Navy Seal To The Rescue

“No. No, no, no,” she gasped, her words breathy with terror. “You’ve got to help me.”

“As soon as you let me go.”

But instead of releasing her hold, she tried to burrow deeper.

“Lady, you grab me much harder, you’re going to be inside my skin.”

He managed to break her arm’s lock on his waist, but before he could unwrap himself, she jumped in his arms, shoving him off balance again.

Travis didn’t bother to censor his curses as he struggled to find his balance.

“What the hell is your problem?” he finally snapped, getting a firm grip on her shoulders and pushing her to arm’s length. She shook harder, her hair flying as she looked behind her then back at him.

It was the sexy blonde from earlier that afternoon, he realized. The one he’d flirted with. If this was her follow-up, it was seriously twisted.

And, based on his body’s reaction, it kinda worked.

“They’re after me. Bad men. They saw me. Police. We need the police.”

Seriously? Adjusting his weight onto his left leg, Travis rolled his eyes.

“Get a grip,” he told her.

“Dead,” she gasped, almost sobbing the words. “They killed him. He’s dead.”

“What?” Dead? His senses hitting high alert, Travis looked over her shoulder, tracking the path she’d run. He could see the furrow of her steps in the sand and the lights of Casa de Rico beyond. There was a handful of people on the beach, but they all looked to be alive. “Who do you think is dead?”

“He’s dead. They shot him. Oh, God, there was blood everywhere.” Swallowing so hard he heard the click in her throat, the woman had to take a couple of deep breaths before she could finish. “They killed Rodriguez. The chef at Casa de Rico.”

Her thick lashes were spiked with tears over eyes of a misty, sea green that might be pretty when they didn’t have that glassy sheen.

Someone down the beach shouted. She gave a short scream and jumped, turning so fast that her hair slapped him in the face.

“Is that them? They’re going to come after me. Oh, God. I need to get out of here. I have to get away.”

Her voice was so thick with panic, he could barely make out her words. He reached out to grab her when her body sagged, not surprised to feel her shaking like an earthquake. She screamed again as soon as he touched her.

“Calm the hell down,” Travis snapped. Then, seeing no other option that didn’t make him a complete jerk, he grabbed her arm.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking you somewhere safe.”

Chapter 3 (#u4eead844-2cec-51ff-b85a-378e0337fd48)

Safe.

Safe was good.

The sand seeping between her feet and sassy wedge sandals, Lila stumbled in his wake. She was glad he was holding her arm, since her knees were gooey now that the adrenaline was gone.

She blindly went along with no idea where he was taking her. Gorgeous body and a little flirting aside, she couldn’t figure out what it was about this rude man that made her feel safe, but she’d take it over the faceless guys with guns.

The image of the chef hitting the floor flashed through her mind again, the sound of his body crashing to the floor, the red spray across the walls.

She wanted to ask him to slow down, but Lila’s breath jammed in her throat, choking on the words before she could utter them. She blinked hard and tried to focus.

That’s when she realized that they’d left the beach, heading into the tall trees of the rain forest.

Where was he taking her?

Was it really safe?

Was he?

Get a grip, Lila told herself. And she needed to get it fast, before she ended up like the stupid blonde in every horror movie who went into the basement to check a noise.

“Let’s call the cops,” she said, trying to pull free of his grip on her arm. “I want the police.”

She dug her cell phone out of the pocket of her capris with her spare hand.

“Smarter to use a landline where we’re going to call the local station. But if you want, go ahead and make the call yourself.”

His easy disregard calmed a few of her nerves. Not all of them, but enough that she was able to get a better look at where they were going.

Not a neighborhood, per se. But a tidy row of thatched-roof houses, bordering a low hill leading into the forest. A pair of elderly men sat smoking in front of one house, both lifting their hands to her escort in a friendly greeting. Since neither said a word about his dragging her along by the arm, she had to wonder if this was some weird courtship ritual of his.

A weary looking woman swayed in the open doorway of one house, patting the back of the crying babe in her arms.

“Colic again?” Lila’s rescuer called out.

“Again and again,” the woman returned in a singsong voice. “We’ll be hurting too much to sleep for a little while yet.”

“I keep telling you, a shot of Jim Beam will take care of the problem.”

“Is the whiskey for him? Or is it for me?” the woman asked with a laugh.

“Whatever works.”

It was his easy humor as much as the crying baby that reassured Lila enough to have her tucking the phone back in her pocket. Either way, she’d wait for a little privacy to call the police. Privacy and, she decided with a deep, calming breath, a few minutes to get herself under control.

The man might be gruff and overwhelming, but she was pretty sure he was safe. Or, safe enough, she amended, watching the way his muscles flowed as he strode a step ahead of her. He had a slight limp, like he was favoring his right leg. She frowned, squinting at the scars crossing, bisecting and wrapping around his knee. She wasn’t an expert, but that looked fresh, to say nothing of painful.

“Slow down,” she insisted. When he frowned, she made a show of pointing to her feet. “I’m wearing heels. So unless the bad guys are actually chasing us, let’s keep it to a reasonable pace.”

He didn’t bother to hide the roll of his eyes, but he did slow his pace. Enough, she was glad to see, that he wasn’t limping as badly.

From the front, the house looked smaller than the others, barely bigger than her apartment in San Francisco. But it had impressive hardware on the door and windows, and, if she wasn’t mistaken, a state-of-the-art alarm system.