The Challenge (2 page)

Tessa looked up. Fellow agents had closed on the assassin, pinning him down. Within seconds, the command she’d been expecting came through her earpiece. “Get POTUS away.”

She grabbed the president’s upper arm. “POTUS rolling.”

Half yanking, half carrying the president, Tessa zigzagged to the limo. From the disarray of panicking citizens, scurrying police, and busy Secret Service Agents, two well-dressed dark-haired men, stepped between POTUS and the limo. In contrast to the panicky rushing of everyone else, their movements were slow, deliberate, menacing.
Trouble
.

Tessa shoved the president behind her then shouted, “Get out of the way.”

As if they’d been choreographed to move as one, Mr. Trench Coat raised his gun. Mr. Calm as Ice advanced from her right. Years of training at the firing range and thousands of hours honing her martial arts skills allowed Tessa to react automatically. She took out Mr. Trench Coat with a head shot. As Mr. Calm As Ice aimed at the president, Tessa round house kicked, and her foot connected with his shoulder. He grunted, dropped his weapon, and stumbled into her with a wild lunge that knocked her gun from her hand.

Tessa followed up with an elbow that cracked his rib. He grunted, bent over in pain, reached for a backup gun at his ankle.

“No you don’t.” Lunging forward, she slammed her knee into his face so hard his head snapped back.

A less muscular man’s neck would have broken. With another roar, he shook off her blow. He came at her again, this time more cautiously. Circling right, Tessa kept her body between him and the president.

When the guy advanced, leading with a strong right punch to her face, Tessa blocked and countered with multiple strikes to the knee and throat, softening him up before administering the death blow to the temple.

Tessa didn’t wait for his body to hit the ground before she scooped up her weapon, once again grabbing the president. POTUS’s limo squealed to a stop beside them. Tessa opened the door, shoved her charge into a prone position across the back seat.

Tessa slammed the door behind them and dived on top of her. “Go. Go. Go. Get us the hell out of here.”

The driver burned rubber, and the vehicle sped forward. Up ahead, a police siren blared. While they might not have the entire PPD, presidential protective detail, with them, at least they weren’t entirely alone, either.

Tessa released the breath she’d been holding and spoke through her microphone to the Deputy Director, reporting a break in security that left POTUS vulnerable to attack. “We don’t have the full PPD.”

“Underst—” Her radio went dead.

Oh, God
. They were cut off from command. One thought came to mind and iced her blood. POTUS was now her responsibility alone.

Tessa angled her head, peering over the seat and dash. Up front, a black and white led the way, lights on, sirens shrieking.

Behind them, a tan sedan that was not part of their detail followed. When they changed lanes, so did the sedan. “We’ve picked up a tail.”

She needed backup, but with her microphone dead, she couldn’t call her detail.
Think
.

“Madame President, do you have a cell phone?”

She shook her head. “It was in my purse. I left it on the podium.” The president picked up the car’s phone and frowned. “Dead.”

“Sabotaged,” Tessa muttered. “Madam President, please strap on your seat belt.”

Damn. Damn. Damn. Tessa didn’t need her sweaty palms and ragged nerves to tell her that the president had been purposely isolated. Made vulnerable.

“Speed up. Lose the tail,” Tessa ordered the driver.

He did the opposite, jamming on his breaks, bringing the car to a screeching halt on the highway’s shoulder.
Oh My God
! Another betrayal.

At the sudden stop, the president yelped in surprise. The car’s momentum whiplashed Tessa forward then back against the seat. Her hand smacked the door. She dropped her weapon, and it slid under the seat. Ears ringing, vision blurred, she scrambled for her gun.

Tessa’s fingers closed on her weapon, but the chauffeur had his fully drawn. Cocked. Aimed at the president.

No way could the traitor miss.

Tessa didn’t hesitate. Muscles already contracted, she dived into the direct line of fire. At the same time, she raised her gun.

Too slow.

Too late.

He might be a dream man, but he was no fantasy. He was quite the living, breathing alpha male, carrying her as if she weighed nothing. No woman in her right mind could fail to appreciate such a gorgeous specimen. Yet no human naturally possessed eyes the color of his Tupelo-honey ones, the irises ringed with fiery gold, and framed by a perfect crescent of thick black lashes. He sported a strong nose, a square jaw that suggested stubbornness, carved cheekbones of a highborn savage, and flawless bronze skin of a hue that could knock a woman flat on her heels for a second look.

His generous mouth curled with a touch of sympathy, and yet his eyes shot off hints of irritation and impatience. “Are you warm?”

Hell, no
.

She was cold, already craving a scalding cup of coffee. And naked. Naked in the strange man’s arms. In a room that resembled no hospital she’d ever seen, he laid down with her on a shimmering metallic platform.

Had she been taken hostage? Where the hell was she?

Before waking up in his arms, she’d leapt between a traitorous Secret Service Agent and POTUS. She recalled the driver’s betrayal. Was this man or his group holding the president, too?

Tessa suspected she was a prisoner, kept naked to make her feel vulnerable. Or had she somehow ended up in a sanatorium? But then where was her hospital gown? Where were her clothes and her gun? Her detail?

She tried to speak, but her dry throat only issued a weak croak.

The stranger briskly rubbed her arms, creating a friction that heated her numbed limbs. As he tended her, Tessa searched for an exit in the shimmering silver walls, floor, and ceiling, all bare of any adornments and constructed of an unrecognizable luminous gray substance that made her question her eyesight. During her years in foster homes, she’d seen some strange decor but nothing like the other-worldly walls that surrounded her.

She must be hallucinating.

But when she held up her hand that he’d finished rubbing, she clearly counted four fingers and one thumb. And the hunk was still there, watching her with those strange eyes, efficiently and briskly rubbing her other arm. Even into adulthood, she’d had nightmares of abandonment, of losing her parents and her home—but she’d never had a dream this weird.

Again, she tried to speak but managed only a soft grunt.

He picked up an odd-shaped vessel and held it to her lips. “Drink.”

She peered suspiciously at what appeared to be water. Hell, if he wanted to drug her, in her weakened state, he’d have no trouble. She parted her lips voluntarily.

Cool water slid down her parched throat. Greedily she emptied the vessel, and refreshed, her mind kept working. Where was she? What had happened to the president? Why had this stranger carried her? What was going on? Why was she so stiff? Her vocal cords so rusty?

As badly as she longed to ask questions, she followed training protocol. For fear that she might help the enemy, she didn’t ask her first questions out loud.

Think
.

Assess the situation
.

Gather information
.

She forced out words that wouldn’t betray anyone. “Who are you?”

He’d moved those large, capable hands to her icy feet. “My name is Kahn.”

Of course his voice was as rich as Tupelo honey, warm and silky, but she ignored his stunning masculinity. The hard line of his jaw, his broad shoulders and eyes that watched her with smoldering intensity.
Analyze
. He’d answered her simply, with no embellishment, almost as if he expected her to panic if he said too much. She might be frightened, but she was too well trained to let her feelings, any feelings, overrule her good sense.

She pulled her foot from the stranger’s hands, uncomfortable with the intimacy of his touch. Off kilter, she breathed deeply, but even the air didn’t smell normal here. Her body felt too heavy. Each breath took extra effort. Keeping calm was all very well, but suppose her good sense told her the correct reaction was panic?

Don’t go there
.

She tried another innocuous question. “Why are you holding me?”

“I was carrying you to the warming chamber, but you awakened on your own.”

Although the freezing cold had diminished, she still felt chilled, yearned for coffee. “I’ve never heard of a warming chamber.”

“That’s because you’re not . . . I’m from Rystan.”

“Rystan? Is that—”

“Far away? Yes.”

He lay beside her and pulled her back against his side, sharing his heat. There was nothing sexual about his contact, but she didn’t appreciate being held so closely.

Tessa wanted to roll away, detach herself from his disturbing warmth, but then he would have a much better view of her nudity than he did with her lying pressed against him. Besides, she needed his heat to throw off her chills.

Or did she? She was warmer now. And she sure as hell wasn’t going to develop Stockholm syndrome and bond with her captor. But was she a prisoner?

Her silent tactic had gained her little information, so she did the unexpected, firing a slew of questions at him, hoping he might reveal more than he intended. “What happened to the president? What is this place? Where are my clothes?”

He shot her an I’m-not-falling-for-that-trick look. “I’m supposed to give you this.” He handed her an official-looking envelope.

“What is it?”

“Your people said it would explain everything. If you have more questions after reading this, I will try to answer them.”

He sounded cooperative and supportive, but his shoulders had tensed, and he regarded her with a careful watchfulness that reminded her of Master Chen, her martial arts instructor, when he’d considered her fifth request to take her on as his student. Her perseverance had paid off, and he’d finally agreed to train the persistent and skinny kid she’d once been. Master Chen had passed on three years ago, but if he could have been with her now, he would have advised her to assess, evaluate, and plan before taking physical action.

She allowed him to prop her head with his muscle-bound arm and kept the envelope between his gaze and her bare breasts. Stomach churning, she plucked the sheet of paper from the envelope, unfolded it, and focused on the letter. Was the document a forgery? The date,
2324
, over three centuries in her future, must be a typo. When she examined the official seal at the top of the page from the desk of the President of the United States of
North America
, she almost crushed the paper with her fist and flung the hoax aside. She might not be up on politics, but there was no United States of
North America
. However, she overruled her temper and read the short note.

Dear Ms. Camen:

This letter will undoubtedly come as a shock to you, but our planet is in critical need of your services. Earth has been invited to join a galactic alliance. This union is not only propitious to our country, but possibly necessary to humanity’s continued survival. Earth desperately needs advanced technological help to clean our environment. The Federation of Planets will only accept us into their alliance if one of our species passes their “Challenge.” You are our chosen candidate and the good wishes, hopes, and prayers of all of humanity go with you.