Marine Force Recon. Elle James

in the air,” boomed the man with the bullhorn again.

      “I will not go down on my knees in this skirt. Never mind, my knees can’t take that kind of brutality.” She started to drop her hands, but must have thought better of it and held them higher. “My kidnappers have been disabled and are in the van behind me.” She nodded toward Declan. “This young man saved my life. I expect you to treat him well.”

      “Ma’am, you need to get on your knees,” a SWAT officer said from behind the door of his vehicle.

      Declan glared at the man. “She’s not the problem.”

      “Silence,” the SWAT guy said. “On your knees.”

      “Oh, for the love of Pete.” The woman dropped her arms and eased herself to the ground, on her knees.

      “Hands in the air,” the SWAT team leader commanded.

      “Pushy bastard, aren’t you?” the woman said.

      A chuckle rose up Declan’s throat. He swallowed hard to keep from emitting the sound.

      The SWAT leader motioned for his men to close in on the van. Once they ascertained the other men inside the vehicle weren’t a threat, they dragged them out on the ground and laid them out in a line.

      The other van had been stopped before it had gone two blocks. The men who’d been inside were lined up on their knees, being handcuffed.

      Several SWAT team members approached Declan with their rifles pointing at Declan’s chest.

      He didn’t dare move or breathe wrong. With a vanload of dead men, they would assume the worst first and check the facts later. Declan couldn’t blame them. Not with the woman bathed in blood.

      “I told you, this man saved my life,” she was saying. “Treat him well, or I’ll have your jobs.”

      “It’s okay,” Declan said quietly. “I’ll be all right.”

      “You’d better be,” she said with a frown. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you properly.”

      A man grabbed his wrist and pulled his arm down behind his back. Then he pulled the other one down and bound them with a thin strand of plastic. Once they had him zip-tied, they yanked him to his feet and patted him down thoroughly, removing his wallet and dog tags. “Declan O’Neill, you’ll have to come with us.”

      “Aren’t you going to tell me why I’m being detained, and read me my Miranda rights?” Declan asked.

      “We will. On the way to the station,” the man closest to him said.

      “I left my backpack with a bystander. I’d like to get it before we leave for the station.”

      Before Declan finished speaking, the SWAT team leader was shaking his head. “I’m sorry. But you’ll have to come with us now.”

      “You don’t understand.” Declan stood still, resisting the pressure on his arm. “That backpack is all I have in this world.” Geez, he sounded like a pathetic homeless character. Then again, he was homeless.

      The SWAT team leader nodded to one of his guys. “Find the man’s backpack.”

      One of his men peeled out of the group and walked toward the bystanders on the sidewalk.

      Forcibly dragged, Declan had no other choice but to go with the officers. He was shoved into the back seat of a police service vehicle, and then the door was shut in his face.

      Without his backpack, he had nothing. Absolutely nothing. It contained his last bit of cash, a couple changes of clothing and photographs of him and his Force Recon team before they’d either been killed or split asunder. His phone was also in his backpack. It contained the numbers for his friends. He couldn’t remember any of them off the top of his head. He’d never needed to commit the numbers to memory. They’d always been in his phone directory. Now he wished he had taken the time to learn the numbers.

      His heart hurt as the vehicle pulled away. He twisted in the seat and stared back at the crowd, searching for the blond-haired woman. He didn’t see her or his rucksack. The man who’d gone looking for it was on his way back to the rest of the SWAT team...empty-handed.

      His only hope was if they gave him at least one call. He hoped the woman he’d left the rucksack with would answer the cell phone inside one of the pockets. And he prayed it had enough battery power left for her to answer. Considering he hadn’t had a chance to charge the cell phone, he doubted it would ring.

      Just when he’d thought he’d sunk as low as life could take him, he’d once again been proven wrong.

       Chapter Two

      Grace Lawrence had been on her way to interview for a job when the attack began and she’d been dragged to the ground and covered by the hulking hunk of a man. Too stunned to resist, she’d lain still, listening to the popping sound of shots being fired and the screams and shouts of women and men as they dove for cover.

      All too soon, the man on top of her shifted and shoved his backpack at her, telling her to keep it safe. Left unprotected, she lay as flat to the ground as she could. Afraid of getting shot, Grace remained still for a few seconds after the man had left her with his camouflage rucksack. Gunfire seemed to blast from all around her. Some women continued to scream or sob, while other people fled.

      She lifted her head high enough to see an older woman being hauled out of the limousine and shoved toward a white van.

      Her gaze scanned the area, searching for the stranger who’d left the rucksack with her. She’d seen him dart toward a vehicle and roll beneath the chassis. Then she’d lost sight of him.

      Her heart raced as she considered what could be happening. The man could have left her with a bag full of explosives. She could be holding on to a bomb that was about to blow her and the entire block to hell and back.

      She shoved the rucksack away from her, knowing it wouldn’t be far enough. And she couldn’t get up and move...not with bullets flying through the air. Then she spied Mr. Rucksack running from the front of one vehicle to the back of another, edging his way toward one of the men holding a submachine gun. What man would leave a bag full of explosives and then go after an armed shooter, barehanded?

      As she watched, the hunky rucksack owner took down the gunman without being noticed, and then dragged the guy out of sight. The next moment, her guy’s feet appeared beneath the carriage of another vehicle, heading toward the white van.

      Was he out of his mind? There had to be a dozen gunmen scattered around the vans, limousine and security vehicles. How could one man stop all of those attackers?

      Grace pulled the rucksack toward her and clutched it close to her chest. He’d asked her to watch his bag. Hell, he could end up dead before the attack was over. She might hold the only clue to his identity and be called upon to help identify his body.

      A shiver ran through her. Grace sent a silent prayer to the heavens that the crazy man trying to stop a deadly attack didn’t die that day. She didn’t want to visit a morgue, and he was too good-looking to leave the world just yet. He deserved to live long enough to grow old and gray and develop a gut and wrinkles. Which would probably look good on him, as well.

      When the sirens sounded in the distance, the group of attackers fired off rounds and backed toward the white vans. One of the men held the gray-haired woman at gunpoint, shoving her ahead of him. When they reached the van, the side door slid open and the man and woman were yanked inside.

      Remaining attackers fired again and ran toward the second white van at the rear of the limousine.

      The van with the woman inside backed away from the limousine and spun around.

      At the same time as the side door slammed shut, the back door of the van swung closed. But not before Grace saw