Bodyguard Lockdown(24)

“You heard about that?”

Minos shrugged. “You still have a major problem on your hands, General.”

“And that would be?”

“King Jarek and Quamar. I wouldn’t underestimate them. Or their men.”

“I don’t,” Trygg replied, his tone razor-sharp. “That’s why I hired you. To take care of them. After all, who would know them better than their oldest enemy?”

“Who indeed?” Minos acknowledged, then glanced at the men standing guard over the plane. “By the way, your men have holes on your perimeter. You need to shore them up, or you’ll be done before this thing starts.”

“Where?” Trygg turned toward the plane. When he got no answer, he turned back, then swore.



He stood alone.

* * *

“THIS IS IT.” Booker parked the jeep at the base of the mountain. He leaned over the wheel and peered through the rain-spattered windshield. Fifty feet of rock and cliff surrounded them, divided by a ravine less than twenty feet wide.

“The ravine is too dangerous for the jeep. If this storm picks up, we’ll get washed away in a flash flood.”

The air, thick with moisture and hints of electricity, churned up the dust and grit, spattered it with drops of water.

“We don’t have much time, Booker.” Sandra pushed open the door, struggled against the strong gusts of wind and pelting rain.

Booker left the headlights on, then met her in front of the beams. Within moments, thunder cracked, the skies opened up and the storm broke free.

“We need to move to higher ground now,” he yelled over the downpour. “Before this wind kicks up more debris.”

“Here!” Booker shouted over the clamor of the storm. He pointed to a crevice off the ravine. In the dim light she made out the steep path to a higher ridge.

Lightning flashed. On its heels came another crack of thunder. Minutes passed and rain continued to pound the earth with heavy fists. Smooth surfaces grew treacherous; the wind whipped scrub and rocks into a frenzy.

They reached the twenty-foot ledge in unspoken urgency. The rain continued to rage. Water poured from the shadows and crevices into the ravine below.

Suddenly, the wind drowned under a muffled roar. Booker swore. “The water is coming! We aren’t high enough!”

They searched the side of the canyon, finding nothing but slick walls. Booker tugged Sandra’s hand, pulled her blindly into the shadows.

Without warning the wall broke free into a crevice that turned into a wide path up through the ravine.

“Booker!” Sandra yanked back on his hand. He turned, saw the narrow path that led up through some boulders.

“Go!” he yelled over the roar.

Sandra scrambled up through the rocks; sharp edges bit and scraped her palms.

She squeezed between two boulders, came out onto a path that led to a higher ledge. Ten feet higher. Quickly, she scrambled, praying Booker stayed close.

The wall of water hit. Rolling and pitching, the waves threw scrub and rocks, tumbling them like dice.

The water caught at Sandra’s clothes. Booker slammed his knife into a nearby crevice, anchoring the blade. He gripped the handle until his knuckles whitened, pinning Sandra between him and the wall.

Water rushed around them, slammed them against the stone, washed out the dirt beneath their feet.

“Hold on to me!” Booker yelled through the blast, gripping the knife, gripping Sandra.

She locked her arms around his waist—praying for the first time in many years.



Moments later, the water fell away, became a trickle at their feet. But the wind whipped, the rain poured.

Booker stepped away. Sandra’s muscles shook with fatigue, and she knew fear.

She eased away from the wall, her body stiff, her skin on fire from cuts and bruises.

But still alive.

Uprooted scrub lay snagged around the serrated rocks with only puddles left from the flood.

“That was easy enough,” she joked weakly, her teeth chattering. Her hand flexed on the strap of her medical bag, but for the first time she didn’t care about it getting lost.

Her clothes clung to her, cold and wet. Strands of hair stuck to her cheeks, clung to the back and sides of her neck.

“You all right?” He gripped her shoulders, rubbed some warmth into her icy limbs.



“Yes.” She clenched her jaw, kept her teeth from knocking together, locked her knees and willed the strength back into her legs.

“We can’t stop here. There are only a few more hours of sunlight. It’s best if we go higher, find a cave and rest for the night,” he explained gently. Without warning, he tipped his forehead until it touched hers. “Are you up for it, Doc?”

“Don’t be nice to me now, Booker. Or I’ll fall apart,” she whispered back. Tears pricked at her eyes; she blinked hard against the sting. “Just get me somewhere safe, so we can rest. Okay?”

“Okay.” He interlaced his fingers with hers, squeezed just a bit to give her back the strength she needed. “Watch the rocks. The flood softened the terrain making it unstable.”

An hour later, they found a cave. The entrance stood seven feet high and four feet wide, with a lip over the ground that hid a flat, earth-packed floor. A scattering of rocks and a fairly large boulder littered the space inside.

“Here.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a mini flashlight.

Booker thumbed it on and flashed it inside of the cave. “Stay close.”

She followed him, keeping her arms crossed, her body tight against the chill that settled in the night air.

The scent of damp earth and stale air tickled her nose. The pattering of rain grew, echoing off the wall.

“The storm’s picking up again.”

“We’re good. The flood level won’t reach this high.” Booker stopped abruptly, swore when she bumped into him and felt the icy skin of her hand against his arm.

They had nothing to stay warm. No blanket, no dry clothes. “Do you still have my lighter?”

Booker explored the cave, found dried branches and scrub behind the farthest rock. “There’s enough kindling here for a small fire. We can keep it going most of the night.” Within a few short minutes, flames glowed and flickered.

When she sighed—a trusting sigh that almost brought him to his knees—Booker gathered her close, tucked her head beneath his chin.

“I almost lost you.” He hadn’t meant to say the words. Hadn’t even realized he’d thought them until they’d passed his lips. But it was there, in the pounding of his heart, the trembling of his fingers, the raw need to protect.

Slowly, she tilted her head back, found the glitter of truth in his blue irises.

Years of questions, fear and distrust all broke loose under a tidal wave of understanding and tenderness.

“Not tonight.” She lifted her chin, brushed her lips against his.

The taste of honey and spice slid over his tongue, caught at the back of his throat.

“Not tonight.” His fingers threaded her dampened tresses, cupped the sides of her face.

Desire spread through his body, a hot lava that infused his limbs, rushed through his veins.

“Heat.” Sandra curled farther into him, made him tremble. “We need more heat.”

“Any more and I’ll burst into flames.”

“I’ll save you,” she whispered. Her mouth moved over his neck, nibbled his jaw. Then she was kissing him. Hot, moist, openmouthed kisses that had the blood rushing from his head, pooling just under his gut. The movement made him hard, made him groan.

He tried to push her away, but instead his arms tightened around her. His hands delved into the soft folds of her hair, let the damp locks catch around his fingers.

“I have a better way to keep us warm,” she whispered, her voice raspy, urgent.

“I think...” His arm slipped under her knees, lifted her up into his arms. He settled them both on the ground, with her on top, chest to chest, hips bumping hips. “...it might take a while.”

Her hand snaked down between them, stroked the hard length of him, unsnapped his pants. “It might take all night.” Booker let out his breath in a long hiss.

Electricity crackled the air, skimmed over her skin. This time it wasn’t the storm outside, but the one between them.

“I don’t think we’re going anywhere.” Her hands found the bottom edge of her shirt, yanked it over her arms and head.

His mouth latched on to her nipple, and his tongue rubbed the hard point through the thin cloth of her bra.

Sandra leaned back, let his hands catch her at her ribs, held her in place while he nuzzled, nibbled and stroked.

Her fingers curled in his hair, pulled him closer.

The damp smell of her skin, her hair, enveloped him, drove his senses to a fever pitch, his body to the precipice of his control.