Playing for Keeps Read Online Free Page A

controlled substances?
    Not to mention they’d fucking kidnapped her from American soil.
    His mind raced, poised between fury and gratitude at finding her alive. Finally, gratitude won. God, how had he lived without her for the last year? His arms tightened around Dani’s limp body. How would he ever have survived if she’d been one of the casualties in that swamp?
    Surely, God wouldn’t save her life only to let them remain apart.
    Standing, he carried her back to the wide bed with its fancy, white sheets embroidered with the presidential seal. “Don’t worry. I’ll get you out of here, sweetheart. Then I’m coming back to find out what these bastards are up to.”
    He got her settled, checked her pulse again, checked her pupils—slightly dilated—and pulled the sheet over her shoulders. She immediately rolled back onto her left side then started snoring softly. He bit back a smile. That’s my girl.
    Raven acknowledged there was a possibility she’d needed sedation when she arrived. He acknowledged that he always had a knee-jerk reaction where Danica was concerned. He acknowledged that maybe he was overreacting.
    Except that his gut—usually infallible—was telling him this was all a crock. The accident. The kidnapping. The drug-induced sleep. Something was out of whack here. Way out of whack.
    No one was getting within ten feet of Danica. No one. Not without going through him first.
    He checked her pulse again. Steady. Then he got down to business, doing a visual search for cameras first, since if they were there, someone was watching him right now. He searched the room and adjoining bathroom thoroughly. Nothing. He checked for bugs, listening devices, any sort of recording equipment. Nothing he could detect. Didn’t mean they weren’t there, however. He checked again. And then a third time. Nothing.
    He picked up the girlie, gold-and-white phone beside the bed. Hit zero. Buenas tardes, Señor Raven,” a polite female voice answered. “How may I be of assistance to you?”
    “When will the doctor be here?”
    There was a pause. I do not know this, señor. I will inquire for you.
    “You do that. Have someone check to see what’s keeping my bag and send up a large pot of black coffee. Make that a couple of pots. And a pile of sandwiches. Thanks.”
    Certainly, señor. Right away.
    It would be a really nice bonus if his weapons remained in the specially designed compartment of his carry-on, but that wasn’t going to be the case. Nope, not a prayer. If they were keeping their little heroine drugged, they were smart enough to pick over his bags like vultures on road kill. He hadn’t had any trouble getting them onto the plane, even in this day and age state-of-the-art beat antiquated X-ray machines every time. He’d arrived armed to the teeth, but here in the presidential palace of San Shitabol, he’d be lucky if the little guy with the pretty hair left him his airport-purchased toothbrush.
    “Know what my gut tells me, sweetheart?” Raven whispered as he paced the room, searching—again. “It tells me that before this is over, I’m gonna need a fistful of weapons and a shitload of ammo.”

Four
    N o more,” Danica protested, as Jon tried to force her to drink yet another cup of far-too-strong Colombian coffee. The stuff not only looked nasty, it was thick as syrup, tasted vile as sin, and was strong enough to grow hair on her chest.
    She vaguely remembered the procession of white-jacketed staff bringing in the carts with the coffee urn and platters of food. Jon had hurried them out of the room and locked the door behind them. The picture started coming clearer as she stalled for time, feebly pushing away the cup.
    Jon had poured some of the steaming coffee into a cup, sniffed it, and taken a sip; my God, she thought, he was checking for. . .what? More drugs? Poison? When he was satisfied, he’d crossed back to the bed with a determined look that she’d recognized all too well. Then he started