Bodyguard Lockdown(25)

Then she was kissing him, using tongue and teeth, fanning the heat into a firestorm of desire.

Booker broke under the onslaught. His arms clamped on to her, making her finish what she started.

Needing her to...

His hands swept down her back, over her pants. Suddenly, they were off and his fingers stroked until her skin burned, her nerves jumped.

He nudged her legs apart. She rose above him, the fire at her back, the muted hues surrounding her, flickering over her skin, softening the shadows, turning her into an exotic creature of the night.

He groaned, locked his hands on her hips and buried his arousal at the apex of her thighs.

“Now, Booker.”

Her fingers fluttered, finding his zipper, tugging and pulling with jerky movements—tormented by the raging desire.

His fingers delved into the moist center between her thighs, touching, stroking until she writhed with pleasure.

She raised up, arched, stretched and, with trembling limbs, accepted.

* * *

SANDRA AWAKENED SLOWLY. More from the sudden chill of air over her back than from the soft rustle of branches.

She blinked hard. The shadows shifted; her eyes adjusted.

The storm raged, battering the cave entrance.

When she shivered, Booker was there, pressed up against her back, his arms around her.

For the first time in a long time, Sandra felt safe.

“I just added more branches to the fire,” Booker whispered, his breath warm and moist against her ear.

When she shivered, he tightened his hold. His teeth nibbled her ear. Goose bumps tripped down her spine and settled at the base. She nestled into the crook of his arm.

“Go back to sleep. We need to get some rest while we can.” He slid his arms under her. Slowly he pulled her on top of his chest, let her legs tangle with his.

“Rest?”

Sandra kissed his chest, settled her head just over his heart, finding the steady beat reassuring, the tickle of hair against her cheek soothing.

“How far are we from the cylinders, Doc?”

She’d known the question was coming, expected it. Sad that their moment had been so brief. “I’m not quite sure. Maybe a half day’s ride up the ravine.”

“You’re not sure?”

She could’ve just stalled, waited until he was distracted, but suddenly Sandra was tired of all the secrets. The walls that still remained steadfast between them.

“I have to check my map, Booker,” she said quietly.

“What map?” His muscles stiffened into granite planes, leaving her skin cold, her heart aching.

“The one I made five years ago. It shows the location of the cylinders.” She shifted back, needing some space, readying herself for the rejection.



Slowly, he rolled her back onto the ground, then looked down on her.

“It was an insurance policy in case something happened to me. I know his men were loyal and hadn’t been rounded up after he’d been sent to Leavenworth. Especially Colonel Rayo. He’s Trygg’s right-hand man—”

“I know who Rayo is, damn it.”

Sandra saw it then, what she missed. The cold anger in the blue eyes. A familiar sadness swept through her chest, making it tight, leaving her heart aching. Nothing had changed. Would change.

“Where is this map?” Booker demanded. “In your medical pack, right?”

“In the lining,” she admitted, but didn’t flinch when his fingers tightened on her shoulder. Instead she tossed him the bag. Watched him rip it open. “That’s why I never left it behind. I couldn’t risk trying to remember. If I had forgotten...”

Booker stared at the information on the cloth. He let out a sting of curses.

Her chin came up, defiant. “I did what I needed to do, Booker. And I don’t regret it.”

“When were you going to let me know?”

“Now,” she snapped. “Or did you miss the confession a minute ago?”

Before he could answer she added, “You have no right to be angry, damn it. How much have you kept from me, McKnight?”

Booker forced himself to let her go. He grabbed his clothes and tugged them on. The dampness did little to cool the heat of his anger.

“I have every right,” Booker bit out. “I wanted you safe.”

“I told you before. I’m safest with you.”

“No, you’re not!” His tone was low, the words terse. “I followed you here, Doc. Four years ago! I didn’t do that because I was told to, or because I was concerned, or even because I was madly in love with you. I followed you four years ago because I knew that Trygg would eventually escape from prison. He had too many contacts, too much backing behind him not to. I studied his profile, damn it. I knew.”

“You followed me because of Trygg?” She stood, feeling too vulnerable sitting on the ground naked. With quick, jerky movements, she grabbed her clothes off the boulder, tugged them on over her bra and panties.

“Once he escaped, who do you think he’d come after?”

“Me,” she admitted. “So all of this...” She pointed her finger back and forth between them, not able to finish. Not when his face hardened, his gaze swept over her semi-naked

state.

“You were my bait, Doc. Nothing more.”

She’d paid a high price for what she’d done, what she’d risked for CIRCADIAN. Her family. Booker. Love.

But this? Her knees buckled. Only sheer willpower and pride kept her upright.

She zipped up her pants, pulled her shirt over her head.

He’d used her.

He’d slept with her. And used her.

Sandra widened her stance to keep her feet under her, the mortification at bay.

Her fingers shook, but she forced herself to ignore them and slipped on her caftan.

“Be ready in five minutes.” The command was sharp, his features set in granite.

He had no right to be angry. He’d used her.

Bait for Trygg.

Then why was she still standing here, damn it? The thought ricocheted from the back of her mind.

More than once they had faced Trygg’s men. Each time he could have used her by informing Trygg’s men he’d negotiate. But he didn’t. He killed them or left them behind. No negotiation.

He wanted the cylinders and her home.

A person can’t be bait when they’re placed out of harm’s way.





Chapter Fifteen



The phone vibrated the nightstand.

President Jonathon Mercer ignored the light switch on the lamp and grabbed the receiver instead. He glanced at the digital clock. Four in the morning.

In his eighth year of presidency, he’d long become accustomed to calls at all hours of the night. Especially on his private line.

“Mercer.”

His wife shifted onto her elbow, her blue eyes questioning, more curious than startled.

“Mr. President, it is Omar Haddad.”

“One moment.”

Jon patted his wife’s hip, telling her to go back to sleep. She nodded, gave him a soft kiss on his cheek and turned over.

He slid from the bed and stepped onto the balcony. The air stirred around him. He noted a few of the Secret Service doing their job, but none were in earshot.

“I can talk now, Omar. What the hell is going on? Why haven’t you returned my calls?”

“I’ve been a little busy, Jon, locating my daughter.”

“I told you that I had a man on the inside keeping an eye on her.”

“I hope that man is Booker McKnight because he’s the one who has her.”

“Who told you that?”

“Jarek informed me after a visit he received from Cain MacAlister. The king assured me that McKnight would keep my daughter safe. As if I would believe that nonsense,” Omar scoffed.

“Jarek met with Cain?” Jon clarified, the anger immediate but controlled. A five-year operation suddenly at risk.

“Yes,” Omar answered.

His temper snapped then. “Without notifying me first?”

“The last time I checked, Mr. President, the King of Taer wasn’t obligated to share that kind of information with you.”

“Cain MacAlister is.” The Director of Labyrinth reported directly to the President of the United States.

“Jarek considers this a domestic problem. Trygg is in his country. It makes him Jarek’s problem, not yours.”

Jonathon let it go. For the moment. “Where was Sandra and Booker’s last known location?”

“Tourlay. Until they blew up a warehouse, stole a vehicle and left the city. I’ve been with Bari, trying to locate them through village contacts,” Omar continued. “All I know is that they are somewhere on the run in the desert.”

“Bari knows the desert and its people,” Jon reasoned out loud. “And he hasn’t found them?”