Code Name: Blondie

“Let’s just say that you wouldn’t have felt your fingers in a few seconds.”

She fought a shudder as he carried the centipede up the stairs. “Aren’t you going to kill it…or something?”

“Why? This is its home. We’re the intruders here. I’ll put it where it won’t bother us.”

Miki stared at him. It was poisonous and he wasn’t going to kill it? That was either religious or downright weird. Just when she thought she had a handle on the guy, he threw her a curve ball. On the other hand, he could be faking. She’d noticed that men did that a lot.

He turned around, disappearing up the steps, the centipede in his gloved hand. Suddenly escape was all she could think about. She couldn’t stand the thought of the dark, cramped space or the poisonous bugs hidden in the dirt or waiting on the walls. She began to sweat, panicking. She needed open sky and fresh air around her. She needed time to think, away from constant observation.

Even though she was surrounded by water and there had been no sign of passing boats anywhere, she had to try. The sooner she got away, the sooner she could find help for Dutch.

She waited until there was no sound from the open door, then crept up the steps. Sunlight spilled over the long curve of the beach, and she saw the glint of the open sea. The Jerk was standing about twenty feet away, giving something to the dog.

Miki ran for the line of boulders at the top of the beach.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IT WAS GOING TO BE CLOSE.

Panting, Miki dug her feet into the sand, throwing all her strength forward as she ran. She was only eight feet from the first of the rocks, and once she was out of sight, she would sprint for the dense trees at the top of the hill.

Her heart pounded, and sand flew in her face. She squinted, afraid to take her eyes off the tree line as she ran.

Something cut across her path—the big gold Lab.

She turned sharply, sprinting for a different opening in the rocks, its shadows three feet closer. There was no noise except the thunder of her heart and the slap of her feet.

But then a low whine filled her ears as her pulse hammered and sweat trickled down her back. Dimly she realized the sound came from the sky overhead.

Silver wings glinted, breaking through a wall of clouds. Miki looked up and screamed, jumping wildly and waving her arms at the plane.

A moment later she was tackled from behind, driven facedown into the sand. She wheezed as a powerful body dropped flat on top of her and a hand gripped her mouth.

“Stop moving,” Max hissed, his mouth to her ear.

Like hell she would.

Her fists flashed, pummeling his shoulders while she kicked wildly. But there was no way to shift his powerful body. As the drum of the engine grew louder, she fought to break free, but he kept her pinned beneath him while she sputtered curses beneath his gloved hand. The thunder of her heart was so loud that she barely heard the airplane drone off into the distance.

Tears burned. There was no way anyone would see her now. There was no hope of escape.

Caught between fury and crushing disappointment, she jammed her elbow upward, aiming for his neck, pleased to hear him give a tiny grunt, but she might as well have tried to dislodge a Sherman tank with a flyswatter.

His thighs opened. He wrapped one foot around her ankles and their bodies ground together intimately. He was stronger than she’d realized, stronger than any man she knew, and she was his captive with no way to escape and nowhere to go even if she succeeded.

Miki’s face flamed at the pressure of his thigh wedged against hers. She jammed her other elbow upward, fighting blindly. This time he didn’t grunt or show any sign of contact. What kind of man was he? A direct blow like that should have hurt him somewhere.

As she struggled, she had a glimpse of his face, cold and determined above her. The smooth surface of his leather glove traced her flushed skin.

His fingers opened at her jaw, tightened.

He was going to choke her. She twisted as she felt his hands tighten on her neck. He seemed to search her skin carefully, pressing a spot at her ear.

White lights burst behind her eyes and Miki felt the world drain away to black around her.

THE FREAKING WOMAN HAD done it now, Max thought. If Cruz had spotters in that plane they’d be down on this beach in minutes.

He’d had no choice but to knock her out while he tackled damage control. His eyes narrowed as he swept both sides of the beach. There was no sign of a response yet. No energy signatures that matched Cruz’s.

Max swept her limp body over one shoulder and sprinted for the bunker. After dumping her on a cot, he grabbed a wide palm leaf and worked his way back along the sand, methodically wiping away all their footprints.

He tapped his leg, summoned Truman and swept away the dog’s prints, too. With the beach clean, Max studied the sky to the west. There was no further sign of air traffic, nor any movement at sea, and he hoped it would stay that way. He would have to face Cruz soon, but first he needed more information about the fortifications on the nearby island.

Max brushed the sand around the door, and as a final precaution, scattered twigs and torn palm leaves randomly throughout the area. When he finished, untrained eyes would have sworn they were standing on pristine beach.

But Cruz didn’t have untrained eyes. He had been the first and very best at reading energy trails, and his skills had grown stronger since his escape from Foxfire custody.

Max had to assume they had been spotted by the plane, their hiding place blown. Once he was back underground he slung Blondie over his shoulder, grabbed a pack with extra supplies, pressed a spot in the wall and watched the cement slowly part to reveal a hidden tunnel.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Max scrambled up the hillside beneath a cover of trees. He’d left Blondie unconscious and secured out of sight in a nearby cave, then retrieved his gear and set up an alternate camp at a spot overlooking the beach. Now he was in the process of carrying Dutch to safety, with Truman walking point. The Lab stopped every few moments, head raised to sniff the air, his eyes on the horizon, but so far there had been no alerts to indicate danger.

Max’s shoulder felt the first hint of strain from five trips up and down to the beach, but beyond that he’d barely broken a sweat. Good genes, as Wolfe Houston liked to say with a wry smile.

As he climbed the rim of a rocky slope, Max heard a low vibration behind him. Truman had already stopped, his ears raised, studying the clouds to the south. Racing back, the dog bumped Max’s leg.

Danger alert.

A small seaplane appeared, no more than a smudge against the racing clouds. Truman looked up at Max, as if asking for orders.

“Out of sight ASAP, buddy. Double-time it.” Max sprinted up the steep slope, careful to stay under cover of scattered trees. As the motors droned closer, he calculated the distance to the cave.

He wasn’t going to make it. Carefully, he lowered Dutch to the ground, hidden beneath an overhanging bush.

“What’s—wrong?” The pilot roused, his voice cracking. “Have to land. Strict…orders. No time.”

“It’s okay, pal. Take it easy.”

But the pilot had already slipped back into unconsciousness. Max made certain he was out of sight, then turned to gauge the distance to the hidden cave.

Something prickled at his neck. A weight seemed to fall without warning, pinning him to the ground.

Cruz. Foxfire’s ex-leader could distort and project any kind of energy until Miami Beach looked like Nome, Alaska. If he didn’t know better, Max would have sworn he was being crushed by a chunk of that plane overhead. With focused concentration, Max cut through his sudden immobility and sprinted up the hill, Truman inches behind him. Even at top speed it was going to be damned close.

The prickling at his neck grew into a sharp stabbing, and Max had no more doubts: it had to be Cruz carrying out an energy scan from the approaching plane.

A cloud covered the sea, casting a shadow over the slope. Truman brushed past Max’s leg and turned, very still, face to the sky as the wind riffled his hair. The dog’s tail flattened to a rigid line.

“Take cover, Truman.” Max snapped the order, aware that precious seconds were passing. He brushed his collarbone, pressing an implant in the bone to set off a localized energy disturbance, but he knew the field wouldn’t last long—or possibly not at all, if Cruz’s skills had grown sharp enough to see through this recent Foxfire innovation.