Edge of Surrender (8 page)

Emma's hands were shaking now. She was white as chalk.

“Hey.” He slid his arm around her waist. “You want to sit down?”

“No.”

“Honey, you don't look good.”

“I'm fine, I just—” She slapped a hand on the counter. “That prick. He killed her, Ryan.”

“I know.”

She glared up at him, tears of anger in her eyes. “His own
wife
, Ryan. He killed Juan and Mick, and he tried to kill me, too. And you and your team almost got killed—”

“Now, I wouldn't go that far.”

“Ryan, he's a murdering bastard, and I want him in jail!”

Ryan wanted him in a dark alley without any witnesses around. But he knew what she meant.

Her hands were still shaking, and she looked like she was going to unravel. He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her.

“I can't believe it. How can he live with himself?”

“Hey.” He gave her a squeeze and stepped back. “Why don't you take a break? Get a hot shower or something. I'll comb through this and make sure we didn't miss something.”

She glanced at her computer. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“That sounds like heaven, actually. I haven't showered in days.”

“Go. I'll work on this.”

She took a deep breath. “Thank you.”

She went up on tiptoes and kissed him, brushing her breasts against his chest. She felt soft and tempting, and Ryan's cock perked up. He forced himself to ignore it.

“I won't be long,” she said, grabbing her beer.

He watched her disappear down the hallway and then turned back to her computer.

One thing at a time. He needed to get this evidence secured ASAP, before someone at the embassy realized that she still had access to the system. He skimmed through, selecting a few messages and forwarding them to himself. Then he created a document and saved it to Emma's hard drive as backup. A printer would have been good, but she didn't have one set up.

He glanced around her apartment as the water went on in the bathroom. She really hadn't unpacked much. The place was practically empty. He eyed the box with all the books and photographs.

Hunter. What the fuck kind of name was that, anyway? The guy had probably never hunted for anything in his life besides a missing golf ball. Probably didn't even know how to hold a gun. And who wore a Rolex skiing? The guy was a loser, no question. He wouldn't have survived a day in the jungle by himself or even five minutes with one of Avedo's goons. Emma had not only survived, but she'd managed to escape.

Emma was tough. She might not look it, with the fancy clothes and the heels and the Bambi eyes. But underneath all that was a woman who could build latrines and sleep in the forest. A woman who liked cheeseburgers and french fries and hot sex. A woman who considered beer a staple, for Christ's sake.
That
was the real Emma, the one he was falling hard for. So hard it scared him.

He glanced at the hallway, where he heard the hum of the pipes. She was having a moment to herself now, and he should leave her alone. Really.

In need of a distraction, he took out his new burner phone and called Jake.

———

Emma stepped into the hallway and jumped.

“My God, you scared me!” She held her arms over her bare breasts. “I was just getting some towels from my room.”

But he was a step ahead of her. He handed her a towel and backed her against the wall, taking her mouth with his before she could get a word out. And he didn't just kiss her—he
kissed
her.

“You're naked,” he murmured, dipping his head down to kiss her breast.

Not quite. She was still in her panties, but he was quickly taking care of that, sliding them down her legs.

“Ryan.” She gasped as he kissed his way up her body, then took her mouth again. His kiss was hot and urgent, as though it had been weeks instead of hours since they'd last been together. His tongue delved into her mouth as he pressed her against the wall.

“I wanted to leave you alone, but—” He plumped her breast in his hand and squeezed her nipple. “I can't. You're so fucking hot, Emma, I can't stop touching you.”

“Hot. Right.” No one had ever called her hot before, but maybe he thought flattery would put her in the mood.

He pulled back. “You don't think I'm serious?”

“I think . . .” She rubbed her hand over his erection. “I think you seriously want to get laid.”

“You're fucking beautiful, Emma. How do you not know that?”

“I need to lose a few pounds.”

“Don't.” He slid his hand over her butt and squeezed. “I love you like this.”

Her heart skipped a beat as she stared up at him. He didn't realize what he'd said, but it was sweet anyway, and she pulled his head down to hers for another kiss. She loved the way he kissed her. And touched her. The way he gripped her flesh like it was something he desperately needed to hold on to. She loved the way he made her feel confident and sexy, like the star of one of his fantasies.

One of those fantasies apparently involved a shower, because he was towing her toward the bathroom now. He stepped into the steamy little room and quickly stripped off his clothes. Taking her hand, he pulled her into the tub with him and positioned her under the scalding spray.

She loved his body, so hard and muscled. She'd been awed just touching him in the dark last night, but in the light like this, he was truly heart-stopping.

He dipped his head down to her breast, and she tipped her head back, loving the warm pull of his mouth as his talented fingers slipped down and inside her.

“God, Emma.” He moved up and kissed her neck as he touched her. She was already flushed and fevered, but he was turning the heat up, making her ache inside again with that relentless yearning. He knew just how to touch her to make her crazy with need for him.

“Ryan.” She clutched his shoulders, clinging to him, leaning against the cool tile of the shower as his fingers worked their magic. “Ryan . . . please.”

“I love it when you beg,” he murmured.

“Please. I need you
now
.”

His hands went away, and she opened her eyes to watch him through the steam as he grabbed his jeans off the sink and somehow hunted up a condom. “Hold on,” he said, and she slipped her hands around his neck. He gripped her hips and lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him as he lowered her onto him.

He felt good. So good. There was nothing gentle or romantic about it as he took her against the shower wall. It was hard and raw and possessive, like he was staking a claim. And she was letting him. She wanted him to claim her,
needed
him to, and she clutched him as tightly as she could, clinging to him for dear life as he thrust into her again and again and again. She braced her hand against the wall beside her.

“I've got you,” he said, gripping her hips.

How many times had he told her that since they'd met? And the thing was, she believed him. He had her, body and soul. He had her heart.

“Emma.”

“
Yes
. Oh, yes.”

She came apart, shattering in his arms, and he caught her and held her even as he came, too, driving her back against the hard tile.

They stayed there like that, gasping and holding each other as the hot spray fell against their intertwined bodies. Emma's pulse was racing. She couldn't breathe. He pulled back and looked at her, his gaze intense. What was he thinking when he looked at her that way?

“You okay?” he asked.

I love you.

She kissed him, too afraid to say it. Maybe she'd always be too afraid. And she felt a pang of guilt. All the risks he'd taken for her, and she was too insecure to say a few simple words? She should tell him. Right now, while they were still winded from sex.

And then a phone buzzed, and she was glad she hadn't. She slid down his slick body. He steadied her on her feet as the phone rang again.

“Whose is that?” she asked.

“Mine. Lucas brought me a new one.”

He handed her the towel she'd left on the sink, then stepped out and grabbed his jeans before disappearing into the hallway.

Emma dried off quickly. She wrapped the towel around herself and went into the living room, where she found him standing near the window with a cell phone pressed to his ear. He was bare-chested and had a grim expression on his face.

“What's the name of the place?” He glanced at Emma. “No, but I can find it.”

“Who is it?” she asked.

He muted the phone. “Mays. She's with Jake. She said there's been an important development and she wants a meeting.”

“Are you sure it's her?”

Ryan looked at her a moment. “Good call.” He got back on the phone. “Hey, put Jake on a minute, will you?”

Ryan's gaze drifted over her, and the look in his eyes heated. She stepped closer, and he pulled her against him.

“Jake? Hey, man, just making sure. We're on our way.”

TEN

H
ow firm is this intel?”

Emma glanced over at Ryan, who was on his cell in the passenger seat. She'd insisted on driving because he needed to work his phone. He'd been on and off with Jake since they'd left Los Angeles.

“Both of you or just Mays?” Ryan was asking. “Okay, keep me posted.”

He ended the call, and Emma waited for him to fill her in. It wasn't clear exactly whom they were meeting and why. She only knew that she was going to a bar called the Navy Yard on Coronado Island. “Well?” She looked at him.

“The guy we're meeting is Michael Jones,” Ryan said. “Jake said he's a CIA asset in the Philippines. The name ring a bell?”

“No.” Emma searched her memory banks but came up with nothing. “Sounds like an alias, though. Is that really his name?”

“Doubtful,” Ryan said. “Anyway, he passed along some surveillance footage a few months ago showing a meeting in Quezon City outside Manila between Avedo Senior and Oscar Guinto.”

“Who's that?”

“Guinto's the local leader of the Asian Crescent Brotherhood, which has ties to Al Qaeda. We don't know what the meeting was about, but we're starting to get some ideas.”

“When was this meeting?” Emma asked.

“Ten days before your plane went down.”

Emma focused on the road, trying not to react. She couldn't believe Richard Conner, someone she'd actually considered a personal friend, had ties to such people. Not just ties—it sounded like he was actually in business with them.

“Avedo passed Guinto a thumb drive. We don't know what was on it, but it could have had something to do with the attack on the plane. Guinto controls militant groups that operate from many of the southern islands, including the one where the crash happened.”

“Richard Conner was supposed to be on that trip with us,” Emma said. “He canceled at the last minute because he got tied up at some meeting in Singapore. At least, that's what he said.” The sign appeared for the Coronado Bridge. Emma checked the clock. “How are we doing on time?”

“Good.”

“I'm surprised he wants to meet so close to the naval base. You said he's CIA?”

Ryan adjusted the side mirror. “Private contractor. My guess is he used to be spec ops, maybe a frogman. A lot of SEALs go into private work after they get out.”

What did Ryan plan to do when he got out? She doubted he wanted to leave the Navy anytime soon. He obviously loved his job. Thrived on it. What would it take to make him settle down? “So . . .” She cleared her throat. “They go into private work because they miss the action?”

“Yeah, sometimes. Or sometimes they need the money. Other times they get injured, can't return to combat.”

Emma's blood chilled. She hated thinking about all the dangers he faced in his job. She had spent weeks worrying about him after they'd parted ways in the Philippines, and they hadn't even been a couple then. They still weren't. She didn't know what they were exactly, but just the thought of him leaving again made her stomach hurt.

“What's wrong?” he asked. “You look upset.”

“I'm just . . . worried.”

“We can bail on this if you want,” Ryan said. “The feds are already gathering evidence against Conner. This meeting could speed things along, but you're not required to help with their investigation.”

“I want to help. What do you think they need me to do?”

“This guy Jones has some surveillance pictures to show you. Mays will be there, too, and she wants to determine if you recognize Avedo Senior or Oscar Guinto from anywhere, if you ever saw them in the presence of Richard Conner. This guy Guinto, he's high up in the ACB. If they can link him to the ambassador, it would be a major break in the investigation.”

“But I may not recognize him. I mean, I spent a lot of time with the Conners, but it's not like I knew every one of their associates.”

“Odds are you know something or saw something, and it could be something you're not even aware of,” Ryan said. “What Renee Conner knew got her killed. I wouldn't underestimate how badly these guys want to eliminate anyone who poses a threat.”

The words hung there in the truck as Emma drove. With every minute that ticked by, she was getting more and more nervous about this meeting.

“Change lanes,” Ryan said.

“What?”

“Be subtle about it. Shift to the middle.”

Emma cast a glance in the rearview mirror before changing lanes. She hadn't noticed anyone following them, and she'd been looking. “What is it?” She glanced in the mirror again.

“Gray Pathfinder, three cars back. God
damn
it.”

“You want me to get off before the bridge?”

“Too late. Just . . . chill. Get back in the left lane, and speed up a little. We'll see what he does.”

Emma changed lanes and sped up, her heart racing now as she eyed the gray Pathfinder in the rearview mirror. It didn't change lanes, but it definitely picked up speed.

“Ah, fuck me,” Ryan muttered. He pulled his phone out and texted something.

“They're following us?”

“Yes.”

“But how could they find us? No one knows about my sublet.”

“I don't know. Shit. Yes, I do. Those boxes in your hallway. Where are they from?”

“They were shipped from Seattle.”

“All of them?”

Realization hit, and Emma felt queasy. This was her fault. “There's a box from the embassy,” she said. “They sent me some personal items from my desk. Conner must have found out my forwarding address and—what are you doing?” Her stomach flip-flopped as Ryan pulled out his gun.

“Calm down, I'm just being cautious.”

She eyed the mirror again. “He's closing in on us.” Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Should I get off or pull over? What should I do?”

“Don't
pull over. Sit low in your seat.”

The vehicle in front of her braked. Emma's nerves skittered as she noticed the dark-tinted windows. Ryan noticed, too.

“Shit,” he said.

“That car in front of us is part of this, too, isn't it?” It was a black Escalade, and it slowed again. Emma instinctively swerved around it.

“Listen to me, Emma. Don't panic. You can do this.”

“Do what? What am I doing?”

“I want you to—”

The back window burst.

“Get down!” Ryan jerked her down by her shirtfront and grabbed the steering wheel.

“I can't see!” she shrieked.

“I'll steer. Just
stay down
!”

Another earsplitting
pop
.

Emma punched the gas, but then she was right up on the bumper of the black Escalade.

From the passenger side, an orange muzzle flash.

Ryan jerked the wheel, swerving into the middle lane. Horns blared. Emma's heart pounded wildly as she peered above the steering wheel. The Escalade swerved into the lane directly ahead of them.

“We have to get off!” she yelled. “How far till the bridge ends?”

“Too far.” Ryan was still steering for her, making his head a target. The Pathfinder was directly to their right now. A window in back slid down, and a black rifle barrel poked out.

“Ryan!” She slammed on the brakes. Horns blared.

A squeal of brakes from the Pathfinder. A staccato of gunfire. Emma screamed, and Ryan returned fire with his pistol.

Emma jabbed the accelerator. The Pathfinder caught up and tried to muscle them into the left lane.

“Stay
down
, Emma!” Ryan fired at the driver. The Escalade lurched forward and swerved into their lane. Emma glanced in the side mirror and caught a blue sedan coming up fast behind them.
Thank God, police!

But that hope was dashed when a black gun barrel jutted out from the passenger window. “Another one behind us!” she yelled. “They'll run us off the road!”

“We're going to let them.”

“
What
?”

“Drive off the bridge,” he ordered.

“Are you crazy?”

“We're outgunned, Emma. Drive off the bridge, and we'll swim to shore.”

“That's insane!”

“They'll never expect it. And they won't follow.”

“I'm not driving—”

“Emma, we're surrounded by three cars and half a dozen machine guns. Our best chance is the water.”

“But—”

Ryan's window shattered. He whirled around to return fire. Another spray of bullets, this one from the Escalade in front of them.

Ryan clutched his shoulder, and Emma's heart lurched. “You're
hit
! Oh my God, let me pull over.”

“
No
!” Blood streamed through his fingers, but he didn't even look at the wound. “On three, I want you to punch the gas while I cut across the lanes, okay? We have to get out of here.”

“Ryan, I love you. Please let me pull over and help you.”

“Emma, listen to me! On three, you hit the gas. One. Two.
Three
!”

She jabbed the accelerator as Ryan jerked the steering wheel. They careened across two lanes. Metal shrieked as they smashed into the concrete wall and kept going.

Emma's stomach dropped, and everything went blue—blue sky, blue water, everything blue, blue, blue, as they sailed through the abyss.

They hit with a skull-rattling impact, and for a moment she saw stars. And then she was surrounded by water, cold and dark and filling up the truck cab.

Ryan was reaching for her, yelling instructions. She saw his lips move, but she couldn't hear the words, and the icy water surrounded her, and she was sinking, sinking, sinking, faster than she would have dreamed possible.

Seat belt.

The thought popped into her brain just as the icy water closed over her head. She reached for the latch, struggling with the button. She wrestled free of the belt as a big hand clamped around her arm.

Ryan.

He was pulling her. Something sharp jabbed her arm. And he was pulling again, dragging her through the cold darkness and toward the light. She kicked her legs, desperate to help him as they went up, up, up, and finally broke the surface.

Air!

It felt like razors in her lungs. Salt stung her eyes, her nose, her throat. A strong arm wrapped around her body as she choked and coughed.

“Emma, hold on!”

She grabbed onto him as he surged through the water. It was cold. Stunningly
cold. And in seconds, she could barely feel her legs. She struggled to kick, to help propel them forward, but the waves were choppy, and saltwater pelted her face as she tried to look around.

“Breathe, Emma.”

She clutched his arm, kicking as hard as she could with numb legs.

“That's it.”

They moved swiftly through the current, as if he knew where they were going. And then she saw it. A boat. It was small and far away, but it was a boat, and the people in it were waving their arms.

“That's our ride,” he said, gasping. “You see it?”

She squeezed his arm. “Yes,” she choked, getting a mouthful of brine. His grip tightened, and she saw that the water around her was red. “Ryan.
Ryan
!”

He was bleeding. His arm, his shoulder. She couldn't tell where the blood was coming from, but it was a lot. His face looked pained, and he seemed to be struggling for air as he reached through the water, dragging her with him. She kicked her legs as hard as she could, trying to help get them to the boat, but it was too far away.

Ryan's strokes slowed. Emma felt a cold shot of fear, even colder than the water. She kicked and kicked with all her might. Waves churned around her, slapping at her as she pulled toward the little skiff. It was a fishing boat, and finally she heard the hum of the engine as it drew near. A wave tossed them, loosening her grip on Ryan as the boat swept up beside them.

The men leaned over, reaching for them, and Ryan seemed to snap into action again, gripping Emma by the waist and pushing her up and into their arms.

“No, take him first! He's hit!”

A wave smacked her, and the words were lost.