The commandant’s attention swung to Pia. “You will do as your man tells you. You will not leave the camp or you will deal with me—personally. Is that understood?” There was no mistaking how Velasquez would deal with Pia. Lust burned in the depths of the man’s black eyes. It matched the blackness in his heart.
Pia nodded. “I understand.”
“Good. I suggest you get some sleep. Starting tomorrow, there will be work assignments for both of you.” Turning, the commandant strode off toward the big tent on the opposite side of the camp, his own personal quarters.
“Now that we’re free,” Pia said softly, “we can find a way to get out of here.”
He thought of what the commandant would do to her if she tried to leave, and a shudder moved through him. Unless there was a ransom demand and his father paid what was asked, they would have to try to escape.
“We’ll take our time,” he said. “Make plans, figure out our best chance. In the meantime, we need to get some rest.”
Pia nodded and ducked into the tent, and Michael followed. Inside, they found two sleeping mats rolled out on the canvas floor side by side to form a single pallet. Clean clothes were neatly folded on top, a pair of brown twill pants and a long-sleeved plain cotton shirt for him, a yellow gathered skirt and peasant blouse and a pair of flat leather sandals for Pia.
Pia looked at him and began to strip off her damp, baggy fatigues. Insane as it was, desire burned through him.
“I wish we could make love,” she whispered, her naked body so sweetly curved his breath caught. “I wish you could make me feel the way you did on the boat so I could forget we’re in this place.”
He cupped her face in his palm, ran his thumb over her cheek. “Pia...honey, I want you so much. But more than anything, I want you safe.” Which she wouldn’t be if the soldiers outside heard them in the tent making love.
A sad smile touched her lips. “I know.” Pia helped him strip off his damp clothes, her hands running gently over his chest and down his flat stomach. She smiled impishly when she realized she was making him hard.
Michael kissed her. “Be a good girl and get in bed before I lose my mind and do something I shouldn’t.”
She grinned. He loved that she could find something to smile about under such terrible conditions. They spread their damp fatigues out to dry, put on the clean clothes and lay down on the sleeping palette. Michael pulled the thin blanket over them and curled Pia spoon-fashion against him.
With nothing beneath her skirt and blouse, he could feel the roundness of her bottom against his groin. One of his hands brushed a soft, full breast, and need burned through him. Michael ruthlessly tamped it down.
Exhausted, Pia fell almost instantly asleep, and his hold tightened protectively. He felt things for Pia he had never felt for another woman. Along with the lust she stirred without the least effort, he admired her courage. He respected the way she so bravely accepted the grim situation fate had handed her.
A situation that would likely get worse.
Michael kissed the top of her head, lay back and closed his eyes. He dozed but always kept an ear cocked for danger. One thing he had learned about himself. He wasn’t a coward. He would give his life to protect the woman who slept so trustingly in his arms.
Half an hour before dawn, Chase knocked on the door between his and Harper’s motel rooms. When the door swung open, Chase barely recognized the female in front of him as the woman who had fired his blood the night before, whose soft curves had filled his hands, whose warm lips had tempted him nearly to the breaking point.
This Harper wore olive drab cargo pants and a black T-shirt, her feet encased in a pair of high-top hiking boots. Long pale hair, plaited into a single braid, hung down her back.
She looked fit and strong, ready to face whatever challenge lay ahead. She looked determined and beautiful and sexy as hell. Chase’s groin tightened so fiercely he had to grit his teeth and look away.
“I’m ready when you are,” she said.
Hell, yes.As if he hadn’t noticed. He dragged in a calming breath, angry at himself for his momentary loss of control, grabbed her backpack and slung it over his shoulder before she could protest, walked back and grabbed his own, and they headed downstairs.
When he reached the concrete path at the bottom, the door to Kil Dawson’s room swung open and his youngest brother, Brandon, appeared.
“Hey, bro.” Bran was dressed in full camo, same as Chase, but a Glock 19 9 mil, modified with Bran’s custom grip, was strapped to his hip. Bringing his personal weapons was one of the advantages of flying private. For a few hundred thousand pesos, getting weapons through customs wasn’t that hard.
Chase found himself smiling. “Guess you couldn’t stand to miss all the fun.”
Bran grinned. “Never could resist crashing a party.”
Chase dropped the packs and the men leaned in to grip each other’s shoulders. “Glad you’re here, little brother,” Chase said. “The way it looks, things could get pretty dicey.” No way around it. Having his brother there was a tremendous asset. Three men instead of two—all former military, Bran and Kil both special operators—greatly increased their chances for success.
“You remember Harper,” Chase said.
Bran surprised him by leaning over and hugging her. Chase wasn’t sure how he felt about that, especially when Harper softened and hugged him back.
“Sorry about Michael,” Bran said. “We’re going to do our best to bring him home.” Bran had met Harper a few times when Chase and Michael were in college.
