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“Thank you.”
In a matter of minutes, all three of them were tied up.
The limit for captures was five. There was a bonus for up to four brought in before midnight. The earlier the “enemies” were brought back to camp, the bigger the bonus. D.J. had figured it would take her and Ronnie until at least nine or ten to get four, but they’d gotten lucky.
After the men were tied up, she unrolled her pants back to her waist and loosened her tank top. When she’d collected her gear, she shrugged back into her shirt.
“Don’t get dressed on our account,” one of the Army officers said with a grin. “Naked suits you.”
“How flattering,” she said, and turned her back on him. Why did men always assume women were interested in their attentions?
“You remember where the EMT guy is?” she asked Ronnie.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“All right. Take these three with you and collect him. After you escort them back to headquarters, make sure they give us our bonus points, then meet me here. I’ll be within a quarter mile of this position.” She chuckled as she remembered his lack of stealth. “I’m sure I’ll hear you coming.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
D.J. watched as her boy toy led away their prisoners. The officers were only loosely tied together. Rules of engagement required that they cooperate on the trip back in. They were allowed to do whatever it took to get away right up until that first step toward camp. But just in case they decided to give her private the slip, she’d taken down their names.
When she was alone, D.J. sank onto a log and drew her backpack close. The misting had finally stopped. It was nearing sunset, and the day wasn’t going to get any warmer. She thought about starting a fire, but that would mean giving away her position. Something she didn’t want to do. If no one got too close, she would stay right where she was until Ronnie returned. If she had to hide, she figured the odds of him finding her were close to zero. She would give him two hours to make his way to camp and come back. The return trip would be faster because he would flag down one of the jeeps circling the forest. If he didn’t make it in the time she allowed, she would find one more potential prisoner herself and get back into camp by midnight.
Forty-five minutes into the first hour, D.J. heard something. It wasn’t footsteps or brush moving. She couldn’t actually place the sound, but it made the hairs on her arms stand up and her senses go on alert.
Someone was out there.
She silently slid off the log and into the shadowy protection of a tree trunk. After concealing her pack under some leaves, she confirmed she had her sidearm in place, then set out to find whoever was approaching.
She headed east first, then south to end up behind him. She worked on instinct, still not hearing anything specific, but knowing he was there. There were no bent twigs to give her direction, no footsteps, no startled birds or squirrels.
A couple of times she nearly convinced herself she’d been imagining the almost-noise and she started to return to her backpack. Then she would shiver, as if someone had raked nails on a chalk-board and she would know he was still out there.
It took her thirty minutes to make the circuit. When she ended up a few yards away from where she’d started, she was disgusted to find the guy pulling her backpack out from its hiding place. He’d gone right to it, as if he’d known it was there from the beginning. How had he done that?
D.J. dismissed the question. Once she verified the man had a purple arm band instead of an orange one like hers, she knew he was fair game. While he was bent over her supplies, obviously distracted, she moved in to attack.
She was less than a foot away when she pressed the barrel of the rifle against his back.
“Bang, you’re dead,” she said softly. “Now stand up slowly. Ghosts don’t move fast.”
The man calmly closed her backpack and put his hands in the air. “I heard you crashing around out there. What were you doing? Playing dodge ball with some rabbits?”
She didn’t appreciate the question or the smirky tone of voice. For one thing, she knew she’d been quiet. For another, she was the one holding the gun.
“Keep your hands up,” she said as she eased back far enough to keep him from grabbing the rifle.
When he was standing with his back to her, she considered her situation. The man was tall, a couple of inches over six feet, and well muscled. His stealth told her he wasn’t an amateur like many of the participants. Nothing about him was familiar, which meant he was probably Army. Special Forces? Had they sent in a ringer?
She couldn’t see his sidearm, which worried her. His rifle was on the ground next to his pack, but where was the handgun?
“How long are we going to stand like this?” he asked conversationally. “Or did you forget the next part? You’re supposed to have me turn around, then we eyeball each other. Once you’ve scared me with your rifle, you tie me up. Can you remember that or should we take it in stages?”
“You have some attitude, son.”
“Son?” He chuckled. “Honey, you don’t sound all that old yourself.”
Arrogant bastard, she thought in annoyance. No doubt he thought because she was a woman, she would be easy to take. She was itching to kick his butt, but she wasn’t going to start something before she knew she could finish it. She might be irritated, but she wasn’t stupid.
“I have no interest in eyeballing you,” she said. “Put your hands on top of your head, then get on your knees.”
“But I just stood up,” he protested, sounding like a spoiled child being asked to eat his vegetables. “Why don’t you figure out what you want first, and then move me around.”
She gritted her teeth. “Listen, mister, you—”
He moved with the speed of a cheetah racing in for the kill. One second he was standing with his back to her, and the next he spun in a graceful circle. His foot cracked against the rifle with enough force to send pain shooting up her arm. Involuntarily her fingers released the rifle and it crashed to the ground.
D.J. barely had time to notice. With her arm throbbing, she was at a serious disadvantage. Not that they were going to fight. Her opponent pulled his sidearm out of nowhere and pointed it directly at her head.
Her brain had started processing information the second the man had moved. She knew that he was as powerful as she’d thought, with lethally fast reflexes. He was tall, had dark eyes and the faint smile curving up his lips contrasted with the cold metal in his hand. He was good. She gave him credit for that. But was he good enough? He’d kicked the rifle, not her. Had his mama taught him not to beat up on girls?
In keeping with her philosophy of using every weapon at hand, she decided to find out.
She ignored the gun and drew her throbbing arm up to her chest. With her free hand, she cupped her wrist and forced herself to whimper softly.
Whatever it took to win, she reminded herself even as she hated the thought of appearing weak.
The gun never wavered, but the man took a half step forward. “What? I kicked the rifle, not you.”
She glared at him. “Maybe that’s what you aimed at, but it’s not what you hit.” She sucked in a breath and bit her lower lip. “I think my wrist is broken.”
He frowned. “I didn’t hit your wrist.”
She glared at him. “Right. Because in those boots you’re wearing you could feel exactly what you connected with. My mistake.”
Mentally she crossed her fingers, then nearly crowed with delight as he glanced down at his boots. One nanosecond of inattention was all she needed.
D.J. lashed out with her foot, connecting firmly with the man’s midsection. Even as all the air rushed out of him, he grabbed for her leg. But she’d anticipated the move, and had already spun away.
The gun disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. He had to be weak from lack of air, but he still moved toward her. D.J. prepared for his attack, but when it came, she barely saw movement before she found herself tumbling onto the wet ground.
Part of her brain tried to figure out what exactly he’d done, while the rest of her recognized that the lack of pain anywhere meant he’d held back. He’d upended her with enough contact to send her tumbling but not enough to cause pain. How did he have that much control?
She wanted to summon up a little righteous indignation. How dare he treat her differently because she was female? But she was too busy scrambling to her feet and trying to figure out what he was going to do next.
D.J. crouched and cleared her mind. With a deep breath, she centered herself and knew she had to attack rather than wait to be bested.
As she moved toward him, she saw his arm push out. She ducked, spun and, instead of kicking at his knee as she’d planned, found herself slipping on the wet leaves. Something glinted and she instinctively reached out. Her fingers closed around his gun. He knocked her forearm with his hand so the gun went tumbling. She managed to kick it with a foot, sending it back into the air. With a graceful pirouette, she caught it and started to turn toward him. He ducked, her foot slipped again, and she began to fall. Her right hand shot out, and she accidentally brought the gun down hard on the back of his head. He fell like a stone.
Her first thought was that he was dead. Then she saw the steady rise and fall of his chest. Her second thought was that she had better get him tied up while he was unconscious, because it sure as hell wasn’t going to happen when he came to.
Chapter Two
Quinn regained consciousness several seconds before he opened his eyes. He quickly registered the fact that he was lying on his back in the mud with his hands tied behind him. He silently swore in disgust. He’d been downed, not by superior training or force but by dumb luck. Wasn’t that always the way?
Worse, the woman had tied him up while he’d been unconscious. Not that she would have been able to secure him any other way. He gave her points for gutsiness, but none for the lucky head shot.
Now what? He figured he would fake being out for a while, just long enough to make his captor sweat his condition. But before he could put his plan into action, he felt a hand settle on his ankle. His interest piqued—no way was he going to miss any part of a show—he opened his eyes.
The sun had gone down, but there was plenty of light from the small battery-operated lantern she’d set on the ground. He wasn’t sure why she was willing to risk the light, but he appreciated being able to see what she was doing.
The woman crouched beside him. She felt along the inside of his left ankle and pulled out the knife he’d slipped into his boot. He turned his head and saw she’d already removed the one he’d tucked into his utility belt.
She ran her hand along the inside of his leg to the knee, then down the outside to his boot. After repeating the procedure on the other leg, she shifted and pressed her palm along the length of his thigh. When she’d nearly reached the good part, he grinned.
“A little to the left,” he said.
She glanced up. Sometime in their scuffle, her hat had fallen off. He registered long dark hair pulled back in a braid, brown eyes, a well-shaped mouth and a sprinkling of freckles on slightly tanned skin. Pretty, he thought absently. No, more than pretty. She was both elegant and tough. An intriguing combination.
One of her well-shaped eyebrows rose slightly. “A little to the left?” she repeated, then slid her hand over his groin and patted him. “I know most men like to think of their equipment as a weapon, but it’s not all that interesting to me.”
He chuckled. “You say that now, with me tied up and at your mercy.”
“Uh-huh. Just so we’re clear, there are no circumstances that would change my mind.”
She rose, stepped over to his other side and crouched again, this time running her hands over his other thigh. From there she felt her way up his stomach to his chest.
He liked the feel of her hands on his body. She moved quickly enough to show she really wasn’t interested, but thoroughly enough to find any concealed weapons. Or so she thought.
When she’d finished going through his jacket pockets and checking the hem and lining, she sat back on her heels. “You seem to be disarmed.”
“What about taking off my shirt?” he asked. “I might have something taped to my skin.”
“If you do, you won’t be getting to it anytime soon, will you?” She tapped his upper arm. “I tie a mean knot.”
He’d already figured that out. Pulling against the ropes hadn’t loosened them at all. He was going to have to find a different way to escape. Not that he wanted to go anywhere this second. His captor was the most entertainment he’d had in months.
He swept his gaze over her chest, lingering long enough on her breasts to make her shoulders stiffen. Then he returned his attention to her face. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth thinned, but she didn’t complain. Somewhere along the way, she’d learned the rules—if she was going to play in a man’s world, she would have to live by male rules. But that didn’t mean she had to like them.
They stared at each other, a minor contest of wills. Quinn knew he could wear her down eventually, but decided on something more interesting. A challenge.
“You cheated,” he said softly.
He waited for the blink, the blush, the guilt. Instead she only shrugged. “I won.”
“You took advantage of an accident.”
“Exactly.” She shifted until she was seated next to him. “Would you have done things any differently?”
He wouldn’t have needed an accident to win, but there was no point in saying that to her. She already knew.
“Besides,” she continued, “that was my only chance to tie you up. You wouldn’t have allowed it otherwise.”
“Good point.”
“So who are you?” she asked.
“Your prisoner of war. Do you plan to abuse me?”
One corner of her mouth twitched. “Stop sounding so hopeful. You’re perfectly safe.”
“Darn.”
The twitch threatened to turn into a smile, but she managed to control it. When her expression was serious again, she said, “You never answered the question.”
“I know.”
She wanted to know who he was, and he would tell her…in time. Right now, despite the cool evening and the damp mud, he was enjoying himself. He had thought the war games would be boring and without any challenge. He was glad to be wrong.
She drew one knee up to her chest and leaned toward him. “If you won’t tell me your name, at least tell me why you looked down. You’re a good fighter. You had to know it was a mistake.”
A good fighter? Now it was his turn to hold in a smile. He was a whole hell of a lot more than that. She’d never stood a chance, and he would guess she knew enough to figure that out.
Her chin jutted out at an angle that was pure pride. Who was she? Military?
“I knew you were setting me up and I wanted to see what you would do,” he said.
She stiffened. “You were testing me?”
“More like playing with you.”
Her breath caught in an audible hiss. Dark eyes narrowed again and he had a feeling she was itching to draw blood.
“Quinn Reynolds,” he said to distract her. “Now that you’ve felt me up and all, we should probably be on a first-name basis with each other.”
She ignored the bait. “So you won’t tell me when I ask, but you’ll share the information on your terms?”
“Something like that.” He figured she wasn’t going to offer her name, so he changed the subject. “Where’s your partner?” he asked.
“He’ll be back any minute, and then we’ll take you to headquarters. He took in our first four prisoners. Where’s your partner?”
“I got here too late to be matched up with anyone. Besides, I prefer to work alone.”
“Of course you do.” She sounded mildly amused. “You macho paramilitary types always do.”
“That’s more than a little judgmental.”
“It’s accurate.”
