Page 3 of Rescue Me (Tempting SEALs 6.10)

Move, Beth. For fuck’s sake, move out of the way.

Without a word Thadiwe pulled the HK out of the holster of the soldier next to him and shot his man point-blank in the face. Beth flinched, jumping back as blood and brain matter spattered the area. She moved directly into Sam’s line of fire.

For several stunned seconds nobody moved, then, his eyes on Beth, Thadiwe snapped his beefy fingers. One of his men rushed to hand him a handkerchief, which he used to wipe the blood off his face. The white gown he wore now had red polka dots all down the front.

Sam now knew who, and he had a pretty good idea why. He prepared to fire. Move, Elizabeth!

“My apologies for the manner in which you were transported here, Doctor.” Thadiwe wiped his hands, then tossed the bloodied cloth aside. “My men tend to be zealous in their interpretation of my instructions.”

Beth’s shoulders were stiff, and she was barely breathing. It was almost better not being able to see her face. Sam wanted to curve his hand reassuringly around her vulnerable nape.

“What is it you expect of me, Mister—?”

“Tau Thadiwe,” he said, signing her death warrant. Whatever surgery he wanted Beth to perform on him, he had no intention of letting her live afterward. “Prepare yourself to do facial reconstruction immediately, Dr. Randall.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your face,” Beth told him after a brief pause. “I can’t imagine why you wa—”

Thadiwe backhanded her. She staggered, but quickly recovered. Too quickly. Goddamn it, a fraction of a millimeter more and Sam’s shot would have taken off the top of her head. The tango’s handprint was a livid red mark on the curve of her check. “What—?”

“Unless they are in reference to the procedure or my health, no questions.”

Sam shifted the muzzle of the Sig the necessary fraction of an inch to aim at the parallel lines between Thadiwe’s eyebrows. You’re about to die of lead poisoning, asshole.

The need to take out the tango made Sam’s entire body itch. He was ready to drop him right there. Right now. Beth chose that moment to shift, blocking his shot again.

Move to the left a few inches. Come on, sweetheart. Just a couple of inches.

“You are here to do my reconstructive surgery. You’re the best. That’s why I ensured you would attend the symposium in Cape Town.”

“You were the secret benefactor

that paid L—my way to Cape Town? I don’t know who you are, but there are easier ways to schedule surgery than kidnapping the doctor.”

“Not just a doctor. You, Dr. Randall. You are the preeminent facial reconstruction plastic surgeon in America, are you not?”

Beth still blocked the shot. For Christ’s sake, don’t tell him who you are, Sam thought, wishing to hell telepathy was one of his skill sets.

“I’d be more receptive to your request if you’d made an appointment,” Beth said coolly, and Sam breathed a silent sigh of relief. Smart girl. He shouldn’t have underestimated her.

Thadiwe clicked his beefy fingers, and one of his men handed him a large manila envelope. He rooted around inside to find what he wanted, then handed her several photographs. “This is what I want my new face to look like.”

She glanced at the pictures, her ponytail brushing the pink, blood-speckled collar of her shirt, then said smoothly, “I can’t perform surgery without extensive lab tests, X-rays—”

“The lab tests were done last week, as were these X-rays and photographs.” He handed her the envelope. “Everything you need is here.”

Her ponytail jerked as she looked up at Thadiwe. “Surely you don’t expect me to do it now?”

“I wouldn’t have brought you here otherwise.”

“But this type of surgery has to be done in stages. Over several months, surely you kn—” Clearly he wasn’t aware of how long the procedure took. “As you can see, I have a deep cut on my dominant hand,” she told him calmly, holding out her injured hand. Beth was left-handed, not right. But she was playing every card she had. “Obviously performing any type of surgery now is impossible.”

“Yet you will manage, Dr. Randall, or I will not hesitate to kill you.”

Beth blinked and curled her injured hand toward her body. Thadiwe moved closer, and Sam’s finger rested against the trigger, in case the son of a bitch made a wrong move. “I can’t.”

“You can.” Thadiwe slowly ran his finger over the creased frown in Beth’s forehead. “And you will. Your husband leaves for work at six-fifteen. He drops your baby off at Apple Tree Day Care. I have your mother’s home address in Hollywood, your brother’s too—congratulations on his wife’s pregnancy. And your grandfather, well, it would be a shame if anything happened to him at the nursing home … In other words, Dr. Randall, if you fail to cooperate fully, I will have your entire family slaughtered by morning. All it will take is one phone call.”

Sam’s mouth tightened. Even though this wasn’t Beth’s family Thadiwe was threatening, it was Lynne Randall’s—a doctor who was guilty of no more than being the best in her field. Beth’s friend.

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