Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1) (6 page)

“Not yet.”

“Close your eyes again and breathe. In. Out. In, out. Open your eyes. Still the same view.”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’ve acquired the natural target. Wait for Cudjo to move into it. We’re close enough you don’t have to recalculate the shot. Remember, you’re aiming for center of mass. Once he enters the edge of the target area, you’ll squeeze the trigger.”

His breath tickled the back of her neck, and she did her best to ignore the sensations dancing along her spine to the Argentine tango rhythm of her heart.

“You aren’t breathing, Cory.”

He shifted again, lying almost completely on top of her, his leg scissored between hers. His erection rubbed against her bottom, and she almost swallowed her tongue. Movement caught her attention.

“The door is opening.”

“Breathe. This is it, princess.”

She swallowed a whimper, but he recognized her distress. She tensed, inhaled, exhaled. Her finger twitched on the trigger.

Duke did his best not to worry. They were closer to the target than he liked, but since he had no way to judge wind, heat, or anything else that could affect trajectory, he had to rely strictly on Cory’s untrained observations. He couldn’t take a chance. One shot. And then they’d have to run like hell. Where was a fucking drone when you needed it? Oh, wait. One of those suckers had blown his team to hell and back.

Her finger tightened on the trigger. He wrapped his body around her slighter frame, wishing he could absorb the shock and recoil for her.

“He’s almost in the crosshair.” Her breath whispered across his arm, raising the fine hairs.

“Breathe. Hold it. Sight. Release. And—” She followed his directions, but with the practice of a hundred kills, he slid his finger through the guard again and tightened it on hers, pulling the trigger as he instructed, “Squeeze.”

The sniper rifle bucked, and Cory whimpered.

“Ow.”

“I’m sorry, baby. Had to do it this way.” His breathing hitched as he added in a cold voice, “Check the scope. Confirm!”

Her body tensed beneath his, and he listened to her panting. He brushed his cheek against hers, felt wet skin. She was crying. Fuck. He’d taken the shot, but she’d watched it through the scope. She didn’t need to check the scene. Her finger was still on the trigger beneath his, and it shook as her hand trembled. He eased her finger out of the trigger guard and clicked on the safety.

“What is it you say? Target down?” Her voice broke, and shattered his heart. “H-he’s dead. I..” She swallowed hard. “I killed a man.”

“You’re sure?”

A little sob escaped before she could swallow it. “I saw the back of his head explode. I’m sure.”

“What’s happening?” He’d had her aim for center of mass—the torso, but she pulled off a head shot. Pretty damn impressive.

Cory inhaled and tried to stop shaking so she could focus on the scope. Having Duke draped around her helped. With him anchoring her to the ground, she didn’t feel like she was going to spin off into space. “The villagers are scattering. His men…they’re all sort of just standing there looking stunned. There’s a woman on her knees beside Cudjo. I think she’s…”

Sounds of a woman’s wails drifted over them. It wouldn’t be long before Cudjo’s second in command took charge and came looking for the shooter. “We need to get out of here.” Duke didn’t want to roll away from Cory. But they’d be caught if they stayed. He hadn’t come this far to end up a prisoner—or worse—now. “We gotta go.”

He sat up and felt woozy, but kept his head low—hopefully below the screen of bushes. “Keep an eye out while I break down the rifle.” Duke could do this in his sleep, luckily. He didn’t need his eyesight to field strip and stow his weapon. He bit back the anger. His blindness wasn’t really Cory’s fault, despite his earlier allegation.

Wiping her cheeks, Cory did as Duke ordered. There was no time for tears. Later. She could cry later. When she was away from him. When she could hate him for what he’d made her do.

DUKE JERKED awake. He listened to the night, seeking the threat. A soft moan and thrashing limbs. The princess was having a nightmare. Duke knew all about those, though he reserved his for down time. He didn’t sleep much on missions. He couldn’t take the chance of alerting the enemy if he talked in his sleep. Or moaned. Like the princess. Cory. She’d asked him to call her Cory. But he couldn’t stop calling her princess. Little rich girl who wanted to save the world. Only she was more than that.

He crawled toward the sounds she made and squatted by her side just as Cory scissored her legs, kicking off the solar blanket. Brushing his fingers across her face, he found sweat beaded on her forehead and, as his fingers continued across her skin, he wondered if those were tears that slicked her cheeks. Her mouth opened as she sucked in gasps of air, arms thrashing now. What gave a doctor nightmares? Had Cudjo’s men done worse than kidnap her? His brain skittered away from that idea, just as he refused to consider that watching a man’s brains blow out the back of his head through a sniper scope might be the cause.

Listening to the sounds filtering through his darkness, he waited. He’d called HQ, reported the success of the mission, waited for a return call with instructions for their extraction—a call that hadn’t come. Cory thrashed harder, throwing her head from side to side.

Duke needed to control her, calm her down. For the good of the mission, he gathered her into his arms, and he settled her into the nest formed by his crossed legs as he sat Indian style. Her hands balled into fists, but instead of beating at his chest, she clutched his tee shirt. His dick went on alert, liking the way her rounded ass fit against it. Liked it too much, in fact.

In the distance, men called to each other. They would have torches and lights to probe the darkness. They were tucked up in a thicket of bushes and would be hard to spot but it was obvious he and the doctor were hunted. It was now mission imperative to keep her quiet. Duke did the only thing that made sense to him at the time. He covered her mouth with his own.

Cory relaxed into the kiss, her hands fisting in the tight knit material of a tee shirt. Muscled chest. Hard arms. And something else hard. Very hard. And poking her in the bottom. Mmmm. She liked this dream much better than the one before—the one where hollow-eyed children stared at her, all making the same plea. “Help me.”

“Shhh, princess. You need to make like Sleeping Beauty and be quiet.” A deep voice whispered in her ear, and warm air from his breath teased its way across her skin. She shivered and sought the mouth that claimed hers only moment ago. In an instant, she was flat on her back, her dream man’s erection pressing firmly against her core as he settled between her legs. Only it wasn’t his mouth on hers, it was a rough palm.

Coming fully awake, she opened her eyes and screamed against the hand clamped over her mouth, fighting the bulk lying on top of her.

“Dammit, princess.” That gruff voice growled at her, so low it was more vibration than sound. “Wake up and shut up. We’ve got dogs on our trail.”

Dogs? She gasped against his skin. Dogs were hunting them? She closed her eyes, sucking air through her nose to calm her thundering heart. She could hear the voices now, saw lights flashing in the distance. Some spoke the local dialect. Some spoke English. Rescuers! She tapped Duke’s shoulder and lipped words against his palm. He ignored her. She squirmed beneath him, oddly exhilarated when his breath caught in his chest.

“Dammit, woman. I’ll fucking strangle you until you pass out if you don’t hold still.”

She struggled harder.

“They aren’t the good guys, princess.”

Cory froze. Her pulse pounded so loud in her ears she couldn’t hear anything for several moments. When her panic subsided enough, she listened intently. Two men, speaking English, stood not ten feet away.

“We’re not gonna find them in the dark.”

“Fuckin’ A, man, but we can’t go back empty-handed. We got orders. They know that damn SEAL took out Cudjo. We gotta make sure he doesn’t set foot back on US soil.”

She quit breathing. Duke was right. They were being hunted by very bad men. The two moved on, kicking up enough dust Cory needed to sneeze. She squinted her eyes, squiggled her nose, and tensed her whole body. Nothing helped. Air exploded from her nose in a guttural snort. The men stopped.

“What the hell was that?”

“Keep moving. That sounded like one of those fucking wild boars.”

Cory didn’t move for long minutes after the search party cleared the area. With Duke still lying on top of her, she couldn’t move much anyway. When he at last rolled away, she didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Rather than doing either, she touched his arm and leaned in close to whisper in his ear.

“What do we do now?”

“I make a phone call to a friend who might be able to help.”

“We need to go.”

“No. We stay here since they’ve already searched this area. If we aren’t moving, we’re harder to track.” He felt around until his fingers brushed the crinkled material of a solar blanket. Snagging it, he pulled it over the two of them even as he settled Cory against his uninjured side. “Go to sleep, princess. No more nightmares.”

She huffed, her breath teasing his jaw. “I’m still not a princess.”

“Good. Then the rocks we’re sleeping on shouldn’t bother you.”

Duke was honest enough to admit the little growl from the back of her throat turned him on far more than it should. In the morning, he’d use the SAT phone, try to contact Ian McIntire, a former command sergeant major and Army special operator. A man who was a wolf shifter and married to the Army major who had saved Duke and SEAL Team Atlantis from further experimentation at the hands of mad scientists funded by a rogue corporation with government backing.

TWO DAYS. For forty-eight hours they hid. For forty-eight hours, Duke waited for news. They’d been abandoned by the government, by the Navy. If Mac didn’t come through, Duke would slit the doc’s throat and then his own to keep them out of enemy hands. It didn’t help that he had a raging fever making his moments of lucidity few and far between. The SAT phone pinged. He grabbed it, fumbled to click it on. Cory pushed his clumsy hands out of the way.

“Let me.” A moment later, she pressed the phone back into his hand.

“Yeah?”

“Is this the party to whom I’m speaking?”

“Fuck, Boomer, don’t be a smart ass.”

“Oh, yeah. I am talkin’ at that furry ocean manimal we all know and love. The order from Big Mac land is arriving by airmail. You have a PR team headed your way. ETA two hours. They’ll be coming in hard, dark, and so hot, it’ll make your brown eyes cross.” The former explosives expert and combat medic of the army’s Wolves read off a series of coordinates approximately two kilometers away. “Don’t be late, your grace.”

Duke stowed the phone in a side pocket of his combat pants. He’d toss it in the river as they made their way to the pick-up point. “Pack up everything. We can’t leave any evidence behind. Clear?”

“Clear.”

Fifteen minutes later, by his guesstimate, packs were loaded, and they were headed toward the landing zone. They had an hour and forty-five minutes to go just over a mile. They were both exhausted, and Duke knew his wounds had turned septic. The debilitating fever and body aches were a constant reminder. It didn’t matter. He was a SEAL. Cory was his responsibility, and he’d get her to safety. Period. Hooyah.

The princess set a fast pace, despite their weakened conditions. On the banks of the river, he tossed the SAT phone into the current. It made a satisfying splash when it hit. Another quarter of a mile and they could get under cover to wait for their ride. He explained the coded message as he followed her, his hand holding a death grip on her shoulder.

Cory dug in Duke’s pack for the chemical light sticks she needed to mark the landing zone. He’d fallen unconscious soon after they’d hunkered down in a small clump of underbrush. She didn’t know how much time had passed, but she wanted to be ready. Straining her ears, she listened for the first telltale chop of propeller blades against the humid air. She felt the
whump-whump-whump
in her chest before actually hearing the helicopter. Taking Duke’s warnings to heart, she waited. Real rescuers would drop a blue light. Only blue. Any other color, or no flare, meant bad guys. She hummed the old song about making brown eyes blue in her head, as it was one of the references in message.

The helicopter passed by, and Cory almost screamed in frustration. Had they missed the place? Then something lit up the ground in front of her. A blue chemical light stick. Oh, thank God! She burst out of the bushes, ran to the flat area she’d picked out and set off the red light sticks on the edges of the designated zone. The sound returned as she backed toward the bushes. The helicopter set down like a giant bug then two men jumped out and approached.

“Dr. Prince?”

She nodded mutely, swallowing around the lump in her throat. “Yes. Yes. Please. Duke…the SEAL, he needs help. He’s unconscious.” She pointed into the bushes, turned, and managed about two steps before one of them hooked her arm.

“No, ma’am. You need to come with me.”

“But, Duke…”

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll get him. Come with me please.” She recognized the patch on the man’s uniform. Air Force Pararescue. A PJ, they were called. Now the coded phone conversation made complete sense. She followed him. Hands extended from the open cargo door of the helicopter. They clamped on her hands and helped pull her aboard. The PJ disappeared. Moments later, he and his partner reappeared, dragging Duke between them, each carrying one of Duke’s packs.

On board the chopper, she crouched back out of the way. She might be a doctor, but these men knew what they were doing and had far more experience with the type of wounds Duke had sustained. About ten minutes into the flight, the door gunner offered her a set of headphones with a microphone attached.

“Dr. Prince, I’m Lieutenant Carter. We’re flying you and the Master Chief to the USS Carl Vinson.”

Cory nodded then realized the Lieutenant was riding up front with the pilot and couldn’t see her. “Oh, yes. Thank you. The Master Chief is critically ill. I did all I could.”

“We’ll take care of him, ma’am. Just sit back and relax. We have a long flight ahead of us.”

Cory lost track of time. She dozed off, only to jerk awake. Duke looked awful. His skin had a gray pallor and sweat beaded on his forehead and chest. He was so terribly ill. She touched the shoulder of the man next to her.

“How high is his fever?”

“Hundred and four.”

“That’s too high.”

“Yes, ma’am. We’re aware of that. We’re working to bring it down.”

She fretted, watching Duke and the two PJs working on him. She wanted to do something. Needed to do something. Cory owed this man her life and despite their differences, despite everything, she wanted him healthy and whole. And she wanted him to kiss her again.

Dawn tinged the sky ahead of them with pastel colors. Dark blue ocean painted with white froth skimmed beneath the helicopter.

“Won’t be long now, ma’am.” The lieutenant’s voice murmured in her earphones.

Curious, she leaned forward to see better. Her first sight of the aircraft carrier left her in awe. The ship was huge—gigantic flight deck, towers, truly a city cruising over the sea. Her gaze strayed to Duke. He didn’t look any better. The PJ working on him glanced her way and shook his head. No change. She knew they’d get him stabilized on board the ship, and then he’d be transferred to a military hospital. He’d be all right. He had to be.

The helicopter swung around and began its descent. Cory tightened her grip on the nylon harness at her back.

When they landed on the aircraft carrier, a man in a dark suit stood on the deck. He yelled above the sound of rotors as she was escorted to him.

“Dr. Prince, I’m Leonard Cohen, with the State Department. You need to come with me.” He gripped her upper arm and tugged her toward a plane perched nearby, its propellers tilted skyward.

Cory followed even as her attention remained focused on the helicopter as they unloaded Duke. Dragging her feet, she stumbled and then resisted, jerking free of the man’s grip to run toward the stretcher. She touched Duke’s cheek then bent to whisper, “I’m sorry I didn’t save you.” After brushing her lips across his, she straightened and glanced at the PJ. “Take care of him.”