Page 4

4

Rose woke with a jolt. Her harness was taut against her body as the helicopter shook violently.

What the ? —

“Ladies and gentlemen.” The pilot’s voice crackled in her headset. “We are coming in to land. Bit bumpy out there.”

The craft dropped momentarily, and metal rattled, leaving her stomach somewhere in midair. Rose squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, clutching the straps that crossed her chest with clammy hands. The last twenty-four hours had been a blur of packing and travel. Cars, three airplanes and now a helicopter, transporting her to the extremes of the Kalahari desert.

She released her harness with rigid fingers and forced herself to spread her fingers across the text of the guidebook in her lap. She focused on the print as distraction from the unnerving whine as the surging engine made the pages ripple.

Kalahari is derived from the Tswana word Kgala, meaning “the great thirst”, or Kgalagadi, meaning “a waterless place”; the Kalahari has vast areas covered by red sand without any permanent surface water.

She released a hissing breath. Nope. Not working. Instead, she squinted out the window against the relentless sun as the helicopter circled a flattened bowl of parched red earth. Skeletal trees strained toward the sky as if frozen in a rain dance for water that would never come.

The guidebook description was spot on. It was hard to believe that under this desolate landscape was the largest non sub-glacial lake in the world.

She pressed her forehead to the glass, searching the ground below for signs of the team who would escort her to the Io habitat. Margaret had been economical on details. Rose chewed on her lower lip, her stomach twisting. She’d been forced on a mission with a team of mercenaries. Professional soldiers with no doubt questionable ethics.

A throaty cough drew her attention back to the helicopter’s interior. On the other side of the cabin was her companion, Professor Jeff Harris. As the engineer who’d designed the Io, he’d described the design process in excruciating detail earlier in the flight.

His bald head gleamed in the afternoon sun as he took photographs of their descent. At least when he was taking photographs, he wasn’t talking. The reprieve was welcome.

The landscape was relentlessly bleak. What on earth had possessed them to build a research station out here? For the millionth time, she wondered what was so important or dangerous that it needed to be so far from humanity? The people who’d arranged her transport had remained tight-lipped. Either they didn’t know or they’d been forbidden to tell her. Neither was an appealing option.

“Crazy to think there’s a lake under all of this.” Harris swiped through the photographs he’d taken. “It’s said that the waters of Dragon’s Breath Lake hold mystical properties, imbuing those who dare to brave its depths with strength, wisdom, and untold secrets.”

“I prefer science to old wives’ tales.” Rose kept her expression and voice neutral, free of the increasing uneasiness in her gut.

Harris flashed her a toothy grin. “Come on, Dr. Wyndham, don’t tell me you’re not at least a little curious about Dragon’s Breath?” Excitement gleamed in his eyes. “Who knows what mysteries might wait for us down there?”

“Hopefully none. This is a rescue mission.”

The smile faded from his face. “Of course, yes, but still—” He glanced out the window once more. “This place…” His voice dropped to a whisper, as if talking to himself. “There’s more to it than meets the eye.”

Her sister, Thea, was down there somewhere. Maybe hurt. Rose honestly didn’t know how she felt about that. Her feelings were all mixed up inside. Maybe it didn’t matter. She just needed to focus on doing her job well.

They were almost on the ground now, the rotors scouring dirt in all directions, making a central command tent surrounded by chunky black four by fours billow.

It looked like a military base camp.

Rose’s fingers dug dents in the arm rests at her side as she braced for touch down. She hissed air through clenched teeth as the cabin juddered and the skids hit compacted earth with a bump.

Back on solid ground, thank God. The sooner she got this over with, the sooner she could go home and back to her solitary life in the lab, just the way she liked it.

“Ladies and gents, we have arrived at your destination.” The pilot glanced over his shoulder to fire her a ‘mission completed’ grin. He flicked switches over his head with meaty fingers. “Right on time. Team leader Ethan Carter will brief you.”

Rose unpeeled damp fingers from the leather and gave him a small wave of thanks, relief making her giddy. She unclipped her seatbelt and swiped the hair stuck to her cheek.

She leaned forward to collect her backpack from where it was stowed under her seat, glimpsing a group of well-built men clad head to toe in black through the narrow window. Rising dust obscured their faces, but they were motionless, having stopped what they were doing to watch the arrival. Her pulse ramped up several gears. The men were powerful looking. Mercenaries. She blew out a breath. Hell. Even from a distance, they looked intimidating.

Get a grip, Rose. They’re here to escort you. Protect you.

Harris reached for the side door handle, but the door slid open before he could touch it.

Heat slammed into her, forcing her to recoil into her seat. Hell. Literally.

A man leaned in, a welcoming smile on his intelligent face as he extended a hand.

“Dr. Wyndham? Professor Harris? Welcome. I’m Ethan Carter, Operational lead, Ocean Wolves.” His black T-shirt hugged a wide chest, the bands of his sleeves cutting into huge biceps. The ghost of a scar zigzagged from his lip to his nose, accentuating the aura of strength and control that transmitted through Rose’s skin as she accepted his handshake.

“Hi. Just Rose is fine.” Her pulse eased a little at his confident grip and the warmth in his eyes. This was a man who took care of people, who excelled at his job.

“Likewise. Call me Ethan.” His smile was broad.

She accepted his offer of help and used his support to exit the helicopter in one piece, her boots crunching the dry mud. Harris followed, muttering about dust under his contact lenses.

The heat was suffocating, feeling hotter when she breathed in than out. This was what it must be like living in a furnace. Rose pulled at her collar, undoing her shirt by several buttons in the vain hope of a breeze on her skin.

Ethan’s head bobbed toward her in empathy as she plucked her shirt from where it was melded to her stomach. “Heat takes a little getting used to.”

“Yes.” Sweat popped on every inch of her body. The air was still, claustrophobically hot. Around her, skeletal bushes sprouted sporadically from the gritty sand like black splinters. She had officially landed in the deadest place on the planet.

She eyed the nearby tents. None of them looked like they had showers.

Rose Wyndham. She tightened her grip on her backpack. Quit whining. Her career depended on this and if she was going down, it wasn’t without a fight. The OSC had chosen her for a reason—because she was up to the job. She could do this.

She fumbled in one of the side pockets of her pack and, retrieving her water bottle, downed several gulps of water. It was lukewarm, but when she screwed the lid back on, she felt a little more like herself.

Ethan pivoted on one polished boot. “Welcome to the Kalahari.” He gestured toward the largest tent. “This is our command tent. We’re just about to start the mission briefing, so it’s perfect timing for you both to join us.”

The group of men she had spotted on landing were gone. Only one man walked toward her, over six foot tall, his lean legs eating up the parched ground between them in no time at all. Ethan gestured toward him. “My right-hand man. Nik Borostovlo. You need anything at all, let Nik know and he’ll take care of you.”

“Nik. Dr. Rose Wyndham and Professor Jeff Harris.”

The second man, Nik, smiled, laugh lines forming at the corners of steely—gray eyes. “Pleasure,” he said, his voice gravelly with a Russian accent that surely felled women in their droves.

His grip was firm and dry and the muscles on the back of Rose’s neck that had been pinging with tension since she’d been shunted into the helicopter, eased off a few more degrees.

A man shouted and Nik’s attention bounced off her face and over her shoulder.

Rose followed the direction of his gaze. Two men had unloaded MARV’s crate from the rear ramp of the helicopter, while a third gave directions. The men were joking with each other as they carried the crate toward the camp, definitely not paying attention.

MARV . Her heart rate exploded stratospherically.

“Hey!” She waved to catch their attention, abandoning her backpack and breaking into a jog. The toe of her boot hit something unyielding, and she fell. Red dirt filled her nostrils, gritty between her teeth.

Shit.

She planted her hands on the ground and pushed up, but her vision was blocked by a pair of polished military boots. Her reflection looked back at her, her cheek smudged red, her hair in disarray.

“Let me help you.” A gruff male voice and a large masculine hand clasped her forearm and boosted her to her feet.

Rose collided with an expanse of muscled chest that blocked out the sun before her feet found the ground again.

Her breath hitched. Scrub that. He blocked out everything .

He loomed over her, an imposing figure garbed in fitted cargo pants and a black long-sleeved T-shirt that clung to him like a second skin. Sunlight glinted off the intricate pattern of silver threads woven into the t-shirt fabric, accentuating the flex of perfectly toned muscles beneath. Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze traced the subtle ridges of his abdomen, the broad expanse of his chest.

Hexis smart fabric.

The scientist in her itched to reach out and touch, to explore the material. Hexagonal nano-processors integrated into the fabric, rendering it impervious to all known acids, alkalis and ballistics. She’d read about Hexis Tech’s newest developments, but as far as she knew, their revolutionary smart fabrics weren’t yet in production, let alone field-tested.

Trepidation rippled through her. She didn’t want to think about what his state-of-the-art gear implied about the mission lying ahead.

“Is everything alright?” Blue eyes assessed her face and then down her body. “You’ve got a little dirt here.” His fingers brushed her cheek revealing dark ink at his wrist.

She stepped away quickly, ignoring the tingle his unexpectedly gentle touch had ignited across her cheek. “The crate is fragile. I need to make sure it’s undamaged.”

“It is undamaged.” He folded his arms and impossible muscles bulged in his upper arms.

Rose dragged her gaze off his body and stalked to MARV’s crate.

“We’ve been very careful.” His deep voice was at her heels.

God . He was following her. She ran her fingers along MARV’s crate, far too aware of the burn of his gaze on her back.

She retrieved her penknife from her hip pocket to open the crate, then dug through the layers of wadding to where MARV was nestled in a sea of foamy nuggets. A quick skim with her palms confirmed MARV was secure and undamaged.

She rocked back on her heels and exhaled, her head hanging forward. Thank God.

“Everything in order?” He strolled to the end of the crate.

She nodded. “This kit is vital and extremely fragile.” Her relief melted away when she noticed his raised eyebrows. Heat flushed through her.

“My team was fully briefed on your equipment and its fragility, Dr. Wyndham .” His voice was cool, and she instantly felt at a disadvantage with the formal use of her surname. “The Wolves are highly trained and exceptionally careful. I think they can handle unloading your crate. Before your box arrived, we were unpacking Trinitrotoluene.”

TNT . Rose’s heart stuttered. Margaret hadn’t mentioned anything about bombs.

Amusement glinted in his eyes. Amazing eyes. A heady marine blue that spoke of the ocean heralding an approaching storm. Dirty blond scruff framed his rugged features, adding to the dangerous vibe that pumped off him.

Ocean Wolves . The mercenary team employed by Margaret to escort her to the habitat. What kind of name was that, anyway?

“Finn Jones.” His palm was open, calloused and oil stained. A man who lived by his hands, not one who sat behind a desk all day .

Rose slid her hand into his, the rough pads of his fingers kissing her skin. “Rose Wyndham.”

“Rose. Like the plant?” His lips quirked up at the corners. “I hear they can be pretty prickly.”

Heat crawled up her neck. So original. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I don’t stab people unless they really deserve it.” She tugged lightly, but his hold on her was firm.

“You two fully caught up?” Ethan approached, his sharp gaze bouncing between them. “It’s time to discuss mission parameters.” He gestured to the command tent where Harris disappeared between tent flaps. “Please. This way.”

Finn finally released her hand, but his gaze remained on her.

She dragged her attention off him and followed Ethan’s lead, skin tingling from the lingering warmth of Finn’s grasp. As she ducked into the tent, she couldn’t resist a last glance over her shoulder.

Barren earth stretched endlessly.

A shiver traced her spine, an inexplicable sense of dread coiling in her gut. Why did this feel like this was a step from which there would be no coming back?