The Killing Game by Toni Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

a washcloth into a bucket and started cleaning herself. Water slid over her skin and her body sparkled in the newborn rays of the sun. His mouth went dry as she sluiced water through her hair. There were no weapons hidden anywhere on her person—he could verify that. She was lean and muscled—hard for a trained observer not to notice.
    Heat flooded his body. Finally he dragged his gaze away and sweated out the next couple of minutes of torture as she finished her impromptu shower.
    Which he now needed more than ever.
    She didn’t look like a local. Her body was pale as cream and she had a healthy well-nourished glow that people here did not have. Out of his peripheral vision he saw her reach out to grab a towel. His earpiece crackled.
    Holy Mary, Mother of God. He felt like his CO had caught him masturbating.
    “Nothing to report except a couple of mountain goats, over.” Cullen checked in through the PRR.
    Dempsey touched the button on his wrist, relieved Baxter hadn’t woken and shared in the morning’s entertainment. “One subject moving around camp, female. Over and out.”
    She dressed quickly in jeans, baggy T-shirt, green fleece and vest, her body disappearing beneath shapeless cloth—which was a crying shame. Her features were even and narrow, especially her jaw. Beautiful—when you realized you were looking at a girl and not a guy. She dried her hair with the towel then jerked her head and looked straight at him. No frickin’ way . He held perfectly still as she pinned him through the straggly sage bushes that covered their hideout. She pulled on her boots after shaking them out—smart girl—picked up the handheld unit he hadn’t identified and hopped on the dirt bike.
    Kicking the pedal to start it up, the accompanying noise of the engine shattered the tranquility of the morning.
    She headed straight for the trail behind the camp, making a beeline for their position.
    “Bloody fecking hell.”
    He held perfectly still, glancing around without moving his head, looking for anything that might have given them away. But there was nothing. He nudged Baxter gently with his boot because the last thing he needed was the Scot starting to snore if she got too close.
    Had she seen them?
    His brain said no way, no fecking way. He remained still even as she got nearer and nearer to where they lay prone in the dirt concealed by rocks and bushes. He held his breath and felt Baxter tense beside him. Then she veered right and went to the top of the ridge.
    What was she doing? Where was she going? He pressed the button on his wrist. “Subject on ridge between us. See if you can see what she’s up to, over,” he murmured.
    “No visual. Out.”
    The redheaded man stepped out of the central yurts and turned toward them, shading his eyes with his palm. Dempsey dropped his eye to the scope. The guy was tall and bulky, Scandinavian looking with a meaty jaw and cold blue eyes. Too young to be their target though.
    Lovers? The woman’s husband? Serf? Minion? Slave?
    He took some photos—something he should have done of the woman, but had forgotten because his small brain had taken command of the mission.
    “She’s checking some sort of radio receiver. Can’t get a decent look at it but it doesn’t look military. Looks like she’s heading back your way,” Cullen said. Nerves buzzed. “She’s pretty once you realize she’s a lass and not a bloke.”
    He rolled his eyes. Craig Cullen was a lady’s man and never missed an opportunity to score. Even in the Wakhan Corridor, Dempsey could sense him calculating his odds of seducing this woman. The sound of the bike engine amplified against the rock, grew louder as she crested the ridge and spat dust in her wake as she careened down the trail toward camp. He had an idea what these people might be, but until he knew for sure he had to assume they were hostile. Which was a damn shame, because not only was he hoping to borrow that makeshift shower, his body was telling him