Shoot to Thrill (14 page)

Parachutes.

Oh, good Lord.

Kick was going to jump out of the plane.

Jump
out.

She felt queasy at the very thought. And even queasier when she realized that in order for him to jump out, he’d need a hole to jump through. Like a door, or hatch, or whatever you called it on a plane, which they’d have to open up to the wide blue yonder.

Zooming over the Sahara Desert in a tiny plane with a gaping hole in the side and no seat belts was not her idea of a fun time.

Oh,
God
. What had she been
thinking
coming along this far?

Kick
, she told herself determinedly. She had to think of her patient. He needed her. Even if he was doing better than she was at the moment.

“You doing okay?” he asked, startling her. He was peering into her face with a concerned look.

“Sure.” She tried to smile but her cheeks seemed to be welded in place. “I’m good.”

He nodded and went back to talking with the other men. Bill and Marc. They were comparing equipment and passing around maps and checking guns. When they did that, she closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see guns. They reminded her of—

Too many things.

“I’ll take the Heckler and Koch,” she heard Kick say, followed by the jarring
smack
of him catching a rifle, and the
snick
of metal parts being checked.

She squeezed her eyes tighter. She
really
didn’t want to know what this mission was all about. Didn’t want to think that in the course of it he might have to kill a real person with that gun.

Her stomach roiled as a horrible thought seeped into her consciousness. The possibility that he’d actually been sent here
in order
to kill someone. Or even more than one person.

Kick . . . a paid killer? A mercenary? An
assassin
?

The man who’d held her so steadily when she was crazy with panic, who’d calmly soothed her nerves when she wanted to scream with terror? The man who, just a few nights ago, had caressed her body and made love to her, given her incredible pleasures that no other man ever had?

No. It wasn’t possible he could be a hired killer.

Under that stern, unsmiling façade, he was a good person. He didn’t have that kind of evil within him. Did he?

For some reason she couldn’t shake the heinous thought. Because it made sense of so many puzzling things. Such as why he’d tried so hard to escape his old life. Why the CIA didn’t want to let him go. Why they had such a hold over him. Why a strong man like him had slipped so easily into drug addiction.

Why, that first night when she’d asked if he was a good guy or a bad guy, he hadn’t been able to answer.

The overhead speaker crackled and the pilot announced, “Just passed the Sudanese border. Stand ready, people. Landing zone in five.”

“Time for me to harness up,” Kick murmured. His lips subtly brushed against her hair as he slid his arm out from behind her. “You’ll have to move,” he said apologetically. “My pack.”

Right.
The one they’d been sitting on, sharing the small space for the hour-long—or had it been two hours?—flight down to the southern frontier between Egypt and the Sudan. That jerked her right out of her fantasy world.

“Sorry.”

She moved off onto the floor, where she watched him attach a small parachute to the pack, then climb into a larger parachute harness himself. The two other men were doing likewise.

She was miserable. Torn between misery over watching him parachute out of her life, and misery over what he might be getting ready to do.

None of her business
, she reminded herself.

And as for never seeing him again, that’s what she
wanted
. In a few minutes he’d be out of her life, forever. She’d already told him they had no future, and after asking that one time, he hadn’t asked again. Obviously, he’d only had the amazing sex on his mind. She was glad he hadn’t pressed her on it. Truly. They had nothing in common. Were polar opposites.

So why did she still feel so damn miserable?

He clipped his parachute’s bright red rip cord behind Marc’s on the release hook above the door, which Forsythe was unlocking. Kick looked down at her. There was something in his eyes that almost took her breath away. Or maybe it was the torrent of hot air that rushed through the hollow cabin when the door
whooshed
open.

Like a switch had been flipped, the bright blue of the Egyptian sky filled the broad opening. Far, far below, the mottled browns of the desert landscape swept past, undulating like a mirage from the heat rising in a thick layer above the desolate sands.

She grabbed a handhold in the far wall, her heart standing still. But she could barely see the rushing landscape. She could only see those hard, expressive eyes.

This was it.

Good-bye.

Kick was still watching her, not paying any attention to the bustle of the other men around him. Reluctantly, he lifted his arms to her. How could she resist one last touch?

She stood up, taking careful, measured steps toward him, hanging on to the handholds. He came to her, as close as his parachute tether would allow. Enfolded her in his embrace.

“Damn, Rainie,” was all he murmured. “Damn.”

“Two minutes to—” The speaker crackled. “What the . . .
Fucking hell
. Tangos on the ground! Three o’clock!”

The pilot’s curse was their only warning. Suddenly there was a flash, then a distant
rat-a-tat-tat
sound. Like . . . machine gun fire? The plane tipped crazily, throwing them all off balance, slamming Forsythe into the wall.

Kick’s arms banded around her as they stumbled toward the open door. She screamed.

“We’re hit!” the pilot yelled. “Bail out!”

“
Goddamn—
” Kick recovered his footing and briefly loosened his grip on her.

More machine gun fire. And a huge boom.

The right wing blew into pieces. The plane tilted hard. Forsythe cartwheeled out the door.

She screamed again. “Kick!”

“Number one, gone!” Marc yelled as he pushed something out of the plane, then jumped after it.

“Rainie! Hold on to me!” Kick ordered.

She grabbed him around the neck. A nylon strap suddenly cut into her under the arms, cinching so tight she gasped. Something skidded past her legs and tumbled out the door as the remaining wing tipped wildly.

“Hang on!
Tight!
”

Then she was part of the sky.

Her stomach fell like a lead brick. Panic slammed into her. Air rushed past so fast she couldn’t breathe. Her chest ached. Her back and sides hurt where the strap bit into her flesh.

Oh, shit.
Ohshit-ohshit-ohshit.

Something whizzed past, and a nanosecond later an explosion shredded the sky. Kick’s arms pulled her tight against him, pressed her nose into his jacket as they flew through the air, pivoting so she was under him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and clung to him for dear life.

Debris flew past. Kick swore again.

“
My God, the plane!
” she cried, peeking up and seeing only smoke.

He pivoted back upright, and suddenly they were yanked upward in a bone-rattling jerk. For a second it felt like she was being ripped apart, then everything slammed into slow motion.

“You all right?” Kick asked loudly as the parachute broke the speed of their descent, along with that of her heartbeat.

“Yes,” she said, and miraculously, it was true.

They were alive
.

That’s when reality kicked her in the gut. What had happened to the others? She peered up over Kick’s shoulder in horror. The plane really was gone. All that was left of it was a spiraling-downward trail of smoke. She wanted to be sick.

“I need my hands to control this thing. Okay?”

She nodded against his neck, sucking in a horrified breath when he let go. But she didn’t fall.

She looked down, down, down to the ground. Flaming pieces of the plane were scattered over the stark landscape in patches.

Floating under them, a few hundred feet apart, she could just make out a shape, its colors blending into the desert sand below. A parachute! She prayed everyone had somehow gotten out. . . .

More staccato machine gun fire sounded. Followed closely by a guttural scream.

Kick swore even more harshly. “The fuckers are trying to pick us off. Hang on.”

Like she wasn’t already. He tugged on a cord and the chute veered off to the side. She battled back another scream. The last thing he needed to deal with was an hysterical woman. He tugged again, and they zipped in the other direction. She clenched her teeth, faint with fear.

More whizzing split the air where they’d just been.

Omigod! Bullets!

Twice more clusters of bullets whistled past them, and each time Kick managed to outmaneuver whoever was shooting.

Finally the machine gun went silent.

“Out of range,” he muttered. “About freakin’ time.”

“Thank God.”

“Too soon,” he said.

“What?”

“To thank God. You can do that after we get away from these fucks.”

“I thought we just did.”

“I meant on the ground,” he said grimly. “Do me a favor, sweetheart. Pray to God the tangos don’t have Jeeps.”

GODDAMN
it. Goddamn it. God
damn
it.

It took all Kick’s concentration to hit the ground and not break both legs, or smash Rainie under him. He managed to run a few steps despite her awkward weight in front, and position his roll so his own shoulder and back took the brunt rather than hers.

When they tumbled to a halt, he used a precious few moments to catch his breath, ungrit his teeth from the pain of the collision, and release the makeshift harness holding Rainie’s body to his. This time he did thank God that he’d spotted the nylon strapping in time to save her life. He’d had to sacrifice one of the field packs, but he could live without food and a change of clothes.

He wouldn’t have been able to go on if she’d died up there in the explosion.

And yet, when he really thought about it, that might have been preferable to this. For both of them. Now he was stuck with her. In the middle of a fucking combat zone.

Goddamn it.

He struggled to his feet, pulled his goggles down around his neck, and did a three-sixty recon of the plateau where he’d steered them to touch down.

No tangos. Yet.

The place was like a moonscape. Familiar from A-stan and a dozen other desert venues he’d worked in, and yet distinctively savage in a way all its own. The endless sea of brown orange sand was punctuated by outcroppings of darker rock and boulders, and scored on three sides by deep wadis, or steep, dry riverbeds filled with golden dunes. Rugged hills dotted the plateau in all directions, from close by to all the way out on the horizon. The midafternoon air was hotter than Hades, three digits easily, the sun beating down like the devil’s furnace.

God, he loved the desert.

In an alternate universe.

“Anything broken?” he barked at Rainie, unharnessing himself and punching down the parachute.

After a short pause she answered shakily, “I’m in one piece.”

For now, anyway
, he thought uneasily.

She obviously had no clue of the danger they were in. Whoever had gone to the trouble of shooting down that plane would be coming after them, hell-bent for infidels. Judging by where the shooting had come from, they had roughly half an hour before the hostiles showed up. Maybe less. He had to get her hidden before that. A woman in the hands of those animals . . . The images it painted in his head made him dizzy with fear as nothing else could.

Shit.

He had to focus.

And so did she, if they were to make it. But she was still sitting on the ground, arms wrapped around her legs with her face buried in her knees. He wished he could do the same. His whole body was rebelling. Screaming to shut down. On fire for want of the drug it had been deprived of so recently.

Man up, Jackson. No time for weakness.

“Come on, we need to move fast,” he ordered.

She didn’t react.

“Rainie, come on.”

She didn’t seem to hear him.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a little. “Rainie! We’re totally exposed here. I need you to get hold of yourself. Can you do that for me?”

She looked up and blinked several times.

“You have to be Nurse Martin now. Strong. Competent. Unafraid. I know you can do it.”

She took a deep, shuddering breath, and her eyes slowly cleared. “Okay.” She glanced around and tensed up again. “But wouldn’t it be better if we stayed here? Waited for—”

“For what? For al Sayika to find us?”

She blinked again. “Who?”

“The tangos who shot down our plane.”

“Tangos?”

“Terrorists.”

She blanched.

“They’ll be coming for us next. Trust me, you do not want to be caught by these scumbags.” She swallowed heavily, glancing around again. He could tell she was utterly terrified. Didn’t want to move. “Come on, baby. Stay with me, okay?” He barely resisted yanking her to her feet. But he needed to be calm for her. A steadying influence. If he freaked, she’d shut down like a stadium after the game. Lights out, no one home.

She took another deep breath and let it out. “Okay. I’ll try.”

“Good girl.”

She seemed to rally. Glanced at him. “Are you hurt?”

“No more than I was.”

“Where are the others?” There was only the slightest wobble left in her voice. “They may be injured and need help.”

His chest squeezed. It wasn’t good news, but now wasn’t the time to start varnishing the facts. She needed to know she’d always get the truth from him. As fucked-up as it was. Her life could depend on her trusting his word. And his.

“Forsythe didn’t make it. He was thrown out of the plane with no parachute when the wing was hit.”

She gasped, her eyes filling. “My God.”