Playing for Keeps by Cherry Adair

operating room and a surgeon?”
    “There’s a fail-safe built into the chip. The device can’t be exposed to oxygen. It’ll detonate. The surgeon/med staff are in danger too. Not to mention rendering the chip useless, this means that they’re doing a riskier, deeper, or more extensive surgery.” Donovan’s tone was terse.
    “It’s us or Villalba-Vera. And be assured, in the unlikely event that he doesn’t detonate the device while it’s still contained, he will find you and remove it himself, and believe me, he won’t be at all concerned with Miss Cross’s survival. The race is on to see who gets you, and it, first. Time is of the essence. Surely, you can see that.”
    The bottom line was they wanted the chip-not that they wanted to protect Dani. “I do,” Jon agreed, sounding reluctant. “But I’m going in with her.”
    Danica spun around to stare at her nearly-ex-husband, who’d clearly lost his mind. “Are you out of your freaking mind? He wants to cut into me! How do we even know he’s telling the truth about this—this—thing?”
    Jon cupped her face in both hands, his palms as dry as hers were damp, his dark eyes glittering with—what? Regret? Determination? “Listen to me, Danica. We don’t have any choice but to go into that room. The longer you drag your feet, the longer we’ll be here. Once the chip’s out, we’ll be on our way home.”
    Every cell in her body shrieked a resounding “No!” She searched his face with eyes that burned. Terror grabbed her by the throat, but instead of giving in, she held on to the protective gleam in Jon’s eyes. He would be with her. He wouldn’t let anything happen to her. The one thing she always felt with Jon was safe. Even though they’d drifted apart, their marriage crumbling around them, the Jon she knew would protect her.
    Please God, she prayed, let me know this man as well as I think I do. “If I die in there, I’m coming back to haunt you,” she told him as a terrible calm came over her. She’d crossed the line from unmitigated fear to a place where she’d stepped outside her body to observe herself. Two men escorted her other self to the adjacent sterile room, trailed by four armed soldiers. With Jon right beside her, holding her hand.
    Sounds muted. The floor felt unsubstantial beneath her feet, the air smelled of antiseptic as she, Jon, and Donovan went inside. The door shut behind them. Danica was aware of each individual, slow, dirge-like thump of her heart as Jon led her to stand beside a linen-draped operating table. It was a blessed relief to feel nothing at all.
    Except that, in some dim recess of her brain, she knew she had to shake this lethargy. It was hard for her to read Jon’s signals.

    He turned her to face him, sliding his hand down her numb arm, taking both her hands in his. His eyes scanned her face, and he frowned, looking worried. “I’ll be with you every second. Trust me, sweetheart. I’m not going to let anything happen to you or let anyone or anything take you away from me ever again.” She could see their fingers entwined, his hands large and dark, hers ridiculously small and pale, but she didn’t feel the contact.
    He bent his head slightly and looked directly into her eyes. She didn’t blink. Jon had lovely eyes. A deep rich blu— “Ow!” She jerked when he pinched her forearm. Hard.
    “With me now?”
    Danica blinked like a sleepwalker after a rude awakening. “Oh, yeah.”
    “Ready?” A guy in a cap and face mask asked as he snapped a rubber glove onto his left hand.
    What an irritating sound that is, Danica thought, annoyed. The brightly lit room pulsed with the low hum of machinery as Jon turned her to face him, his hands on her shoulders. “One kiss before she goes under.”
    “Or my head explodes,” Danica murmured with gallows humor.
    “Ah, sweetheart, you’re one in a million.” He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her tightly against him, his face buried against her neck.