Tempting the Fire (13 page)

His grin grew wicked. “If you find yourself in that kind of need, I can help you out—there’s no reason to be in the shower.”

She’d always hated flirting with the enemy, but she was actually enjoying the oral foreplay between her and Logan.

“How generous of you to offer,” she said lightly.

“All in the name of conservation, babe.”

Snorting, she moved off. Quickly, she gathered her clothes, took her shower, and by the time she was finished packing her rucksack, the team was ready to go. Before she forgot, she tucked her tiny texting device into her pocket—

once they found the chupacabra, she’d update Dev on their situation.

They headed out into the jungle. Logan, Dax, two men who appeared to be scientist types, and half a dozen men armed with both deadly and dart weapons.

Logan led the way, and he insisted that she follow directly behind, sandwiched between him and Dax.

“I’m not worried about you taking off,” he’d said, as he handed her a dart gun. “I just want to keep you safe.”

Like she was some delicate flower. Then again, he didn’t know she’d been trained by ACRO to near-special operations standards. Annoyingly enough, she got the feeling that even if he were aware of her background, he’d still treat her like she was a damned glass figurine.

Still, she supposed that was a good thing, because if he was protecting her, he wouldn’t be thinking about killing her.

IF SELA NEVER SAW A JUNGLE AGAIN, SHE’D DIE HAPPY.

AFTER this mission, she doubted she’d even watch Animal Planet.

The GWC team had been combing the jungle for two hours and hadn’t found so much as a footprint. Lots of mosquitoes and biting flies, but no sign of the chupacabra.

Now, as they approached the site where the SEAL team massacre had taken place, Sela’s pulse picked up. Shoving through a tangle of branches and vines, she moved out of formation without waiting for King Logan’s permission. He uttered a raw curse, but she ignored him as she knelt next to a log that had been clawed apart by something very large. All around, giant splinters of wood littered the 74

ground, and embedded deep in one was the hard outer shell from a claw.

“Oh, excellent.” She reached into her pack for pliers and a specimen bag.

Logan peered down at the six-inch-long black claw. “Nasty thing, isn’t it?”

Nasty was right. Those claws had gone through the hard wood like it was Styrofoam. The SEALs hadn’t had a chance.

“Where did you track the creature after you found Chance?” she asked, and Logan gestured to the west.

“We found the remains of a deer about two miles from here, and another mile away, we found a monkey with two holes in its throat. Drained of blood.”

Carefully, she used the pliers to work the claw from the wood. “Did you bag it?”

“It’s on ice at the camp.”

She dropped the claw into the baggie and straightened. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that sooner? I could have studied it last night.”

“You were busy last night,” he drawled, and Dax snickered.

Glaring, she dabbed sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “I hate you both.”

For some reason, that made them smile. Infants.

Logan hefted his rifle, his incredible biceps bunching and flexing beneath tan skin. “We’ll head to where we found the monkey and start tracking from there.”

“Wait.” She nodded at the clawed log. “Have you found anything else like this? Trees, branches, logs?”

“Yeah, why?”

She took in the surroundings, the sun-dappled clearing hugged by ancient, gnarled trees, crimson and yellow blooms that tipped broad-leafed plants—a deceptively beautiful setting. A man-eater had been here, and it would most likely be back. “Chupacabras are likely territorial. This one could be marking the boundaries of its territory.”

“Dax,” Logan said, “grab the map we used to log the killings. We’ll add the territorial displays and narrow down our search grid.”

Dax drew a wrinkled map from his pack and spread it on the ground. Once they’d plotted out the markings and kills, and she supplied the locations of sightings of odd creatures and livestock deaths she’d recorded, they found a distinct pattern within forty square miles.

Logan crouched on his heels with his forearms draped over his thighs and whistled, long and low. “That’s a lot of area to cover.”

“But now we won’t be wasting time searching outside of it.” Dax gave Sela a grateful grin. Idiotically, she smiled back like a damned geek happy to have the cool guy’s approval.

Logan shoved to his feet and held out his hand to her. She didn’t want to take it—at least, that’s what she told herself—but she needed to get close to him.

So she placed her palm in his, tried to ignore the spark of electricity that shot up 75

her arm at the contact.

He lifted her effortlessly, his fingers lingering on hers for longer than was appropriate as she found her footing.

“Thank you,” she said, somehow managing to speak through her constricted throat.

His eyes glittered with both amusement and hunger, as though he might laugh as he threw her down and stripped off her clothes. He leaned into her and put his mouth to her ear. “You’re welcome.”

Her knees nearly gave out at the husky murmur, and then he was moving, his stride fluid and sure, while she felt like a gangly colt as she hurried into formation.

And why the hell was it so hot in the damned jungle?

Cursing—at herself, at the plants, but mostly at Logan—she fell into step with the men. They moved quickly, stopping now and then for water, or so Sela could study tracks or territory claw marks. Some had been made by jaguars, and their weathered, smooth edges indicated that they weren’t fresh. Which made sense. With a predator like a chupacabra in the area, the big cats would probably move out.

“We’re getting close to the monkey site,” Dax said, and Logan’s steady gait instantly shifted into a stealthy prowl, and his already hard body bunched up like a coil.

His sharp gaze scanned the jungle ahead. “Last time we were here,” he said to her, “we nearly ran into a squad of FARC guerrillas. We need to be on our toes and keep quiet.”

Her heart stuttered. She knew more about the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia than she wanted to. The mission that had nearly gotten her killed had been about infiltrating one of their cells, and in a lot of ways, their brutality was on par with Itor’s. People who tortured children to get to the parents were simply beyond evil.

“Sela?” Logan’s voice made her jump, and some damned monkey or bird or something in the trees made a screeching sound that was too much like laughter.

“What?” Her voice was humiliatingly squeaky.

“You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” A curious expression flashed on his face. “You’re jumpy.”

She smiled and hoped it looked genuine. “Low blood sugar. I’m getting hungry.”

Dax slapped at a bug on the back of his neck. “It’s lunchtime anyway.”

“You always think it’s time to eat,” Logan muttered.

“What can I say,” Dax said, as he drew a brown MRE pouch from his backpack, “I love these things.”

Clearly, Dax was touched in the head, but Sela really was hungry, and one thing she’d learned over the years was that when you were on a physical mission like this, you ate whatever and whenever you could. Plus, the MREs sometimes 76

came with candy.

Hers had a bag of M&M’s.

She took a seat on a rock in the full shade of a tall, broad-leafed tree and tried not to be annoyed when Logan sat next to her. He said nothing, but then, he didn’t have to. His presence alone was a statement—he either wanted to protect her or make sure she didn’t take off.

She wasn’t sure which one she would rather it be.

The team ate in silence, the security guys and Logan never taking their eyes off the jungle surroundings. Nothing was getting past them. Hell, Logan zoomed in on every freaking insect that flew into their airspace. Alertness and confidence oozed from every pore, and even though he was sitting with one foot lazily perched on a mossy log as though he didn’t have a care in the world, she knew he was a lit fuse, ready to explode into action in a heartbeat.

She was used to being around warrior types—ACRO had its share of nonmission personnel, but even they had been trained to the limit of their mental and physical abilities so that, if needed, they could handle anything. Hell, the cooks in the cafeteria knew about a thousand ways to kill someone with common utensils, not to mention their training with various ways to make people sick—or dead—with food.

But even though Sela worked with the best of the best, Logan stood out.

There was just something … unique about him. She couldn’t put her finger on it.

She only knew that the way he moved and the way his fiercely intelligent eyes took in the world seemed too impossibly efficient, almost mechanical in nature.

All that caged power sent a shiver of appreciation through her.

“What are you staring at?” He spoke softly, his words directed at her, but he didn’t look away from the forest.

“I’m not staring.”

“Really? Because your eyes have been locked onto me for the last five minutes, and you haven’t eaten more than a few bites of your mystery meat and gravy.”

She glanced at the pouch in her lap and shooed away an oddly colorful fly.

“Maybe I’m thinking about how much I hate you.”

One corner of his sinful mouth tipped up. “Nah. You’re wondering how good I am in bed.”

That hit too close to home, and heat scorched her cheeks. “You are the most arrogant man I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something.” She eyed his spread of food. “You going to eat your Skittles?”

She expected a cocky comeback, but in a movement too fast to track, he’d lunged to his feet and trained his rifle on a dark expanse of jungle. His men followed suit, and three of the security guys peeled off, melting into the trees like shadows.

“What is it?” she whispered, as she came to her feet.

He pushed her behind him, and the blood froze in her veins at his chilling 77

reply.

“We’re being watched.”

78

Marlena was being watched. She might not be chained, but she was most definitely a prisoner in this camp, and she had the unshakable feeling that something was going down.

It hit her not long after Sela, Logan and some of the other men had geared up and taken off for the jungle. Sela had waved to her and Logan had simply nodded. When she went back to Chance’s tent after breakfast, the doctor had still been in with him, and so she’d taken that opportunity to shower.

Now dry and feeling human again, her stomach growled and she realized it was close to lunchtime. The mess tent was uncharacteristically quiet—granted, Logan had taken men with him into the jungle, but everyone left at camp seemed tense, as if anticipating something.

She ate quickly and then fixed a tray for Chance.

She wasn’t sure where to begin with him—after their initial fight last night, they’d done little more than give in to their primal urges. Several times. She’d conked out, waking every hour when staff came in to take Chance’s vitals and blood.

Now she called, “Chance, is it okay if I come in?” through the door, and heard a sharp “Sure” in response.

As she elbowed her way in, Sela’s warnings continued to echo in her ears.

Stay with Chance. Keep him calm. Don’t tell him what’s happened to him.

Chance was sitting on the edge of the cot, dressed in sweats. His restraints had slightly longer chains now and his hair was damp from a recent shower.

But it was the way he stared at her that truly made her blush.

“I, uh, wasn’t sure if you’d gotten lunch brought to you already,” she started lamely.

“I did, but I’m still starving.”

The familiar blush heated her body as she drew closer to him. She put the tray down on the table between them, which was about two feet from his cot. His restraints were long enough that they allowed him to sit at the table to eat.

He could fall in love with you.

You could be mated for life to this man.

Stop it. Dammit. It was time for Convincing, to find out about his family, to find out if he continued to remain off the radar, disappearing totally, would anyone notice?

Well, beyond the U.S. Navy, and Devlin had a way of taking care of that.

“So, have they let you call your family?”

He shook his head.

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“I’m sure they’ll be worried.”

He shrugged.

“How many people are in your family?”

He stared at her across the table, asked, “What’s with the twenty questions?” and shit, why did she suck at this with him?

Questioning and information-gathering was something she could normally do. Easily.

But with Chance, she was tripping over her tongue, while her insides did flips.

Chance, whom she’d slept with. Who didn’t hate her after.

Who turned into a chupacabra when anyone tried to touch her because she was mated to him. For life. Maybe.

Did ACRO agents hyperventilate? Because she was pretty sure she was going to. “Sorry. I didn’t mean … I’m not used to … this.”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’ll answer your questions if that’s what you need to stay calm. If that’s what it takes to keep you from freaking out about me.”

“It’s not that. Exactly.” She looked at him, was grateful that he’d taken her nervousness well. She wasn’t as forgiving of herself, but despite her screwup, it looked like she’d get the information. “Maybe a little.”

“Yeah, well, me too. And I don’t admit to being freaked out very often.” He ran his hand through his hair, longer than a typical military cut, and his eyes, the color of sea glass, raked over her with an intensity that made her squirm.

Who was she kidding—she squirmed the second she came within twenty feet of him. “So, about the family thing …”

“Well, there’s no one who’ll miss me, if that’s what you’re asking. No one to send a rescue squad, except the Navy. My closest friends were part of my team.” He looked up at the ceiling for a second. “I guess they’re watching over me now.”