Quinn's Woman. Susan MalleryЧитать онлайн книгу.

      D.J. glanced at her watch and knew that her boy toy wasn’t going to make his way back to her anytime soon. It had been nearly four hours since Ronnie had left. He was either lost or captured. If he was close, she would hear him thrashing around in the bush. The silence told her she was very much alone with her prisoner.

      She turned her attention back to Quinn. For a man who’d been left tied up on the ground for a couple of hours, he looked surprisingly relaxed. The rain had stopped, but it was still cool and damp. She shivered slightly. She would like nothing more than to head back to camp. There was only one thing stopping her…one very tall, very strong, very male thing.

      “The rules of engagement state that a prisoner may do whatever he can to escape,” she said. “However, once he and his captor start back to headquarters, he must go quietly.”

      Quinn nodded. “I heard that, too.”

      “And?”

      He shrugged. “I was never one to follow the rules.”

      Just what she’d thought. With Ronnie helping her, she might have a shot at keeping possession of Quinn. But with only herself to guard him, he would get away. She hated to admit that, but it was true. He was too good.

      She eyed his powerful body and wondered who and what he was. How much did he know that she didn’t? Where had he learned it? She’d never met anyone like him, and being around him made her want to ask a million questions. Not that she would. Showing interest meant tipping her hand—something she’d learned never to do.

      “If you won’t cooperate, we’re stuck here until morning,” she said. “We’ll be picked up by one of the patrols.”

      “Fair enough—I don’t have to take a midnight hike, and you get credit for my capture.”

      She didn’t trust his easy agreement. He was the kind of man who always had a plan. Still, he hadn’t made any moves to get away…at least not yet.

      He shifted so that he was more sitting than lying, leaning against the base of the tree. Then he jerked his chin toward her backpack.

      “If we’re stuck out here for the night, how about something to eat?”

      At his words, her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. A flurry of phone calls had kept her from grabbing lunch before she’d headed out to the afternoon start of the war games.

      She reached for her pack, then paused. “Where’s your gear?” she asked.

      “Hidden.”

      Hers had been hidden, too, right up until he’d found it. She wondered if she would be able to locate his pack, then decided it wasn’t worth facing the cold, rainy night to find out. They could get by on what she had.

      She dug out four granola bars, two chocolate bars, an apple and another water bottle.

      “No fast food?” he asked. “I have a hankering for some fries.”

      “You’ll have to wait until they show up on the prison menu,” she said as she divided the wrapped snacks into two equal piles.

      He eyed the food, then shrugged. “That beats an MRE.”

      Meals ready to eat. Prepackaged food soldiers could carry into combat. She’d tried a couple and, while they weren’t as bad as everyone claimed, she would rather dine on what she had in her pack.

      “So you’re military?” she asked.

      “Sort of.”

      “Special Forces?”

      “Something like that.”

      She wasn’t sure if he was being coy to annoy her or because he couldn’t talk about what he did for a living.

      She poured some water from the new bottle into the one she’d been using. When there was an equal amount in both, she propped one up next to Quinn. He half turned away from her, exposing his bound wrists.

      “Want to cut me loose so I can eat?” he asked.

      She chuckled. “Not even on a bet.”

      He rolled back into a seated position. “Then you’re going to have to feed me yourself.”

      He didn’t look very upset at the prospect. In fact, there was definite amusement in his dark eyes.

      She ignored it, along with the teasing tone of his voice. If he thought hand feeding him was going to fluster her, he was in for a shock.

      “I haven’t seen you around town before,” she said as she unwrapped the first granola bar in his pile. “You’re not stationed at the base here, are you?”

      “No. I flew into the country day before yesterday and got to Glenwood this morning. I’m here to meet up with my brother.”

      She broke the granola bar into small pieces and offered him the first one. He didn’t bother leaning forward, which meant she had to stretch her arm out across his body. When her fingers were practically touching his mouth, he finally opened and bit down on the food.

      He winked. “The ambiance needs a little work, but I can’t complain about the service.”

      She ignored him. “Where did you fly in from?”

      “The Middle East.”

      There was something about the way he answered the question that made her think she wasn’t likely to get any more information from him. She waited until he’d finished chewing, then offered another piece of the bar.

      “What about you?” he asked when he’d finished chewing. “You live in Glenwood?”

      “Yes.”

      “What do you do?”

      She hesitated because her natural inclination was to not reveal any personal information. Quinn waited, his expression interested, his body relaxed. Finally she shrugged and gave him the bare-bone facts.

      “I’m a private consultant,” she said. “I teach classes at local schools, telling kids how to stay safe. I teach women basic self-defense. I’m also on call with several state and federal organizations, along with some private firms. They bring me in to help in extracting children from dangerous situations.”

      “Domestic abductions?” he asked.

      “Sometimes.” Domestic abductions meant the kidnapping of a child by the noncustodial parent. “Sometimes it’s a straight kidnapping for money or revenge.”

      She stopped talking the second she realized she wanted Quinn to be impressed. Don’t be an idiot, she told herself. What did she care what this guy thought of her?

      She fed him the last of the granola bar then unwrapped one for herself.

      “Is there a Mr. D.J.?” he asked.

      “No.”

      “Just no?” Quinn raised his eyebrows. “A former Mr. D.J., then?”

      “Not even close.”

      “Why not? A pretty woman like you should be