Lethal Pursuit (10 page)

“Okay.” Her eyes slid closed as if the effort of keeping them open was too exhausting.

They lapsed into a tense silence until Doug spoke at last. “They’ll come for me next.”

Jackson swiveled his head around to look at him.

“It’s me they want answers from. I’m the reason we’re all here.”

“They’re going to use us against you,” Jackson corrected, stating the obvious. “The reasons behind all this don’t matter. We’re all in this together now.”

Voices floated from the far end of the corridor, where Mohammed had disappeared. Then footsteps. The strong beam of a flashlight lit their way, and Jackson’s stomach sank when he recognized the bastard who’d beaten Maya walking in the lead. Mohammed trailed behind at the end of the group, with two more big men following behind the leader.

Jackson quickly dropped back to the wall of his cell and drew his knees up. Maya didn’t move from her position on the floor, but her breathing had turned shallow with fear. With every step the men took, his muscles drew tighter and tighter, his body suspended in a hellish flight-or-fight mode. Only he could do neither.

The leader stopped directly in front of Jackson’s cell and handed the flashlight to the man next to him. Whoever he was, he was taller and broader than the leader. The man passed by to pause at the Sec Def’s cell, raising the beam of light and taking his time perusing their most valuable captive. He said something in Pashto to the leader, who answered him with a clipped response. The new man spoke again, and there was no need for Jackson to understand the words to recognize the smile in his voice. He was well pleased with what he saw in that cell.

The beam hit him next. Jackson squinted and focused on a spot on the floor between his bound boots, while the man looked him over for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. He asked another question and received a response from Mohammed this time. Jackson knew they were talking about letting him check Maya. His heart leaped in relief when the light slid away from him, but he held his breath as it swung toward Maya.

From the corner of his eye he watched as it slid over her body, lying still on the cold floor. There was dried blood smeared on the left side of her face, and she had one arm curled over her waist protectively. The light beam froze on her like a spotlight, and all at once a deathly stillness stole through the chamber. Jackson’s nape prickled in warning.

The man holding the flashlight said something sharp and curt. No one answered. He shifted and faced the leader, saying something in a deceptively quiet voice that was no less lethal for its lack of volume. The leader answered in a clipped tone and fell silent. The tension in the room was palpable.

It seemed like hours before the light at last slid away from Maya and pointed toward the floor at the man’s large boots. Military-style boots. Then he squatted down in front of Jackson’s cell door. “You’re a PJ?”

The flawless English shocked him so much that his head snapped up before he could stop himself. When he saw the face reflected in the beam of the flashlight, he went cold all over in sudden recognition.

A copper-tinted beard glinted in the light, covering most of what were definitely Western features. Below the fiery eyebrows, a pair of brilliant blue eyes gazed back at him. “I’m called Rahim.”

That name exploded in his brain like a claymore. Holy fuck. The man who’d beaten Maya wasn’t the leader at all. They’d been abducted at the command of this man, who every intelligence agency allied with the U.S. had been searching for over the past three years. And here he was, safe and sound.

Shock reverberated through Jackson, holding him paralyzed for a few seconds until the man spoke again, this time with less patience. “I’ll ask you one last time. You’re a PJ, correct?”

Jackson gave a tight nod.

“Lieutenant Lopez does need medical attention. I understand you asked to provide it?”

He wanted to say yes. But he was worried now that Rahim and the others had figured out the truth between him and Maya. He prayed he was wrong. He had to hold on to whatever hope he could find.

“Well?”

He gave a hesitant nod, daring to meet those pale eyes. He almost welcomed his turn with the beatings. It would be better than being forced to sit idly by and watch Maya suffer for a single moment longer than necessary.

Rahim assessed him for a moment with those intense eyes before nodding once to himself. Then he rose. “I’ll be back with some medical supplies in a little while. Mohammed will stay here and watch you.” With that, he strode away, the others following him except the kid, who slid down to sit against the far wall of the corridor.

Jackson let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes, struggling to understand the enormity of what was happening. Rahim’s words rang in his head, bringing mingled relief and shock. That unmistakable Midwestern accent told him without a doubt that the impossible was true.

The United States’s number-one high-value target was a fucking American.

Chapter Ten

Khalid stepped into the room he’d used to interrogate the female prisoner with an uncomfortable stiffness in his muscles. He was not looking forward to the reprimand he sensed was coming.

Rahim entered next, followed by his most trusted man, Jihad, who dropped the heavy carpet back into place behind them. The small windowless room was immediately plunged into darkness, save the beam of the flashlight Rahim held. He swept it around the tiny space, lingering on the metal chair and the blood spatters marking the hard-packed floor.

Jihad stood back near the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, observing Rahim’s inspection. Reaching back, Rahim placed the flashlight on the small metal table with a quiet clang that seemed to echo in the stillness. The light washed across his face, and the livid expression in his eyes made Kahlid’s hands turn clammy.

“What were you thinking?” The low words sliced through the tense silence. He spoke in Pashto, no doubt so that Jihad would understand. That added humiliation only increased his resentment.

Khalid fought the urge to shift his stance under the power of that angry stare. “She is the weakest and the one with the least training,” he said defensively. “I can use her to make the others talk.”

“You can’t use her if she’s dead, can you?” Rahim snapped, his tone dripping with disgust. “As it is, she may be too badly injured to be of any further use to us.”

He bristled at the rebuke, especially in front of an audience. Jihad’s black stare was every bit as disgusted as Rahim’s. “I have to show them what I’m capable of.”

If possible, Rahim’s eyes turned even colder. “It’s only day one. You went too far.”

Kahlid’s immediate reaction was to argue, but the logical part of him knew it wouldn’t do any good. And he was walking a very perilous path now. Months before, he’d tricked an American soldier on the battlefield into calling in the airstrike that had killed Khalid’s former leader General Nasrallah, whom he had regarded with irritation and disdain. Not so with Rahim. He was a powerful and charismatic leader, battle tested, and he had a true vision of how this war needed to be waged.

Khalid had fought long and hard to have the freedom and opportunity to lead his own men in this fight. The last thing he wanted was to lose everything he’d finally won.

And if there was one man he feared crossing, it was Rahim.

Khalid cleared his throat and lowered his gaze in deference, forcing back the tide of anger rising inside him. “Shall I finish it then?”

“No. I’m going to let the PJ do what he can for her. It will be a show of mercy, and if she lives, it will help our cause with the others. If she dies, you’ve lost whatever advantage she brought us.”

She wasn’t going to
die
from what he’d done to her. “I didn’t beat her that badly,” Khalid protested. “I made sure of it.”

“You lost control,” Rahim accused flatly. “And I’ll bet you weren’t even aware of it until you saw her just now.”

Unease curled inside him. Had he lost control? At first he’d tempered the blows, trying to wear her down bit by bit. But once he’d started lashing her with his belt, his memory became fuzzy. “I had to break her will in order to use her against the others.”

“And in doing so, you’ve hardened their will against you. Now is the perfect time to show mercy.”

Strange how he’d just had a conversation about that with Mohammed this morning.

Rahim sighed and folded his arms across his chest, mimicking the same stance as Jihad. Individually they were very intimidating. Together, they made for an imposing display of power and authority. One that made Khalid’s heart rate accelerate. “This is about your past.”

Khalid stiffened in shock, unable to form a response. Mortification crawled through him. Just how much did Rahim know?

One side of the man’s mouth lifted in a sardonic smile. “You seem surprised. Don’t be. I know the secrets of every man in my circle, no matter how dark or distant. I was warned about your temper. Don’t make me regret my decision to overlook it.”

Khalid’s hands balled into fists. How dare anyone say such things about him. Who had done it? Nasrallah? One of Nasrallah’s men? “My past has nothing to do with this.”

Rahim raised one coppery brow in silent dispute. “I think it does. You still carry the anger and shame of your upbringing and have not yet learned how to control it. That is something you need to do immediately if you want to continue performing operations for me. I won’t risk failure because one of my men doesn’t know how to control himself.” His cool blue eyes seemed to look deep inside Khalid, finding the lonely and angry young boy he’d once been. “You’ve executed this operation extremely well up until this point, and I’m willing to give you another chance.”

Khalid exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, embarrassed that he’d been chastised this way, resentful of the way his cheeks flushed. What did Rahim know of that kind of shame? Of being an aberration, hated by the entire village because his mother had traded her body for food from some Russian soldiers to keep her starving family alive during one bitter winter? He was grateful for the semidarkness that hid his reaction. Finding his humility wasn’t easy, but it was necessary. “I understand. Thank you.”

Rahim picked up the flashlight and motioned for him to start moving. “Bring me what medical supplies you have. Jihad will take them to the prisoner and let the PJ do what he can. Then he’ll stay to observe your future interrogations with the other prisoners.”

More blood rushed to his face, pulsing in his ears in a dim roar. He did not require supervision. He wasn’t a misbehaving child. Clenching his hands into fists, he made himself nod. “If that is your will.”

“It is. I cannot risk you losing your temper again and killing the Secretary of Defense. I need his information and a recorded statement, Khalid. This sort of opportunity only happens once. I intend to capitalize on it.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Rahim to carry out the interrogations himself from now on then. Self-preservation made him choke the words down. “And how do you suggest I get that from him?” he demanded, an edge to his tone.

Rahim didn’t bother casting a glance at him as he walked back through the opening, where Jihad had pulled the carpet aside. “Any way you can, short of injuring him to the point that he can’t give the statement. And believe me, if you cross the line again, I’ll know.”

* * *

Jackson lifted his head when the men came back down the corridor. Only two this time, Rahim and that other guy, probably a bodyguard. He carried something in one hand—a large bag. No freaking way. They were actually bringing him medical supplies?

He remained where he was, not daring to believe it until Rahim hunkered down in front of the cell door once more. “I’ve brought you what we have. Jihad will take off those flex cuffs and give you fifteen minutes with her. After that, you and Secretary Haversham are going to have a little talk with Khalid.”

Jihad?
Nice fucking name
,
asshole.
Jackson made sure his expression gave nothing away, doing his best to ignore the cold knot of dread in his gut. He stared at the bridge of Rahim’s nose as he’d been trained, giving the impression he was making eye contact while decreasing the risk of displaying emotion.

“And don’t do anything stupid. Jihad is former ISI, partially trained by us—you,” he amended with pleasure. “If you try to escape he’ll kill you. Is that clear?”

Jackson nodded, knowing he wouldn’t be able to escape even if he did kill Jihad and Mohammed before they raised the alarm. A suicide mission would end
his
captivity but would make the others’ much worse. And part of him feared that Maya would give up if he died.

Rahim pushed to his feet and said something to Jihad in Pashto. The big man unlocked the cell door and motioned for Jackson to approach. Jackson’s muscles tensed, a surge of adrenaline whipping through his body. He stood, bending at the waist to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling. Following their commands went against every ingrained instinct, but what choice did he have? If it meant being able to help Maya, he’d do damn near anything they wanted. He just hoped he didn’t seem too eager.

The muscles in his arms bunched as Jihad took his bound wrists and cut the zip tie with a sharp knife. One snick, and his hands fell apart. He shook them, relieved when the burning pain seared his skin because it meant the blood was flowing again. Jihad motioned with his head for him to follow and Jackson did, shuffling awkwardly with his bound feet. He ducked through the low cell door and waited while the other man unlocked Maya’s cell. His heart was pounding when he at last stepped inside.

“Mohammed,” Rahim said, and the boy scrambled over from where he’d been sitting against the wall. He held the lantern up, providing more illumination as Rahim spoke. “Jihad has some medical training. He’ll help you if you need a hand.”

It was too bizarre to hear the most-wanted terrorist on the planet talking to him in perfect American English.

“Do what you can to make her comfortable. They’ll report to me on her injuries after I’m gone.” With that he walked away, his footsteps retreating into the darkness beyond the glow of the lantern.

Jackson clenched his jaw as he waited for Jihad to set the medical stuff down and shine the flashlight on Maya. Make her comfortable? Was that asshole serious?

Smothering the anger boiling up to the surface, Jackson kneeled beside Maya and set a hand on her right shoulder, careful to hide his feelings for her. “I’m going to help you.”

She nodded weakly, eyes open to slits, battered mouth pressed into a thin line. Taking the flashlight from his observer, he got his first good look at the damage. He barely stopped himself from swearing. Her left eye was swollen almost shut. From the size and color of the bruise along her cheekbone and the amount of swelling, he suspected she might have a facial fracture. His fingers were cold, but at least he had sensation back in them. He placed two beneath the angle of her jaw to check her carotid pulse. It was rapid but strong, and there was no fever that he could detect.

Her good eye was okay and the pupil responded properly to the light stimulus, telling him there was no significant head injury. He slid a hand beneath the back of her neck, applying gentle pressure before stroking his thumb across her skin, a hidden caress to comfort her and tell her how much he cared. “What’s hurting you the most right now?”

She swallowed, a jerky movement of her throat. “My wrist, ribs and face.”

The ribs worried him most. “In your back? Can you show me?”

Taking a shallow breath as though bracing herself, she shifted and froze with a gasp.

He reached out to steady her immediately, careful to place his hands on her hip and shoulder so he wouldn’t cause her any further pain. “I’ll turn you. Nice and slow, okay? Just lie still for me.”

She was motionless and rigid, breathing in shallow bursts. Though he didn’t want either of the captors touching her, he couldn’t hold her in position and do a thorough exam at the same time. He glanced over at Mohammed and gestured for him to come closer. The kid balked, looking scandalized by the thought of touching a woman, and Jackson was forced to give up and allow Jihad to support Maya. She flinched when he touched her, but at least the guy was being gentle and his hold was steady.

Jackson raised her T-shirt to get a better look, careful not to expose any more skin than necessary. This time, the sight that met his eyes had him uttering a low curse. An inch or two inside her right shoulder blade, a dark bruise showed where something had slammed into her ribs. The deep blue and purple spread out in an ugly blotch along her back. He tested the bones carefully one by one, easing up when she arched and bit her lip. The ribs had to be at least cracked, if not completely fractured. “Does it hurt when you breathe?”

“God, yeah.”

A lot, going by her shallow breathing and muffled sounds of pain. “Any sharp, poking sensations inside?”

“No. Just hurts outside.”

He continued palpating her ribs, following them around her side to her stomach. When he applied gentle pressure there, she grimaced. “Sore there?”

“Tender,” she corrected.

“What happened?” He forced himself to ask the question, fully aware he wasn’t going to like her answer.

“Just a few punches,” she managed, a light sheen of sweat covering her face, popping out across the skin of her belly.

He hated the mental image that evoked.

Determining she most likely did not have internal injuries, he let out a relieved breath and took a look at the wrist she had cradled protectively against her. She made a sound of protest when he took hold of her arm and hand, her body guarding against more pain. The light showed swelling and discoloration along the side of her wrist up to her thumb. Her hand was cold, her fingers trembling in his grip. “Can you move it?”

She shook her head, mouth pressed into a tight line, not even attempting to bend it. That told him everything he needed to know. From the position of the injury, it looked like she had a scaphoid fracture, and maybe the distal end of the radius was involved too. He set her arm down carefully against her body. “Where else?”

“My...feet.”

What had the bastard done to her there? Shifting down her body, he took her icy feet into his hands. Her toenails were intact and the bones were as well. The soles were mottled red and white, covered with livid welts.

Jackson bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep from snarling. Goddammit, how had she endured all this? If they somehow escaped, she wouldn’t be able to walk for at least a few days. “Okay,” he said, keeping his voice calm and steady, despite the sick rage pulsing through him. “Anywhere else?”

“No. That’s it.”

It was more than anyone should ever have to fucking endure. Unable to rein in his anger completely, he shot a lethal glare at Jihad before reaching for the medical bag.

* * *

Maya concentrated on taking shallow breaths while Jackson looked her over. She was ashamed for him to see the evidence of what had been done to her because she knew it would eat him up inside, but having him next to her and feeling his touch were comforts she desperately wanted. She soaked it all up like a drought-stricken flower, desperate for a drop of rain.