Stranger Mine: a Base Branch novel Page 3

  When she bound onto the gravel walkway, surprise peaked her brows. The expectation of gunshots or quick arms and groping hands fell away. Jagged rocks bruised her feet, but not a soul blocked her escape. Her heart cradled in the arms of hope, Piper drove her burning legs hard toward the garage. Breath sailed in her nose and whooshed out her mouth. Half way to the garage the grass skid beneath her feet and her tight jaw gaped.

  At the bottom steps, a distorted figure lay prone in the shadow. No, surely they weren’t all dead. There had to be a different explanation for the silence.

  In an instant her direction changed. She shot for the main house like an arrow. The chain disagreed with her sudden turn. It spilled out between her twisted torso and elbow. Her greedy hands clambered to contain the wayward links without slowing. Wind gusted and shoved her off balance more than the fifteen pounds of awkward metal. Her arms flailed in an effort to catch her balance. The chain plummeted to the ground. With several quick steps Piper righted herself and rushed on, leaving the bond dragging behind her.

  Two yards away, the lump defined into a murdered heap of man. Blood imbrued the collar of his cream short-sleeve and pooled around the muzzle of the AK still strapped to his back. He hadn’t heard the wraith coming. Dread overcame hope, blotting out the warmth and light inside her chest.

  Piper slowed enough to hedge the body and spool the chain into two long loops. She hurried up the stairs and prayed—despite her mother’s words and the real possibility that they would kill her—they weren’t all dead. She’d come so close. Risked so much. This couldn’t be the end.

  She swallowed the lump in her throat. Silence, dead silence, deafened. The quiet she’d grown accustomed to, but only in her space. Anytime they opened the cottage door their noise accosted her. TV. Music. Cursing. Hollering. Fucking. But now…nothing.

  Piper heard the whisper of stirring rocks. Her heart nearly leaped out of her body and dragged her along. Away from the warrior. Away from danger. Regardless of his reassuring words and calm manner, awareness of him had rocked her core as soon as he stepped into her cell. The efficiency with which he placed the explosives, tracked the door, and scrutinized her with his fire-blue gaze, all while rattling off multiple languages, said elite, government agency, big agenda, avoid at all costs.

  Piper hoisted the chain over her shoulder and sprinted for the second floor. Her captors had grown comfortable around her. Talked too much when they brought her food and clothing. She had no idea which room housed the office, but she knew where to start the search. Bodies littered the place like leftover take-out containers in a bachelor pad or her old apartment. She gave each grizzly scene a wide berth, but couldn’t skirt the rotund stiff at the top of the staircase. She gripped the railing for leverage and kicked a leg over the sprawled man’s torso. As she straddled Juan Paulo’s corpse, the commando’s voice reverberated through her.

  “Stop where you are.”

  The authority of his gritty tone froze and heated her at the same time. Her fingers bit into the wooden balustrades, and she stilled as much as her heaving chest would allow. She dismissed the warmth and need that screamed inside her as exhaustion and desperation for human contact. Slowly she turned. Their gazes collided. Even across the cavernous room, her fever bloomed into an all-out forest fire, scorching a line up her spread legs, arched back, and open arms.

  Hours and days of solitude. The precariousness of her situation. Either or both must have snapped the last vestiges of her sanity. Fear should have been the primal emotion boomeranging through her overwrought system. There was no reason a man in blood-splattered battle dress and with a gun pointed at her chest should elicit anything else. But there it was. Awareness and yearning hugged her close, coping a feel of her tits and grazing the insides of her thighs. His gaze didn’t wander from her face. She felt his big, lean hands exploring her body all the same.

  His blue gaze remained locked on her own in steely calm. Beneath sweat-thinned war paint a muscle ticked in his broad jaw. That and the third leg in his pants gave him away. No way to miss a bulge like that. Not from the moon. Surprise embarrassment crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks. In preservation of every kind, she used the muscles she’d honed over the course of her confinement and launched herself onto the landing.

  Rolling out of his line of fire, Piper spooled her torso in the chain, but kept her legs free of the obstruction. She pushed off the floor with her hands and pistoned her quads down the hallway. Thunderous footfalls rumbled on the stairs. She didn’t dare look back. Instead, she aimed for a small pile of bodies at mid-hall. The heap flagged a point of interest like a blinking neon light outside her mom’s tattoo parlor.

  She pushed the twinge of homesickness aside and jumped over the tangle of lifeless arms and legs. Her hand slid along the wall and tightened on the metal doorframe, unique from all the other wooden ones in the house. Inside, a man slumped over a thick wooden desk. Scattered blood-soaked papers and a sleeping desktop snugged around him. The sight shouldn’t have loosened the kinks of unease in her belly, but a billowy exhale puffed her cheeks all the same. “Thank God.”

  As soon as the words whispered from her lips the cuff on her right wrist jerked taut. Bile rose like the tide in her esophagus. She snapped her head toward the door so fast her neck popped. The sickness receded. He hadn’t caught her. Not yet, at least. Piper wrapped her palm around the metal links and jerked with all her might. She never planned to play tug-of-war with a dead man. She’d done a lot of unexpected things over the last six months. Grief and a sliver of hope would make a person do anything.

  And that chased away the sandman most nights.

  Her obscene tail wedged between a guard’s muffin top and radio clip, refusing to budge. Piper slackened the chain and flipped her wrist. The metal scraped into her skin, calling fresh blood to the surface. She tried once more, widening her stance and throwing her entire body into the motion. The links broke free and she reeled in the heavy line. He rounded the corner, gun up and ready. Again he didn’t take the shot.

  Piper stumbled backward into the room. She shoved both hands against the door and slammed it closed. A deadbolt never looked so good. The silver lever turned, smacking the thick latch into the sturdy frame. Not three seconds later something rammed against the metal. It gonged in the small room, resounding like a call to battle. A sob tore from her throat. She clamped a trembling hand over the surprising emotion and scrambled for the computer.

  6

  Ryan grabbed the base of the mountain by the ankles and strained against the dead weight of three men. Inch by inch he moved them from in front of the door. With the new vantage point, he repositioned and battered the metal again. Once more the force speared up his leg in defeat, jarring his flagging hard-on into submission.

  One problem down. A few more to go.

  No way would he get through the door by force. The thing was prison-door solid. He could shoot through the drywall, but didn’t want to chance hitting the Bronce. In the small prison her back had been snug to the wall. Her hair was braided close to her scalp and dripped with sweat, making it appear dark as night. But the instant he caught sight of her sprinting up the stairs he knew she was Big ’Un’s bronze fantasy. The copper of her long plait grazed the lean lines of her back, ending at the natural curve of her waist.

  Shamed though he was, he had his own quick and dirty fantasies about the Bronce. They’d come in on swift, razor-sharp wings, stealing his breath. He’d given her reason to run this time. But Lord, he couldn’t tamp down his reaction to her soulful eyes, strength, and body made for endurance sex. Ryan never enjoyed killing, but he might have enjoyed killing these men, if he’d first found her locked up like no animal should be.

  Time for finesse. He pulled two thin, metal strips from the pouch on his PIG vest. The tension tool slid easily into the key slot’s base. The rake scraped over the tumbler pins as his hands worked. After two attempts, Ryan turned the lock ever so slowly. He nested the tool back into its cas
e, drew the H&K, then immediately holstered the damn thing.

  The perfect opportunity to end this had presented itself on the staircase and he didn’t take the shot. Bench him forever or bury him six-feet under, but he wouldn’t shoot her. The anguish he’d seen in her furrowed brow tightened his chest while the determined set of her shoulders earned his respect. Neither would allow him to pull the trigger.

  Ryan sidled up to the wall, twisted the knob, and shoved the door wide. He thought he’d prepared for everything. Taking cover behind the mound of bodies, if she started shooting. Bum-rushing her, if she tried to attack. Tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her out, if she refused to come willingly. But fuck it all. He had not prepared for tears. Not from any woman. Most especially not from the badass who had gotten the drop on him.

  Each gut-rending sob punched him square in the chest, bypassed his sternum, and landed on his heart. He eased around the corner and immediately wished his typical flight instinct had kicked in at the first sign of a female’s tears. She huddled in a ball much like the one he’d found her hunched in at the makeshift jail. Only worse. Her fists knitted against her chest and she curled into herself. Her head hung low. The hiccupped breaths she fought for shook her entire body.

  He’d never frozen on the job, until now. His synapses fired on ultra slow-mo speed. The lead in his feet weighed more than a team of horses could budge. Impotence bathed him. Not for the first time. But for the first time with a beautiful woman at his feet. The only way he knew to help required her legs spread and his face buried between them. With this hellcat, it didn’t seem like the wisest course of action. And it wouldn’t get them to extraction any faster.

  His watch told him to grab her and run like his shoes were on fire. He stepped into the room. Reluctantly his gaze left her, traveling to the computer screen. The shipment roster no longer clung to the bright glow. In its place, the main filing system stuck to the screen with nearly thirty documents and spreadsheets stacked open behind the file icons.

  “It’s time to go,” he whispered.

  “Then go.” She contrasted his quiet tone with a vicious yell.

  Their gazes tangled, preventing his escape. In the depths of bronze flecks he saw a desperation he understood more than most. Despite his wide smiles and friendly banter, he knew hell by the prick of its serrated mountain range, the burn of its lava lakes, the sting of its acrid air in his lungs. She knew its topography too.

  “I’m not leaving without you.”

  Her hand slapped at the tears streaming her cheeks. The laugh that spewed from her lips matched that of a man he’d once visited in an asylum. Its hysterical notes punctuated the precariousness of their situation. “Men. No matter how different, you’re all the same. If I’d been some troll-looking woman or an old man, you wouldn’t feel any moral compunction about putting a bullet in my head or simply turning around and walking away.”

  Ryan knew it wasn’t true, but her words had him cataloguing past missions and second-guessing himself. “Maybe the men you’re used to dealing with, but not me. So, you have ten seconds to decide whether you’re leaving on your own two feet or slung over my shoulder.”

  Iron rod steeled her backbone once more and all traces of sadness fled. Her eyes narrowed and her lips pinched to white lines. “I’m not leaving.”

  Ryan started toward her. “Six. Seven. Eight…”

  She scrambled to her feet, the chain rattling in the rush. “Not until the next shipment arrives.”

  Well, she put the words where they’d do the most damage. Right in his festered unease about leaving the next group to their fates. He stopped three, four feet from her, this time ready for an attack. “You mean the shipment that has a detail of at least ten armed guards?”

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  “You’ll die.”

  “People do it everyday.” She gestured to the corpse to his left.

  “Yeah. Some people need killing.”

  “And Émile Gabrone is one of those people.”

  “You’re not staying just to kill Gabrone.” Though he had no idea what it was, he saw a plan—more intricate than suicide for the sake of revenge—twinkling in her eyes.

  “Nope.” Her brow knit ever tighter in defiance.

  He smiled at her dogged determination and gruff manner. “Why stay?”

  From its pool on the floor to the cuff on her wrist, the metal swayed as she balled her fists. “I need information, and thanks to you all my leads are dead.”

  Ryan gripped her forearm and held her bloody wrist high between them. “Your captors are dead.”

  She recoiled an inch from his growled retort, but rebounded faster than an MBA All-Star. “They caught me because I wanted them to.”

  “Son of a bitch. They claimed all sites clear. Are you compromised? Burned?”

  “I’m not CIA.”

  “Then who the hell are you?” He took a step closer to emphasize the importance of his question.

  “I’m Piper,” she said with a venom-sweet smile.

  Ryan dropped his head several inches, leveling his gaze with hers. “Not what I meant.”

  She bit the inside of her cheek and shook her head back and forth so long he thought she’d gone mute on him again. “Former L.A.P.D.”

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  “And you’re a fucking genius.”

  “Aren’t you a charmer.” Ryan tugged her alongside him and headed for the door. She pulled against his hold, but didn’t fight as much as he knew she could.

  “I’m not leaving,” she growled.

  “No, we’re not, but we are going to get that damn cuff off your wrist and take care of your cuts.”

  7

  “No dead bodies?” Piper arched a brow and made a show of peering around the chunky wood island and the table nestled in the breakfast nook. “I’m amazed.”

  “Keep on pushing me. I could add another.” Ryan deposited the first aid kit he’d snagged from the hallway bathroom and narrowed his gaze at her.

  “No, you couldn’t.”

  “Cocky aren’t you?”

  “Confident. You’re cocky.” She dropped her gaze to his crotch. Her head tilted and her thin lips pursed.

  “Here I was trying to be gentlemanly and discreet. You stomp all over tradition, don’t you?”

  “Meaning?”

  He crooked a finger at her. “Come here before you get angry and try breaking my nose again.”

  “You might want to check it. I see blood and a hump at the base.”

  “The hump is courtesy of the last guy who tried and succeeded. The blood will wash away.”

  “All of it?” Her lips formed a grim line. “Seems you have a penchant for taking lives.”

  “I have a duty. Now get over here,” he snapped.

  When she didn’t budge, he jangled the keys he’d confiscated from one of the dead men along the way. Piper curbed her urge to stomp her feet like an agitated bull. She settled for a huff, crossed the kitchen, and offered him her cuff.

  “You chose a male-dominated profession in one of the toughest precincts in the States. If you’re ever in distress, there’s no damsel in it. Just one pissed lady. You’ve probably never needed a man for anything. Not even to get you off. And you’d probably spit in any guy’s face who had the cajones to ask for your hand in marriage.”

  He was already too damn close to the mark, to her body. The thick pads of his fingers warmed her forearm, while his eyes warmed her everywhere else.

  “Who was dumb enough to hurt you? Father? Lover?”

  Piper snapped her jaw closed the moment she realized the damn thing dangled open like an anglerfish on the hunt. She snatched the keys from his blood-crusted hands and green-stained fingers. He let her retreat to the other side of the island without a word. She longed to turn away from his knowing gaze. The azure-blue orbs with their reflective, nearly white flecks saw too much and reflected back her flaws.

  Pinning the latch to the c
ounter with her wrist and hip, Piper unlocked the crude accessory, removed her arm, and watched the heavy links tug from the shiny surface. It thwacked atop the pile. Freedom lightened her mood and body like the Lord above flipped a switch. Piper raised her chin.

  “No one has ever hurt me. Not a father or lover.

  “My dad was donor number 489760 from The Sperm Bank of California. I’ve never needed a man for anything. Neither did my mother, who raised three daughters on her own. I like men to get me off. I just don’t like them to hang around long after.”

  His head canted and his studying eyes shone bright, surrounded by the dull gray and green of combat paint. Piper mapped the contours of his face. His wide-muscled jaw. The depression of dimples below his high cheeks and the lickable one at the brunt of his chin. Lips thicker than her own. A gently sloping brow pinched in thought. And damn that smile. She’d only seen a flash of it and knew she couldn’t take any more.

  Sure, the stranger was crazy handsome, but something below the All-American exterior pulled her deep. A quiet pain hid behind his blinding smile. When he turned away and stepped to the sink, Piper released the breath she hadn’t noticed she’d been holding. He turned the water to steaming and went to work rolling the sleeves of his BDU’s. With copious amounts of soap he scrubbed the paint and life force of several men from his hands.

  But damn, she couldn’t rip her gaze from his forearms. Tanned skin stretched over fibrous cords of muscle stacked in a thick pile. A pathway of veins coursed over them and disappeared beneath his cuffed sleeve. Most surprising of all was the thatch of golden blond hair sprinkling the expanse. She hadn’t paid much attention to the hair slicked atop his head. Now she saw the blackness for what it was, black grease to hide the shine of his boyishly light hair.