Free Playing for Keeps by Cherry Adair Page B

to wrap his fingers about Donovan’s throat. He spoke directly against the man’s ear. “Before those guys come in here, I’ll kill you with my bare hands. So for the last time, is there a way to block the signal without removing the implant?”
    “Tests show adrenaline and endorphins mute it somewhat,” Donovan choked reluctantly.
    Just as reluctantly, Raven released Donovan with a shove. He and Danica could power a small country with their adrenaline at the moment. Now, not only did he have to get them the hell out of Dodge, he had to find a doctor, a qualified doctor, a doctor he could trust, to remove the prototype microscopic implant, in the middle of the night, in a strange country. In a fucking hurry.
    Piece of cake. Raven had contacts, people he could call for help. His concern was getting the right people and the right kind of help—immediately.
    “Mute it? Somewhat? Without removing it?” Danica demanded, eyes wide as she stared at him. “Screw somewhat!” She stepped forward and glared at Donovan. “Get it out of me. Now!”
    Raven grabbed her by the arm, pulling her back against him where he could hold on to her, trying to still his own panic so she wouldn’t see it. “Hang on,” he said calmly, rubbing his palms up and down the goose bumps on her arms. “Nobody’s cutting you until we have all the answers.” Yeah. As if.
    “What’s the real goal here?” he asked Donovan rhetorically. “Retrieving the chip or my wife’s continuing good health?”
    “Of course both are equally important to us—”
    Yeah. Right. The damn chip was the star attraction. One small American woman who happened to be the unfortunate carrier was expendable. “Can the bomb be reused once it’s been removed?”
    “Well—”
    “A simple yes or no.”
    “Yes.”
    Ah, man. This was as bad as it got. They didn’t give a damn about Dani. Once they had their frigging prototype, that would be it. His chances of walking out afterwards weren’t looking too good, either.
    He had to ask, even though the chances of them getting anything like a scalpel near her were slim to go-to-hell. “How safe is the procedure?” Nothing less than a 200 percent guarantee would be acceptable, and even then, Raven would hesitate. He didn’t trust this bastard farther than he could throw him. “The truth.”
    “Five percent,” Donovan admitted.
    “Five percent chance that something could go wrong?” Jon shook his head grimly and thought about grabbing the guy’s throat again. Nobody was getting near Danica unless they could guarantee that she’d be fine afterward. Even if it meant he had to kill every living soul on this godforsaken spit of land.
    “Forget it,” he said, already thinking about an escape route. “Tell your medics to stand down, because it’s not happening, not with a five percent failure rate.”
    “Five percent chance of success,” Donovan corrected, albeit reluctantly. “Ninety-five percent probability of terminating the patient.”

Eight
    B lack dots danced in Danica’s wavering vision as she felt every vestige of blood drain from her head. If she fainted, Jon would have to carry her out of here while trying to fend off the soldiers. She knew, without a doubt, that she and Jon would be getting out of here soon. How soon and exactly how, she wasn’t sure. She locked her knees and concentrated on her breathing. Buck up, she told herself. Do not fall apart. Think.
    “It’s a lose-lose situation.” Jon sounded as grim as Danica felt. . .and she was feeling pretty damn grim. Oh, God. A bomb inside her? Not just inside her. Inside her head?
    Do. Not. Freak.
    “There’s absolutely no choice, Raven. None,” Donovan told him. “We might fail in trying to remove the bio-chip, but Villalba-Vera can, and assuredly will, activate it. That’s a hundred percent death warrant.”
    “It was apparently easy enough to insert. Reverse the procedure,” Jon told him tightly. “Surely to God we don’t need an