Captive Heart Read Online Free PDF Page A

and caught her arm to steady her. “That was wrong on so many levels I can’t even begin to explain it.”
    Yet it was right, too, in ways she had no words to describe.
    Elana’s disapproval showed in her frown and the way she hesitated before she spoke. “He made you even more tense.”
    “Jack Blackmore is a tension-creating machine. Come on. Let’s get back to the Motherhouse. I have to check out some things.”
    “His boat is still idling if you’d like to speak with him again, Andy.”
    “Not happening.” Andy shifted her grip to Elana’s hand and led her up the beach toward the bizarre collection of building materials they called home. “Believe me, the last thing I ever want to do is spend an evening getting friendly with Jack Blackmore.”
    The words had no sooner left Andy’s mouth than she had another thought, one that made her stumble on the rocks and almost bust her nearly naked, purple-streaked ass.
    Now, why didn’t that feel like the truth?

“So what happened?” Saul’s voice rose over the steady thrum of the boat’s motor as he piloted Jack to the Greek mainland.
    Jack tried to ram his thoughts into work gear, but his brain groaned like a stripped clutch. “She—” he started, intending to give his opinion on whether or not Andy would come back to New York. Something turned loose in his mind and he blurted, “She was wearing lace underwear.”
    Saul gave him a look like he was waiting for the punch line, but Jack’s body vibrated from more than the boat’s engine. He’d never had the cutting wit that made his soldiers so popular. He was a commander. A natural straight man in any comedy routine.
    And now—now he’d been knocked stupid by the sight of an old-school classy redhead in lacy underthings.
    Wet lacy underthings.
    With some kind of … ink or dye all over the cream-colored fabric. And her hair, too. And she’d just stood there in front of him, refusing to cover up like she wanted him to know he didn’t intimidate her one damned bit.
    God, she was beautiful.
    And that Southern accent—damn.
    Saul slowed the motor so he could face Jack more completely. “Did she bash you upside the head or something? ’Cause just then, you didn’t make any sense.”
    Jack tried again to say something professional, but what came out was, “Underwear. Nothing else except her crescent moon necklace—the iron one she wears to enhance her abilities. Just that necklace and silk and lace, all stained like somebody splattered her with a purple paintball.”
    Saul laughed so loud it sounded like a hound barking. “She hit you with her underwear? Damn. I’d say you did a little better with her this time.”
    Jack rubbed his knuckles across both eyes. “Fuck you, Brent.”
    “I’m just sayin’.” Saul shrugged and went back to steering their craft. “If there was underwear involved, Andy wasn’t trying to kill you—so it’s progress.”
    When Jack thought he could speak without being ignorant, he started over with, “The important thing is, she’ll come back to New York.”
    Saul kept his shoulders forward, his attention on the water, but Jack heard more humor in his tone when he asked, “You psychic or just arrogant?”
    “Arrogance is all I’ve got.” Jack left it at that, because he, Saul, and Saul’s brother Cal were unique among the hierarchy of the OCU. They had no magic powers, no demon blood, no secret weapons to deploy to clear the battlefields of New York City. For the three of them, their work to keep the streets safe from supernatural bastards who misused their abilities came down to the time-honored cliché of blood, sweat, and tears.
    Heavy on the blood part.
    Jack studied the brackish water churning away from the boat. Hot, salty air tightened his skin, and sunlight almost as strong as desert rays drilled at his cheeks and forehead. This beautiful, exotic place was about as far away from wartime deserts as Jack could get—but the battles had never really ended.