Private Maneuvers (Wingmen Warriors 4)

Now that the initial crisis had faded, his eyes took in Darcy sprawled on her side. And there was plenty of her to see.

Sweet mercy and The Doors, the woman was so hot she could make a man forget how to swim. "Take a second to catch your breath."

While he found his.

Her matching panties and ribbed tank top, some kind of pale-orange color with flowers patterned over every enticing inch, weren't the garb he found on most sharpshooters. But the dichotomy added a sexy edge to Darcy's vibrancy. Sure he'd scoped out her legs earlier, but the whole bedroom setup with her br**sts full and unrestrained against the ribbed shirt sent his every molecule of testosterone to full chemical boil.

Not that he imagined she would want the growing crowd, or even him, checking her out right now.

Max nudged his gun under the bed and out of sight as he reached over her shoulder to drag the spread off the mattress. His bare chest brushed her damned near bare one. No lingering there, chump. Especially not with the group of gawkers standing behind them and Darcy's pupils still dilated with fear.

Adrenaline and anger pulsed overtime even as he told himself she would be fine. One cranky brown snake wouldn't bring down this woman who didn't have a wilting-flower cell in her body.

He wrapped the blanket around her, tucking her orange underwear out of sight. "Here you go."

Later he would think about why the hell it was so important to shield her from everyone's eyes but his own.

"Thanks, Max." Darcy's grip whitened on the blanket, her breaths ragged but her voice steady. "For the blanket and for taking care of Sly over there."

"My part was small." He clenched his hands to stop from stroking her back, offering some kind of comfort. "You were holding your own just fine."

"Whatever."

From the parking lot, a shout for people to get the hell out of the way sounded just before Crusty shoved into the room. He screeched to a halt by the snake.

"Holy crap." Shoving a hand through a major case of bed head, Daniel Baker whistled long and slow. "Remind me to request you as my wingman next time I'm flying combat."

She laughed, her voice thin and too tight. "Maybe I'll let you be my wingman, Baker."

"Dream on." He scratched a hand along the shoulder of his inside-out shirt. "Are you okay, co?"

"She's fine now." Max's hand curved around her shoulder. Crusty's gaze fell right down to Max's possessive grip. Yeah, he was staking sunflower-seed rights. If he was wrong for Darcy, then the dark-ops tester dude in front of him wasn't any better for her.

Darcy angled to peek around Max. "Anybody see Doc Clark out there in the hall? I've got a little problem."

Her lighthearted grin betrayed by her chalky face, she swept aside the corner of the spread to reveal three sets of puncture wounds climbing up her ankle to her knee.

She adjusted her hold on the blanket, the Band-Aid from her spider bite earlier setting off alarms in Max's head.

Two accidental attacks in one day.

Suspicion coiled into certainty in Max's gut. He'd learned fast not to believe in coincidence. Too often coincidence translated to a threat still in hiding. And for some unknown reason, Darcy was the target.

Chapter 6

"There are no coincidences in this business." Kneeling to check the door lock for jimmied scratch marks, Max spoke over his shoulder to Lurch—known to the rest of the world as Captain Rick DeMassi. "Rule number three for undercover work, right, Perry?"

"You got it, boss." Perry swept his hand along picture frames searching for bugs—the electrical, listening kind this time.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," DeMassi chanted. The Special Operations pararescueman assigned to oversee physical safety reached up into the light fixture to feel for openings. Hopefully, the guy would never have to serve in his primary capacity for this mission—dragging someone out of the water if the op turned sour. "But I'm telling you, I was watchin' the place, keeping an eye out for Renshaw, too, like you... requested. Easy enough since you're two doors down. I'm telling you, no one went in or out from eight until now."

The CIA hadn't spared any expense in tapping the best resources of the joint services Special Operations Forces.

As much as Max chafed at accounting to others, he had to admit DeMassi seemed to know his job. The guy managed inconspicuous well, especially for an oversize New York-Italian in Guam.

Max skimmed a finger along the hinges of the door to the next room, but no fresh wood showed to indicate the hinges had been taken off and replaced. "Then somehow it came in earlier."

Darcy had been locked in tight and alone with the snake lying in wait. Frustrated anger spiked. He needed the reassurance that he could hold someone accountable, nail that person to the wall and make damned certain no more coincidences happened on his watch. "Perry, check the housecleaning roster. I want to know who serviced this room today."