Hot for His Hostage (16 page)

“Honesty.” The man behind her sounded like he’d just chomped a cyanide pill. “Have
you ever known a day of the shit in your life, Kirk?”

“And do you really want to dredge up the past now?”

“‘The past.’
That’s
what you’re calling it now?”

The general let a low snarl reverberate through the line. “I’m two minutes away from
giving those F-18’s permission to fly back in and blow your ass out of the sky.”

“But you won’t.”

“That so, dickwad?” The general snorted. “Then you’re crazier than I thought, Cam.”

“I prefer calculated risk taker, but you call it like you see it. We’ll see what the
world
says, after those jets blow a packed commercial airliner to shreds.”

Brynn, pinned against the cockpit’s entry threshold by the ninja who’d wordlessly
taken down the flight crew, let out a sharp whimper. Zoe twisted her hands together
in her lap until they burned from her tension.

“Was that really your plan, Cam? You think the upper muck gives a shit about the PR
fallout of this? You remember everything that’s at stake here, don’t you?”

Slowly, the pistol barrel slid away from her face. Zoe still didn’t let herself breathe,
unsure whether to exhale in relief or start confessing her sins before death.
Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I used a lot of bad words yesterday. Then there’s
the issue of the man who gave me two orgasms that I’ll confess, but only if you let
me remember
…

Her captor spoke again. His determined tone revealed nothing about whether to finish
her supplication.

“I remember everything, my friend,” he stated. “And that’s why I’ve left a memory
stick of very interesting information with—let’s say—a dear friend. If I don’t leave
the base within twenty-four hours with this plane full of our valuable new guests,
my friend will know to take that information to the nearest news outlet.”

A long pause preceded the general’s response. Zoe glanced at Brynn, whose thin lips
confirmed her suspicions. The man was taking a moment to seethe.

“You wouldn’t fucking
dare
.”

“Kirk.” The word was a tease in its condescension. “You know, for better or worse,
I’m a man of my word.”

The general was noisier about his fury now. There was a loud
thump
, several seconds full of static, then a harsh grate. “And if I do give you clearance,
you jizz-slurping shit?”

“My friend feeds the stick to his pet crocodile.” The guy actually laughed. “It’ll
go well with the clock, right?”

Zoe bowed her head.
Peter Pan
has always been one of her favorite fairy tales. She wasn’t so sure about that anymore.

Newport’s reaction, once more sucking up an interminable pause, gave her lots of time
to ponder the dilemma. In reality, the delay was about a minute, though it was hands
down the longest sixty seconds of her life. Her own hands were her new focus, torture-twisting
in her lap as she listened to Brynn make an attempt for normal breathing. In the meantime,
the pilot took the aircraft lower, aiming for a set of domed buildings that appeared
like a collection of buttons on the desert floor.

Newport finally clicked back on. “Sunset four-oh-three, you have clearance to land
at KXTA,” he bit out. “Groom Lake Tower will guide you in, but you must patch to them
on secured radio frequency. Dial in your radio accordingly.”

“Thank God.” Brynn’s whisper was thick and tearful. Zoe longed to echo her friend’s
outlook but was stopped by a volition from deep inside, an instinct she couldn’t explain.
The tension in Newport’s voice was only her first trigger. The weird energy flowing
off Cam the Boss Man was the second. She’d never picked up on anything like it, his
anticipation bordering on violence, creeping her out even more. His scarily serene
drawl only intensified the feeling.

“General Newport,” he drawled then, “thank you for your time. A pleasure, as always.”

“Fuck you, Stock.”

The hijacker next to her cut off the line with a low laugh. His boss joined him. Brynn
fell silent again. Zoe barely noticed any of it. Her mind was a chaos of connecting
neurons and oiled gears, revving toward the conclusion she’d been craving but now
dreaded. “
Ay Dios mio
,” she stammered.

One trigger. Two triggers. And now the third, slamming into her with the force of
a Mack truck.

Fuck you, Stock
.

The lead hijacker’s name was Stock.
Cameron Stock.

She knew that name. With horrific clarity.

As the director of
Dress Blues
, the TV show Ava had worked on as a stylist, the man had once been her sister’s well-liked
boss—until he’d colluded with the terrorist who’d almost killed Ava and Ethan
.
That radical, Ephraim Lor, had been shot and killed in their failed plot to launch
nuclear warheads at all the western states, but Stock escaped and quickly disappeared.
He’d been a ghost ever since.

Not anymore.

Not here, where he shared a triumphant fist bump with his minion as his pilot guided
the plane lower. Not now, a moment in which he indulged another disgusting laugh,
congratulating himself on a victory that had come from the fear and pain of others.

No. He wasn’t invisible anymore.

Which meant Zoe no longer had to guess where to aim her fury, frustration, and hatred.

She whirled and sprang to her feet in the same movement. As she’d hoped, the move
landed her in front of Stock. Fear almost slammed her back down but desperation and
exhaustion—likely mixed with a good shot of stupidity—re-juiced her bravery, firing
up her arm. In one whisk, she ripped Stock’s cap off his head. The stunned expression
on his square quarterback face was practically worth her risk by itself. Same went
for the weasel-like expression of his thigh-tapping minion.  

But she wanted more out of the bastard than his shock. Preferably his blood.

“
Percanta
,” she spat. “You’re dirty and disgusting, and so are all your trained monkeys.”

The weasel lunged at her but Stock shoved the guy back without a waver of his insolent
grin. “But I like monkeys. Don’t you…Miss Chestain? Hmmm. I knew another Chestain
once. Well, I didn’t
know
her, if you follow me; not that I didn’t want to. Seemed like she’d be a good fuck,
but just never—”

Zoe punched the man as hard as she could.

It felt great. She wanted more.  

Growl Man’s entrance into the cockpit only spiked her rage higher, especially at herself.
She’d practically had gooey panties over the
cabrón
. Had let herself tremble from the timbre of his voice, and practically
thanked
him for yanking her away from Stock’s flirtation. But he wasn’t some noble antihero.
It had taken the shock of putting Stock’s face to this crime to crystallize the realization.
Whatever had motivated each of these men to this act, which remained a baffling mystery,
they were still criminals—creatures crawling in the sludge just shy of terrorism.

As Ryder would say,
damn straight
. She refused to waste a moment more of her misplaced hormones on the creep. Unmasking
him would help her accomplish that better than anything else. And once she saw his
disgusting face, she’d hit it, too. Twice as hard as Stock’s.

“What the hell’s going on?” His growl was back in place, just as daunting and riveting
as ever, but Zoe only smiled because of it now. She was immune to it now. Empowered.
In control.

She stomped toward the guy. Growl Man countered by shuffling backward like she’d suddenly
contracted leprosy.

Which wasn’t supposed to happen. Nor was it supposed to make the hairs on the back
of her neck turn to spikes. What the hell?

“Boss,” he leveled, “What the fuck are you letting her—”

“Everyone calm down,” Stock ordered. “Just calm the hell down and—”

 “Have you flipped?” The man pulled on his mask like it was his virgin underwear while
snarling like the dragon who’d screwed half the maidens in the kingdom. “Put your
lids back on, both of you.”

“Okay, listen. Your cheek isn’t cute anymore. You want to help? Restrain your little
gal-pal, dickwad. We’re landing this bird in twenty minutes, dammit, and—”

Zoe cut the man off. By shrieking.

It was the closest description of the sound her throat made after she reached, uncapping
Growl Man—who shocked her by not letting out a single growl.

And stunned her even more by looking just like—

“No.”

He didn’t just look like Shane. He
was
Shane.

“
No
.”

It all made such sense now. Horrible, hideous sense. His strange behavior last night
after she’d told him her flight information. The way her body reacted to the vibrations
beneath his careful growls, knowing the sound that had pulled it to heaven last night,
even when her head didn’t. Even when her heart denied it. She’d refused to believe
the most magical lover of her life could be one of the criminals who’d taken over
this plane. Had taken hundreds of people hostage at thirty thousand feet, and nearly
gotten them all shot out of the sky.

This isn’t happening. This is your sleep-deprived mind manifesting a disgusting nightmare.
Just keep standing. Reality will kick back in soon.

She continued to blink, certain it would happen. Positive he’d become someone different.
An outlaw with bad breath, a broken nose, and crooked ear piercings. A someone without
that perfect, pleasure-giving mouth. That alluring, dominant jaw. Those thick dark
waves that felt so good between her fingers…and her thighs.

And those eyes. Oh God, his eyes.

Dark yet light. Gold and bronze. Slicing seduction…ruthless daggers.

“Zoe.” He turned her name into a ragged prayer dragged through the mud of despair.
“Zoe—”

“Don’t,” she gritted. “He’s a monster, and so are you!”

He grabbed her by both elbows. She wrenched and shoved.
Run! Run!
But where? She didn’t care. Anywhere, even a few feet away, would be better than
what she did now, curling trembling fingers into his black shirt, tighter and tighter.
What the hell
was
she doing? Even her damn hands betrayed her, reaching for the flawless muscles beneath
his clothes, seeking the sweet pleasure they’d given her last night, instead of this
awful nightmare—

Muscles that belonged to a terrorist.

Her whole body convulsed, combating the sob that tore at every fiber and muscle on
its mission to rip free. The sound burst from her, anyway.

She had to hate him now.

No. She couldn’t even do that. She had to forget him. Discard everything she knew
about him. All the jeweled memories of last night, stored in a treasure chest in her
mind and soul, and constructed just for him…she had to burn it all.

“I can’t,” she rasped. “I—I—can’t.”

Dizziness assaulted. She held Shane tighter, watching her name cross his lips again,
but couldn’t hear. Her ears buzzed like a thousand cicadas had flown in. Blackness
pushed at her vision, intensified by exhaustion, disbelief, fury, and heartache. She
batted a hand, fighting it.

Fighting…it….

The darkness descended deeper.

Her mind surrendered. Her body followed, losing all strength. She was limp, helpless,
truly part of the nightmare now.

But before she tumbled completely, she felt herself smiling. Just one inhalation brought
back the smell of the forest after a rain storm…and the perfect musk of Shane’s skin.

If life in Special Ops taught a guy anything, it was about the gap between expectations
and reality. The way you practiced the mission and the way you ran it? Usually universes
apart. Guns jammed. Eggbeaters crashed. The 4-1-1 was wrong. And sometimes, guys died.

Yeah. “Dead” sounded like a great choice right now.

He screwed his fist against his chest while glaring around the sparse, chilly room
deep inside the complex they’d landed at, condemning himself for the morosity. When
Death was a groupie in a guy’s life, clinging for a chance to get in the tour bus
and fuck everyone it could, it wasn’t a cool idea to swing open the door and issue
the bastard an invitation.

Really, idiot? Probably wasn’t a hot idea to indulge a one-night stand knowing you
were less than twelve hours away from hijacking an airplane, either—as part of the
mission you were so invested in, you agreed to six months of deep undercover work.
But you told Colton you could stay sane about this. You took the mind-fuck tests,
proved you could keep all the emotions in tidy compartments. So stop wishing to buy
the goddamn farm and get your shit back together.

Who was he kidding? This was about more than compartments falling apart. More than
just his mind staying off the mind-fuck hamster wheel anymore.

It was about Zoe. And the way he’d messed her up in bigger ways than he’d imagined.

He set aside the smart pad that had helped confirm that conclusion, hating what he’d
read in the mission files he’d pulled. The intel was a brimming bucket of corroboration
for his suspicions after her words on the plane.

He’s a monster, and so are you
.

She’d soaked every syllable in enough venom to poison ten men, making it well-known
they weren’t ramblings of transient fear. The accusation was her Biblical truth, rooted
in something deeper. Shay realized it even before she’d passed out cold in his arms.

And now, she’d been out for so long.

He didn’t count the minutes she’d roused just before they landed, though he probably
should have. He didn’t know many women who’d stir from a dead faint, sobbing while
trying to belt him, before falling under again. That had been almost an hour ago.
The nurse had come and gone three times to assure Zoe was simply wiped and dehydrated
but he remained skeptical—and stressed as fuck—about that. The combo was a perfect
stage-setter for Act Two of this ordeal.

The part where scared shitless was added to the mix.

Dammit, Zoe. I can’t let you slide under my skin anymore
.

But that was exactly where she’d burrowed.

He let out another heavy breath, staring at her against the pillows. So motionless.
An eerie stand-in for the vibrant
mariposa
he was used to.

Wake up, baby girl, and I’ll even let you punch me
.

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he slid his hand beneath hers, easily finding
her pulse with a couple of fingers. The steady but soft beat wasn’t reassuring. Could
have had something to do with the IV in her arm, along with the hydration bag that
still dripped fluid into her depleted body.

You need to get her out of this nightmare, asshole.
Alive
. And then you need to leave her the fuck alone and let her live the rest of her life
without your filthy hands all over it
.

He glided his hand up to her cheek. Goddamn, she was beautiful. Even now, so much
paler than usual, bronze light seemed woven into her skin. Her lips were still a collection
of exotic curves. Her eyelashes were thick feathers against her cheeks.

He prayed like hell for the moment she woke up.

In the same moment, he dreaded it.

She moaned softly. Her nose scrunched, making the stud in it glimmer a little. Her
brow knitted. She’d been doing that a lot. Until now, he’d successfully battled the
urge to reach and stroke her discomfort away. With his fingers so close now, he didn’t
resist anymore.

“Mmmm.” She sighed as he traced the pad of his thumb over the arches of both her brows.
When he got to the end, he reversed the caress, making her repeat the sound.
Fuck
. Even the triumph of taking a little of her pain away shot new blood into his cock.
Who the hell was he kidding? The arousal began from the moment he touched her.

Not here, trouser tanker. Not now.

Zoe blinked slowly. Winced at the bright lights. Closed her eyes again.

“It’s okay, tiny dancer.” He turned his hand over, soothing her brow with his knuckles.
“Take your time.”

God knew, they had all the time in the world. Turned out that Cameron’s “science experiment
freaks” had been moved to extra-security holding areas, probably as soon as the feds
had charted the new coordinates of the hijacked plane. The twist was a huge blessing.
It was taking Wyst a while to crack the codes into the locked-down division, where
he was pretty damn sure they’d hidden Mom’s lab, too. During the wait on the break-in,
Shay had time to ensure Zoe was okay before he rejoined Stock and the gang—and to
try and clarify himself to her, as well.

That meant giving her the truth. All of it.

Now that she was here and in
this
deep on the plot, he abhorred the idea of keeping any more secrets from her. He couldn’t
control what she did with all the facts after he pulled back the veil, but the woman
had already proven one thing to him with breathtaking certainty. Her belief in their
connection. The gift of her trust and passion, even with just minutes of validation…he’d
been humbled. He still was.

He just hoped to fuck she’d feel half the same after hearing him out…

Christ. When would this all be over?

Theoretically, it could be soon. Reuniting Stock meant he’d also be minutes from finally
finding Mom. He wouldn’t know for sure until laying actual eyes on his mother, especially
in this place. The few pages of intel Colton had procured—and it was literally a few—weren’t
verified. Not even the spooks were allowed to know what specifically happened inside
A-51, which shoved him beyond baffled as to how the fuck Cameron had finagled
his
access beyond the base’s airstrip—but sometimes curiosity and the cat really were
a shitty combination.

It was best to focus on what he
could
figure out, like the request he’d put in to fate for that giant bowl of good karma
kitty chow. Hopefully, there’d be some vittles left over for a viable exit trail out
of this place capable of handling Mom, Zoe, and everyone in her dance troupe.

Zoe pressed her head against his hand…ironically, like a kitten seeking a caress.
Shay swallowed back a groan. So much for trying to run the trouser tanker on empty.
As his dick threw the hammer down and rammed his pants, he gave in to the desire to
thread his fingers into her hair.

“Sssshhh, baby girl. Easy does it.”

The edges of her lips tilted up. He committed the look to the most special box in
his memory, knowing he’d treasure such a prize forever. “Shane…”

“Right here. I’m right here.”

“Mmmm. That feels good.”

“That’s the idea, beautiful.”

The lines formed in her forehead again. She licked her lips and emitted a soft grunt
before opening her eyes again.

Shit. She kept them open this time. Her smile widened as she recognized him, then
tilted her face toward his hand. Forget the agony in his crotch. Her stare carved
a canyon into his chest. He was able to return her smile only by stretching it over
clenched teeth.

When he’d prayed for her awakening, this was the moment he’d dreamed of. And the dread
on the flip side of that? Any moment now, its justification would come, too.

“Wh-where am I?” She gazed past him, over the gray brick walls, across the sterile
white floor, and down to the hospital-grade bed. When her scrutiny fell to the tube
in her arm, her eyes popped wide. “
Ay Dios mio
. What happened?”

Shay took her hand again. And held on with reassuring strength. He longed to soothe
the wild confusion from her darting deep blue irises. “Don’t struggle for it. Trauma
can be like that sometimes. Just breathe deep.”

“Easy for
you
to say.” Her pointed glance, referencing the fact that he was free from the tubes
and monitors, almost made him chuckle. His little sarcasm factory was back, and damn
adorable about it. “And what do you mean, trauma?”

He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. “What do you remember last?”  

“Well, I remember
you
. And us. And being together at the hotel—but then you had to leave. And I was sad.”
Her grip tightened in his, making his heart pick up speed. It snapped a missing piece
of him into place to be needed by her—but how much longer would he get to enjoy it?
“Didn’t sleep much after I talked to Ryder.” She bit her lip. “We only talked for
ten minutes, I swear.”

The canyon in his chest turned into a fucking gorge. So of course, he broadened his
smile. “I believe you.”

“The next morning, I got Brynn and El, and we got on the plane to come home. And then—”

He felt his lips dip.

Here came the nightmare.

Her fingers twisted harder. Her face contorted. “Oh,
Dios
. And then—oh, God—those men—”

She wrenched her hand away. Scrambled backward in the bed. Once she slammed against
the wall, she lifted a leg and kicked at him.

“Zoe. Calm down.”

“
You
! Oh my God, Shane. You—”

“Can explain,” he fired back. “If you’ll just—”

“You can
explain
?
Caramba
. Are you serious?” Her voice cracked as she hugged herself and kicked at him again.
The machines berated the air with beeps as she jostled her monitor leads. The IV stand
rocked, tugging at the tube in her wrist.

It was time to throw down another hammer. The one with the
D
on it. For
Dom
.

“Calm. The. Hell. Down.”

On the first syllable, he stood. On the second, he steadied the IV stand. On the third,
he wrapped an unyielding hand around her left ankle. With the last, he secured her
right.

She didn’t like it. Not one fucking bit. Her chest pumped on furious breaths. Her
eyes brimmed with tears, their oceans turned to pain-filled seas. As Shay forced her
to lie back, the muscles in her legs bunched, still fighting him.

Because there wasn’t
enough
tension in the room, the door popped open and a gentle-faced woman in a nurse’s smock
appeared. In the two seconds he had to do so, Shay pressed Zoe’s eyes closed, commanding
her to feign sleep again. Though every inch of her body was still taut beneath, she
picked up on the hint. Thank fuck.

“Hey-dee ho,” the nurse greeted.

“Justine.” Shay kept his reply cordial but brief. In the hour he’d known her, it was
glaringly clear Justine had a schoolgirl thing for the boss man and was undoubtedly
texting him updates every ten minutes. “What’s up?”

 “Is everything okey dokey?” She flashed a smile more fake than a toothpaste ad. “Miss
Chestain’s monitor board just lit up like Christmas morning.”

“Just a bad dream,” Shay supplied. “
Really
bad one. She was all over the place. I managed to calm her down.”

The answer seemed to mollify the woman. For now. “Well, let’s hope she ‘dreams’ about
waking up soon. Cameron’s made his good faith move with those government goons by
freeing all the passengers except those dancers. Last bus left about fifteen minutes
ago. That means every one of those dancers is an important hostage now. He’ll want
her back with the others as soon as possible.” With a nod, she added, “Besides, it
shows them he’s organized. Has his logistics straight.”

Shay was damn certain Justine wouldn’t know a mission logistics chart from the Periodic
Table of Elements but he shot her a grin and a thumbs-up, which satisfied her enough
to leave.

As soon as the door shut, he braced himself for Zoe’s reaction to the information
she’d just overhead. Sure enough, she bolted up like a wildcat pushed by a hurricane.
“Hostages?”

He framed her shoulders in his hands and impaled her gaze with his. Goddamn, this
wasn’t easy. All he wanted to do was get lost in those midnight irises of hers. For
her own good and his, he twined his response into a command. “You need to calm the
hell down, baby girl, or Justine will come back in and fiddle with all this shit herself.”

She sagged in his hold. Pained lines crossed her face. After she took several deep
breaths, she rasped, “Tell me. And spare the damn sugar.”

Once more, she blew his mind in a brand-new way. What the woman had been through today
would have turned most women into a quivering puddle under the table. Not Zoe. She
sat like the hospital bed was a boulder in the Kunar province, demanding the truth
without the whipped cream and cherries. And dammit, that was what she’d earned.

“You’re a smart woman, Zoe. You know by now that the second Newport knows there aren’t
any innocent lives at stake, he’s going after Stock with the intention of annihilation.”