Thrill Ride Read online

  So…what? What was with that cryptic statement?

  She opened her mouth to demand he explain himself, but he’d already turned and was trudging quickly away. Left with no other recourse, she clenched her jaw and followed, her mind spinning with exactly two thoughts…

  Is he innocent? Or is he guilty?

  She’d gone back and forth so much on the issue in the last sixteen hours she felt like a yo-yo.

  But even when she caught up with him, she couldn’t ask what he meant, because it took everything she had to keep pace as he wound his way through the jungle. She stepped where he stepped, avoiding the things he avoided, stopped to grab a quick drink from the iodine-laced water in the canteen when he stopped to do the same.

  For an hour, maybe two—she’d lost the ability to accurately gauge the passing of time—they fought their way through the undergrowth, the rain steadily falling all around them but doing nothing to mitigate the heat. Vines clung to clothing and hair, shrubs grabbed ankles, and tree roots jumped up to snag the unsuspecting toe. Her muscles began to ache, her empty stomach began to make itself infuriatingly known by grumbling and growling, and the headache she’d awoken with that morning remained stubborn as a mule, kicking her in the cranium every couple of minutes.

  She was just about to call for a break—her legs were Jell-O, and she’d tripped three times in the last five minutes—when suddenly the rainforest opened up and she found herself on the side of a mountain. The ground dropped off in a steep decline that was traversed some thirty feet below by the long, snakelike track of an old jungle road.

  Without the protection of the canopy, the rain came down in sheets, running into her eyes and mouth, but she didn’t care. It felt so good to be at the edge of the jungle, to be out in the open. She drew in a deep breath and spread her arms wide, reveling in the freedom of being able to stretch out without touching vines or ferns or bushes or trees or—

  “What are you?” Rock shouted beside her, the heavy patter of raindrops on foliage muffling his voice and obscuring his face, but she could still make out his lopsided smirk. “Queen of the World?”

  She scowled up at him, in no mood to joke—even if the reference did include the oh-so-delicious Leonardo DiCaprio—just as the ledge of dirt she was standing on gave way. And then it was yeehaw! She flew down the mountainside on the jungle’s version of a Slip N’ Slide. Only there was no smooth, plastic sheet beneath her bottom. Oh, hell no. It was just a river of mud and root-balls and the occasional rock.

  She bounced and skidded and bounced some more. And every time she landed back on her ass, her teeth clacked together causing her headache to grow to the relative size and shape of an aircraft carrier.

  By the time she hit the flatness of the roadway with her stomach, arms and legs all akimbo, mouth full of mud and M4 gouging into her side, she was thinking it might’ve been easier, and certainly less painful, if she’d just stepped in front of one of those rounds aimed at her head last night.

  “Blech,” she hacked, repeatedly spitting until most of the mud that’d been in her mouth was sitting on the road in front of her in a wet, disgusting heap. Then, she managed to—painfully—heave herself onto her back, keeping her eyes closed as the rain pelted the dirt from her face and filled her open mouth.

  She turned to spit just as Rock landed with a humph beside her. Slowly, as if every bone in his body ached, he pushed into a kneeling position, raking the rain and mud from his face with an ungentle swipe of his hand.

  “Mon dieu,” he breathed, shaking his dark head until dirty water flew from the spiky tips of his short hair. “That was unexpected.”

  “Yeah,” she agreed, still flat on her back, wondering if she’d ever be able to move again. “And it looked a lot more fun in Romancing the Stone.” She blinked the water from her eyes only to have it replaced by more.

  “You okay?”

  She lifted her chin—and, yep, the ol’ noggin weighed in at a cool metric ton—and shot him a look that not only questioned his intelligence, but his sanity.

  He winced. “Sorry. Stupid question. Let me rephrase; is anything broken or irreparably damaged?”

  “My pride?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “So am I,” she insisted, slowly pushing into a sitting position. The horror of the last day combined with the worry of the past six months caused unexpected tears to pool in her eyes.

  Oh, great. Perfect time to have a breakdown.

  She hoped he couldn’t tell, not with it raining so hard. But then her stupid lip began to quiver and suddenly she was back in his arms.

  “Ah, hell, chere,” he crooned, rubbing a gentle hand over the back of her head. “I’m so sorry to put you through all this.”

  All? Did that include last night’s rejection? Did that include his declaration that he’d never—capital N—love her?

  Oh, great, and now she was crying—again, she was crying again, for Pete’s sake!—for a whole new reason. He must think her a total pantywaist. Here she was, supposed to be helping him, and so far all she managed to do was lead the guys who were after him right to his door and break down in his arms. Twice.

  Geez, Van, pull yourself together!

  But try as she might, she couldn’t stop the tears that slipped down her cheeks, hotter than the raindrops. And that’s when it occurred to her—as she sat covered in mud on a remote jungle road while being chased by government agents who’d been given orders to kill her—that there was no other place she’d rather be.

  Because no matter how badly she hurt, or how much she longed for a shower, or how scary it was to actually get shot at, nothing mattered as long as she was with Rock.

  Her tears dried up quicker than a mirage in the desert, and she stilled in his arms.

  No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

  Her impression of a two-by-four obviously wasn’t lost on him, because he tilted her chin up and brushed her sopping hair back from her brow.

  “What?” he asked, his lovely hazel eyes searching her face, his perfect nose dripping water from the tip, his luscious, swoon-worthy lips tilted in a frown. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  What was wrong? What was wrong?

  She just realized she loved him, that’s what was wrong!

  She loved him for his courage and his honesty, for his loyalty to his friends. She loved him for his strength and determination and, yes, even his stubbornness. She loved him like she’d never loved any other man, and he was determined, no, absolutely convinced, he’d never love her back. Which had all been fine and good when the idea of the two of them together was more fantasy than feeling, more lust than anything close to love. Last night it’d been a blow to her pride when he made that declaration, but now…?

  Oh, sweet Lord, his words replayed through her head—I’ll never fall in love with you—and this time the blow, quick and deadly as a stiletto strike, went straight to her heart.

  Tears once more burned up the back of her throat, but this time she refused to let them fall. If she let them fall when he was looking her smack-dab in the face, he’d know, he’d use that crazy skill of his to figure it out…

  “It’s nothing,” she said, sliding from his arms—it felt like she left her heart behind. “Just one hell of a headache.”

  Creakily, she pushed to a stand and rearranged the M4 so the magazine no longer threatened to take out her left kidney. And as quickly as it had started, the rain stopped. In the relative silence that followed, she could feel Rock watching her.

  She tried to act nonchalant as she stretched the kinks from her neck and busied herself with a missing button on her shirt. Then the sun came out, and the world around them turned into a steam bath. Sweat broke out all over her already wet body, but still Rock sat there. Looking at her, undoubtedly trying to see inside her head.

  She bent to retie the lace on her boot, tucked the bottom hem of her cargo pants more securely inside her sock, and realized she was quickly running out of distractions when
, finally, he pushed to his feet. Taking a step toward her, her heart played the part of Mexican jumping bean and hopped into her throat.

  No, no, no. Don’t press me for answers, she silently begged him.

  And it was almost like he heard her thoughts, because he quickly changed direction and headed toward the side of the road with that loose-hipped swagger so many Southern men learned to perfect.

  She cocked her head and watched as he pushed aside the lush foliage growing next to the road like he was searching for some sort of treasure hidden beneath.

  What the—

  Her curiosity took the slightest edge off her heartbreak, or at least allowed her to focus on something else, and she was amazed to find herself limping—her left ass cheek was going to be black and blue for a week—over to him, “What are you looking for?”

  “A cipó cabeludo,” he said, shoving aside a huge fern.

  “A what?”

  “It’s a plant and it—ah, there’s one.” His face was triumphant when he straightened and handed her a…was that a leaf?

  Yes. Yes, it was.

  “Uh,” she frowned down at a tear-shaped piece of plant life sitting green and glossy in the center of her palm, “okay?”

  “Chew on it,” he instructed, and she turned her head so she could regard him from the corner of her eyes, pursing her lips.

  “Whatchu talkin’ bout, Willis?”

  He grinned, and the expression went all through her. Because even though most folks wouldn’t label Rock as handsome, they’d have to agree that, when he smiled, he was absolutely beautiful. Those perfect lips, those flashing eyes…

  “Chew on it,” he insisted again.

  “And why would I want to do that?”

  “Because of your headache. It’ll help with the pain.” He winked, hooking an arm around her shoulders like they were best buds.

  And suddenly the sharp edge was back on her heartbreak. In fact, her heartbreak felt like nothing but sharp edges. Like there was a ball of shattered glass banging around behind her breastbone. And she knew there wasn’t a plant on the planet that could help with that…

  ***

  Bam! Bam! Bam!

  Bill almost spilled the glass of lemonade in his hand and, from the corner of his eye, he saw Eve nearly jump through the roof when someone pounded on the back door with a heavy fist.

  “Who the hell is—” But that’s as far as he got before Ozzie burst onto the scene, followed quickly by Steady and Ghost.

  “We hear you guys are up the Rio de Caca without the proverbial oar,” Ozzie announced with his usual, dramatic fanfare. “But never fear; the cavalry is here!”

  “Lord, save us,” Becky muttered, pushing up from the table where she’d been in the process of downloading all the information she could find on Rock’s supposed targets onto her laptop. They’d already exhausted that avenue, but she’d needed something to occupy her time because none of them—her included—were used to sitting around with their dicks in their hands. Well…Becky didn’t have a dick, but the point was still valid. “With your IQ, I’ll never understand how you manage to not only mangle, but completely mix your metaphors.”

  “It’s a gift,” Ozzie grinned then spied Eve behind the kitchen counter. He dropped his duffel bag on the clay-tiled floor and slapped a palm over his heart. “I swear Eve,” he crooned in what Bill had come to recognize as his panty-removing voice, “you get more beautiful every time I see you.”

  Eve blushed, a hand fluttering to her throat as Ozzie skirted the center island and snatched her into his arms, smacking a kiss on her cheek and squeezing her until she smiled and batted ineffectually at his shoulder.

  “Put me down, you big goof,” she laughed, her sapphire eyes sparkling.

  Bill discovered that he was grinding his teeth so hard he was probably in the process of pulverizing his fillings. Any second now, there’d be little shards of metal alloy shooting out of his ears.

  “I’ll put you down when you agree to marry me,” Ozzie retorted, nuzzling her neck.

  “You ask every woman you meet to marry you,” Eve giggled, squirming in his arms. “Now put me down!”

  “Yes!” Bill shouted, tossing aside the report he was reading on the latest brand of plastic explosives and slamming his lemonade on the end table. He pushed up from the plush sofa and glared at Ozzie until it was a wonder the kid didn’t spontaneously combust. “Put her down!”

  Ozzie dropped Eve, lifting a questioning brow at Bill. The guy’s sandy blond hair was even wilder than usual, thanks in part, Bill suspected, to the fact that upon hearing Boss’s demands to get their asses down here ASAP, the boys had hopped the first military transport they could find. Which probably meant they’d spent most of the night in the cold belly of a cargo plane trying to find a comfortable spot among the shipment of whatever was being transported and the high-grade netting holding it all in place.

  “Well, who pissed in your Post Toasties?” Ozzie inquired, coming around the island so he could bend and dig something out of his duffel bag.

  Despite himself, Bill felt one corner of his mouth twitch. “Are people still saying that?”

  “Oh, yeah,” Ozzie’s nod was vigorous. “I am. You can’t go wrong with a classic.” He pulled out a digital camera and started snapping pictures of Eve’s lavishly decorated living room.

  Bill jumped when Ghost said from beside him—the man was stealthier than anyone should be—“Give the kid a break, Wild Bill. He’s sufferin’ from a double whammy of excess bravado and testosterone. And we all know that particular combo is eventually fatal.”

  Staring at Ghost—a guy renowned for being aloof and taciturn—Bill’s jaw slung down to hang somewhere in the vicinity of his chest. “Doth mine ears deceive me?” he finally managed to ask. “Or did you just string, like, twenty words together? What has Ali been doing to you?”

  “Probably has more to do with what he’s been doing to Ali,” Ozzie quipped, hooking the string on the camera around his wrist so he could beat out a three-stroke rhythm in the air—bah-dah-bum.

  “Jesus,” Bill shook his head and leveled Ghost a look, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. “How many hours have you been cooped up with him?”

  “Too many,” Ghost replied. “Wonder Boy is on a Pat Benatar kick. The idiot sang ‘Heartbreaker’ the entire way here. And, I swear, if I hear one more doncha mess around with me I’m gonna shoot myself in the head. And then I’m going to shoot him in the head.”

  Ozzie opened his mouth to point out the preposterousness of this particular plan, and Ghost pointed a warning finger in his direction. “Don’t even think about it, kid!”

  “Heartbreaker, dream maker, love taker,” Steady sang as he dropped his duffel and hopped up on one of the barstools surrounding the kitchen island. He grinned evilly at Ghost, and even bedraggled, unshaven, and unshowered, Carlos “Steady” Soto still managed to resemble a GQ ad. In fact, his swarthy, Latin looks had once prompted Becky to accuse him of being pretty enough to simply melt his enemies’ bullets. “What?” He pasted on what Bill suspected was supposed to be an innocent look and shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t sing the headshot-worthy part.”

  “That’s what I’m talkin’ about,” Ozzie nodded, slapping a high-five with Steady before the two bumped knuckles.

  Bill caught a glimpse of his sister standing in the middle of the room, her hands planted on her hips, her mouth stretched in a wide grin. She absolutely loved having “her guys”—as she called them—together. Ate up all the quips and banter with a soup ladle. And, not for the first time, he patted himself on the back for suggesting to Boss all those years ago that she and her custom motorcycle business be the ones to provide the cover for Black Knights Inc.

  Since a very young age, he’d known that whatever made his kid sister happy, made him happy, too. With the exception of one thing: her best friend, Eve. And speaking of…He turned to find the woman in question rummaging through the refrigerator, loading up her arms with all the
food she’d been preparing over the past few days.

  The cooking was a new thing. When he’d dated her all those years ago, she hadn’t known how to boil water much less whip up a tasty batch of chicken tetrazzini.

  You’ve come a long way, haven’t you, sweetheart? And for a moment he forgot all the heartbreak she’d caused him, feeling nothing but pride for her. Pride for how she’d broken away from that spoiled rich girl stereotype to really make something of herself. Pride for the way she’d come out of her shell, overcoming the nearly debilitating shyness that’d plagued her as a teenager.

  Then she turned and their eyes clashed—like, seriously clashed; Bill was surprised a loud clink didn’t echo through the room—and, once again, painful memories sliced like a bayonet strike through his brain.

  Still, he couldn’t manage to drag his gaze away, and for long seconds they both simply stood and stared. The air between them vibrating with an awareness that was nearly palpable. Or maybe there was no nearly about it, because Ozzie piped up with, “Good God! You two have got to quit that. You’re making my boy parts get bigger!”

  With that, the spell was broken.

  Bill glanced away, his heart throbbing like an open wound, just as Boss sauntered into the room.

  “I thought that was the scent of bullshit I was smelling,” the big guy said, grinning that lopsided grin of his, slapping Steady on the back as he passed him, punching Ozzie on the shoulder, and stopping to shake Ghost’s hand before finally throwing an arm around Becky’s shoulders. “And I sure am glad you guys are here. We’re going to need all the—”

  The affable expression on Ozzie’s face disappeared. He made a slicing motion across his throat with one finger, and Boss stumbled to a stop.

  Ozzie might be an epic pain in the ass, but he was also one hell of an operator and a veritable whiz with all things technical or electronic. And right now, he was staring at the digital display screen on his camera, and the look in his eye was one of pure, unadulterated disgust.