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He was the devil’s own—but she was glad he’d come.
Tessa pulled back the gun and licked her lips to make the tingling go away. The past had slammed into her, knocking the breath out of her the moment she’d seen him. The power he had over her scared her spitless, so she’d gone on the offensive and attacked him. The only other choice she had was to collapse into his arms, and she couldn’t do that. She couldn’t give him a toehold—nothing. If she did, he would take everything and leave her empty again.
They were so close, she could smell his tangy scent, feel his breath feather her cheek. She crossed her arms tightly so she wouldn’t reach out to him in the darkness….
Rogue Soldier
Dana Marton
This book is dedicated to Allison Lyons
for all her wonderful help.
With many thanks to Anita Staley and Jenel Looney
for their help and support. And with much appreciation to Carmen Bydalek, Carla Gingrich, Jean Fassler and Rose Notti of Alaska for setting me straight on a number of details. Many thanks as well to the Nome Public Library.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dana Marton lives near Wilmington, Delaware. She has been an avid reader since childhood and has a master’s degree in writing popular fiction. When not writing, she can be found either in her garden or her home library. For more information on the author and her other novels, please visit her Web site at www.danamarton.com.
She would love to hear from her readers via e-mail: [email protected].
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Mike McNair—Member of SDDU, a top-secret military group. When he finds out that the only woman he’s ever loved is kidnapped, he goes AWOL to rush to Alaska and rescue her.
Tessa Nielsen—Tessa does not appreciate Mike’s return. But as they fight for their lives, she begins to wonder just how much he’s changed over the last few years.
SDDU—Special Designation Defense Unit. A top secret military team established to fight terrorism. Its existence is known only by a select few. Members are recruited from the best of the best, SEALs, FBI and CIA agents, elite military groups.
Brady Marshall—Mike’s old nemesis at the CIA. But what does he have to do with Tessa’s kidnapping?
Tommy Cattaro—A.K.A. Shorty. He used to be one of Mike’s best friends and is now the only person who can help Mike and Tessa out of this mess.
Tsernyakov—An elusive arms dealer, wanted on three continents. Although results of his work are well known to the authorities, his identity isn’t.
Colonel Wilson—Mike’s boss. He’s the leader of the SDDU, reporting straight to the Homeland Security Secretary.
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Epilogue
Chapter One
Of all the stupid things he’d done in his life, this might take the cake. He didn’t even know for sure that she was still alive. All he had to go by was a partial sentence in a two-page report he wasn’t supposed to have seen: “team was unable to recover the second body.” Not exactly a beacon of hope, considering that the other researcher had been found half-eaten by bears.
Mike McNair crept across the snow, each step placed with care. He didn’t want to crunch the icy mess underfoot. The sled dogs were upwind so they couldn’t smell him. He had to make sure they didn’t hear him, either, now that the squalls had died down and the afternoon was shrouded in the absolute silence that existed only in the farthest reaches of the world.
The enemy was inside, all six of the men. He hoped Tessa was with them.
A gun would have come in handy under the circumstances, but his rifle lay in the snow on the bottom of an inaccessible ravine, next to his backpack of supplies. It could have been worse—he could have been killed when the ledge gave way under him.
He hadn’t been. He’d made it, and he would get Tessa back, no matter what it took. Then he would do the best damn fast-talking he’d ever done in his life and convince the Colonel to overlook this little adventure.
Fat chance of that. Wake up, buddy, and smell the court-martial.
People didn’t go AWOL from the SDDU every day. The Special Designation Defense Unit, a top-secret military team founded only five years ago, consisted of elite soldiers, the best of the best.
Mike moved forward in a crouch, inch by inch until he reached the silvery white, steel-reinforced mobile research vehicle that was designed to house two scientists and their lab equipment and was strong enough to withstand a polar bear attack. Snow partially obscured the CRREL logo on the side—Cold Regions Research and Engineering Laboratory.
The bitter cold made his eyes water. Couldn’t be more than twenty degrees this morning. The pilot who had dropped him in three days ago told him it was the best weather they’d seen at this time of the year in a long time. He hoped Tessa and he would be out of here before the temperature dropped.
He blinked as he turned and walked back to the edge of the Alaskan alders where he’d trampled the snow into an unrecognizable array of tracks earlier. Careful to place his boots exactly in the first set of prints that led to the vehicle, he returned to it and looked back to examine his handiwork—footwork, really. It looked good.
To anyone but the most trained observer, the two sets of tracks looked like someone had come over to the trailer, then gone back to the woods. He counted on the element of surprise, that the men would focus on finding out who was out there spying on them, and wouldn’t notice that the tracks leading to the vehicle were a millimeter or two deeper than the ones leading away.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the greasy paper he had collected that afternoon, along with a handful of other garbage the wind had blown from the trailer into the grove of trees. He rolled everything together then lit the end with one of his few remaining waterproof matches and held the smoking mess up to the vent hole.
No sound came from inside.
If Tessa was alive and unharmed, he would be content to take her and leave the men to the CIA. If she’d been hurt in any way, all bets were off.
A couple of minutes passed before he heard the door slam open on the other side. Play time. He leaped around the corner and dove under the vehicle, rolled to the middle. Four pairs of legs came around in fur boots.
“Where’s the fire?”
“Ja nye znau.” The response came in Russian. I don’t know.
The boots stopped at his tracks.
“What the hell is this?”
The Russian called something back to the men in the trailer, then the four headed off toward the woods.
Mike ducked out on the other side, pulled his white parka over as much of his face as