Holiday Op

Chapter Two

Mitch couldn't believe his eyes. The woman was incredibly beautiful and feisty. A black strappy stiletto caught and held his attention when they slid her from the back of the van. Sexy shot through his head for a millisecond before he shoved it from his thoughts. Missing a shoe didn't matter. Her legs were lean and sculpted from what he could see. Inch by slow inch, they cut the burlap sack revealing a beautiful woman. It reminded him of a magic trick.

The skillful placement of her stiletto amazed him and brought a smile to his lips. The woman had style. Dressed in a mid-thigh black evening dress, she handled her captors with grace and the finesse of a greased pig. They couldn't get a hand on her for a matter of minutes as she did an awkward bob and weave, eluding them in the pouring rain. He bet if she had on a matching set of shoes-or better yet, sneakers-they wouldn't have caught her.

He stiffened at the sight of her being tackled from behind. The pair slid for several feet until they stopped. It didn't faze her. She continued to fight for her freedom. He caught sight of the gun before she did and instinctively placed the man in his crosshairs. One wrong move and he'd drop him where he stood. They'd been instructed to bring her home alive and he planned to complete this mission. He couldn't help but snort heavily when she sat upright and shoved the gun out of her face. Either she was the bravest woman he'd ever seen or she was insane. At the moment, he couldn't decide which.

When she turned toward the open door, he followed her line of sight. Damn, he hissed under his breath. Kwan Sung-hee. The worst of the worst stood in the doorway of the building. Short, powerful, and deadly. Known for severe torture tactics and brute force. This wasn't good. Kim Jong-un employed one of the deadliest and most elusive mercenaries in the world.

Keeping the gun level, he never lost sight of her. Soaking wet and covered in mud, she managed to maintain an air of dignity and defiance. Even at such a distance, he sensed strength radiate off her. The only glitch, she wobbled for a split second when Kwan killed the man she'd spiked with her heel. Death was a given in his profession, but he knew it wasn't in hers.

The moment the door closed he lost sight of her. Dread settled in the pit of his stomach. They had to get her out of there as quickly as possible before that monster turned her inside out. Three clicks of his tongue to the sensitive mic inside his highly specialized helmet and he got the information he needed. They were ready at his go. Armed with the latest weaponry, his band of Force Recon Marines were the top in their field. This wasn't the first hostage removal they'd completed.

Switching to thermal heat-sensing binoculars, he located and counted the enemy. The dead body lay in the back of the van as one drove it away. Two men patrolled the front of the building while another two guarded the back. He located the other two inside the building along with Kwan and Miss Summers. No, he chided himself. Never give the package a name. It turned the mission personal and that wasn't allowed. Shaking off his momentary lapse in Marine judgment, he relayed the info to his brothers.

Once he knew they each understood, they waited for the right moment to pounce undetected and recover the hostage. But for how long? How long would she survive should Kwan decide to interrogate her by way of one of his horrendous methods?

Moments later, the hostage was led to a room on the far back right corner of the building. Not surprisingly, they locked her in. What happened next stilled the air in his lungs. She undressed. Every ounce of moisture dried in his mouth. It wasn't right to watch, but he couldn't help it. From her movements, she entered a shower. Though he tried not to, his eyes glued to her actions for several long seconds before the dedicated Marine in him reminded him he had a job to do. Mitch swallowed hard as he readjusted his position to ease the sudden heaviness between his thighs. Never had he reacted to anyone as he did to her, especially while on duty.

The sound of a throat clearing whispered through the built-in headset of his helmet jerking him back to reality and let him know he wasn't the only one aware of her actions. Every man on this mission was equipped to the hilt with the latest computer enhanced gadgetry. They saw what he saw. Heat filtered up his spine. For a reason he couldn't explain, he didn't like that fact.

Mitch closed his eyes for a split second, took a deep breath and cleared his head. Think mission and nothing else. Extract package, return it safely to base, submit report and return to the field. That was the way of his world. It didn't include a woman. Not now, not ever.

Opening his eyes, he caught sight of the guard's movement. One remained at each door, while each of the other two rotated. While a man walked to the left and around to the front the other walked to the right and rounded to the back. Glancing at the time, he realized it happened at exactly fifteen minutes from when they'd taken their posts. Perfect. A smile tugged at his lips. If they did it again, it would be their downfall.

Within minutes his men were in place. They knew their jobs. Take down the guard they were assigned without making a sound or being seen. Not a problem. Exactly fifteen minutes passed and the guards rotated. The instant each turned the corner, they hit the ground with a silent thud. The men located at the front and back doors were silenced as well. Mitch wasted no time. He entered through the window of the room where she was held.

Looking into the open bathroom, he froze. She stood wrapped in a towel. Moisture glistened her skin. He knew the moment she spotted him. Her eyes widened and he reacted quickly. He couldn't let her scream.

Both legs trembled, but Allie refused to let her captor see her fear. He'd killed a man in cold blood. Would he do the same to her? Swallowing hard, she didn't doubt it. One, two, three she counted each step trying to calm her nerves. When he turned to face her, she stopped, tilted her chin and straightened her spine. Even though she leaned, wearing only one stiletto, she grappled for an ounce of dignity and hoped she portrayed a serene, calm, collected manner she truly didn't feel inside.

To level her gaze on his, she lowered her chin. At five-feet seven inches tall, she towered over him. Yep, she was right. He barely cleared five feet. In his case, height didn't matter. She'd witnessed his deadly capabilities first hand. Though heavily accented with an Asian flair, his English was well pronounced.

"Miss Summers, as long as you are here you will be considered my guest. I have taken it upon myself to make you as comfortable as possible. My men have been informed to protect you by any means."

The gleam in his eyes sent a cold chill down her spine. His attempt at a smile gave her the willies. It wasn't full-toothed or happy. It twisted more like a sinister grin, speaking volumes of the pain he knew how to inflict rather than easing her nerves and making her comfortable. Gathering as much saliva as possible, she managed to speak on a grated whisper.

"Why am I here?” Uncontrollable shivers set in, causing her to rub her arms against the chill.

"You are cold.” He grabbed her elbow and it was all she could do not to pull away. “Let me show you to your room."

Refusing to move at his attempt to guide her, she repeated, “Why am I here?"

His eyes narrowed, but she maintained a slim grasp on her fear, keeping it buried beneath the surface. After several seconds of silence and staring at her as if scrutinizing her intelligence, he spoke.

"You are a mere pawn in a much bigger game."

"You're after my father,” she stated bluntly, not wavering from his intimidating glare.

"Ah… Intelligent as you are beautiful.” He released her arm, but continued to walk as if they were having a casual conversation. She followed. “Your father has something my employer wants."

"What makes you think that?"

"Don't play coy with me, Miss Summers. Your father created a missile guidance system which is worth far more than the United States government has given him."

"My father is a patriot.” She stiffened. “He believes in his country."

"Do you? Are you willing to die if he refuses to exchange the information for your life?"

"I trust my father."

"Then for your sake,"-he sneered as he stopped and opened the door on the far right side of the room-"let us hope he makes the right choice."

Allie opened her mouth to speak, but closed it instead.

"Your room, Miss Summers. You will find a bathroom complete with toiletries. Also, a change of clothes can be found laid out for you on the bed.” The touch of his hand down the back of her gown to her waist caused her to flinch. “Of course, it is nothing to match the finest silk that you wear. Too bad the rain and your attempted escape ruined it. Do not try that again. It would be a shame to preempt your life before its time. There are armed guards surrounding the building. While you refresh, I shall see to your nourishment."

The moment the door closed, the distinct sound of the lock clicked. There was no getting out that way. She scurried to the window, glanced from side to side, but saw nothing. It too was locked from the outside. Caged like a lab rat. Dried crusted mud made her itch. Coldness settled deep into her flesh making her shake from head to toe. She needed to think, but at this rate hypothermia would probably set in before she managed to engage her brain.

Allie walked into the bathroom, noting there was no door. It contained the basic needs, a shower surrounded by a wooden stall, a toilet, and a sink. Nothing fancy. Simple bar soap sat on the sink. A toothbrush and toothpaste, a comb, a towel, a white washcloth, and a roll of toilet paper rounded out the amenities of this no-star establishment. She snorted at her attempt at humor. She doubted this place existed on any of the Internet vacation booking sites. When she started the shower, she saw no shampoo so she grabbed the bar of soap from the sink.

Wiggling out of her single stiletto, she frowned. They were the best leather shoes she'd ever owned. As quickly as she could, she peeled the dress and her undergarments from her skin. She opened the creaky wooden door and stepped into the shower. Uncomfortable with the inability to lock the bathroom for privacy, she quickly scrubbed the mud from her hair and body. No way did she intend to be caught naked if that midget of a maniac decided to pay another visit before she dressed. Every muscle ached, causing her to linger longer than she should have in the heated water. Tears ran down her cheeks.

God, she prayed Father was all right. From the sound of it, he wasn't a captive. Only she was a prisoner. That thought released a smidgeon of the knot in her stomach. Hopefully, his sister, Myra, would remain with him until Allie returned. If she returned. She wiped the tears from her eyes and shut off the water. Tears equaled weakness and she refused to yield to that bodily function again. Not until she was home.

She stepped from the shower, dried, then wrapped in the towel. She ran the comb through her hair, brushed her teeth, then stilled. Did she hear something? A quick turn of the knob and the water flow to the sink stopped. Straining, she heard nothing. She turned, walked into the bedroom and froze.

A man clad from head to toe in American military camouflage and heavily armed stood staring at her. Before she could speak, he moved lightning fast. A hand covered her mouth while the other tugged her close from behind.

"Shush.” His warm breath tickled her ear. But his deep, southern drawl touched her in other places making her shiver as he continued to whisper. “I'm Staff Sergeant Mitch Sinclair with the Marines, ma'am, and we're here to take you home."

Allie bit his hand lightly, causing him to jerk it free from her mouth. She twisted in his grip, grappling for the towel that had loosened, leveled her gaze on his, and whispered on a hurried breath, “I can see that. Give me a second to dress and I'm out that window behind you."

Without giving him a chance, she shrugged from his grip, dropped the towel and lunged for the clothes on the bed. She tugged on the sweatshirt and sweatpants without bothering with the undergarments. Grabbing the socks, she noticed there were no shoes, so she tossed them back on the bed.

Mitch's jaw dropped. The most perfectly rounded bottom stood within arm's length and he couldn't do a thing about it. He spun on his heels, weapon drawn and guarded the door while she dressed. Think mission. Think bad guys. Think Kwan.

That did it. Pure heat sizzled up his spine to curl in his gut. Images of some of the grisly innocent deaths inflicted by that man's hand flashed inside his head, chilling the unwanted sensation of desire. But not for long. She touched his shoulder and he turned to face her. Deep, brown eyes framed by wet golden hair melted his soul.

"No shoes,” she whispered.

"It'll have to do. Let's get you out of here first."

Mitch cautiously peeked through the open window. With a nod, Sergeant Lou Randle appeared on the other side. He helped the hostage through the window, then followed. As his feet touched ground, he noted the undergarments still lay on the bed. Knowing she wore nothing under those sweats sent a spike of need straight to his loins. What was wrong with him?

A knock on the door jarred him into combat stance as he backed away from the building. The moment they hit the woods, Kwan Sung-hee discovered he no longer held Allie Summers captive.

"Find her. Kill her,” echoed behind them in heated Korean.

Mitch had no intention of allowing that to happen.