“Noted.” Was that a helicopter he heard? Action would be welcome because, damn it, he was sick and tired of lying here like a log with only Levi and his thoughts for company. He knew that this thing with Laney was more than sex, and it scared the hell out of him. Shooting something would be a welcome change of pace. And since he doubted Marcos would go down without some kind of fight, he estimated his wish would come true in approximately seven minutes.
The rhythmic thwup-thwup of an incoming helicopter interrupted Levi’s answer, followed shortly thereafter by the sound of tires crunching over the dirt track. The first jeep came into focus: two bodyguards, the resort driver, Marcos and the girlfriend. The second jeep carried two more guards and a mountain of Coach luggage. He repositioned, sighting his rifle.
As soon as the first jeep crested the track, Levi lobbed a flash bang into its path. There was a bright flash followed by a clap of sound. The grenade would disorient the jeep’s occupants for a few seconds.
“Let’s move.” Surging to his feet, Gray ran for the lead jeep.
The SEAL in the driver’s seat had hit the brakes hard. One of the guards had been thrown clear, and Gray signaled for Levi to take charge of him. The driver had gone for bodyguard number two.
“Manos arriba,” Gray barked. “Arrondilese.”
Anyone stupid enough to ignore the order and draw would be picked off by the sharpshooters up in the trees. The girlfriend turned out to be a shrieker, but Sam took care of that fast, wrestling her off the jeep and to the ground, one palm over her mouth.
Ramming his shoulder into Marcos, Gray secured the perp’s handgun and tossed him onto the ground. The man fought like a son of a bitch, surging back onto his feet, and Gray had to hand it to him. The guy knew how to take care of himself. Maybe hand-to-hand was a required skill in the drug trade these days. One well-aimed punch to the jaw took Marcos down, however, and Gray zip tied the man’s hands behind his back and patted him down for weapons.
Two guards down, Marcos and the girlfriend secured. Check, check and check. He swept the area, looking for potential issues. The other unit was all over the second jeep, but then gunfire erupted. Shit. Both the sharpshooters and Gray’s team had silencers. Any noise had to be coming from the two bodyguards in the second vehicle.
“Report,” he barked. Bullets sprayed the ground and then stopped.
Sam rose up from the other side of the second jeep. “We’re clear, but we’ve got a problem.”
Gray sprinted toward him. On the other side of the second jeep, Remy leaned heavily against the jeep’s side, bleeding profusely.
14
GRAY SLIPPED THROUGH the darkness toward Laney’s bungalow. Mission accomplished, bad guy in custody. Marcos would be on his way to the mainland and a US military prison within the hour. And Gray was confident that whatever intel the man had would eventually make its way to the right ears. Useful ears. Unfortunately, the mission hadn’t gone entirely his unit’s way. Right now one of his guys was possibly bleeding out, spending the last minutes of his life lying on the jungle floor some eight hundred miles from the Louisiana bayou where he’d been born and raised.
That wasn’t happening on Gray’s watch, not if he could help it. Which explained why he was inbound on Laney’s bungalow, the jungle alive around him with early-morning wake-up noises, and worse, as the birds and the howler monkeys took notice of his presence. He’d abandoned the covert part of covert op in favor of a six-minute mile.
He sprinted up the path, hoping that any early-rising guests would write him off as a fanatic jogger. Unfortunately, time was not on his side. Laney’s bungalow was on the resort’s northern perimeter. Once again, he cursed the resort’s owners for the pro-green stance that had banished golf carts and any other form of motorized transport from Fantasy Island. Bicycles were encouraged, but locked up overnight. By the time he’d picked the lock on the storage shed, he might as well have hoofed it on foot.
When he turned the corner, Laney’s bungalow was dark, the curtains still drawn. He raced up the steps and swiped the keycard through the lock. Ashley had assured him the master card would open any door, and it appeared she’d been correct. The lock flickered green and he heard the door pop. He was in.
Stepping inside, he quietly closed the door behind him. Leaving the door open would invite questions if anyone passed by, and housekeeping would be starting soon. He looked toward the bed, hoping for movement. This wasn’t the way he’d wanted to come home to her. Not that he’d thought about it or her during his mission. Not more than once or twice at any rate.
Then he saw her. Sprawled on top of the covers, she wore only a T-shirt and shorts, despite the fact that she’d once again air-conditioned the bungalow to roughly the inner temperature of an igloo. She’d foregone a ponytail, a red-letter day, and brown hair spilled over the pillow, clearly visible in the light from the bathroom. She hated the dark. She’d mentioned that once, sounding sheepish, and he’d thought it was cute. Unlike her, he loved the dark.
The even in and out of her breathing filled the room. God. She looked peaceful. Happy even. He hated like hell to wake her up, but Remy was out of time and she was his best chance at survival.
He crouched down beside the bed and placed one hand on her shoulder. The other he rested near her mouth. He couldn’t risk a scream, but he didn’t want to scare the crap out of her. It was bad enough he’d suddenly materialized in her room without an invite. He wouldn’t make this worse for her if he could help it.
“Laney.” He brushed his mouth over her ear. Okay. So the almost-kiss was for him. He suddenly understood that picture of the sailor kissing a random woman when he docked, sweeping her back and off her feet. He felt the same way when he saw Laney, as if he could laugh and jump into the bed and wrap himself around her. Kiss her some, love her lots.
No. That was the wrong word. He definitely didn’t do love.
“I need a doctor,” he said, more roughly than he’d intended.
She came awake in a rush and it was easy to imagine her as the attending doctor at a hospital, catching a catnap in an empty room. Waking up when the nurse came in or the pager went off. She woke up as if she expected it, as if she’d never quite allowed herself to relax completely.
“Gray?” His name, sleepy and soft.
“Yeah, sweetheart. It’s me.” He touched her cheek. The gesture was selfish, but he couldn’t help himself. Teammates had used the words big, mean and bastard to describe Gray, and they weren’t wrong. He certainly had no business inviting himself into her bedroom, no matter how welcome she’d made him before. The regret was a new emotion, regret for what he’d done, the women he’d slept with. Funny how sex had seemed to fill the empty hole inside him but now he felt emptier than ever.
“I hate to ask this.” But he would.
“Okay,” she said, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. Something flashed over her face. Hope? Anticipation? Hell if he knew, but one thing was certain. Whatever it was, he was going to disappoint her.
“I’ve got a man down and Sam’s out of his league. I need you to take a look.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Okay,” she repeated. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. From his position on the floor, he had an excellent view of her long, bare legs and tousled hair. Her T-shirt had rucked up around her middle while she slept, and she tugged it down absentmindedly.
“How bad is it?” She hurried over to the closet and rifled the contents, grabbing clothes and shoes.
Sam had coached him on what to say. “Gunshot wound with severe vascular trauma.”
She cursed and dropped the clothes. Adrenaline hit him hard. Remy was in bad shape. He got that. But if he got her back quickly, maybe there was still hope. Her next words took it away.
“That’s not good, Gray.”
But Remy wasn’t dead, which meant there was still some hope left. Ignoring her clothes, she yanked on socks and sneakers, pulling her hair back in a ponytail. He wanted to say thank you, to acknowledge what she was doing. She had his team’s back, and she didn’t know what was waiting out there for her.
“The threat’s been neutralized,” he said gruffly, in case she was worried. “I’m not taking you into a hot zone.”
She nodded and turned to face him. “I know.”
There was no way for her to know that.
“I know you,” she continued. “If it was still dangerous, you wouldn’t put me in harm’s way.” The trust in her voice was a surprise. He didn’t know when he’d earned that or what to make of it. He didn’t have time to explore the unexpected feelings, however, because he had a man down. She was a doctor. He needed her. Right now, it was as simple as that.
She rushed for the door. “Let’s hit the road. You may have to carry me back, but we can run until we get there.”
LANEY CRUNCHED ALONG behind Gray. Or, more accurately, ran. Gray set a brutal pace, pushing for an eight-minute mile. He might run every day, but she’d been loading up on too many desserts. A stitch tore through her side, and breathing was its own challenge. Once again, she forced her breathing into an even rhythm, sucking air in a long, slow draw and releasing it the same way. Keep it even. Don’t panic. So it was a killer pace. So she couldn’t see where she was going. She could keep her eyes on Gray’s back in front of her, leading the way. Except he bristled with weapons like some kind of lethal hedgehog, and she kept remembering the way his paint-streaked face had risen over the edge of her bed.