Undercover Texas

Chapter Three



The concussive force of the blast hit hard. Fiery debris, smoking upholstery, broken glass and sharp pieces of hot metal shrapnel rained down on Hunter as he curved his body around his son’s to protect him.

Blazing chunks seared his neck and shoulders. The life jacket protected his back from the worst of it, but not all. He dipped lower in the water, hoping to extinguish the smoldering embers and ease any burns. After a few seconds, the thunderstorm of debris ceased.

A stark, stinging pain still stabbed under Hunter’s shoulder blade, but he concentrated on survival, pumping his legs beneath the water. He’d kept the baby alive—hysterical, but alive. Now to find Erin. Waves rose and fell around them as he sought her out. Where the hell was she?

Brandon coughed and cried some more, and Hunter intensified the treading motion to lift the baby higher in the water.

Suddenly, Hunter caught sight of a still, mostly submerged figure facedown in the water. Blond hair floated on the surface.

Erin! A vise tightened around his chest. Hunter secured his grip on the baby and swam closer, cursing and praying he was wrong.

The surf tossed the body, turning it so Hunter had a better view. It was the kid, the smaller of their two assailants. Half the young man’s body was shredded from the explosion, the jeans and shirt floating in bloody, tattered strips.

Hunter exhaled in relief, even when he hoped there were no sharks around that had been drawn to the blood. He certainly was bleeding, and Erin might be, too.

He had to find her fast, and they had to get out of the sea.

Hunter wiped the salt water from his eyes and kept scanning frantically. Terence had vanished, and Hunter could only hope the psycho suffered the same fate as his buddy.

“Mama,” Brandon cried out, sobbing, grabbing on to Hunter’s life vest and trying to climb over his shoulder.

“Mama! Come.” The baby’s voice held a tinge of anticipation.

Hunter craned his neck, searching for the source of the boy’s excitement. Sure enough, the sunset caught the blond of Erin’s hair in the water. She was twisting and turning, searching for them.

“Erin,” Hunter called out. “We’re safe. Get the duffel.”

The waves drowned out his words, so with Brandon still clutched against his chest, Hunter kicked toward her.

She finally looked his way. Her emerald-green eyes widened when she saw them. She leaned back, glancing at the sky as if sending up a prayer.

The surf fought against him. Slowly, he worked his way closer to her.

“Mama, Mama!” Brandon called out.

Hunter surged two more strokes to meet her. Even with the salt water bathing her face, he could make out the tears.

“I thought you’d both died.” She hugged her son, and the baby clutched her neck. She checked every exposed inch of the baby, then looked at Hunter, fear and gratitude in her eyes.

“Thank you for saving him,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. “He’s everything to me.”

Uncomfortable with the depth of her emotion, Hunter glanced over his shoulder at the remains of their cigar boat. It was still burning, with only parts of its smoldering hull visible above the waterline.

Far in the distance, a Coast Guard boat propelled its way rapidly toward the debris.

Hunter gauged the distance to the wreckage, then the shore. He hoped they were far enough away that they wouldn’t be seen.

“We have to get out of here,” Hunter said, his throat raspy from the smoke. “We can’t be discovered. Will Brandon grab hold around my neck?”

“Yes, but just for a minute. He’s only one.”

Hunter swore, trying to figure out how to swim, balance the baby and keep his head out of the water, as well.

“Wait. I have an idea.” Erin grabbed two of the carabiner clips she’d used to attach her purse to the duffel. “I use these to hang my keys on my purse so Brandon doesn’t walk away with them. I hook his toys on, too. They should secure his life preserver to yours.”

“Smart idea.”

She kissed the baby’s cheek. “You’re going for a ride.” She placed Brandon on Hunter’s shoulders and hooked their life vests together. She wrapped the baby’s little arms around Hunter’s neck. “Hold tight, sweetie.”

Brandon panicked, grabbed on and squeezed.

“Man, the kid has sharp nails.” Hunter shifted Brandon a little higher on his back and shoulders, ignoring the pain from the burns and cuts. One wound hurt the most, as though the metal was still embedded inside. Hopefully, the salt water would help keep the burns from blistering and clean the others.

The drone of the Coast Guard boat drew closer. Time was up. He pointed to an inlet about thirty degrees to the right. “Erin, paddle toward that beach. There’s an airboat waiting for us.”

They started swimming. “Pace yourself. It’s farther than it looks. Turn the duffel the long way and float on it for the least resistance while you kick. It will help.”

Hunter kept checking that his son’s hands were still secure; then he picked up more speed. Brandon squirmed, nervous about the water and jostling motions, and thrashed his legs. One little foot hit Hunter’s worst injury hard, and he grunted as pain seared into his back and across his rib cage. What the hell? Maybe the shrapnel was still in there.

Hunter sucked in a breath and pushed on. Nothing mattered as long as he got Erin and Brandon to safety.

Erin looked over at him, her breathing coming fast. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said through gritted teeth. “Keep going.”

He was having a little trouble lifting his arms out of the water. The inlet looked so far away. Using a modified breaststroke, he continued to make progress, Erin by his side. Thank God she was a strong swimmer.

He scanned the surroundings, seeing only the rise and fall of waves and the occasional osprey soaring over them, searching for prey. He paused and did a quick eggbeater kick to rise higher in the water. His legs didn’t respond as usual, but he ignored it.

He took in the chaotic scene. The Coast Guard cutter hovered near the burning skeleton of their boat. He let out a sigh. So far so good. The lingering fire and the boat engine would hopefully cover Brandon’s cries. Still, the Coast Guard boat would start circling the area soon, looking for survivors.

He and Erin started off again. Stroke after stroke, he hauled his increasingly weary body through the water. The inlet came within reach.

Hunter’s back throbbed, but he was strangely thankful. That one sharp pain actually helped him stay alert. He kicked his legs, hating the unfamiliar weakness. “We’re in the tide,” he yelled to Erin. “It will help pull us in.”

Her face showed her fatigue as she nodded. He let the flow of the water carry him toward the west side. A few seconds later, the silhouette of the airboat, with its distinctive fan on the back, came into view.

“That’s it,” he shouted, pointing at their transportation.

Brandon whimpered and Hunter clutched his son’s wet hands around his neck. “Almost there, buddy.”

Poor kid hadn’t had a nap or a break from life-threatening situations all day. He had to be exhausted.

By the time they finally reached the airboat, the pain in Hunter’s back pulsed with agony. The baby had kicked and hit every wound Hunter had with amazing precision. Kid had a great future in torture and interrogation.

Hunter pulled alongside the boat and groaned as he loosened his son’s hands from around his neck.

Erin nuzzled her son’s cheek. “Mama’s here, little guy.”

She quickly released the carabiner hooking the baby to Hunter, then tugged the shivering little boy into her arms. “He’s freezing.”

“Give him to me, then climb on,” Hunter ordered. “I’ll hand him to you and you can warm him up.”

She nodded, handing Brandon over, then looked up at the flat hull. She swung her leg onto the base of the airboat and, with a bit of struggle, dragged herself safely onto the platform. “I can take him now.”

Hunter winced as he lifted Brandon up to her. Hunter felt as if he had a knife in his back every time he moved. His burns hurt more as the air hit them, too. Thank God neither Brandon nor Erin was injured.

Erin sank down just in front of the passengers’ double seats and cuddled the baby, checking him over. Hunter shoved the duffel over the side onto the boat. He took a deep breath, placed his hands on the edge of the boat and heaved himself up.

His back spasmed, and he couldn’t hold his weight. He let go and slipped back into the water. The water eased some of the pain.

“Clay?” Erin leaned forward. “Are you all right?”

He gritted his teeth. “I’m fine.”

Bracing himself more, he hauled his aching body over the side and onto the deck. He lay facedown, panting, waiting for the shooting pains to stop.

The boat rocked a bit, then settled.

“Oh, my God,” Erin gasped. “You’re bleeding.”

* * *

DUSK HAD FALLEN BY THE TIME the Coast Guard ship left the accident scene and headed down the shore. Salt water lapped against the dock, under which Terence hid, sliding in and out of consciousness. With each rising and falling wave, Terence groaned in agony. From the amount of blood in the water, he was amazed every shark for fifty miles hadn’t tried to join him.

Jimmy hadn’t made it. Terence’s sister would be upset, but it couldn’t be helped. The kid hadn’t been strong enough or determined enough to survive. Getting his arm and leg blown off hadn’t helped. He’d bled out in a matter of seconds. Predators had probably finished off the job the explosion had started.

Dizzy and in agony all over, Terence wondered if he would survive. He couldn’t see out of one eye, and his whole left side was bleeding and burned from the explosion. He couldn’t feel the side of his face. He raised one blistered hand and touched his cheek, or what was left of it. Nausea and horror hit. He wasn’t just temporarily blinded. His face was like hamburger, and his eye and part of his cheek and ear were gone. He puked into the water. This couldn’t be happening to him....

Gagging, he grabbed the dock’s post with his good arm and jerkily hauled himself along the side of the pier. Finally, he stumbled onto the sand and crawled. He scanned the surrounding beach and found it surprisingly deserted.

He tried to move the fingers on his left hand but couldn’t. He couldn’t even feel them.

His mind raced. He knew burns were bad. But burns you couldn’t feel were deadly. He needed help fast. Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself onto the roadway leading away from the pier. He slipped, smacking his arm and face off the pavement. Pain seared through him and he screamed, the sound echoing across the water.

No one came to help him. No one heard. He wanted to lie there and die.

Sorry, Mama. I won’t be helping you after all. He couldn’t stop the tears running down one side of his face. He lay still and panted until his mind could work again. He didn’t want to move but he had no choice. He couldn’t be found here.

Taking a deep breath, he struggled to move the left side of his body. Finally, he shoved himself to a standing position, then staggered back to the van and squeezed the driver’s door handle.

Locked.

He fell against the side of the van, smearing blood across the white paint. He didn’t have the keys. Jimmy had been driving. What the hell was he supposed to do now?

Unless...

He rounded the vehicle to the other side, and the passenger door opened. He hadn’t locked his door. One of his bad habits finally paid off. He flicked the button to unlock all the doors and braced himself to move. He was getting weaker. All he wanted was to go unconscious. He stumbled to the driver’s side, lay partway down on the floor beneath the dash and yanked out the ignition wires.

Blinking against the blood dripping down his face, Terence worked them until a spark ignited. The engine pulsed to life.

He shoved himself into the van and glanced at the mirror. A hideous creature stared back. A huge lump rose in his throat. He was a monster. Even his own mama wouldn’t recognize him. The entire left side of his face was bathed in blood and crusty blackened skin. He couldn’t see his eye, couldn’t lift his eyelid. He wasn’t even sure they were there anymore. He was bleeding to death. He needed a hospital.

He sucked in a deep breath and, using his good arm, placed the truck in gear and headed toward the nearest road. He’d seen a sign indicating a hospital nearby. Somewhere... Blood dripped down his face. His vision blurred in and out, and his body sagged as if weighted with cement.

He didn’t have much time before he blacked out.

He drove erratically, weaving side to side, and squinting against the last beams of the setting sun. Street sign after street sign rose to meet him. A few he took out with the van as he momentarily passed out.

A hospital sign loomed, an arrow pointing to a large building half a block away.

Almost there. He could make it.

A shrill ring sounded in the van. It took a minute to register that it was his phone. He fished around until he found the cell phone he’d left behind on the seat, rather than risk losing it in the water.

He glanced at the screen. This call he would take.

“Mahew,” he croaked in a harsh, raspy voice that sounded nothing like his own.

“You are late,” the familiar voice with the smooth British tone and Middle Eastern accent snapped through the speakerphone.

Easy money? What easy money?

“You didn’t provide all the information,” Terence growled, trying to stay conscious enough to guide the van to the emergency room. “You didn’t tell me about the freakin’ ninja protecting the woman. I lost my partner, and I’m half-dead myself. Check the news. Their boat exploded in some marina and took out two Jet Skiers. That was us.”

“Their boat exploded? The woman is dead?” A string of foreign curses spewed through the phone. “If she is dead, you are, too. I have friends who will make certain that your liver will be a sacrifice, and your family will receive your head to remember you.”

“Chill out. She’s not dead. It was a setup. Some guy with serious skills rigged the boat to blow. No bodies have been found, other than Jimmy’s, but I saw some shapes in the water nearer to the shore. I couldn’t tell, but I’d bet it was them.”

“Graham,” his contact muttered.

“You know the guy?” Anger gave Terence a small burst of energy. “If I live through this, he’s mine.”

His contact ignored the comments. “You must find them. My...customer...is unused to delay. He will not be pleased. The situation could turn ugly.”

“I’ll give you ugly. Half my damn body looks like I went through a meat grinder,” Terence said. “I couldn’t incapacitate the baby right now.”

Terence’s vision grew blurry. He tried to steer the van toward the emergency entrance door. He blinked, then blinked again. The van slammed into a wall and shuddered to a stop. Thrown forward, Terence smashed off the steering wheel and hit the windshield.

Sirens went off, waking him. Terence heard someone yelling.

A medical person opened his door. “Get a stretcher. Now!”

“Where are you?” the tinny voice on his speakerphone shouted.

Terence feebly lifted the phone to his mouth. “Hospital...”

His head slumped, and Terence groaned as someone reached in to move him. They bumped his left side and he screamed.

“We need an O.R. stat. Tell the burn unit to stand by.”

“What is going on? Who is that talking?” The accent grew thicker.

His client’s shrill voice brought Terence out of his stupor again.

“My new best friends,” Terence drawled. “By the way, I quit.”

He let the phone drop to the floorboard and slumped forward into the arms of the waiting medics. This time, all those damn zeros on a check weren’t worth it.

* * *

“CLAY!” THE AIRBOAT SHIFTED back and forth with the waves. Erin clutched Brandon in her arms and tried to edge closer to the man bleeding, facedown, on the deck. At her movement, the boat tilted.

“Da...owie! Mama, Da owie!” Brandon threw a fit at the sight of all the blood.

She paused to move the boy so he couldn’t see, then eased her way over to Clay’s still body. He hadn’t said anything. She couldn’t see a wound, but the parts of the shirt visible beneath his life jacket were soaked red. Balancing Brandon, she reached for the life vest. Her fingers fumbled at the fastenings.

Clay groaned and tried to move.

“Be careful. Some of these cuts are bad. We have to stop the bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” He rose to his hands and knees. “Just a little dizzy. We have to get out of here. We’re not safe.”

He stood and grabbed hold of the pilot’s seat, steadying himself. “Sit down and hold the baby on your lap,” he said, nodding at the double-wide passenger bench in front of the perched captain’s seat.

Not knowing what else to do, Erin followed his instructions.

She watched him steer the boat. He didn’t even flinch, though every movement had to be agony. His clenched jaw was his only giveaway.

Today had shown her a whole new side to Clay that scared her. He was so hard and...tough. The man she’d fallen in love with on Santorini had swept her off her feet, made her laugh, made her tremble for the touch of his lips.

He even let her drone on endlessly about her prototype, nanotechnology, engineering and every other geeky topic that flitted through her mind. Most men’s eyes would have glazed over, especially when she’d gone off on the potential of her discovery for miniaturization.

Clay hadn’t derided her. He’d listened. Really listened.

But now that she thought about it, he’d shared nothing about himself in return. How had she not seen that?

She didn’t know what to do. She hated uncertainty, and Clay Griffin was an enigma.

Erin buckled Brandon onto the vinyl bench and secured herself before settling him against her. She kissed the top of his head.

Clay eased into his seat, flipped some switches, turned on the key and the huge fan behind the boat roared to life. Within seconds they were skimming across the water toward a swampy maze of tributaries.

“We’re going in there?” she shouted over the noise.

“Yeah, it’s not far,” he yelled. “I need to concentrate.”

She remained silent, studying the determined set of Clay’s jaw, his focused vision.

Her son’s resemblance to his father didn’t stop at the black hair and brown eyes. She’d seen the same look of determination on Brandon’s face as he struggled to stand on his own. She’d wondered where her son got his stubborn streak. Now she knew.

Erin was single-minded, but Brandon took willful to a whole new level.

Brandon stuffed his fist into his mouth. She rocked him back and forth.

The gears shifted and the boat pulsed forward. They had to be edging against the engine’s limit of about forty miles an hour.

She gripped her son tighter to protect him from the wind. The sky had begun to darken fast; their visibility decreased by the minute. She squinted across the deepening blue of the water as the light began to fade.

“How much farther?” she shouted.

Clay didn’t answer. She twisted in her seat and looked up at him.

His face had grown pale, and sweat beaded on his forehead. He moved the steering stick forward with his left hand, then swayed. The boat veered right; he corrected it.

She didn’t see anything he’d had to avoid. “Clay. Are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. She tapped his knee. “Clay?”

He looked down at her, almost as if he’d forgotten she was there. “What? Oh, right. Clay,” he said, his words a little shaky and forced. “We’re almost there.”

“You don’t look good.” Panic tinged her voice. She tightened the belt around Brandon. She might have to climb back there and take over.

“Just a little light-headed. It’s nothing.” He blinked again, then stared around.

He let out a loud curse. “Hold on. There’s our turnoff.” He pushed the stick forward and accelerated hard. The boat veered to starboard. They whizzed into a narrow channel.

A moment later, he eased off the throttle and the boat slowed, maneuvering into an eerily serene tunnel. Mangrove trees hung over them like a canopy; the ferns and palms edged closer and closer. The unfamiliar scents were cloying.

The boat skimmed over the surface as the airboat pushed deeper and deeper into the channel. The snakelike waterway grew increasingly marshy. Erin glanced at her side. What she thought was a rock nearby moved; it raised the blunt snout. An alligator.

She gasped and clutched Brandon closer, watching the creature submerge again.

“Clay, are we going to die before we get to this supposed safe house?”

He didn’t respond. He released the throttle, and the boat drifted toward the water’s edge.

The outgrowth of plants and roots infiltrating the water made it appear almost solid, as if they could walk from side to side of the narrow passage. The boat shoved the jigsaw puzzle of green plants out of their path.

An image of stability, yet filled underneath with danger and predators.

Much like her life from the moment she’d walked into her door only a short time ago.

Clay slowed the boat until he reached a small dock. The hull knocked against the wooden planks with a dull thud.

Erin peered past a wall of cypress trees, then saw a ramshackle wooden house half-hidden by the foliage. “Please don’t tell me we’re staying there?”

Clay turned off the motor, his eyes closed, and he let out a long sigh. “It’s better than it looks. There’s solid steel plating between those walls and bulletproof glass in most of the windows.

“Most?”

“It’s a work in progress. I didn’t expect to need it this fast.”

“Remind me to time my attempted kidnappings better next time.” Erin unbuckled herself, then Brandon. He whimpered in her arms as she rose.

Clay’s eyelids snapped open. “Is the baby all right?”

“Brandon’s fine. You’re not,” Erin said. “You look like you’re going to keel over.”

Clay pushed to his feet. “I’m fine.” He swayed slightly. “I’ve got to secure the boat.”

“I can do it.”

He shook his head. “You need to know how to tie an anchor bend.”

She exhaled. “You mean the knot where you run the line twice around that ring, twice around an object and do two half hitches? That anchor bend?”

His mouth dropped. “Okay, then...”

“I have a photographic memory. Just sit there and I’ll take care of it,” she said. “Are you all right to hold Brandon?”

“Yeah,” He held the baby to his chest before sinking gratefully into the captain’s seat.

Uncertain, she hopped out of the airboat and quickly tied off the craft. She checked out Clay. Even though his eyes were closed, his arms held Brandon securely. His skin looked gray and it wasn’t just the dark. He clearly needed medical attention. Clay had to have a good eighty pounds on her. No way could she carry him.

She gently grabbed hold of her son. Clay tightened his arms.

“Clay, it’s me.”

Her voice seemed to soothe him. He loosened his hold. She stood on the small pier. She couldn’t put Brandon down, short of placing him inside the shack.

“Can you get out of the boat?” she asked, studying his every movement. If he fell into the water, she’d never be able to save him.

“Of course.” Clay shoved himself to his feet. His jaw tight, he clutched the back of the captain’s seat, then stepped on the pier. “See, I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re ready for a marathon. I want to get a look at your back.”

The shack appeared as if it might fall down any moment. Clay flicked the latch and pressed inside. It seemed like a regular hunting shack, until Clay flicked a switch on the wall. A wall slid open, revealing a stash of weapons, ammo, a first-aid kit and other supplies.

A regular-sized bed took up one corner.

“Lie down,” she ordered Clay, her tone brooking no argument. “I need to look at your back.”

He shook his head. “Not on the bed. Floor. You and Brandon need a place to sleep.”

“Just shut up,” Erin snapped. She grabbed a couple of trash bags to protect the bed and then covered them with a sheet.

“Move it. I need you conscious and healthy to get us out of here.”

Clay didn’t argue. He eased himself onto the bed. “Just give me a minute. I’m sure the burn will go away. I’ll be fine.”

* * *

SURF SOUNDED IN HUNTER’S EAR. Heat beamed onto his back. From the landing off his bungalow, he faced the ocean, the ebb and flow of the tide against the black sand calling to him. The clear blue of the Aegean Sea teased the shoreline, advancing and retreating.

He shifted his stance, the knife wound on his side pulling against the sutures. Someone had fouled up big-time. His cover had been blown. He’d spent a hellacious month in captivity and had barely gotten out of Iran with his head attached to his body.

General Miller had sent in a rescue force. His boss could have left him for dead. Maybe should have, but the general would never leave anyone behind. He was loyal to a fault.

Hunter just wished he’d had better news for Kent Miller. The first report after Hunter had regained consciousness had been the one to inform the general that his son, Matt, hadn’t made it. He’d died in that hellhole, with the bastard terrorist laughing.

Hunter had tried to save Matt. He’d failed. Hunter still didn’t know why he had survived.

General Miller hadn’t blinked at the horrific news, hadn’t missed a day. The next night the terrorist camp had been decimated by a smart bomb. One less group to murder.

Now all Hunter wanted to do was forget.

A figure in a one-piece swimsuit and a billowy wrap strolled along the beach alone. The sun kissed her blond hair. She crouched down and her fingertips traced in the sand. She picked up something—probably a shell.

She turned to her side. The full curves of her breasts and hips were perfection. She stilled; then as if she’d heard his wish, she faced him.

Her head tilted, and she simply stared.

Now that was a thing of beauty. A definite means to forget.

He strode down the beach toward her.

As he approached, she looked from side to side.

There was no one else on this private beach. They were alone.

His feet sank into the warm sand. And then he stood only a foot from her.

Her eyes widened. Beautiful, emerald-green irises framed with dark lashes.

He couldn’t stop from staring. She was absolutely perfect, and he wanted her.

She shuffled uncomfortably under his gaze and looked away, but strangely, she didn’t run, she didn’t pull away. She simply stared up at him, eyes wide.

“Hello there,” his voice said, low and steady, wanting nothing more than to hear the sound of her voice. “Shell collecting?”

At first she appeared confused. She looked around as if he’d made a mistake.

“Me?” she asked.

He couldn’t stop the grin. “Yes, you.”

She smiled and held out her hand. A flat shell with a distinctive star-shaped design lay in her palm. “Spatangus purpureus. This is a small one, only about six centimeters.” Her smile was bright, and her lips kept moving, going on and on about larvae and its life cycle. He couldn’t respond; he could only be tempted by the smoothness of her skin and listen to the lilt of her voice.

Suddenly, she stopped and toyed with her fingers. “Sorry. I get carried away. I’m sure you’re not interested in marine biology.” She bowed her head and started away.

“Don’t apologize. Wicked smart is very, very sexy,” he said softly, his words forcing her to pause and turn back with a strange hope lacing her eyes.

Her shyness hypnotized him. He took the small shell from her palm and stroked its markings. “Porfyrí kardiá achinós,” he said, feeling the need to show her wasn’t an idiot, even if he only had a G.E.D.

Her lips parted in surprise. “What did you say?”

“It means purple heart sea urchin.”

Her eyes lit up. “You speak Greek?”

“Languages are easy for me,” he said. “I speak a few.” Mostly those of the world’s hot spots so he could blend in. Turkish, Arabic, Kurdish, Persian, with a bit of Russian thrown in for good measure.

He returned the shell to her.

She slipped it into the pocket of her swim wrap and bit her lower lip. “Well, it was nice—”

“You’re from the States on vacation?” he interrupted. He didn’t want to let her go.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. “Florida. This trip is more of a celebration, I guess. I just successfully defended my dissertation and decided to go somewhere I’d always dreamed of. After living in the library, I wanted to see something amazing and beautiful.”

She looked out over the sparkling water of the bay. “Did you know some scholars think Santorini might be Plato’s Atlantis? The Minoans were far ahead of their time compared to the rest of civilization....” Her voice trailed off. “Sorry, there I go again. History this time.”

She folded in on herself. Hunter couldn’t allow that. “Would you like to go to dinner?” he rushed out. “With me. I want to hear more about the Minoans.”

She swallowed and met his gaze. “Who’s asking?”

He held out his hand. “I’m Clay Griffin.” For the first time in a long while, using an alias didn’t feel right. Not with this woman.

She laid her small palm in his. “Erin Jamison.”

“Well, Dr. Jamison, how would you like company in your celebration? I can promise great food, great wine and perhaps more, if you’re so inclined?”

Her cheeks flushed, and her pupils dilated with a flash of desire. The sounds of the beach muffled, and all Hunter could hear was the sound of his heart thudding. All he could feel were the shivers of anticipation skirting over his skin.

She licked her lips. He swallowed. Blood pooled low in his belly. Despite her shyness, this woman’s sensual nature begged for his touch.

With a gentle hand, he stroked her cheek. “You are one intriguing woman, Dr. Jamison. Meet back here? Tonight? Six o’clock?”

She twisted the fabric of her wrap and folded it across her body. “I’d like that, Clay.” With a slight smile she turned and wandered down the beach, every few feet staring back at him.

My name is Hunter.

He wanted to shout the truth, but he couldn’t. She could never know.

Hunter watched the sway of her hips as she disappeared behind an outcropping of volcanic rocks.

With a sigh, he returned to his bungalow. He shouldn’t go tonight. Her eyes were honest, guileless. He was a man of lies, and he’d made a career of them.

But he’d be right here fifteen minutes early tonight, just as surely as he’d known the moment he’d taken his oath as a member of the armed forces that he’d finally found a place to belong.

He sighed, rubbing the bandage on his side. He would heal. And he would return to the team that had become his family, and try to redeem the loss of Kent Miller’s son.

The surf lapped at the black sand, then melted away.

The sea transformed into a small room.

Hands pushed at his side, rolling him one way, then another. Someone tugged at wet material sticking to him.

His back screamed in agony.

No. He wanted Erin. He didn’t want to let her go. Not again.

He twisted away from cloying hands. Erin was gentle. She would never hurt him. He was the one who’d hurt her.

“Clay!” A hand shook him. “Clay, can you hear me?”

He hated that name. He wanted only one thing before he left Erin. He wanted to hear her whisper his real name before the dream faded away—as they always did.

“No. My name is Hunter. Not Clay.”