old Rio Verde road and the rusting 1966 Bultaco Metisse dirt bike he’d squirreled away there, before the spooks caught them. “Now, doncha go holdin’ back on me. I want you to tell me how you really feel.”

  She snorted. “I just thought I should drag you down off that high horse you climbed up on. Wouldn’t want you to start suffering from altitude sickness or anything.”

  He chanced a glance over his shoulder and—

  Mistake.

  Because her cheeks were red and rosy from the heat, her eyes dark and half-lidded from weariness, her hair all mussed and crazy from letting it dry without brushing it, and he realized…

  This is what she looks like after making love…Warm and blushing and messy and…merde, merde, merde!

  “You’re really beautiful, you know that?” The words hopped out of his mouth like they were attached to springs.

  And the statement, blurted with absolutely none of his usual Southern finesse, caught her off guard. She stopped in her tracks, her chin jerking back on her neck as if she was a marionette and someone yanked her string. She stared at him for a long moment, her dark eyes searching for something in his face as the jungle around them chattered and buzzed and dripped, as the air hung heavy with the smell of wet foliage and exotic orchids. But when it became obvious he wasn’t going to give anything else away, she shrugged her shoulders and pushed forward, brushing aside a long vine that hung in the path. “I don’t get you,” she observed quietly.

  “You wouldn’t be the first,” he retorted, cursing as his boot snagged on a root, causing him to stumble. Again.

  Goddamnit! Twice in as many minutes he’d lost his footing. Which was saying something since he usually had the reflexes of a whole herd of cats.

  But this woman, this one, small, spectacular woman muddled his thinking, caused him to lose his focus and—

  “Seriously,” she pressed, “one minute you’re all stay back, Van; I’ll break your heart and the next you’re telling me how beautiful I am. What’s with that? Are you, like, some sort of sadist or something?”

  No. More like a masochist. At least when it came to her. Which was just one more reason on his very long list of reasons why it was imperative he keep her at arm’s length.

  “I didn’t tell you that to hurt you, ma belle,” he admitted, taking out his Bowie knife to slice into a vine. They were running dangerously low on water. And besides the ass-load of hostiles after them, the next biggest threat in the jungle was dehydration.

  Unscrewing the cap on his canteen, he gripped the severed end of the vine and aimed it at
the opening, allowing it to unload its precious cargo of water. Once the canteen was full, he dropped two iodine tablets inside before replacing the cap and re-hooking it to his pack.

  Vanessa was silent through the process, but once they were moving again she asked, “Then why did you tell me?”

  Why indeed…

  He considered all the possible answers he could give her and decided on the truth. “I suppose because chances are pretty good I’m not gonna make it out of this thing alive, and I…merde…” He felt the air thickening around him. Rain was coming. Soon. “…I guess I…I guess I wanted you to know that while what I said last night was true; it has nothin’ to do with you and everything to do with me.”

  “Not make it out of this thing alive. You keep saying that,” she snapped at his back. “But I don’t get it. If you didn’t kill those men, then there has to be a way to clear your name. There has to be some sort of evidence that proves you weren’t—”

  He stopped and swung around, surprising her when he grabbed her by the shoulders. Now, normally he didn’t cotton to laying hands on a woman without her permission, but right now he needed to make sure she understood what he was saying. And that required him having her full, undivided attention.

  From the diameter of her wide eyes and the way her mouth was hanging open, he had it.

  “I might not have been the one to pull the trigger, chere,” he growled, hoping she could see the truth in his face. “But I’m the reason they’re dead all the same.”

  And right at that moment, the sky opened up.

  Chapter Nine

  Vanessa’s heart beat with a terrible rhythm at Rock’s declaration, and the torrential rain instantly soaked her to the skin.

  The reason they’re dead? What does that mean?

  Had he…had he participated somehow? Maybe…hired the person who had done the deeds?

  But that last one didn’t make any sense. She wasn’t sure about much when it came to Rock—not anymore; the man was an enigma wrapped in a riddle surrounded by beard stubble—but one thing she was certain of was that he wasn’t one to let another do his dirty work.