Page 11 of Hot & Heavy

"Cat Two to Cat One. Contact? Contact? Cat Two to Cat One." Cage kept saying into Ian's earphone.

When in hostile territory, real names were not used over radio lines which could be intercepted. Since this was Operation Rodent, the members of Ian's squad had named themselves Cat One, Cat Two and so on. The upper chain of command had names of well-known cats, such as Garfield and Sylvester. It was a joke among the teams that none of the flag ranks would take the name Puss, as in Puss in Boots.

When the woman moved to his legs, he whispered into his throat mike. "Cat One here. Do you read? I'm okay."

"Roger. I'm watchin' your six. Need help?"

"Not yet. Woman here. Watch for others. Alert team."

"Did you say something?" the woman shrieked, coming back to his head area.

He made a soft groaning noise to cover up. Then went back to silence.

"Bloody hell, I'd best hurry afore he wakens," the woman said in an odd accent.

Ian decided to play possum for a while to see what was up.

My cave is your cave, honey…

Madrene started to drag the man farther into the cave by his outstretched arms. He was still face-down.

"Loki's lips!" she swore under her breath. "He must weigh as much as a warhorse. Must be I am weakened by my escape… and lack of food." In the end, it took her a considerable time to pull and shove his large body, huffing and puffing the whole while.

The villain appeared to be as tall as the men in her family. Lean, but well muscled. Instead of Arab garb, an odd fabric covered his wide shoulders, narrow waist and long legs. It was a mixture of browns, green and blacks… a combination that would blend well in a wooded area. His hands were covered with fingerless gloves. In one of those hands had been a strange, molded object made of iron or some similar product; it had slipped from his fingers when she'd started tugging. Was it a club?

I should just kill him, one part of her said.

Yech! the other part countered.

It would be done in self-defense… of a sort, her hardened side argued.

Hmpfh! Killing is killing.

Mayhap I will kill him later.

Yea, later is good.

Madrene had no idea why she hesitated. She had killed in the past. She was not proud of the fact, but it had become a reality of her life after being left alone to safeguard Norstead. Fighting men needed a leader, and she'd been forced to take on that role. But usually it had been done to save her life or that of one of her hird of soldiers. She sighed with resignation. She needed to know more about this man before dispatching him to the afterworld.

Was he one of Fakhir's men, come to take her back for punishment? If so, he would merit death. Or some other man with ill intent? Then, too, he would merit death.

What a fool I am! I should have killed him outright. But she could not bring herself to do so until she discerned his intent. It was a weakness of hers, she supposed. Her father and brothers would not have hesitated.

I should turn him over and see if he has any hidden weapons. Nay, I must needs restrain him first lest he awaken. With quick efficiency, she removed the large cloth pouch with shoulder straps off the man's back. Then she tore two long strips from the hem of her robe, thus leaving it only mid-calf length.

Wrenching the man's arms behind his back, she bound his wrists tightly. She did the same for his ankles.

After that, she went outside the cave to survey the area for any of his comrades that might be lurking about. There were none. She swept the ground with a leafy branch to hide his footprints.

When she came back inside, she saw that he still lay face-down in the same spot. She rolled him over with a bare foot.

"Eeeeek!" she screamed. It was a monster she had captured. Not only was his face black, with only his eyelids and lips showing white, but there was an appendage coming out of his ear and around his face to rest in front of his mouth, like a grasshopper. A man-beast, that was what he must be. A troll. She had heard of such in the sagas spun by the skalds of old, but never believed in them. Till now.

Bending over, she touched a fingertip to his cheek and saw that some of the black came off. Ahhh. Face paint, like the Scottish warriors wear when going into battle. So, this must be a soldier of some sort. A troll-soldier. Hmmmm.

Just then, his eyes shot wide open, which made his appearance even more bizarre, with the whites of his eyes surrounded by all that black. He tried to lurch upward but soon realized that he was restrained hand and foot.

She jumped backward, just in case.