Atlanta Heat Page 2

  Nathan gestured, signifying that they go in low, catch the two inside off guard, and snatch the girl. Hell, it would be risky. Too fucking risky. He shook his head and began to gesture a less risky move when Nathan crouched, slammed the door open and went in shooting.

  “You stupid bastard!” Macey snarled, fury and an edge of fear growing in his gut as the sounds of gunfire exploded through the night.

  He threw himself into the room, rolling to the chair Emerson was tied in and tipping it over. He jerked the knife from his boot and sliced the ropes holding her wrists and ankles. The two men with her lay in their own blood as Nathan moved quickly to cover Macey.

  “There’s more coming,” Nathan hissed as Macey checked the girl quickly for injuries.

  She was glaring at him. Her hazel eyes were pinpoints of fury, the green in them nearly overshadowing the brown, glittering in a rush of anger as she snarled back at him. That was Emerson—fear made her angry. Made her snap and snarl and that was a hell of a lot preferable to tears. Could he handle tears from Emerson?

  “We have to run for it,” he warned her.

  “You have to drag your heavy ass off me first,” she panted. “Dammit, Macey, you weigh a ton.”

  “Move!” Nathan snapped behind him. “Here they come!”

  He jerked her to her feet, ignoring her gasp, grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her through the shadowed, cavernous building at a low run.

  “I lost a shoe,” she gasped.

  “So lose the other one,” he growled, checking behind them and praying Nathan kept up rather than dropping behind to shed more blood.

  That boy was going to end up getting himself killed, if he didn’t end up getting them all killed.

  “I’ll put those on your tab,” she informed him, her voice bland despite the breathless quality of it and the fear in her eyes. “You can pay for them later.”

  “Sure,” he snarled, jerking her around another crate as the front of the warehouse erupted in curses. “I’ll go right out and buy you a new pair.”

  “They’re very hard to find,” she informed him with testy patience as he jerked her low to the floor, within feet of the back entrance, and motioned Nathan to secure the exit.

  “Should he be going out there by himself?” she leaned close to his ear and voiced the question. “The bad guys would cover the back, wouldn’t they?”

  Nathan gave the all-clear.

  “Not this time. Shut up and run.” He pulled her behind him, moving past Nathan as he collected the automatic rifle they had hidden in the back. He followed at Emerson’s back, placing himself between her and any bullets that would have flown through the night.

  Lights illuminated the warehouse and the lot in a flood of color, only a millisecond behind their rapid push through the chain-link fence that they had cut earlier. The truck was on the other side of the neighboring lot, less than a quarter of a mile and with plenty of cover. With any luck they were home free.

  “I can’t run like this,” Emerson gasped behind him.

  God, did he think “luck”? Didn’t he remember that luck didn’t exactly look favorably toward him, even at the best of times?

  He looked back and nearly groaned. As she ran, those impressive, make-a-man’s-mouth-water breasts were jiggling, reminding him of more than one night’s worth of erotic dreams that he’d had concerning them.

  “We’re almost there.” He pulled her to him, wrapped his arm around her waist, and half carried her as they snaked through the hulking, shadowed crates, equipment and vehicles that filled the industrial warehouse lot they were running through.

  Nathan moved quickly ahead of them now, securing the area to the truck as Macey gritted his teeth again. Her left breast was moving against his side, a firm, erotic weight that he should be shot for noticing.

  Save the girl first, he reminded himself.

  But it wasn’t the breasts that drew him and Macey knew it. It was the woman, and that was what terrified him clear down to his combat boots. The woman could take him down, and he had a feeling he was getting ready to go down hard.

  EMERSON DELANEY KNEW SHE was in trouble the minute hard hands jerked her from her bed and pulled her from her home. She had been driven through Atlanta surrounded by hard, cold-eyed terrorists intent on death. There hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that they intended to kill her. Just as there hadn’t been a doubt in her mind that Macey would be sent to rescue her.

  Tall, over six feet four inches, perhaps six five, dark brown eyes, long dark hair, and a bad-boy sexy face. He was the rebel, the troublemaker. The man she couldn’t stop thinking about or dreaming about. And the one she knew would come for her.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Macey March tossed her into the backseat of the dual cab pickup, followed in after her, and gave the other man the order to drive. They eased out of the parking lot slowly, lights out, rather than tearing out of it in a scream of tires, which would have surely alerted any terrorists nearby.

  The dark vehicle blended in with the shadows of hulking semis and eased out of the warehouse district and into the stream of traffic bordering it. The headlights came on then, and she wondered if it was okay to breathe yet.

  She glanced over at Macey, aware that he was watching the traffic with narrow-eyed intent, his weapon held low against his thigh, his hand still pressing her shoulders against the soft leather seat, keeping her hidden from view.

  “Could you pull my skirt down? It’s riding up.” There was a demon imp that came out every time she came in contact with the huge, taciturn SEAL. She couldn’t help it. Needling him was her favorite sport.

  A large, broad hand smoothed her skirt from high on her thigh back to her knees. And he did it … slowly. As though he were savoring the act. She sure as hell was. She stared up at him in the darkness, aware of the fact that he was apparently unaffected.

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.” She shifted her legs against his. “Next time I get kidnapped, remind me to wear panties.”

  His expression tightened, as did the hand on her knee. “Don’t fuck with me right now.”

  “I’m fully dressed, Lieutenant, so ‘fucking’ with you is the least of your worries at the moment.”

  He smiled a slow, predatory smile.

  “If you don’t shut that smart mouth of yours, I’ll have to shut it for you.”

  “How are you going to do that?” she whispered back. Excitement churned inside her as he leaned over her, bringing his face closer, his lips so much closer, making her mouth water.

  “By cutting out your tongue. I’ll blame it on the terrorists.”

  She sighed with dejection. “Damn. There goes that tongue ring I was going to invest in.”

  A rough chuckle sounded from the driver as Macey’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

  “Give me trouble, Em, and you’ll regret it.”

  “Give me lip, Macey, and I’ll bite it.” She snapped her teeth back at him and was rewarded with a flare of lust in his gaze. Unfortunately, the lust came with more than she expected. It came with a wolf’s grin and a knowing smirk.

  “Be careful, Emerson, because I’ve been known to bite back.”

  TWO

  EMERSON JENNIFER DELANEY WAS shaking. At least on the inside. She’d be damned if she would let Macey, the big, tough, larger-than-life Navy SEAL she’d always lusted over, see her shake on the outside. She wouldn’t let anyone see her shake on the outside if she could help it. It wasn’t acceptable. Good Navy children had a stiff upper lip and kept their fears to themselves. They weren’t whiny babies or wimps, and if they made the mistake of being one in her family, then they learned fast the error of their ways.

  So she let herself shake inside. All through the ride, while her legs remained draped over his, his large hand occasionally cupping her knees as he flicked a heated look at her.

  Otherwise, he watched the traffic, kept a careful check through the back window, and talked to Nathan Malone in SEAL jargon that Emerson had only halfway le
arned to translate throughout her life of dealing with Navy SEALs, admirals, and various officers. Even her mother was an officer, as were her aunts on her father’s side, various uncles, and cousins. Out of her entire family on her father’s side, in three generations, Emerson was the only one to buck tradition and make a life and a career outside that hallowed institution.

  So, translating SEAL talk wasn’t easy.

  She knew they were driving aimlessly around Atlanta to make certain there were no tails. Then, Lieutenant Malone was going to drop them off and report to the admiral. After that, there was something about hiding her in a cave. She hoped that was a joke, because, well, caves had bugs and bats and stuff, and she did not do bugs and bats and stuff.

  “All’s clear,” Macey finally murmured after watching the back window for what seemed like hours. “Take us to the drop-off then head out. Clint will be straggling back into the States around daylight. Catch up with him and let him know what’s going on. Kell and Reno are OOC for a few more days.”

  OOC. Okay, she could handle that one. Out of Country. “Admiral’s gonna wanna know your location,” Nathan reminded him. His ruined voice was harsh, but there was just a hint, the slightest flavor of Ireland sneaking through. She bet his voice had been a panty-wetter before he was tortured by Sorrell and his associates.

  “You don’t know,” Macey reminded him. “Clint doesn’t know. Until I know we’re secure, Nathan, I trust no one. Not even the admiral.”

  It was too important. Emerson was too important. And the hairs at the nape of his neck tingled at the thought of letting the location out to even the admiral.

  Nathan nodded sharply as the inner city streetlights became further apart and the dimmer, more distant lights of the residential areas threw longer, darker shadows into the truck.

  “Can I sit up now?” She was tired of laying on her back and staring at Macey or the ceiling. Not that Macey wasn’t a fine thing to look at, but he wasn’t paying any attention to her, so it made the discomfort a bit more noticeable.

  “Not yet.” His hand tightened on her knee again and gave her a thrill. She was pathetic, really. Creaming her panties for a shift of fingers against her knee. How low could a woman sink?

  “This is uncomfortable, Macey.”

  “So is death.” Clipped and impersonal. She hated that voice.

  “Do you believe death is uncomfortable? I’d think you’d be unaware—”

  “You’re going to be gagged if you don’t shut up.” He glowered down at her.

  Emerson twitched her nose. The imp inside her was shaking in fear and staying quiet wouldn’t be easy. If she wasn’t talking, goading or taunting, then she was going to start crying. And she really hated crying.

  “Here we go.” Macey jerked the door open, jumped out and grabbed her legs, pulling her across the leather seat as she jerked up in response.

  “Let’s go,” he ordered as he gripped her waist and set her down on the sidewalk of a less than reputable residential area.

  “I don’t have shoes,” she reminded him.

  He began dragging her through a row of scraggly hedges as the pickup pulled away from the curb and drove off.

  She was nearly hysterical with fear, well aware of the fact that she was in a bit of trouble. After all, terrorists didn’t drag you out of a bed on the spur of the moment unless they had very bad plans for you.

  She shuddered at the thought and thanked God Macey was too busy dragging her through someone’s backyard to notice.

  “We’re almost there.” His voice was low, smooth, a stroke to her shattered emotions as he led her into the thick overgrowth of a neglected backyard and into the side door of a garage.

  “Where are we?” she asked as he let her go and stalked through the darkness.

  A second later, flashlight in hand, he moved back to her and took her arm once again.

  “Watch your step here.” He led her through a maze of rusted vehicle parts before they came to the back door. He pulled aside the panel of an electronic alarm, pulled out the wires and accessed the hidden dual security panel where he punched in the security code, waited a few seconds, and reconnected the wires to the front plate before replacing it.

  Dummy security plate, she thought, checking it out as he pulled her in through the door. Unusual and unexpected. Anyone who attempted to access the code, no matter the tools, jammers, or methods, would active an alarm simply by attempting to deactivate it.

  The inside of the house was darker than ever, the smell a bit musty, as though it was rarely visited. There was the slide of a door, fresher air as he pulled her into a hallway, then downstairs.

  Emerson tried to get her bearings. Behind her she could hear the slide of a door, then something else. A muted hum, a click, and then a burst of lights.

  She brought her hand up to shield her eyes, blinking as the lights dimmed marginally.

  “Sorry, I left them on full power before leaving last night.” Macey stood in the center of what she assumed was the “cave.”

  She looked around. Across the room were a computer and server terminal, routers, secondary systems, and external hard drives. A metal cabinet held a stack of monitors that blinked up, the images showing the inside of a house. Each room and hallway was displayed and several others covered the darkness outside with infrared and heat-seeking capabilities.

  Her gaze slid to Macey as he stalked to the main station, sat down in a chair she would give her eyeteeth for at work, and with his large, broad hands began a delicate series of commands over a straight keyboard.

  Emerson eased closer to the command center, her eyes tracking over the electronics, both surveillance and stealth, her brows lifting at the impressive setup.

  “Give me a minute to set up security and I’ll show you around.”

  Emerson looked around and took in the small kitchen/eating area tucked into the corner beside the stairs. On the other side was an open living room with a sectional couch, plasma television with satellite reception, and a complete surround-sound speaker system. A few bookshelves. A scarred coffee table and a door that led into another room of some sort. She hoped there was a bathroom somewhere.

  “Where are we?” She rubbed her hands over her arms and fought the chill beginning to invade her system.

  The clock on the wall swore it was nearly five in the morning; it had felt like days rather than hours since she had been dragged from her apartment and forced into the back of a stinking van.

  “The cave,” he mumbled, hunched over the keyboard, his fingers working the keys with rapid motions that she would have been impressed by if it weren’t for the fact that she was cold, exhausted, and standing on less than certain ground.

  “I don’t like caves.” She bit her lip as she stared around the dark wood walls.

  “Stand down, Emerson, I’ll be with you in a minute.” His voice was clipped again, impatient.

  A frown jerked at the corners of her mouth; it had been a long night and she needed some fresh air… .

  She came to an abrupt stop when the steps met a blank wall. Reaching out, she searched for whatever mechanism opened it. There had to be a mechanism.

  “It’s electronically controlled and only I have the code.”

  “Why isn’t there a regular door?”

  “It’s a secured room, Emerson,” he told her quietly. “No entry in or out without my command. We’re on lockdown until Admiral Holloran and Nathan manage to figure this out and capture the leader of the cell of terrorists that took you from the house tonight. We’re going to be roommates for a while, so you might as well come on down here and let me show you around.”

  “Do you have any idea when that’ll happen so I can get my life back?” She watched him, feeling uncertain, off balance. Not frightened, but neither did she feel secure within herself.

  “Are you going to whine over this?” He cocked his head to the side and watched her curiously. “Funny, Emerson, I didn’t see you as a whiner. Come on, I’ll show you the bedr
oom and bath. You can freshen up and get some rest.”

  He strode across the huge room toward the door at the far wall. Her lips parted in shock. He was ignoring her, striding away from her as though her questions were the result of a whining personality. She did not whine.

  Her eyes narrowed to slits. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, Macey?” Each word was precise, hard.

  Macey paused at the door, turned and lifted his brow.

  “Oh, yeah, Emerson, I’m really enjoying this. Instead of being on the streets searching down terrorists, or covering my buddies’ backs, I’m here. With you.” His gaze flicked over her body. “Where I get to sit with my thumbs up my ass, deflecting your little daggers, and praying this case breaks before the March family reunion weekend in a few weeks.”

  She blinked back at him in surprise. “You have family?”

  “I wasn’t exactly hatched.”

  “Neither are coyotes, but that doesn’t make them domesticated,” she shot back sweetly. “Does your family live close?”

  “Close enough.”

  “Just close enough?” She turned and leaned against the wall, watching as he watched her.

  “Why do you want to know, Em?”

  He was the only one who called her Em. It sounded good, much better, and much more feminine than Emerson. But then, her father had wanted a son, not a daughter. They hadn’t been prepared with little girl names when she had been born.

  “Maybe I just want to know about you.” She leaned her head against the wall, somehow enjoying how he towered over her, the way he watched her with that baffled male confusion.

  “No, you don’t, you want to make me crazy.” His voice roughened as his gaze flicked down her body again. “That’s what you’re good at. Be careful, it might backfire on you this time. You’re damned good at making me crazy, and that should tell you something about this little deal heating up between us. You’re not going to walk all over me like you do the admiral or the men you work with.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I resent that remark, you know.” But she had to admit she did have that habit. “Maybe I just want to find someone who can outthink me. Can you outthink me, Macey?”