Shoot to Thrill (16 page)

“Come on.” He grabbed Rainie and practically hauled her off the path and along the narrow precipice. Her arm trembled like crazy under his own shaking fingers, and once, he heard her whimper a soft prayer, but she didn’t ever stop moving.

One brave lady. His admiration for her went up several notches.

They reached the crevice and he helped her crawl in as deep as she could get. He slid in after her.

As she collapsed onto the ground, winded and sweaty, it was all he could do not to take the sniper rifle and position himself to pick off the scumbags as they stuck their noses over the cliff edge. But killing them would only bring their asshole buddies running back. He couldn’t risk giving away the hiding place. He didn’t care what happened to him. But he knew only too well what would happen to Rainie.

Anger stabbed through him.
God
fucking
damn it.

How the hell had terrorists on the Egyptian border out in the middle of nowhere known about the mission, and the well-disguised plane the STORM team used for the insertion? Even zealots didn’t go shooting down random FedEx planes.

Except he knew very well how. No mystery there. The information had come from someone on the inside. A traitor. Had to have. There was no other possible explanation.

Just like in Afghanistan.

The photo of Nate and Abbas Tawhid that Forsythe had shown him swept through his mind like an ill wind. Fury followed close on its tail. Fury over the betrayal of a man he’d considered a good friend.

He tamped it all back down, to the black recesses of his heart. He did not want to believe what the photo implied about his friend.
Would
not believe it. Not until he’d spoken to Nate personally, and heard his explanation.

He hoped to hell he wouldn’t have to kill him.

But regardless of who the traitor was, this mission had been compromised. The enemy probably knew exactly who and how many men they were looking for.

But please, God, not the woman. Surely, there was no way anyone could have known about the last-minute change in plans regarding her.

She unwound the scarf from her face and pulled off the sunglasses, raking her hands fretfully through her blond hair. “How close are they?” she whispered, staring up at the ceiling of the cave like she wished she had X-ray vision.

“I’d guess half a mile or so.”

“They’re going to kill us, aren’t they?” She looked like she wanted to burst into tears. But she didn’t. Maybe he would, instead.

No time for weakness.

He yanked his goggles down around his neck, rolled to her, and took her face firmly in his hands. “Listen to me. I can easily take them out if I have to.” Possibly a slight exaggeration—the
easily
part, certainly—but she needed reassurance. Before he gave her the next bad news. “But our best bet is to make them believe I’m long gone.”

“Yes, but—” Suddenly she gasped. “Kick. Look.” She was gaping over his shoulder.

He turned to see what she was looking at.

In the middle of the wadi, a yellow streamer fluttered in the breeze. Attached to one of the field packs.

Hallelujah.
Now he had no choice. And she couldn’t protest his plan.

Swiftly, he pulled his SIG from its ankle holster, chambered a round, and thrust it at her. “Take this. You’ve got fifteen shots. Make them count if you have to.”

Her face mottled in alarm. “What are you talking about?”

“Squeeze yourself as far back into the cave as you can.” He grabbed her arms and got right in her face. “Stay here,” he ordered. “Do not move.
Do. Not. Move.
I’ll come back for you.”

“No! Please, Kick, my God, don’t leave m—”

“Rainie, if those men don’t see tracks leading across the wadi, they’ll assume I’m hiding somewhere around here. They won’t stop looking until they find me.
And
you. Do you want that?”

“No!” She hung on to him desperately. “But—”

“I have to do this. It’s the only way to keep you safe.”

Her eyes begged him. He almost weakened. “But what if you—”

“I won’t.” He drilled his gaze into hers. He had to do this. “It may be after dark, but I
will
be back for you.” Hell, if he had to come back from the fucking grave, he’d find a way to do it. He caught her chin in his hand and kissed her on the mouth, hard and fast. “I swear it on my life.”

She let out a sob, clinging to him. Then she inhaled shakily, and let him go. He’d never been so torn. Or so proud of anyone in his whole life.

Before he could look into those pleading green eyes and change his mind, he picked up the duffel bag and climbed out on the ledge.

Without turning back, he said, “I’m coming back. I promise.”

And then he left her.

RAINIE
had to work really hard not to launch herself out of the cave, run after Kick, and beg him to take her with him.

Or succumb to a full-out panic attack the second he disappeared from sight.

Deep breath. Let it out slowly.

I will be fine.

I will be calm.

I will be safe.

She kept repeating the mantra over and over in her head as the guttural male shouts above her grew stronger and louder.
Please, please, let it be true.

Deep breath. Let it out slowly.

She just couldn’t stop the bone-rattling shaking of her body. Tears of desperation pressed against her eyes. Not for herself. But for Kick.

He intended to cross the wide-open expanse of the valley of sand on foot, with nothing to shield him from their bullets but her prayers.

Oh, God.
He was going to die. And then so would she.

This was worse than a nightmare. Far worse than a simple car hijacking by a couple of crackheads. Because if these men caught her, they would not just kill her. They would hurt her first. In ways she didn’t want to imagine.

But even if she managed to elude the evil men, she would surely perish in this vast desert without Kick to take care of her. There was no doubt about that. She’d read somewhere that in the past, whole armies had gotten lost out here in the Sahara. Swallowed up by the harsh desert sands without a trace. If a whole army of trained men couldn’t make it out of here, with all their equipment and expertise, what chance did
she
have?

Oh, God. Please save me!

How had she gotten herself into this unreal situation? She who had never once taken an unnecessary risk, who had structured her whole life so as to avoid a meaningless death like her parents’. And now she was staring down a fate that was far, far worse. It was so damn unfair!

Suddenly, Kick burst out from the rocks at the base of the cliff and ran full tilt across the dunes toward the backpack, his gait slightly drunken because of his leg. Except running across sand was like running through water. His progress was excruciatingly slow. Any second now they’d spot him and . . .

She pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from crying out, and held an agonized breath, waiting for the pursuers’ gunfire to explode from above.

Deep breath. Let it out slowly.

I will be fine.

I will be calm.

He will be safe.

Up on the cliff, the voices didn’t change. No gunfire came.

Thank God.

A half-hysterical laugh of relief caught in her lungs. He was going to be all right. He had to be.

She watched him scoop up the pack without stopping and toss it onto his back, wrapping the cammie-colored parachute around his body as he limp-sprinted slo-mo across the hills of sand. It helped disguise him, but not by much.

She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to watch any longer, dreading the inevitable moment when they saw him and cut him down in flying ribbons of scarlet.

She didn’t have to wait long. Within moments, excited shouts in Arabic came from the plateau directly above her. She held her breath as the men argued. But still no guns were fired.

She dared to open her eyes. And saw obvious tracks that led right to the opposite cliff, then into a ragged split in the wall of rock where he must have climbed up. There were no tracks leading away.

No sign of him or the backpack, either.

Her heart leapt with hope.

All at once she heard a rockfall tumble down around the jutting boulders that separated her hiding place from the passage where she and Kick had hiked down. Heavy footsteps slipped and clattered, accompanied by harsh men’s voices calling to each other.
Coming down the cliff.

Rainie pressed herself deep into the cave, almost shocked when the men didn’t pause but continued straight past her to the bottom. Blessed relief!

But it was short-lived, because she knew they were chasing Kick and were just minutes behind him. They were sure to catch up unless he ditched the pack and the duffel with his sniper rifle, and even then, his tall, imposing frame would be impossible to miss fleeing across the opposite plateau.

Unless he risked firing on them and bringing the others back, his only chance was to hide, as she was. And pray the bad guys gave up before finding him.

The vehicle above had taken off, spraying gravel over the edge, while the two men climbed down. No doubt off to seek a way around to the cliffs on the other side of the riverbed, to cut off Kick that way.

The two men below scrambled across the dunes, then sure-footedly started to climb up the steep passage after him, pausing to search every nook and cranny where he could be hiding. Half an hour later they were at the top, and in a flash, they disappeared beyond the rim and out of sight.

Leaving her safe in her hideaway.

Safe for now. But alone. So very alone.

She eased out a breath. Around her, a hot wind swirled, whispering through the cave like fiery tendrils of a ghostly presence. Shadows from the blazing sun had started to lengthen, painting long slashes of black on the darkening yellow sand. The silence of the desert was deafening, the solitude utterly complete.

It hit her then. Like a lead pipe to the gut.

She was absolutely and completely on her own in this savage, alien wilderness.

She blinked. And was suddenly more terrified than she had ever been before in her life.

AS
he woke up, pain was all he could feel. Even more pain than usual. Pain in his chest, in his stomach and limbs, pain in his head.

Pig was lying down. On a thin, reeking mattress of straw. He could feel the hard stalks poking mercilessly into his bruises. Gouging into the open sores on his back.

His fingers still burned from the Sultan’s torture, and a few slices from his flesh throbbed. But overall, he was better than expected. Surprisingly, after just a half hour of agonizing questioning, the Sultan had angrily waved his guards to cart his bloody body back to his hut. Maybe the bastard finally believed he remembered nothing.

But worse than the pain, his Angel with an
H
hadn’t come last night. He always felt robbed when she didn’t come to him. Especially on days like this. Jesus
God
he needed her. Like air and water he needed her. Needed her soothing voice in the night. Needed her to keep the fury at bay. To keep him from going fucking insane.

Okay,
more
fucking insane.

He took a deep breath and listened. They had just started their afternoon prayers. He said his own silent prayer of thanks to Allah, for distracting the fuckers, and gingerly sat up. His head spun for several seconds, then settled down. He opened his eyes, testing how much more he could see today. Angry disappointment almost deflated him. Same as goddamn yesterday. Just fuzzy, wavering images swimming against a dismal grey background.

Stop feeling sorry for yourself, asshole!
Anything was better than being totally blind. Now at least he had a fighting chance.

To walk out of this pit of vipers.

But to do that he had to get back into some sort of shape. He was a fucking wreck. He didn’t know what the hell had happened to him back when he was captured, but it had been bad enough to knock him flat on his back for what felt like centuries. He’d been extremely fit when he’d first woken up in that red haze of pain. But as he’d lain there like a vegetable, he’d had to feel his muscles slowly dissolve from starvation, neglect, and the constant torture and abuse.

But hell, even after all this time he was still bigger than most of the skinny-ass freaks holding him prisoner.

He could do it. It might take time, but all he had was time. And a whole lot of fury. That would carry him through the pain. Pain he was used to.

His head spun like a helo going down hard, and every muscle in his body felt like soggy spaghetti, but he forced himself up to his hands and knees. He lowered himself into a push-up and started counting. By five, his arms were shaking, his knees wobbling dangerously. He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain in his fingers and stabbing behind his eyes, and the nausea lurching in his stomach. He held out until twenty. Then he collapsed.

Jesus.
Pathetic. He used to be able to do ten times that many push-ups using only his fingers and toes, and not even break a sweat.

Shit. He didn’t know how he knew that, but there wasn’t a doubt in his mind. He’d been buff and ripped and . . .

And now he was trembling like a baby and sweating like a pig.

A pig.
Ha.
How fucking appropriate.

He squeezed his eyes shut and struggled to keep from bawling like a baby, too.

He had to get out of here.

He fucking
had
to get out of here. And he would. He had to.

Or, for real, he’d fucking kill himself.

GINA
glanced nervously at the front door of the hospital. What in the world had
possessed
her to agree to this meeting?

Just because Gregg van Halen’s voice was low and soothing, his phone manners warm and affable, was no reason to put herself in jeopardy. Rainie was gone.
Vanished.