Under Fire (Elite Force 3)
He checked his rearview mirror—complete with three lacy garters dangling a reminder of past mistakes—and waited for a dude on a motorcycle to pass. He backed out, then forward, steering onto the main roadway and into the flow of traffic. Cars spewed through the base front gate and into the civilian world as the workday ended. Rain hammered his windshield, but he slid the window open anyhow and just rolled up his sleeves. His musty clothes carried a special kind of funk. Right now, he needed that hot tub, a longneck, and solitude to nurse his aching body.
Alone.
Yeah, that one word summed up his social life these days, but better that than wrecking another woman’s life. Elbow hanging out the window, he cleared the front gate. Palm trees lined the road, ocean just beyond. Salty wind spiraled through, whipping around his ripe musty scent mixed with something else.
His nose twitched. He breathed deeper and smelled…
A wet dog?
What the hell?
His ears tuned in tighter and he picked up the whisper of shallow breathing. Human sounding. Not his own.
His brain shouted an alert.
He had an extra passenger.
Instincts ramped into overdrive. He was trained in rescue, medical aid…
And combat.
He tucked one hand into his duffel, closing around the cool comfort of his Desert Eagle semiautomatic handgun as he worked to smoothly swerve the Jeep around traffic, over into the far lane. Close to the shoulder, without giving away his intent. Just three seconds. He only needed three… two… one.
Liam whipped the Jeep off the road and turned around in a flash. Gun level, he pointed it directly at—
What the fuck?
Rachel Flores?
The woman he’d half fallen in love with six months ago, the bombshell brunette he still thought about nearly every day, was huddled in the back of the Jeep with one arm around her black Lab. Her brown eyes stared back at him, dark as undiluted coffee and just as potent. Except they held terror, which was so unlike the fearless firecracker he’d met who’d climbed on piles of shifting rubble with her search and rescue canine. She was so tenacious in her work he’d often lost perspective on how short—hell, how delicate—she really was. Every cell in his body screamed to haul her over the seat and into his arms, to soak in the feel of her. The draw to her now was every bit as much of a slam in the gut as it had been when he first saw her.
Not that she’d felt the same, which still stung more than it should for someone he’d known for all of three weeks, six months ago. So why was she here? Hiding? Her damp hair was a tangled mess, trailing down her shoulders and onto her dog until they almost seemed connected. Disco growled low in his throat.
Liam pulled the handgun back slowly, pointing it toward the canvas roof. And still the fear didn’t leave her eyes.
“Rachel?” He tucked his Desert Eagle semiautomatic back into his gear. “Holy crap, woman. I could have killed you.”
“But you didn’t.” She exhaled slowly before leaning to whisper something in her dog’s ear. Disco quieted, even if his muscles flexed with tension under his sleek coat.
Liam shoved the bag to the floor and extended a hand to her. “Come up front and tell me why the hell you’re holed up inside my Jeep.”
“I would rather stay back here while you drive.”
This was getting weirder by the second. An SUV sped past, sluicing a wall of water against the side of his Jeep. She flinched at the sound and away from his hand. Again, so unlike the charge-ahead Rachel he’d known before.
Something was wrong. Seriously wrong. The fear in her eyes intensified, reaching out to him and pushing back his own frustrations over being ignored, which was worse than being dumped.
“Are you in trouble with the law?” Not that he could fathom her doing anything illegal. His mind sifted through other possibilities as he resisted the impulse to smooth back her hair, comfort her somehow. “Is there a guy harassing you? An ex-boyfriend? A stalker?”
Now that sent his protective instincts pumping into an overdrive that rivaled anything her growling dog had going on. His hand gravitated toward his duffel.
She shook her head. “I’ll explain everything while you drive. Please. Let’s get back on the road and to your house.”
A VW whined past, honking. Rachel huddled lower, her face paling under her honey tan complexion. He’d seen that look before on soldiers in the field—shell shock. She was right about needing to get to his house. He stood a better chance at being able to take care of her there.
“Fine, then. I’ll drive and you can talk.” He accelerated, wedging back into beach traffic. “How about you fill me in on what’s going on here? You’ve gotta know you’re worrying the hell out of me.”
Windshield wipers slapped away sheeting rain again and again until he wondered if she was going to stay silent the whole way back. He glanced up into the rearview mirror. Her eyes met his, and damned if the air didn’t crackle as if lightning had zapped his Jeep. The tug he felt to this woman hadn’t dimmed one bit.