“I wouldn’t shoot you, Alexa.” Without a smile, he shrugged. “At least not here. Too loud.”
“Tell me about Kate. What’s she to you?” When he looked as if he would object, she reasoned, “I’m risking my neck for her. You owe me an explanation.”
“You’re risking your life because it’s the right thing to do,” he argued. Anger flared in his eyes. “What’s between me and Kate shouldn’t matter. And it’s none of your business. Wake me for my watch.”
With effort and a groan, he rolled over and turned his back on her, leaving her with pent-up sexual tension and unanswered questions. She grabbed her weapon and found a spot to stand watch. Kinkaid’s feelings for Kate mattered to her. She wasn’t sure why—but they did.
And that left her wondering—what the hell was wrong with her?
Beyond the canyon, Abdul Kabir Sayed crouched in the dirt and glared into the dark heavens, unable to sleep. He was still seething from what had happened. Only four of his men had survived the attack on the terrorist camp. And they had left gear and supplies behind. His handler would have to provide him a name, someone local who could give him safe haven and replenish what he had lost.
After the humiliation he had suffered, that would not be easy.
The other men from the camp had scrambled into the hills like cockroaches scurrying for cover. They distanced themselves from him, knowing the attack had been his doing. He’d brought trouble to their village, and word would travel. He would be blamed unless he could turn the insulting incident to his advantage.
At least he still had the woman.
He stared at her now. His men had bound her hands and feet tightly and hung her from a sturdy tree branch with her feet dangling as punishment for her part. The weight of her body would cause the ropes to burn and cut into her skin. And breathing would be difficult, especially with the gag stuffed in her mouth. He heard her pathetic gasps for air, and her struggle for survival grated on his nerves like the incessant whine of an insect buzzing at his ear. She would pay for what had happened. All that remained was for him to decide how.
To redeem his name, she would be made an example. And the world would soon know his purpose.
Sayed had not expected to be attacked in Cuba, a country that allowed him to operate in anonymity and train his newest recruits. His men had been careless, and some had paid the price for their mistake. Their deaths had saved him the trouble of killing them himself. And given what he’d learned tonight, he now knew that he’d been followed from Haiti—and by a man that the white woman claimed not to know well.
She had lied to him.
He ground a fist into the dirt beneath him, barely aware that his knuckles stung and were bleeding. After the attack, the voice of Kinkaid calling her name had echoed in the canyon and taunted him. In shock and anger, he had turned toward the white woman as they fled the explosions. He saw in her eyes that she recognized the man’s voice even though she’d tried to hide her reaction.
She knew Jackson Kinkaid better than she had admitted. The wealthy American had come to save her, and that would not have been the case if they were merely acquaintances. And an even greater insult, the rescue of the other hostages by Kinkaid and his men would be blamed on him. Those who envied his sudden rise in power would seek to undermine his authority, but since he still had the white woman, perhaps he could redeem himself. He still held the most valuable hostage, a woman this American hero had risked his life to save.
Only a weak man would do such a thing for a mere woman.
And Sayed vowed to use Kinkaid’s weakness against him. He did not understand how a woman’s life had value, not even if the woman had the honor of giving birth to him. A woman would always be made to serve men in that way. It was their purpose in life. But if Jackson Kinkaid valued this woman enough to come for her once, he would do it again. And this time the American would face him, not skulk like a coward in the dark.
Kinkaid and this woman would pay for what they had done to him—and the world would witness his triumph.
He stood and walked toward her. With eyes wide, she trembled and shook her head as he came closer. Useless tears streaked her battered face. She was a stupid woman.
He would not wait until morning to inflict his punishment.
CHAPTER 17
Southeast Cuba
Dawn cut the dark horizon with a jagged edge of steel gray. Yet even under a mantle of darkness, the jungle came alive. Animals foraged for food, and birds stirred in the branches over Alexa’s head. The world had its own clock, its natural order. Even the humidity had tapered off enough for her to notice.
She watched Kinkaid sleep. His bare chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm now, but rest had not come easy. She heard him toss and turn during the few hours he had to sleep until he retrieved his iPod from his gear. The volume was too low for her to hear what he played, but as soon as he plugged the sound into his ears, he settled into a deep sleep where he barely moved.
Jackson Kinkaid was like an engaging foreign flick, only he didn’t come with subtitles. What she saw in him made her yearn to know more, but without a deeper understanding, she knew she was missing something major. Some men were open books and easy to read.
A guy like Kinkaid would never be.
“Damn it,” he grumbled as he rolled to one side and ran a hand through his dark hair. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
“You needed your beauty sleep way more than I did,” she smirked. “And from where I’m sitting, you still do.”
“More snooze time won’t fix what’s wrong with me.” He curled a lip into a half smile. “And your looks don’t need improving.”
“And here I thought your idea of foreplay was a rousing argument,” she countered. “Don’t play nice, Kinkaid. I won’t know how to act.”
She covered her reaction to his compliment with attitude, but in the quiet of morning, his deep voice had raised goose bumps across her skin. His voice had the warm bite of a fine Cognac—sweet, potent, and addictive. And the charm of his flattery took her by surprise, especially given how abrasive he’d been through their mission. She did her best to ignore what he’d said, but inside she was smiling.
“Today we gotta make up time,” she said. “I smell rain. We can’t let the trail get cold, or we’ll lose them. You better be up for this.”
She ignored the shadows under his eyes and the fevered look of his skin. And she did her best to overlook the sluggish way he got off his bedroll. Giving him a hard time for pushing himself would do little good now. Neither of them could do anything about it. She had to press him for all he had left. Anything less would jeopardize them both.
Kinkaid was getting worse. She knew it and suspected he did, too.
“How are you doing on meds?”
He didn’t hesitate. “I’m good.” His stock answer.
Kinkaid wouldn’t have told her otherwise. As he gathered his gear, she remembered hearing him take pills last night. Judging by the soft rattle of an almost depleted bottle, she knew he was running on empty—in more ways than one. As an operative, she understood what Kinkaid needed. He wouldn’t respond well to coddling or a nursemaid, not when he had a personal stake in the mission. The best medicine would be to keep him focused and on track.
What they both needed was to rescue Kate as soon as possible. She hoped that when they found her, it wouldn’t be too late for Kinkaid.
