Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(44)
“No,” she cut him off, raking in a slow, measured breath to make up for the twenty shallow, fast ones she’d taken. Christ, she was losing it, becoming completely unhinged. Unconsciously, she lifted a finger and quickly ran it over the little bump on her nose. It grounded her…a little. “I need to hear what she has to say for herself.” She tilted her chin toward Bertha Bomber. “I want to hear what she has to say. I owe it to Abby. I owe it to…the others.”
Chapter Eleven
“I don’t understand what those shitbird militants—what did you call them?” Abby asked, then grumbled under her breath when a low-hanging branch slapped her on the arm after Steady brushed by it. He glanced back to make sure she wasn’t hurt, then scolded himself for not being more careful.
They’d been slogging through the undergrowth for over an hour, and it had to be hell on her. She’d already been physically drained from the drug coupled with lack of food, and that was before the energy-sucking heat and humidity of the jungle had a chance to go to work. But she was a trooper if he ever saw one. And, Dios, he admired her for it. Admired her and craved her and damned if he could think of anything other than the hot, hungry gleam in her eye when she’d stared at his penis.
As if the silly thing knew he was thinking about it—or else it, too, was simply remembering the expression on her face—it twitched behind the fly of his cargo pants. Bueno. Because the only thing worse than sporting a stiffy while riding through miles of potholed logging trails, was sporting one while hiking and hacking through the jungle.
Uh…so, what had she asked again? And then he remembered. “They’re called the Jemaah Islamiyah, or JI for short.” He stepped over a gigantic, snaking root and pushed aside the slick leaves of a large bush so Abby could easily pass by without tripping. When she wasn’t looking, he surreptitiously reached down to adjust himself into a more comfortable—and less chafing—position.
“Yep.” She lithely hopped over the root. “The JI. That’s right.” The excess material bunched around the tops of her legs made her slim thighs look almost skinny. It highlighted how small she actually was, and made every protective instinct he had stand up and howl like his father had done every New Year’s Eve after a couple shots of top-shelf Puerto Rican rum. “But I don’t understand what they hoped to gain by kidnapping me. My father has always said he doesn’t negotiate with terrorists for anything. Not for friends, not for family, not for all the tea in China or oil in Saudi Arabia.”
“But that was before he was due to leave office in a few months,” Steady told her. “It’s harder to stick to your guns when it really is your baby girl’s neck on the chopping block, and you know you’ll never have to run for office again, so what’s the harm in going back on your campaign promises.”
Her expression turned contemplative as he slid by her to resume his place as trailblazer. His arm inadvertently touched hers, and the zing of awareness that detonated through his system did nothing to dissuade his erection. Mierda! He checked the compass on his watch to make sure they were still heading due north. Baseball bat of a stiffy aside, it was easy, too easy, to get turned around in the jungle. And as dead tired as he knew Abby was, he’d be damned if he made her take one step more than was needed. Not to mention the fact that that last map check had indicated a due north trajectory would land them directly in the middle of the Bang Lang National Park, only a few hundred yards from the little town he was aiming for.
“I hadn’t thought of it like that,” she said to his back. Then, “And speaking of Dad leaving office, what will happen to Black Knights Inc. when he does? I mean, you’re his group, right? He’s the one who founded you guys?”
“Technically, it was the head of the JCs, Navy General Pete Fuller, who rubber-stamped the inception of BKI,” he told her, glancing over his shoulder with a raised brow. “And how do you know so much about all that anyway? I would think our existence was something your father kept close to his vest. In fact, until about a year ago, even the DOD had no idea we existed.”
Had his head not been turned, he would have missed the fleeting look of…what was that expression exactly? He couldn’t be sure, but it looked remarkably close to guilt dancing across her face. He stopped in his tracks, which caused her to slam into his back. “Son of a blue-balled biscuit eater!” she snarled. “What’s with the air brakes all of a sudden?”
He really, really liked the feel of her pressed against his back—and as soon as they made it out of this godforsaken jungle he was going to make sure he pressed her against his front; that is, if she still wanted him once they were back in the real world; please Dios, yes—but that didn’t stop him from taking a step back in order to turn and fully face her. “First off”—he had trouble controlling his smirk—“I’m trying to imagine what a blue-balled biscuit eater looks like. Maybe a guy holding his nads in one hand and a Pillsbury buttermilk biscuit dripping with grape jelly in the other?”
She shrugged, fighting a smile. “That’s it in a nutshell.”
“And secondly…” Now his smirk was nowhere to be found, though his hard-on was still firmly in place; yippee! “What aren’t you telling me? Because in case you didn’t know it, cari?o, you have a terrible poker face. And I figure you better spill the beans about whatever it is you’re—”