She loved him.

In spite of it all. And he’d let her down. Hell, let them down. He almost did deserve to die tonight. Here he’d been, running around, acting like a complete jackass, and she still loved him! A moment of elation soared through him. But, he reminded himself sternly, they were in very deep doo-doo at the moment. If he didn’t buckle down and concentrate, her declaration might not matter one damn bit.

Mac watched Ruala and two of his men come down the stairs. Not the ones who captured them. These guys looked tough. Casual about pain. Pros. This was going to go down so bad. He closed his eyes, steeling himself for the agony to come. He could do this. He would do this. For Susan. No matter what she said, his primary goal was still to get her out of here alive.

If Ruala recognized him as a Blackjacks member, this would get real ugly real fast. If not, he still had a shot at buying Susan some time. He took a deep breath to clear his head. Focus. He had to empty his mind of everything but the situation at hand. He dug deep inside himself for discipline. Calm.

“So, the little birds are awake.” The guy who spoke was big and burly. Bouncer material. Wore a ridiculous little pair of wire-rimmed glasses that got lost in his ham-size face. Apparently it was important to look cool while beating the tar out of someone. Mac mentally labeled the thug “Crew Cut.” Probably the interrogator, since he was the one who spoke first.

Interesting. Ruala wasn’t going to do the grunt work himself. Not yet, at any rate. Cagey bastard. Mac wiped all expression off his face and glanced over at the talkative one. No telling at a glance what would set off Crew Cut. Better not provoke him, yet, though.

Big, strong-looking thug number two, “Muscles,” met and tried to hold Mac’s gaze. Mac let his slide away. Not time to tangle with that guy just yet, either.

Ruala stepped back into the shadows beside the stairs, but Mac still was able to get a decent look at him. Man, the guy looked like hell in person. Had really let his health go to pot. Probably couldn’t beat up a prisoner on his own if that sallow, soft look about him was any indication. Clearly, Ruala’s plan was to hang back, call the shots, and let his guys get their kicks before he offed his prisoners.

Crew Cut came over and put his hand under Mac’s chin. Mac didn’t resist when the guy lifted his head to look in his face.

“Who are you?” the guy asked.

Mac nodded lightly toward Susan. “The boyfriend.”

“The stupid boyfriend. The stupid, toy-soldier boyfriend.”

Mac allowed himself a mental snort. A toy soldier? If that’s what they thought of him, they were in for a surprise.

“Who do you work for?” Crew Cut barked.

“Allied Import/Export Company,” Mac answered. It was an old joke in the Blackjacks. Import the Blackjacks, export criminals in body bags.

“And where did you get all your fancy toys, soldier boy?”

“From my boss. He dabbles in, uh, exotic exports.”

Still Ruala hung back, not reacting at all. Crew Cut had to think about that answer for a second. “You mean to tell me you’re an independent?”

Mac shrugged. He let the guy’s mental wheels spin a bit.

Crew Cut continued. “Then who were the other guys with you?”

“My buddies.”

“Your soldier buddies,” Crew Cut stated.

“A couple of them,” Mac answered vaguely. He didn’t stand a chance of convincing these guys that the force they’d been up against wasn’t military.

Ruala spoke from the shadows. “He’s lying.”

Crew Cut turned to his boss as if looking for instructions.

“Get to the point, Carlos,” the ringleader said.

Mac took a long, deep breath and exhaled slowly. The preliminaries were over.

Crew Cut—Carlos—turned to him. “You’ve been a pain in my ass, toy soldier.”

Mac shrugged. “Sorry to inconvenience you.”

The guy’s voice rose. “Don’t get smart with me.”

The guy was working himself up into a rage where he’d enjoy beating the tar out of him. He knew techniques to diffuse the guy’s building frenzy, but tonight he had to let it roll.

Carlos slapped the cardboard box beside him. The loud smack made Susan jump. Steady, Suzie. Stay out of this. Let me handle it. Mac willed her to hear his thoughts. He knew what he had to do. He had to drive the guy over the edge into violence. It was going to get him messed up bad, but it would shift the focus away from hurting Susan and buy them crucial minutes for the Blackjacks to get here. The guys would have followed Ruala and his hostages as they left the ranch. They’d have hung back at a safe distance so Ruala didn’t kill his human shields until he stopped somewhere. He had no doubt the Blackjacks was nearby, assessing how to attack while they moved in for the kill. Because Ruala had hostages, they would have to come in using stealth. And that took time. It all boiled down to whether or not he could buy his teammates enough time to save Susan.

“If I’m supposed to be impressed by you, I’m not,” Mac commented blandly.

Carlos tore off his glasses and threw them down on a box in exasperation. Nasty little pig eyes. No wonder the guy wore spectacles. If he could turn this into a one-on-one honor duel with Carlos, the other thug and Ruala might stay out of it long enough for Carlos to avenge the insult to his manhood.

Mac said pleasantly, “You’re not man enough to take me.”

Ruala scowled.

Muscle-bound thug number two stepped forward, blatantly flexing his biceps. Mac ignored him.

Carlos went red in the face. “You American prick!” he screamed. “I’ll show you!”

There. Now the guy was where Mac wanted him. Mad as hell and not thinking calmly. Time to push the button. He laughed.

That did it. Pulling a John Wayne act always did, in these situations. The fist came from his left. It clipped him sharply in the jaw and snapped his head back. Damn, that first hit always stung.

Another meaty fist to his eye this time. And then a solid blow to the gut. He grunted and hoped Carlos would uncuff him out of the chair and stand him up soon. “It’s easy to pound on a guy who’s tied up. I dare you to cut me loose and take me on. But you’re not man enough to do that, are you? I’ll even promise not to try to run or escape…but you still won’t face me like a real man, will you?” he taunted.

He’d be able to absorb the blows better on his feet. Thankfully, it only took one more blow for Carlos to decide he’d get better results if the punching bag was vertical.

Mac assessed damage while his cuffs were rehooked behind him to a metal water pipe running up the wall. Not bad so far. Maybe a cracked tooth. But from the look of those biceps, it was going to get worse. Much worse. At least he’d gotten free of that chair. Being able to turn from side to side was going to cut down the damage from any blows significantly, and should buy him valuable minutes of consciousness, and ultimately, life.

Although it wasn’t likely he was going to get a shot at escape, now, with his hand cuffed behind his back like this.

Carlos got right in his face and snarled, “You’re going to die real slow, gringo.”

The man was not wrong.

“Kiss. My. Ass,” Mac replied succinctly.

The beating continued. Time stopped for Mac, and he counted its passage only by the landing of another punishing blow to his body. He did his best to detach himself from the pain. So far, none of the damage was life threatening. There’d been one moment when he was worried, though. A vicious hit to the torso broke at least one rib, and he was unable to draw in his next breath. For a second he’d thought maybe his lung had collapsed. He might not be so lucky next time.

Random thoughts passed through his mind in slow motion. Tough. Think tough. Pain is temporary. Ride it out. Be worthy of the Blackjacks. Be worthy of Susan. Buy time for her. She loves me.

He fixed his mind on that last thought and drifted away from his body, separating himself from the pain and blood and injuries, floating instead in a warm, soft cocoon inside his mind where Susan loved him and he loved her.

He didn’t know how long it went on. He might even have passed out briefly. But suddenly Mac was aware of Ruala stepping forward out of the shadows and moving near. He came into Mac’s now limited range of vision—both of his eyes were swelling shut—and cocked his head sideways to look up into Mac’s battered face.

The assassin spoke curtly, in accented English. “You’re either one stupid SOB or a hell of a smart one. Which is it?”

“Wha’?” Mac mumbled. He didn’t have to put on much of an act to sound dopey with pain.

Ruala stepped back in disgust. “Let’s go get the video camera. The boss wants pictures when we kill the woman. We’ll make the boyfriend scream before we kill him, too.”

The three men turned and filed up the stairs and out of the room. The door creaked shut behind them.

“Oh, my God, Mac. Are you all right?” Susan cried out softly. Her handcuffs rattled.

“Not ’xac’ly” he managed to force past his bloody, swollen mouth. Even thinking hurt. He fought to clear his brain. There was something important…something he’d seen that had registered subliminally….

It came back to him.

“Su, can mov’ your chair?”

“Yes, I think so.” She looked as perplexed as she sounded. At least it wiped the horrified expression off her face. He’d made sure not to look at her for most of the beating. He didn’t know if he could have borne seeing her pity.

“Carlos took off…glasses. They still on…box?” He gestured with his head and then winced as pain screamed from a dozen locations in his body.

“Yes. I see them.”

“Slide your chair…can you reach ’em?”

He waited impatiently while she inched her way across the room. They didn’t have much time.

“Hurry, swee’hear’,” he urged softly.

“I’m going as fast as I can.”

The sob in her voice broke his heart. “I know, Suz’.”

She managed to get herself turned around with her back to the box. She pushed off the floor with her feet and arched her back up awkwardly, trying to raise her hands high enough to grasp the glasses. Mac watched in an agony of suspense. On the third try she got them. She collapsed back onto the seat with a sob of relief.

“Bring…to me.”

It was awkward, and she jostled him hard enough to wring a groan from him, but the hand-off eventually got made. He grasped the spectacles convulsively in his fist.

“Go back…where you were.”

While she inched back to her original position, he snapped one of the long pieces of the frame off the glasses. It wasn’t the world’s best lock pick, and he fumbled with it for several minutes, feeling for the right angle, but he got it. The handcuff fell away from his left wrist.

He hugged himself carefully, stretching out the cramps in his shoulders as he moved to Susan’s chair and knelt behind her. And unleashed a foul curse.

“What?” she cried out.

“Your cuffs hav’ differen’ lock…can’t open without real picks. Can’t get you loose.”

“That’s okay. You go get help,” she murmured urgently.

He moved around in front of her, kneeling so he could see her face. “I’m not—” he enunciated carefully “—leaving you here alone.”

“Are you nuts? Get out of here!”

“No. I promised I’d never leave you alone again, and I’m not breaking that promise.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Save yourself!”

He stood up shakily and staggered across the room.

“Mac, you’d have died if you’d been in that van with me all those years ago, and you’re going to die if you stay with me now. Climb out of that morass of guilt you’re drowning in and go get help!”

Ignoring her wrenching pleas, he put the broken pieces of the glasses back on the box where Susan had gotten them. He moved painfully back toward the pipe on the wall where he’d been cuffed before.

“Mac, what are you doing?” Susan all but sobbed. “Go! I can’t stand watching them do this to you anymore. Please!” she begged him.

His brain felt clearer by the second. Clear enough to know what he was doing was completely insane and absolutely right. “I know this is hard for you, Susan. But we’re buying a lot of time, here. The Blackjacks will come for us, soon. Hang in there a little longer. And remember what I said. After I’m done for and they turn their attention to you, hold out as long as you can.”

A squeak from above announced the return of Ruala and his men. Mac jumped into position and grabbed onto the pipe behind him with both hands. He leaned against the cold steel. Hopefully, his body would hide the fact that his handcuffs were unhooked. Now the key was to stay conscious for as long as humanly possible and hang on to that pipe.

The punishment resumed, along with suggestions this time from Ruala on how to inflict maximum pain. He was vaguely grateful Carlos wasn’t trained in true torture, but brute force was managing to deliver enough pain that it was becoming almost more than he could stand.

Finally there came a point when his body just turned off. No matter how hard he willed himself not to, he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. With every ounce of his remaining strength he controlled his fall to the floor, managing to collapse with his back still plastered against the pipe and his hands gripped around it until the last possible second.

He’d done his best. Hopefully it was enough.

The darkness was cool and soothing. Reluctantly, he let it overtake him.

* * *

Susan lurched against her bonds when Mac collapsed, sobbing her relief that his agony was over.

Carlos kicked Mac’s prone body.

“Stop it!” she screamed. “You’ve already killed him!”

Through her tears, she saw all three men’s heads swivel in her direction. She gulped. Now it was up to her to buy time for Mac. Time for him to regain consciousness and maybe muster up a little strength. Time for the Blackjacks to find them before these animals killed them both.

A calm clarity came over her. Mac had been willing to die for her. To stand there, uncuffed, and take a brutal beating rather than break a promise to her. He’d sworn she wouldn’t ever be alone again. The least she could do was honor his choice and return the favor to him. If he had to die here, tonight, he was going to do so with her at his side. And with that knowledge came peace.

“So, the little woman speaks,” Ruala snarled. “Perhaps she would like to join the fun.”

She remembered Mac’s advice. “Maybe I would at that.”

Ruala gave her a startled look before he glared and stepped forward. She held his gaze gamely.

“Do you want to suffer the same fate as your boyfriend?”

She glanced over at Mac’s crumpled form and shrugged. “Guys like him are a dime a dozen,” she said scornfully. Please, please, please, let them buy her act.

“You were all concerned about him a couple minutes ago,” Carlos piped up suspiciously.

She snapped, “A couple of minutes ago he was alive and could have helped me. Now he’s not.” She thought she saw Mac’s rib cage rise, and she prayed with all her strength that she’d seen the slight movement. “I’d like to offer you a deal.”

Ruala took another step closer. “What kind of deal?” he demanded. “Tell me or I’ll kill you.”

She gave him a long, steady look and said slowly, “A deal concerning my testimony to the grand jury. Why kill me when I can clear your name and save you a world of hassles with building a new identity from scratch and going through more reconstructive surgery?”

Ruala blinked. In his artificially smooth face, the gesture looked downright reptilian. “Indeed? You bring up an interesting possibility. Did the boyfriend think that one up?”

She glanced down at Mac’s battered form and snorted. “You honestly think he had enough brain cells underneath all those muscles to come up with something that intelligent?”

Ruala blinked several more times. Lord, that was creepy. She restrained a shudder as he said slowly, “I think my employer and I may have underestimated you. Wait here. I’ll be back.”

Duh. Like she was going anywhere handcuffed to a chair. He and his flunkies left the room once more.

She waited in an agony of suspense until the door closed behind them at the top of the stairs. Then frantically she slid her chair in jerky lurches over near Mac’s body.

“Mac,” she whispered frantically. “Mac, can you hear me? Oh God. Please be alive.”

He exhaled. A bare thread of rattling breath escaped him, but at least he was breathing. She had no idea if he was remotely conscious or not, though. She tried to get through to him anyway. “I’m going to try to convince Ruala that you’re dead and to leave your body here. So don’t wake up on me when he comes back. Okay? Did you hear me?”

“Yeah.” It was so faint she could barely hear it.

“Oh, Mac, why didn’t you leave when you could have? I can’t believe you let them do this to you. What were you thinking?”

His voice was weak, but clear. “I love you, Susan. I was thinking about buying you time and keeping you alive.”

He loved her? After all the horrible things she’d said to him? And still he’d sacrificed himself like this for her? Her composure threatened to shatter completely.

Not yet. She couldn’t let down yet. She had to do her best to protect him, to give him a fighting chance to survive. She drew in a wobbly breath. “Well, good grief, Mac Conlon, you’ve got a strange way of showing you love me,” she quipped gently.

His painful, bloody smile tore her heart in two and made it whole again, all at the same time. “I’d kiss you if I could get to you to do it,” she said softly.

“I’d let you if…wouldn’t make me…pass out,” he mumbled, his strength starting to fade.

“Any bright ideas to share with me before that jerk comes back?” she asked.

“I heard you… Did good. Stick…with offer. Bargain more. Leave me…for dead…” His voice trailed off.

“Don’t talk if it hurts,” she murmured to him. “I’ll buy us however much time it takes for the Blackjacks to find us.”

He took several careful breaths and visibly gathered his strength to speak one more time. “I doubt you’ll get…chance, but in my right boot…under liner…GPS locator in heel. If they move you, take it…”

A GPS device? No wonder he’d been so sure the Blackjacks would find them. A brief spark of hope lit in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, they would get out of this alive.

And then, in the very next second, the lights went out. The room plunged into total blackness.