At the Edge (6 page)

And if all that weren't bad enough? He'd started getting personal with her until their entire conversation was reduced to whispers in the dark.

She shifted on his legs, and Ryan's gut clenched. Jesus, he'd had knife wounds less painful than this. All her squeezable curves were right within reach, and if she didn't stop wiggling around on him, he was going to lose his mind.

He gritted his teeth and zeroed in on what she'd said early on.

There was a sudden jolt.

Her account fit with what he knew from looking at the wing. And the wing fit with what he knew from the briefing: that there was the distinct possibility that the plane crash hadn't been caused by some mechanical problem.

Emma sighed deeply and slid farther down his body with a soft murmur. She'd been right; his legs were falling asleep. But he welcomed the numbness. He had to stop thinking about her body. He had to stop thinking about rolling her under him and tasting that mouth.

The back of Ryan's neck prickled. He tightened his grip on her arms and sat forward, listening. Rain drummed against the leaves over his head, and he strained to hear past it.

Again he heard the noise.

He slid his hands up Emma's body, cupping the side of her face with one hand and sealing the other one over her mouth. She jolted awake and gasped against his palm.

———

“Don't move.”

Ryan's voice was taut with warning.

Emma's heart pounded against her chest as she blinked into the darkness and listened. But all she saw was blackness. All she heard was the steady
pitter-patter
of rain against the shelter. And all she felt was two-hundred fifty pounds of rock-hard muscle surrounding her in a protective hold, keeping her from moving or talking or even breathing a sound.

“Stay quiet.” The words were little more than a vibration against her ear.

She nodded.

He moved his hand away from her mouth then, slipping it down to his thigh. He adjusted her on his lap, and she heard the soft rasp of the pistol sliding from his holster.

Emma's heart thundered, so loud now she knew he could hear it. Maybe whoever was out there could hear it, too.

Maybe it was Jake or Lucas or Ethan.

But he'd know the sound of his teammates' approach. Whatever was approaching now was a threat; she could tell from the tension in his body as he wrapped his left arm around her waist and slowly eased her onto the ground. And then he was crouched next to her. She couldn't see him, but she could feel his coiled energy as he hovered beside her like a panther waiting to strike.

And then she heard it above the rain. Softly at first, then louder, until there was no ignoring the faint rattling noise as it drew near.

“What is it?” she whispered.

He pulled her close, and his breath was hot against her temple. “Don't go anywhere. I'll be back.”

Go anywhere? Was he out of his freaking mind? Where on earth would she go?

But more important, where was
he
going?

He wouldn't leave her here. She knew that.

Except he just had. A sour lump of fear clogged her throat. She forced it down. He would come back. But the noise was getting louder—the persistent, metallic noise that was augmented now by rustling in the trees.

It was getting closer. Much too close. Emma squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath and wished herself invisible, as if wishing would make it so.

Where had he gone?

She took a deep, silent breath and tried to calm down. And she understood now that this shelter wasn't just about keeping her out of the rain. It was about hiding her here in the jungle, keeping her safely secreted away until the extract time.

Who was out there?

The metallic sound was louder now, accompanied by a crunching noise. She hunched under the branches with her knees pulled tight against her chest. Her stomach churned, and she felt like she had in the plane when she'd first started to grasp the reality of what was happening. She began to feel panicked, claustrophobic, and she had the insane urge to jump from the shelter and scream her terror at the top of her lungs just to break the silence.

She took a deep breath and whisked herself away to a yoga class. She wasn't hiding in the jungle surrounded by unknown people and hazards and venomous-but-not-aggressive spiders. Instead, she was on a foam mat surrounded by soft music and sandalwood incense.

Breathe deeply, all the way to your spine.
The melodic voice of her instructor floated over her, and she felt her shoulders soften. She was calm. She was relaxed. She was not hysterical, and she would not endanger the lives of four brave men who had risked everything to help her.

It could have been five minutes or fifty, but at last the noise receded, and she was left alone in the shelter with only the quiet tapping of rain over her head.

A faint sound had her head snapping up. She stared into the darkness, not even blinking.

“Emma.”

The low murmur near her ear brought a flood of relief. A strong hand encircled her upper arm and gently pulled her to her feet.

“Emma, it's me.”

“I know.” She clutched his vest.

“Honey, we need to move.”

EIGHT

M
ove where?” she whispered. “It's not time yet, is it?”

“Change of plan.”

A shadow shifted closer in the dark, and Emma suddenly realized she was surrounded by the rest of Ryan's team—big, silent shadows that had materialized out of nowhere. They spoke to one another in low voices using jargon she didn't understand. But she got the definite impression that something was wrong.

Ryan knelt at her feet and started stuffing gear into his pack.

“What was that noise?” she whispered.

“What noise?”

“The rustling noise before you left the shelter?”

“That was the sound of two dozen heavily armed but poorly trained men trying to sneak up the creek bed.” He stood up and shouldered his pack. “The noise you heard is called a battle rattle.”

“But why—”

“Hold on to me again,” he said, settling his hands on her waist. There was no counting this time as he lifted her up and over his shoulder, and before she could even catch her breath, they were sprinting through the forest. It was pitch-dark, and how he knew where he was going she had no idea.

They were moving faster than ever, and they were heading down the hill, not up. What had happened to the hilltop extraction point? Was this the new plan?

She gripped his vest for dear life, suddenly sweating all over—and she wasn't even the one moving. But she could sense their urgency, and she knew something had gone very wrong.

Rain continued to come down, soaking through her clothes and making her cling to his slick vest until her fingers felt sore. This island was covered with dense forest. They weren't just going to run down some hill and magically come upon a helicopter landing pad. The only clearing would be the beach, most likely, and that might be far away, much farther than two clicks.

His arm tightened on her legs, and he leaped over something. Emma made a little yelp and held tighter.

Maybe there would be a boat. Was that too much to hope for?

Yes.

It was absolutely too much to hope for. The last few days had been one disaster after another, with the notable exception of finding Ryan beside the stream. Or Ryan finding
her
. His presence there had been no accident. His purpose in coming here had been to locate and rescue any survivors, and she was beginning to understand why her government had sent a SEAL team to do it.

Another leap, but Emma managed to stifle a yelp. She gripped Ryan's vest so hard she felt her fingernails breaking. She had to calm down. She had to be a help, not a hindrance. Whatever this new plan was, she had to suck it up and do her part. She closed her eyes and tried not to focus on the queasy feeling in her stomach as the journey dragged on.

After endless monotonous minutes, he halted and muttered something she couldn't hear. Was he talking to his teammates? The rain had let up, at least, but still she couldn't really hear what he was saying.

He lifted her off his shoulder and set her down gently.

“Lean against the tree,” he said, placing her hand against it.

He crouched at her feet again, and she could hear the zippers on his pack. Then he stood up and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“To our east is a tree line. You see it?” His voice sounded only slightly strained, as though he'd just taken a brisk walk instead of a long run through a forest carrying a hundred-thirty-pound weight.

She was about to tell him she couldn't see a damn thing, but then she squinted into the dimness and noticed a dark shadow against a slightly lighter sky. There had to be a break in the clouds somewhere to allow the hint of moonlight.

He shifted her around until she was directly facing the trees. “See it?”

“Yes.”

“Just beyond that tree line is the beach. The land dips in and makes a small cove. That's our new extract point.”

She tried to make sense of that. “The cove.”

“We're going to swim out and wait for the helo.”

She turned to face him, sure she'd misheard him. “We're going to
swim
—”

“They'll drop down the rescue basket, we'll load you in, get you up in the bird.”

Emma's heart skittered. He couldn't be serious.

“Don't worry, I'm a good swimmer.”

She actually laughed at him. It was that or cry.

A good swimmer? That was probably something of an understatement given his profession. But his swimming ability did nothing to alleviate the cold, slimy ball of fear forming in her stomach.

Someone eased up beside them in the dark.

“We ready?” he asked, and she recognized Jake's voice.

“Almost.” Ryan handed him his pack.

Of course. Ryan couldn't swim with a pack on his back because he was going to be swimming with her instead.

This plan was insane.

“Ryan, this is impossible. You guys go without me.”

He chuckled softly.

“I'm totally serious.”

“This time, I'll carry you in front,” he said. “The beach is narrow here. We'll cross the sand and enter the water, and at about a meter deep, we'll shift to a lifesaving carry. Got it?”

Another shadow appeared, either Ethan or Lucas. “We got four hostiles on the south end of the beach. Looks like we might be in for a hot extract.”

“Fuck.”

“Time to move, bro.”

The other men disappeared, and Emma looked at Ryan. “What's that mean? Hot extract?”

“Means we might be getting a friendly send-off. You ready?”

“No. Ryan, listen to me.” She found his hand and clutched it. “If I die tonight—”

“You're not going to die tonight.”

“If I fall—”

“I won't let you fall.”

“Listen to me!” She dug her nails into his palm. “If anything happens, I need you to find my father. Tell him I'm sorry for what I said at Christmas. Tell him I love him.”

“You can tell him yourself.”

“Ryan, promise me you'll tell him.”

He settled his hands on her shoulders. “I know you're scared.”

“I'm not scared, I'm just . . . realistic. This will never work. It's raining, and my ankle's injured, and I can't swim fast—”

“You don't have to swim at all. I've got you.”

She gazed up at him. Where did he get this absurd confidence? Men with guns might be waiting out there to shoot them, and it was a very real possibility that after they'd come all this way to find her and rescue her, they might not make it out of here alive.

“Just hold on to me, okay?”

She stared up at his dark silhouette, wishing she could see his eyes. Maybe it was adrenaline or the prospect of death. She put her hands on his neck, but she didn't stop there. She slid her fingers into the thick softness of his hair and did what she'd been dying to do all night.

She kissed him.

He was rigid as a statue. He didn't move. She fused her mouth against his and curled her fingers into his scalp, and suddenly he was pulling her against him, splaying his hands against her back and dragging her up onto her tiptoes. He pulled her tightly against the layer of weapons and bullets and whatever he had packed into his vest, and he was all hard angles and planes. Except for his mouth. His mouth was hot and seeking and moving hungrily against hers, and she felt a rush of pleasure at the pure
rightness
of it as she tangled her tongue with his and tasted him for the first time. She didn't just taste, she devoured him, like she could never get enough. It was better than she'd imagined—hotter and more dangerous than any kiss could ever be, and it thrilled her down to her toes.

He jerked away, breathing hard, and she felt a wave of disbelief that she'd finally,
finally
managed to get him winded.

“Holy shit,” he gasped.

“Ryan, bro, come
on
!” Jake's voice was urgent now.

“Let's try this again.” Ryan clamped her hands over his shoulders. “Hold on to me,” he ordered. Then he scooped her off her feet and ran.

Emma clung to his vest, and mere seconds later they burst onto the beach. The sudden sense of space and air was dizzying after days in the smothering jungle. Her eyes adjusted to the grays, and she saw a glimmer of water in the distance, the cove he'd told her about. The strip of beach was narrow, and they were only on it for a few brief moments before he waded into the water. Emma spotted the dark shadows of his teammates—one, two, three, entering the water alongside them.

An orange flash on the beach caught her eye, and she gripped Ryan's shoulders.

“They're shooting!” she said, but her words were muffled against his chest.

They're shooting, they're shooting. Those are machine guns!
Panic surged through her system, and she couldn't tear her gaze away from the muzzle flashes.

“Head down,” Ryan ordered, tucking her head against him as cool water enveloped them. They were in the water. The
water.
It would be like shooting fish in a barrel. They couldn't outswim bullets.

“Don't be scared. I've got you,” he said, and the deep confidence in his voice gave her a flicker of hope.

He shifted her to his side. She held on to his shoulders, afraid she was going to drown him with her weight, but the thought quickly disappeared as he gave a mighty kick and they took off like a torpedo. She gasped for breath, amazed that her head was somehow above the surface as they cruised through the water. Salt stung her eyes. She squeezed them shut and focused on the cool water all around her and Ryan's warm, powerful body propelling them forward.

The wind picked up. Waves pelted her face. She tried to speak and got a mouthful of salt water. The wind whipped up again, making the spray feel like needles against her face as a loud thrumming noise surrounded them, so loud she couldn't even hear her own thoughts. She tipped her head back, and through the stinging brine she saw the dark shadow of the hovering helicopter as it displaced the ocean with its strong downdrafts.

Ryan was yelling instructions, but she couldn't hear him. He pulled her arms from him, and she realized the rescue basket was already there dangling beside them. One of the men reached up and grabbed it, and then two strong sets of arms were loading her inside. Spray kicked into her face, and she couldn't see or hear, but she gripped Ryan's arm like a lifeline.

Her breath caught as the basket jerked up, tossed by the churning waves.

“Ryan!”

He was suddenly right there, right in front of her, so close she could see the water streaming over his face and the intense look in his eyes.

“Emma, let go,” he commanded, peeling her fingers from his arm. “I'll be right behind you.”

He slipped through her hands as the basket pulled her up and away.