Wicked Edge (Realm Enforcers, #2)(91)
He placed a kiss on her nose. “You are everything.”
Her heart jumped hard against her rib cage. Sometimes he was the sweetest person. “Are you sure we have time for a night off?”
He smiled. “I’m sure, and right now, I’m only thinking about you. We can return to reality tomorrow. For now, let’s enjoy the fact that we’re here, in a bed, and you’re naked.”
She chuckled, not missing the darkening of his eyes at her hoarse voice. “I’ve been thinking about robbing a bank I read about in Switzerland that hides money for criminals. It’d be a tough one, but I think I can come up with a plan. You in?”
He leaned down and kissed her, deep and strong. Finally, he lifted his head. “Oh, baby. I’m definitely in.”
Read on for an excerpt from Rebecca Zanetti’s novella
On the Hunt,
an introduction to her heart-pounding post-apocalyptic
SCORPIUS SYNDROME series!
Extinction is the rule. Survival is the exception.—Carl Sagan
WEEK 1
Eight people dead
Likelihood of Scorpius Containment: Definite
Wind whistled a mournful tune around aluminum buildings and across the jagged concrete tarmac. Dr. Nora Medina shivered in the damp night air and ignored the water splashing over her flip-flops. The soldiers around her, armed to the nth degree, merely added to the pressure building in her chest.
Her nearly bare chest.
She fought to keep her balance while hustling up the metal steps to the third private plane of her day.
Enough.
She might be the only unarmed person on the quiet tarmac, and the only woman, but enough was f*cking enough, because she was also the only person wearing a borrowed white blouse over a bright pink bikini top, barelythere wrap around her bikini clad butt, and sandals.
Temper roared through her, and she planted her feet at the top of the stairs, only to slide across the wet surface.
“Ma’am,” said the nearest faceless soldier, reaching for her arm.
She jerked free and rounded on him. “I swear, if one more person calls me ‘ma’am’ or apologizes for the inconvenience of dragging me off a very nice beach in Maui several hours ago, I will take his gun and shoot him.”
The man’s expression didn’t change. “Yes, ma’am.”
She bit down a scream. “All right. Listen up. We are in Seattle, and I know we’re in Seattle.” She pressed her hands against chilled hips and tried to stand taller. “Do you know how I know?”
“No, ma’am.” Well trained, definitely at ease, the soldier kept his gaze above her right shoulder.
“I know,” she said slowly and through gritted teeth, “because I looked out the bloody window when we were landing. The next time you kidnap somebody, you might want to blacken out the windows.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded his head, ever so slightly, toward the doorway to the plane.
“This is kidnapping, and I’ve had it. We’re in Seattle, and yep, guess what? I live here. So I’m going to head home, take an incredibly hot shower, change my clothes, and then call—well, somebody. Anybody who will tell me what the hell is going on.” Her rant would end perfectly if she could just get past him on the steps, but he easily blocked her way.
“All apologies, ma’am, but our orders are to escort you. Please embark.” He kept his voice level and polite.
She swallowed. There were six of them, one of her, and no way would she win a physical altercation. “Not until you tell me where we’re going.”
“Nora?” A voice called from inside the plane. “Get your ass in here.”
Every nerve she owned short-circuited. Her gut clenched as if a fist had plowed into her solar plexus. Slowly, spraying water, she pivoted toward the opening. It couldn’t be. It really couldn’t be.
The voice she knew so well. Male, low, slight Scottish brogue a decade in the States hadn’t quite banished. Her heart thundered, and fire skidded across her abdomen to flare deep. How was this even possible? She steeled her shoulders and approached the opening of the plane as if a bomb waited inside. So many thoughts rioted through her brain, she couldn’t grasp just one.
Warmth hit her first when she stepped inside, followed by another shock wave. “Deacan Devlin McDougall,” she murmured.
He stretched to his feet from one of the luxurious leather chairs, standing in the aisle—the only place high enough to accommodate his six-foot-four frame.
All the thoughts zinging around her head stopped cold.
Nothing. Her brain fuzzed. The years had been good to him, experience adding an intriguing look of danger to his masculine beauty.
His green gaze, dark and piercing, scored her see-through shirt, light wrap, and bare legs. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for the extraction.”
Her chin lifted. Heat seared through her lungs, lifting her chest, and she slowly tried to control her body. No way would she let him see how difficult he made it for her to breathe—even after all this time.
He wore faded jeans over long legs and a dark T-shirt across a broad chest—no uniform. But the gun strapped to his leg was military issue, now wasn’t it? The weapon, so silent and deadly, appeared at home on his muscled thigh.