Page 8 of Resisting His Target

Fuck.

“I figure we’ve got about three miles to go,” said Razorback. What would her reaction be to him? Unease fluttered through his stomach, belying the confidence he wore like armor. All these years later, he still hadn’t gotten used to the initial reaction when people saw him. They would jerk their heads back or avert their eyes or stare without apology—then greet him across a vast river rushing with distaste.

He forced his attention to the matter at hand. ThePedazo’swebsite said it was a small but luxurious world-class resort. Satellite images showed a main building and five cabanas on the beach, with a couple of storage sheds, which made it difficult to believe they were world-class anything.

The men turned off the main drag and down the stone-covered road indicated by the sign. “I want to get the lay of the land before we announce our arrival. If this lady’s keeping secrets, we need to find out everything we can on our own.”

5

Jackie hadn’t meant to fall asleep.

She sat up abruptly in the darkness, the bruised muscles of her abdomen instantly reminding her of her ordeal, and the fear that had been her near constant companion returned. It was raining again with the threat of more storms, and she’d fallen into a deep and dreamless sleep beside Selena. Bill’s pistol lay nearby, its magazine fully loaded.

Bill was gone. She was alone with Selena and scared out of her mind. Last night, she’d driven a dead man to the top of the cliffs overlooking the ocean and pushed his body over the edge. She had cried in frustration as she pushed and pulled and dragged his muscular frame to the edge, then over, and she’d cried long and hard when it was done.

She’d stared at the deep water in the moonlight, waves crashing against menacing boulders, and prayed the ocean creatures would take care of her secret. The irony wasn’t lost on her. This journey had started when she herself went over a cliff into the ocean; now she was disposing of a body in the same way.

Memories came back to her. How she’d gasped for air, desperate that air pocket not get smaller, her head thrown back to keep her mouth and nose clear. Her life was thrown into sharp relief, the highs and lows that had always been gray now clearly black and white. She’d wasted years on a loveless marriage that had destroyed her sense of self, shaped and molded her into a figure she barely recognized.

“I want another chance,” she’d begged God, the car sinking around her. “Please. Give me another chance to make it right. To be a mother to this child.”

She didn’t remember being pulled from the car. Didn’t remember being dragged to shore. Only one memory was crystal clear after her rescue—the deal she’d made to walk away from the ocean a dead woman. But if the bruises on her face and the body she’d thrown from the cliffs were any indication, that deal had expired.

But why? What had changed? She’d been safe here for eight years. Now she needed to find safety again. She needed a new place to hide.

Damn the storm that had whipped through here like a demon, knocking down trees and blocking roads, effectively trapping her in place. Worst of all, she knew those hazards would also keep the men of HERO Force from getting to her, which meant she was all alone and destined to stay that way for a good while.

She put her head on the pillow and turned toward Selena, inhaling her daughter’s familiar scent, but the peace she usually found beside the girl was elusive at best. She was rattled, on edge, downright terrified if she allowed herself to think too much.

A loud crack echoed from downstairs, and Jackie’s eyes opened wide. Turning, she looked at the clock—eight thirty—though the darkness of the storm made it seem much later. Picking up the gun, she slipped from the bed and moved into the hallway, straining to hear.

Thunder.

Or were those footsteps?

The hair on her arms stood on end. She’d cancelled the week’s reservations, issuing refunds to upset travelers with words of apology and a family emergency that was only partly a lie. No one should be here except maybe the SEALs, but they would have rung the bell, not broken inside. She gripped the butt of the Glock more tightly and tiptoed toward the front steps, passing the flight that led directly to the kitchen. The noise had seemed farther away.

She was aware of her nightgown, wishing she had on something else, the slippery pink fabric not reaching her knees—then chastised herself for being concerned with propriety at a moment like this. If someone really was in her house, her clothing was the least of her problems. She rounded the landing at the bottom of the stairs, past the closed and locked front door, and peered into the dimly lit front room.

A floorboard creaked in the hallway between where she stood and the kitchen, her head jerking toward the sound and her body following. She couldn’t see anything, the windowless hallway appearing as dark as the mouth of a cave. Her hands steadied the weapon in front of her. “Hello?”

The sudden ringing of the doorbell made her jump violently, the muscles of her chest and arms jerking with surprise. She turned around to face the front door, a man’s face in shadow though a small inset window. She pointed her gun at the door, her finger hovering over the trigger.

“We’re with HERO Force,” called the man through the thick wooden door. “Mac sent us.”

Relief flooded her. She turned off the alarm system and unlocked the door, hitting the switch for the outside light. “You scared m— ” The word died on her tongue as she stared at the man and gasped. One side of his face was nearly normal, with a single wide gash across his cheek, but the other was heavily scarred and disfigured, probably by fire, the warm brown tone of his skin mottled with bits of pink and washed-out red. “I’m sorry,” she stammered. “I didn’t mean… Sorry. How did you get through?”

“We walked the last few miles. I’m Ian Rhodes. This is Sloan Dvorak.”

They were both tall and broad shouldered, though the scarred man was lean and muscular where the other was stocky and solid. Ian and Sloan, she reminded herself. All Ian had done was introduce them, yet she instantly sensed he was formidable. Perhaps it was the steel that seemed to structure his frame, holding his body erect and seemingly ready to attack, or the power barely concealed within his stare. She had offended him, she was sure.

No, Jackie. He probably likes it when women gasp upon seeing his scarred face.

She chastised herself for her stupid thoughts, turning her attention to Sloan. He was softer looking than his partner, or maybe it was just the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth that made him appear friendlier, more helpful. Kind. Yes, Sloan appeared kind, with sandy-brown hair framing his fair face and just the shadow of a beard. Jackie instantly liked him far better than Ian.

Sloan pointed to her hand. “Can you stop pointing that gun at us, please?”

“What?... Oh.” She looked at the Glock, having completely forgotten it was in her hand, and remembering why she held it. “I heard a noise down the hall.”