Free Power: Special Tactical Units Division (In Wilde Country Book 3) by Sandra Marton

branch just ahead. It was a green tree snake, a nonaggressive creature that would as soon slither away as bite.
    Should he call the woman’s attention to it?
    Which was the wiser move? Point it out? Not point it out? Either way, she’d freak. There was something about snakes that terrified women. Well, men, too. He could still remember the ungodly shriek of one guy on a BUD/S training mission years before when a harmless snail-eater had slithered over his bare toes.
    “Snake.”
    The whisper came from behind him. Surprised, Tanner looked back. The woman pointed to the tree.
    “Snake,” she repeated softly. “Harmless.”
    No panic. She was out of breath, sure, but she was calm. And she was giving him advice.
    Hell.
    She was giving him advice? On snakes ?
    “I said…”
    “I heard you. And I already saw the snake.”
    Jesus. He almost winced. He sounded like a petulant kid whose big surprise had been ruined. Yeah, well, he didn’t like her. Why would he? She was in a mess of her own making. She had no business in San Escobal. No righteous business, anyway. So, no, he didn’t like her, but that wasn’t a factor in this mission. He’d rescued people before. That was part of what STUD did. Diplomats, journalists, tourists caught up in somebody’s civil war, and he sure as hell hadn’t liked all of them, maybe not even any of them, because liking somebody had nothing to do with getting them out of harm’s way.
    He was here to save her ass.
    It was a rather good-looking ass.
    Hell. He didn’t like her, but he wasn’t dead. You didn’t have to like a woman to appreciate the way she was put together.
    “I just wanted to be sure,” she said.
    “Sure about what?”
    “The snake. Some people just kill any snake they see.”
    Sweet Jesus. Advice not only on snakes, but also on the immorality of killing them.
    Apparently, she had no such problem with jaguars.
    “No…need…to-…really. Snakes…aren’t…always—”
    He stopped. Turned around. Grabbed her shoulders and held her still before she could walk right into him
    “Try concentrating on breathing instead of talking,” he said sharply.
    Damn. She was panting. Sweating. Their trek along the game trail had turned her into even more of a mess than before. Dirt. Sweat. Scratches on her face from the branches that reached for them like eager hands. On top of that, she was clearly exhausted. They weren’t moving, but she was shaking.
    Shit.
    She was probably dehydrated.
    Tanner slung off his pack, dug into it for a canteen. He unscrewed the top and handed it to her.
    “Drink.”
    “No time.”
    “Right. No time. So instead of wasting it arguing, drink the water.”
    She shot him a look, but it was so quick that he couldn’t read it. Was she annoyed? Irritated? Frankly, who cared? He was just getting the job done. After all, he’d agreed to this mission. He’d all but jumped on it. Being out of the safe confines first of a hospital and then Camp Condor and now doing what he’d been trained to do, was the stuff of life.
    He watched her tilt back her head, bring the canteen to her lips. She drank, eyes closed, dark lashes a crescent against her high cheekbones.
    Dirty or not, she was something for a man’s eyes to feast on.
    It didn’t change the fact that she was in a place she didn’t belong, doing shit to make herself think she led a useful life, but she certainly was easy on the eyes.
    A drop of water spilled as she drank.
    He watched it run down her chin, traverse the long curve of her throat, fall again and be absorbed by her cotton T-shirt.
    The shirt was torn just above her breasts.
    His gaze fell to her breasts.
    Was she braless? Was that the delicate press of nipples under the shirt? Her breasts were small. No. Not small. They were just the right size for a man’s hands and mouth…
    “Finished.”
    His head jerked up. “What?”
    “I said, I’m finished with…”
    He snatched the canteen from her outstretched hand. Did she know he’d