Page 112 of Hidden Agendas (Tempting SEALs 4)

Nathan hummed as he nodded his head. Then he settled his forehead against his knees and seemed to be rocking himself.

“I see beauty, I see pleasure. I see the dragon’s maiden,” he whispered then. “Ah, lass, bring me sanity.”

A dry chuckle filled the shack as Emily watched the man with compassion. Whatever Fuentes had done to him, it had driven him insane.

Emily laid her head back against the wall, staring at the strip of moonlight that gleamed through the bars on the opposite wall. She could see the stars, but she didn’t know enough about them to tell where they were located.

She should have paid more attention in those science classes instead of goofing off, she thought with a small sigh as she rubbed at her bare arms.

“You look like my wife when you sit like that. Please don’t do that again.”

Her head snapped forward at the tormented sound of Nathan’s voice, her eyes widening as she glimpsed the wildness in his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Are you okay?”

“I’ll never be okay,” he said then, distantly, his voice almost guttural as he watched her. “I see her sometimes in the women they bring to me. I hear her voice. I hear her crying. Is she crying, do you think?”

Emily swallowed tightly. “They drugged you.”

A bitter laugh left his throat. “Constantly, girl. I’m a hard-on packin’ fool. How long have I been here anyway? They don’t tell me these things.”

“Nineteen months.” She curled closer to the wall. She could distantly remember the effects of those drugs, and they had been hell.

“Nineteen months,” he said absently. “That’s a long time, isn’t it? Longer than I thought.”

She watched as he tapped his heel against the dirt. A steady beat, almost unconscious, tapping and grinding his foot against the floor as though searching for something.

“When they come back, they’ll bring the needles again.” His voice hardened. “When they do, they’ll tie you down, close to me. Don’t try to talk to me. Don’t cry. Play dead, you hear me? No matter what happens, you play dead. You got that, girl?”

Her breath hitched on a sob. Oh God, what were they doing to this man?

“Do you hear me?” Animalistic, grating, his voice demanded an answer.

Emily nodded frantically. “I understand. Play dead.”

“I don’t want to touch you. God. I don’t want this anymore.” His heel ground harder into the dirt. “Motherfuckers, they took the damned boots. Where the hell are my fucking boots?”

Emily wrapped her arms around her stomach, watching the anger building in Nathan as the minutes ticked by. She didn’t try to speak to him, or to question the madness that seemed to grip him.

She began to pray instead.

Twenty-eight

KELL MANEUVERED THE BLACK HAWK with precise, gentle motions. They were moving fast, below radar, the powerful helicopter eating up the distance as they maneuvered over the mountains and headed toward San Diego. At his side sat Clint McIntyre, behind him Macey worked his wizardry on the laptop, using the satellite link the copter utilized.

So far, they had bypassed any undue notice. Beside Macey, Reno Chavez checked weapons while Senator Stanton’s buddy retired Master Chief Strepton checked com links.

Admiral Holloran and Captain Malone and Senator Stanton talked in low voices, checking their weapons and equipment. Kell hated having them here. His attention would be distracted between keeping Emily’s father and Nathan’s uncle alive.

Kell just hoped like hell they could get through this without more lives lost. Except Clay’s and Fuentes’s. Those two he wanted for himself. He wanted to feel their blood washing over his hands, watch the life dim in their eyes.

“ETA twenty minutes,” Clint reported as he checked navigation and repeated Kell’s heading. “Go in as low as you can. The military keeps a close watch here and Clay could be utilizing the spotters.”

The mission was so damned clandestine that only Admiral Holloran’s office was aware of it. The knowledge that Jansen Clay had involved himself with Fuentes was a bitter pill to swallow, but it made sense. He had the connections to help Fuentes in his arms deals, as well as the drug business. But what was in it for Clay? The man had more money than he could spend in three lifetimes. What would make a man so depraved that he would betray his country, as well as his only child, with such evil?

Macey had detected where and how Clay had hidden his Gulfstream in the commercial air traffic, which suggested Clay had help somewhere in Homeland Security. The net was slowly materializing, but perhaps too late. The skin-tag Emily had worn had been activated after a message from Judas came through reporting Jansen had secured his hostage for the time being.

Three seconds. Macey had three seconds to pinpoint the location before they lost it forever. And he had done it. The son of a bitch was a fucking miracle worker.

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