"That feels like some form of a drug called Zenith. My blood vessels are expanding rapidly. My body's going hot and flooding with adrenaline. You get the same reaction from Zenith." There was accusation in his voice. "I had no idea there was a topical form. Before it was banned, it was given via injections."
She slapped another medicated patch over the entry wound. "It's second-generation Zenith. Definitely not going to kill you, so mellow out."
The suspicion didn't ease, she could tell by his eyes, but he turned back toward the enemy. There was nothing he could do either way, the patches had been applied, the Zenith was in his system, and so he turned with a casual shrug of his shoulders, making her admire him all the more.
"How would you know about Zenith if you don't know Dr. Whitney?"
"I didn't say I wasn't acquainted with the man. You never asked me."
Thorn slipped into place beside him, lying on her belly, her eyes watching the enemy force fan out and disappear into the brush. "Military. Trained. I think we're looking at an elite force." She assessed the enemy.
"My team is just minutes out," he reiterated with confidence. "Keep your head down."
She sent him one dark look of pure reprimand. She'd already given away too many secrets, but then--so had he. She respected him for that. He'd taken his job of protecting her quite seriously, even when he saw she could handle herself. And he hadn't tried to relegate her to the background as so many other men would have. He treated her as an equal. He hadn't fought the Zenith patches and he knew the first generation eventually killed its host if one wasn't administered the antidote within the prescribed time frame. That told her he was very seasoned and completely confident in his abilities. She may have underestimated him just a little.
Sam grinned at her, that quick, cocky smile sending shock waves through her. She'd never reacted to a man in the way she was reacting to him. One flash of his white teeth, those dark eyes warming with a teasing light, and her body overheated, her blood rushing through her veins with more exhilaration than she'd ever felt. Sam Johnson made her feel alive.
She'd been in countless perilous situations--it was the very nature of her business--and she'd never encountered such a physical and emotional reaction to anyone. "You're a dangerous man, Sam," she accused.
His grin widened into a mischievous smirk. "You have no idea just how dangerous, Ms. Yoshiie."
That grin promised all sorts of things that had nothing to do with enemy warfare and everything to do with male versus female. Why would that softly whispered taunt turn her into pure melted heat? There was something turbulent and stormy and so seductive in his eyes, so appealing to a woman with her nature.
They were surrounded by an unknown enemy force, and yet the man beside her seemed to turn the experience into an exhilarating roller coaster of emotions. She'd never felt so feminine as she did now, there with her guns and knives and bow and arrows, lying beside Sam in the rotting vegetation and brush. And damn it all, she loved that he was dangerous.
They began moving in unison, as if dancing, using elbows and toes to take them over the uneven terrain, two lizards propelling themselves forward soundlessly. Not even the whisper of clothing gave them away as they crab-walked their way closer to the enemy. On the right the sound of the Jeep's engine suddenly died and a voice called out in Spanish. Another answered in the same language. As if pulled by strings, they looked at one another, both puzzled. Thorn couldn't believe how in tune they were. Why would mercenaries be in one Jeep and Mexicans in a second along with obviously military-trained Iranian soldiers hunting them?
You really are very popular, aren't you? Thorn asked him, a teasing note creeping into her voice. She slipped her knife out of the scabbard and turned toward a sound in front and to the left of her. Someone was near--too near.
Sam laid a restraining hand on her arm. Bloodthirsty woman. Leave them be. The cavalry is in the air and we want to be able to track them back to whoever sent them. Someone has to be left alive.
That's a lot of someones to be left alive when they're determined to kidnap my brother.
What she should have said was to quit touching her. No one touched her--not without her permission--and she wouldn't give it if they did ask. Sounds increased all around them. They weren't going to have much choice soon. The soldiers moving toward them weren't from the Jeep. These were men who knew what they were doing in the forest. They came in formation, fanned out, covering ground, armed and ready for anything. They were moving swiftly as if they knew they only had minutes to find their quarry.
We're nearly in the open. We won't stand a chance like this. Her hand slipped once again to her gun. She was good in close combat, but there were too many to take down that way. It would have to be loud and that would draw fire. She could smell the coppery flavor of blood, but there was no scent of fear coming off of Sam.
Trust me. I know that's hard when you don't know me, but if you trust me, we'll be fine.
Her heart thudded. The closest she came to trust was her father--maybe Daiki and Eiji--but even then, she preferred to rely on herself. She protected them, not the other way around. She swallowed the edge of fear--not from the enemy but from her own strange feelings. In the end, if they tried to take her prisoner, she'd kill as many as she could before they killed her. For one long moment she stared into those dark, fathomless eyes, letting him know silently her intentions. He didn't flinch away but seemed to understand she had no intention of being taken alive. She would never be a prisoner again. Her nod was nearly imperceptible, but he caught it.
He wrapped his arms around her and turned, pushing her smaller body deep into a depression in the ground beneath a fallen tree. His body on top of hers obliterated everything, so that there was nothing but him in her world. He went completely still, his skin color changing subtly. He was wearing jeans and a loose shirt, a casual, almost elegant look on his muscular frame, his good looks drawing attention from the fact that the clothing reflected his surroundings so that he faded into the background. In an environment such as this one, his clothing was another tool of combat.
The soldiers were around them now, two on either side. The trunk of the tree shuddered as one booted foot stepped atop it. She didn't move a muscle. Above her, Sam's body seemed completely relaxed, although she felt the coiled tension in him, much like a snake ready for action. He might give the appearance of relaxed indolence, but he could easily explode into action.
Relax.
They are the enemy. But it wasn't the enemy that had her tense. She was feeling things she shouldn't. For him. Her awareness was frightening. She felt every breath he took, every beat of his heart, the bunching of his stomach muscles. She could almost feel the blood running hot in his veins.
He wouldn't understand. How could he? She'd read his file. He hadn't had it easy, but he still wouldn't understand the demons running her. Her father had worked hard to rid her of them. Demons had no place in a samurai warrior. She admired both Daiki and Eiji. They had overcome their daunting pasts to replace rage with serenity. She had failed to wipe out that terrible anger completely. At the most inconvenient times--like now--anger exploded to the surface.
A dark, black cloud settled over her, and Dr. Whitney with his inhuman, reptilian features stared coldly and dispassionately down at her with absolute, utter distaste. He could take apart a child, dissecting them as he would an insect without so much as noticing they were still alive and suffering--she ought to know, she still had all the scars.
Her heart nearly stopped when Sam's mouth skimmed, featherlight, across her forehead. She was certain it wasn't just warm breath, but the actual touch of his lips. Accident or not, it set her blood rushing hotly. An insect crawled over her hand and she controlled the itch that ran up her skin, but it was impossible to control deep inside where something totally unknown to her--something feminine and all woman--reached for him.
She held her breath, certain in the knowledge that a great storm was coming in her life and that t
his man was at the center of it. Her fingers dug into the muscle of his arms inadvertently as if she needed to hold on to the only thing solid when everything else around her was spinning out of her control. She'd been waiting all of her life for revenge--or justice; either would work, but now she thought perhaps she'd been completely off course. This was what she'd been waiting for--this moment, this man--and he was about to turn her life upside down.
The soldier stepped with both boots onto the tree trunk, rocking it. She felt the pinch across her back, but didn't wince, didn't make a move or sound. She kept her eyes wide-open, observing Sam. His skin was discolored, fading into the leaves and branches scattered thick over the ground. She felt the small movement of his arm, so slow, inch by slow inch so as not to disturb a single leaf. His eyes, those beautiful dark eyes, changed subtly--became almost hypnotic so that she couldn't look away even if she tried.
The soldier stepped down onto the ground a scant inch from where Sam's arm rested against the trunk of the fallen tree. He curled his fingers, his eyes still staring into hers and brushed, ever so gently, against the camo-clad leg as the man took another step. She felt the movements of his arm--an easy uncoiling of the snake before it struck, featherlight and very gentle.
The soldier took three more steps and staggered. He called out in Farsi. Abruptly, to their right and left, two more soldiers rushed to his aid. The one Sam touched sank to the ground, his hand trembling, trying to hold on to his leg--the leg she knew Sam had brushed so casually. What had he done? There had been no sound. No change of expression, but he'd touched that man in that exact spot, she'd felt that subtle movement. What was different about his eyes? She swallowed and continued staring into those mesmerizing eyes, half incapable of looking away and half trying to understand what was happening.
The two other soldiers took positions on either side of their fallen comrade, the nearest one with his leg inches from Sam's arm. Again, she felt that slow, stealthy movement. She knew she should have let go of his arm, but she kept her fingers positioned against his strange-colored skin. Sam wasn't finished. Whatever he'd done to the first soldier, he intended to do to another, and she was determined to unlock his secrets.
Sam didn't blink, his eyes shimmering with a fire deep under all that dark cover. His muscles bunched and rippled. His expression didn't change. His gaze didn't shift. He could have been lying in the grass studying the open sky. She knew his heart rate hadn't changed at all because she felt each beat. His breathing was slow and steady. The man should have ice water in his veins, but even that wasn't true--she felt the heat of his body.
Thorn couldn't prevent the rising admiration for this man. He was truly dangerous and she wanted to uncover his every secret. That file had meant nothing but data to her. This was a man Dr. Whitney deemed useless to him and yet he could teleport and he had another unseen weapon she was determined to ferret out. Had Whitney miscalculated Sam's psychic abilities as he'd done hers? She knew Sam had been altered genetically, his DNA manipulated, but there was little information on Sam beyond his ties to General Ranier.
The soldiers spoke in hushed tones. She translated in her mind, unsure if Sam knew the language or not.
"Something bit me. A snake perhaps. My leg's on fire and my heart's beating too fast."
Great drops of sweat ran down the soldier's body, covering his clothes with damp, dark splotches. Thorn smelled fear. In the distance, the sound of a helicopter moving toward them grew in volume.
Again she interpreted the soldier's conversation in Farsi. "We have to go now. Get back to the clearing."
"I can't walk."
"We'll help you. We have to hurry." The answer was gruff, as if the soldiers had turned their heads away from their fallen comrade, toward the ominous sound of the helicopter.
She felt the muscles ripple ever so slightly in Sam's arm, the most gentle of flexes. His arm moved with that same infinite slowness, brushing so lightly that she heard the whisper against the material of the soldier's fatigues, just along his calf. Again, his arm moved back with that same unhurried motion to the ground. So, he understood Farsi as well. And he was about to strike at the soldiers.
His eyes glowed with a fiery red bursting like angry starlight through a dark sky. His face never changed expression. He seemed . . . relaxed. She was trained in warfare, skilled in so many arts, and yet tension coiled in her so close to the enemy in preparation for battle. They were virtually hiding in plain sight a scant foot from the soldiers and Sam was clearly attacking them, yet his body was without anxiety or stress of any kind. He was--magnificent. Dr. Whitney was a fool to call this man expendable.
She felt that brush, so exquisitely delivered, that same unhurried featherlight bite of . . . what? Death? Poison? If so, how did he administer it? Did he carry a syringe? She was adept at passing an enemy and dispensing of them with no more than the small stinging bite of an insect, yet this was different. The soldier gripped his fallen companion and with the aid of his friend, the two set out at a fast pace toward the clearing where transport waited impatiently.
The second soldier stumbled. This man had taken at least three running steps, perhaps four, before he felt the fire of the attack. He grunted, dropped the now incapacitated soldier, and sat abruptly clutching his calf. "I was bitten too. I felt it. I feel it. Like fire creeping up my leg."
The third soldier looked warily around the ground, his semiautomatic pushed forward, finger on the trigger, his eyes scanning sharply. Thorn realized Sam had known all along it was a possibility the one he couldn't reach might get trigger happy and spray the ground. He had virtually covered her body with his, tucking beneath the added safety of the tree trunk. Still, he remained perfectly relaxed, his eyes smiling down into hers. The soldier backed away from the two fallen men slowly.
"Send Martinez for these two. They can't make it back," he ordered in Farsi into his radio.
He turned and sprinted away from the two fallen soldiers, racing through the trees to reach the helicopter. Sam rolled away from her.
Now you've got a few minutes to interrogate them. Make it quick. They won't live long.
He was up fast, moving with his blurring speed to kick away the guns. The only way she could tell that he was weak was the slight tremor of his hand as he wiped it over his face. In spite of the application of the topical form of Zenith, promoting fast healing, the blood loss, coupled with the tremendous drain on him from using teleportation, had sapped his energy. In spite of it, he was a soldier through and through, refusing to give in to pain or exhaustion while there was still more to be done.
Thorn slipped from beneath the log and brushed at the insects, casually flicking them off her clothes as she took two steps toward the soldiers. The capricious wind shifted and she caught the smell of sweat. Sam!
She didn't hesitate, launching her body at Sam. He caught her in midair, drawing her in, wrapping strong arms around her as he dove back and away from the two fallen soldiers. They hit the ground, Sam rolling under her to protect her. She heard him grunt, the air leaving his lungs in a rush. Angry bullets spat all around them, kicking up leaves, dirt, and splinters. Sam rolled fast, taking her into the area densest with trees.
The moment he let her go, she crawled behind the thickest trunk she could find, making herself small.
We have to move. Follow the coordinates in my head. I know you can teleport. Don't argue with me, just do it.
Sam's voice carried an absolute authority she normally would have taken exception to, but sanity and self-preservation overruled pride. He pushed the coordinates into her head and she recognized the spot he gave her. She didn't hesitate, moving with that gut-wrenching, sickening speed that took her breath and burned her body so that the moment she was once again still, she always had to mentally check herself to assure every piece had arrived safely.
Thorn had the presence of mind to hold completely still, unmoving, waiting for him to arrive beside her. She guessed that would place his body between her and any
danger, but she didn't dive for cover, afraid of interfering with Sam's successful arrival. She felt the wash of unbelievably strong psychic energy, the surge so powerful it shook her. Heat burst around her as Sam's body shimmered, nearly transparent, looking like ash more than human, and then he was there, real and solid, his hand settling around her arm to push her toward cover.
The helicopter with the Iranian soldiers had already taken to the air, rocketing fast across the sky, a second helicopter in hot pursuit. The sound of gunfire was loud, bursts of fire streaming between the two mechanical birds.
Sam and Thorn slipped into the dense brush and hugged the ground. It was a little ironic that they'd spent most of their time together in such close proximity. He probably knew her body much more intimately than anyone she'd grown up around--and she knew his. She sent him another grin, her eyes lighting with mischief. She couldn't help it. He made her feel so alive, every nerve ending lighting up and aware.
You alive, Sam?
The voice startled Thorn. She heard it clearly and knew she was still linked to Sam. She knew he'd leave her mind, all that strength and warmth gone to leave her absolutely, utterly alone. She'd never realized she'd felt alone. She loved her adopted father and brothers. They weren't terribly demonstrative--but neither was she. Still, there was no way for them to understand just how truly different she really was. She didn't belong anywhere. She never felt entirely comfortable with anyone until she found herself fighting beside Sam.
Strangely, she seemed to know what he was going to do and she trusted that he'd get it done. He seemed to afford her the same trust. She'd always been a puzzle to everyone around her and even to herself, but with Sam, he'd put all the pieces together, using parts of himself, and they just fit together. She took a breath and saw him look at her--a look of regret. And then he was gone and for one terrible moment, it was unbearable to be Thorn again.
Her entire body shuddered, as if the mental leaving was also physical. Biting ice cold swept through her veins so that she had to grind her teeth to keep them from chattering. The scars on her body and in her mind banded tight, robbing her of breath and reason--but only for a brief moment. She was Thorn. No one, nothing was going to defeat her. She took a breath and looked away from warmth and happiness. Bleak cold settled over her once again.