Tempting the Fire by Sydney Croft Page A

belly.
    Logan crouched next to him. “Hey, man. It’s okay. It’s me, Logan.”
    “I … remember. What happened in the jungle.” Chance swallowed, panted.
    “Attacked … attacked by some creature. My team … dead.”
    “I know.” Logan looked at Wes. “Did you see any signs that this could happen?”
    “No. Nothing.”
    Okay, so these guys were clueless. And clearly, they hadn’t known the injured guy was going to turn into a monster.
    “Who is this man?” Sela asked, though given what he’d said, she suspected he was a member of the SEAL team that had been slaughtered in the jungle.
    Instead of answering, Logan signaled to the guy who had grabbed her earlier. The one whose nose was bleeding from her head-butt.
    “Get her out of here.”
    The jerk came at her, but she ducked and darted to Chance. “Chance. Hey.
    Did the thing that attacked you have spines on its back? Red eyes? Claws?” Like you had.
    “Yeah,” he rasped. “Yeah.” He closed his eyes, his breathing settling into a steady, shallow rhythm.
    “He’s out,” Logan said. “Anyone want to share a theory on what the fuck just happened?”
    Sela frowned. “Was he normal before this?”
    “Before he was attacked, you mean?”
    “Yes.”
    Logan and Wes exchanged glances, and Logan shook his head, as if telling the other man to keep his mouth shut. He turned to her. “Go with Eric. Now.”
    “I can help,” she snapped. “I’m a cryptozoologist, and chupacabras are my specialty.”
    Logan cocked an eyebrow. “Really? I thought you collected bugs.”
    Sarcasm dripped from every word.
    Clearly, he hadn’t bought her lie, but then, she hadn’t wanted him to. “I didn’t think you’d believe me. But obviously, you’re running some sort of scientific operation here, and you have your own pet chupacabra. So yeah, I’m thinking you’ll believe the truth now.”
    He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Fine. Tell me what you know, O
    great chupacabra expert.”
    “You’re an ass.”
    He stared at her. The ass.
    “Maybe you could start with what’s going on with this man.” She crossed her arms over her chest in a blatant imitation of Logan’s arrogant stance.
    “We don’t know. We found him injured in the jungle.”
    40

    “And what are you doing here in the first place?”
    He didn’t miss a beat. “We’re researchers. Studying the local fauna. It’s our job to know what kind of dangerous wildlife we could run into.”
    “Really? Do all botanists carry semi-automatic weapons and set up military base camps?”
    “We hired mercs as guards. This area is a hotbed for drug cartels.”
    He made it all sound so legit. Too bad she knew his company made even the worst drug cartel seem like a bunch of kittens. Anyone who dealt with Itor needed to be taken down.
    She glanced at the men standing around her, all armed except for the doctor, who was listening to Chance’s chest with a stethoscope. “Look, maybe we could talk in private? Call me a wuss, but I’m a little unnerved by all this.”
    Besides, rule number 246 in spywork was to get your target separated from others. A man alone was less likely to censor his words.
    Logan narrowed his eyes at her, but after a moment, he nodded. “Let’s go.”
    She followed him to a tent near the shower. It was smaller than the medical tent but still sizable, with a cot, two folding chairs, a small table scattered with papers, a laptop computer and an open satellite phone case. A duffel large enough for her to climb inside took up one corner.
    “Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to one of the chairs. She sat on the end of his cot. One corner of his mouth tipped up, and he reached for a bottle of Glenlivet. “Drink?”
    “Make it a big one.”
    He poured two fingers of Scotch into a clear plastic cup and handed it to her. “Sorry about the plastic, but we’re not running a country club.”
    She clutched hers to hide her fingers’ trembling. Her adrenaline still raced from