Joint Forces (Wingmen Warriors 7)

"I'm telling you, if you put me in another closet and my husband wakes up without me there, he's going to flip out. He gives new meaning to the word overprotective. You won't have the chance to convince him I'm all right or bring him to me, or me to him. He'll cause a ruckus that will alert anyone who's anywhere near the house. Then there's no way you'll get that flight schedule you want."

Flight schedule?

Realization dawned through his clearing brain. She was feeding him information in case he was awake. Warning him. Damn, he loved this smart, spunky woman.

"Your best bet is to put me in that closet with him. You can tie me up. But you need to keep things level until the guy from the base comes with the finished schedule."

What the hell? She had to know that wasn't true.

Of course she did. She must be stalling. She had to be scared to death and still she stayed calm. Pride for her clenched inside him, a welcome break from the other emotions pummeling the hell out of him.

"We really shouldn't wait much longer to open the door," she continued. "Do you think he's hurt badly? I should check him. Since you're wearing that mask, I'm hoping that means you genuinely want us to live. So why not—"

"For God's sake, lady." A male voice cut through. Familiar? Tough to tell with the pain and door muffling. "Will you please just shut the hell up for a minute so I can think?"

A smile so damn incongruous with the nightmare situation tugged at him. God love his wife's ability for gab.

"Okay," their captor conceded. "You can go in the same closet. But you will be tied."

"Fine. We all want to get out of this alive. You're making—"

"Tied and gagged."

The bastard was dead.

For now, he needed to make the most of the window of opportunity Rena had bought them. J.T. slumped back onto the floor and waited.

The doorknob snicked. He closed his eyes, forced his muscles to relax.

Light flooded through his eyelids. Rustling sounded. No more talking from Rena. The son of a bitch had truly gagged her. A tic tugged at J.T.'s eye.

More rustling. The heat of another body drawing closer. Settling against him. Rena.

Tension seeped from him.

More heat, another person. "So, Sergeant," said their captor, hot breath blocking out the scents of home. "You wouldn't he faking, would you? I should probably check."

Ah crap. J.T. had one second to prep himself before—

A fist slammed into his ribs.

Pain rocketed through him. A moan slipped free, from him, from Rena, too. He forced himself to relax again in spite of the pain howling inside him.

"Guess he's still out, after all." The sounds of popping knees creaked as the man stood. "I'll be close by and checking. Often. So no tricks or stupid heroics."

The door slammed shut.

J.T. listened for the sound of retreating footsteps, his head and ribs throbbing. He blinked to adjust again, swallowing back the reflexive need to vomit. He didn't dare risk more than a whisper, and damn it all, she wouldn't be able to answer. But at least they were both alive. In the same place.

He wasn't alone in the cell this time.

"Rena? Rena, babe, I'm okay." He angled up to sit, the pain nothing in comparison to the need to comfort her. "We're okay. We're going to get out of this."

She wilted against him with a whimper.

Glancing down, he could almost make out her face in the murky closet. Best he could tell, she wasn't hurt, other than a bandanna tied tight around her mouth.

He wanted to put his arms around her so damn bad. "You did good. Real good, getting him to do what you wanted and feeding me information. I'm proud of you, babe." Understatement. "Now, here's what we're going to do. Are you listening?"