Always a Warrior(2)
She forced the confusion from her mind and concentrated on her struggle with the soldier trying to hold her down. He slid back to grab her leg. She raised her other leg to deliver a crushing blow to his face. He blocked her foot with his other arm and grabbed her ankle.
On his knees, he dragged her to the door. She grabbed the doorjamb, splinters gauging her palms, but he pulled relentlessly. Her hands lost their grip and she was outside, shoved between the rose bushes and the wall. Fury choked her. Stacy was still trapped! She glared at the soldier, now crouched by the door. He peered around the door frame and pointed his gun inside.
Laurie squatted behind him and would have gladly traded her next royalty check for a baseball bat.
“Stacy!” she screeched like a banshee.
He clamped a hand over his ear, turned, and glared at her. His dark brown eyes glittered with a strange fire of grim excitement.
“Stacy’s fine,” he whispered. “Shut up and be still.”
Laurie shook her head in frank disbelief. She leaned on the wall, studying the small tunnel formed by the bushes and the wall. She had to get to Stacy. Staring at her rescuers back, she edged backward. Thorns and branches scraped her skin but she ignored the tiny pains. Tiny rocks and fallen bush debris dug into her knees. Her hands clenched into fists in the dirt but she did not stop.
He looked back, scowled, and grabbed her wrist.
“Let go of me!” She tried in vain to pull away.
“If you want to stay alive, shut up and stay still,” he hissed and jerked her toward him.
Thunder shook the world. The window blew outward. Glass shards and jagged pieces showered the bushes. Laurie cringed, positive she was now deaf. The soldier threw himself on top of her. The back of her head smacked the ground. Tiny rocks dug into her back. Squirming ALWAYS A WARRIOR Patricia Bruening
5
beneath him, she struggled to catch her breath with her face buried in his chest. She opened her mouth to drag in air but tasted only the cloth of his uniform. She squirmed again until she dragged in air that carried a faint, masculine scent.
He rose up on one elbow, relieving her of some of his weight, and studied her intently.
She sucked in more air. Her gaze clashed with his and she could not look away. Wriggling, she slapped her hands on his chest and shoved. He didn’t budge. His every taut straining muscle in contact with her body sent unwanted electric tingles through her nerves as she stared up at him.
The depths of his dark brown eyes reflected concern and something she dared not examine too closely.
“Are you okay?” His surprisingly soft baritone caressed her ears.
Laurie nodded, as breathless from his disquieting nearness as from the sudden eruption of violence in her home.
“All secure!” was heard from inside the house but the soldier made no effort to move. He merely stared down at her. Laurie squirmed beneath his considerable weight, her eyes riveted to his unfathomable gaze.
“Stacy!” She shoved hard and pushed him off her. She crawled from under the bushes, glancing wildly around the yard.
“Mommy!”
“I’m coming, baby!”
Stacy, long dark hair flying behind her, ran from the direction of the driveway. Relieved, grateful, and trembling with the force of it, Laurie pulled Stacy into her arms and sank to the ground with her.
* * * *
A spotlight from the truck at the curb lit the yard. Damien McAllister watched the reunion with his usual nonchalance. But despite his best efforts, his gaze was frequently drawn to Laurie Crawford as a woman, not as an assignment. He crossed his arms over his chest. He was here to facilitate the capture of a terrorist not ogle the terrorist’s daughter. He did not deny the physical attraction that had assaulted him in the bushes. He simply ignored it. He forced himself to view her as any one of a dozen pretty girls.
Still he could not stop staring at her. Dark brown hair tumbled in disarray around her head and shoulders, hiding her face from view. That short skimpy T-shirt she wore was even sexier than if she had offered herself to him stark naked. Her height, not quite five foot ten inches, carried her frame well. Gently rounded buttocks in skimpy white panties and full firm breasts gave her a sensual femininity that hid a wealth of strength and determination.
She had not killed the terrorist they found near the front door but she had certainly hurt him. The other two were dead, killed in the gunfire. But the one she had rendered almost unconscious might provide some useful information. Good old-fashioned lust tinged with reluctant admiration tightened his loins. Irritated, he squelched his urges. He was on a mission not in a bar.
As he watched, she glanced warily around the yard then focused on him. He sighed. She wanted answers now. She stood, held her daughter’s hand, and walked toward him. Grace and purpose in each long stride drew his attention to her long legs. He did not move, forcing her to come to him. Quit staring, he berated himself. You’ve just been without a woman too long.