Special Ops Exclusive Read Free

in.
    Angry faces and moving bodies whizzed above her. She braced both palms on the hot pavement and tried to stand up, only to fall backward when someone bumped into her. Someone else stepped on her foot, bringing a jolt of pain. Uh-oh. This was bad. Each time she succeeded in unsteadily climbing to her feet, she got knocked right back down, and now she was seeing stars again. Her eyes couldn’t seem to focus and shapes were beginning to look blurry.
    The fear finally hit her, clogging her throat and making her heart pound.
    Agony burned up her arm as she got stomped on again.
    God.
    She was going to get crushed in a stampede.
    With a burst of adrenaline, she made another attempt to hurl herself to her feet—and this time it worked. She was off the ground and hovering over the crowd—wait, hovering over it? Blinking a few times, Rebecca realized the reason she felt like she was floating was because she was floating. She was tucked tightly in a man’s arms, a man who’d taken it upon himself to carry her away to safety, Kevin Costner–style.
    “Who are you?” she murmured, but the inquiry got lost in the rioters’ shouts and the rapid popping noises of rubber bullets being fired into the crowd.
    Jesse. Where was Jesse? Her out-of-focus gaze roamed the area but she couldn’t spot that bald head of his anywhere. She prayed he was okay, that he’d found his own savior to whisk him to safety.
    She suddenly became aware of the most intoxicating scent, and she inhaled deeply, filling her lungs with that spicy aroma. It was him, she realized. God, he smelled good.
    She glanced up to study the face of her rescuer, catching glimpses of a strong, clean-shaven jaw. Sensual lips. A straight nose. She wanted to see his eyes, but the angle was all wrong, so she focused on his incredible chest instead. Jeez, the guy must work out. His torso was hard as a rock, rippled with muscles that flexed at each purposeful step he took.
    As much as she wanted to question this man, Rebecca decided to exercise some patience and wait until they cleared the mob. Shoot. She was going to receive a big fat I told you so when she reunited with her cameraman. He’d warned her not to venture too deep into the crowd, but at this point, she wasn’t sure why he bothered with the warnings anymore. After five years of working together, Jesse ought to know that Rebecca did what she wanted, when she wanted.
    She hadn’t gotten to where she was by standing meekly on the sidelines; her reputation had been forged by her ability to throw herself in the middle of the action. She was only twenty-seven years old and she’d reported from countless war zones, covered everything from political scandals to genocide, and once she sank her teeth into a story, she refused to let go until she got to the heart of the matter.
    She was Rebecca Parker, darn it. She didn’t cower from danger or allow something like a measly riot to slow her down.
    Says the woman who nearly got trampled to death.
    Rebecca ignored the mocking internal voice and clung tighter to her rescuer’s shoulders. Man, he had big shoulders. And he was tall. At least six-one, and she felt downright tiny in his arms.
    Fine, so maybe she’d required a little assistance to get out of this latest jam, she amended, but for the most part, she usually managed to get in and out of tight spots with her own quick thinking and determination.
    “You okay?”
    The concerned male voice broke through her thoughts. She looked up at her rescuer, finally getting a good look at those elusive eyes.
    Boy, were they worth the wait. At first glance they were brown—until you looked closer and realized they were the color of warm honey with flecks of amber around the pupils. And they were so magnetic that she felt hypnotized as she gazed into them.
    “Ms. Parker?”
    She blinked, forcing herself back to reality. “Oh. I’m fine,” she answered. “A little bruised, but I’ll live. And you can call me Rebecca. I think