Beyond The Limit (8 page)

Thinning his mouth, Pete glanced down at the plans beneath his flattened hand. Damn, but she was uncompromising. And he sure as hell didn't like being snubbed like this. “Ms. Roland, you stick to your job and I'll stick to mine.”

Her hand tightened around the doorknob. Welcome to another battle. Cali was used to them, but for whatever reason, she took his words more personally than she should. “You're right, Major, I have a fence to get built.”

“On schedule.”

Smarting at his innuendo, Cali held in the glare she wanted to give him. So, he needled back when he felt attacked. At best, she'd discovered something new today about Major Trayhern, and she mentally noted it on her checklist. Knowing the boss was paramount. Half of her job was negotiating a position with him to avoid outright train wrecks that could impact their mutual schedule.

As if on cue, Pete heard diesel engines chugging by, one after another. Glancing out the window behind him, he saw trucks filled with wire and post material. The dust rose high and thick. Turning, he said, “Looks like your trucks have arrived.”

Managing a slight, tight smile, Cali stated, “Ahead of time.”

“So noted,” Pete replied. “With the Taliban around we need that fence up for protection.”

“I'll have Hesam's best horsemen doing a 24–7 around the perimeter once we get it erected.”

“The sooner the better.” There was no compromise in Cali Roland's green eyes as he spoke. The way one corner of her mouth curved sent unexpected heat riffling through his body. Cali was quite the adventurer and unafraid of life, he realized. Having a strong second-in-charge on such a massive project could either make him look good or very, very bad. Grudging respect for her, as a woman in a man's job, funneled through Pete. Somehow, he'd never really expected Cali to stand up to him. She had to get the fence issue resolved, and fast. But she offered no excuses. Nor did she whine or sweet-talk to try and change his mind about the situation. That was good. And surprising. In many ways, she was just like his fraternal twin sister.

The door closed quietly. Cali was gone, though the front of the trailer would soon be filled with other busy engineers and a clerk. Pete cherished the quiet, but missed Cali's larger-than-life presence. Not to mention he had so many burning questions to ask her about her private life. Damn his curious nature for wanting to dig up information on her. Where would this get him? Nowhere. He didn't want the massive, unrelenting pain of heartbreak, of knowing too much.

Again Pete reminded himself that he couldn't mix business with pleasure. Cali Roland was the number-two person in command of this site. Pete had to keep things separate. Still, as he thumbed through several sets of subcontractor papers, he couldn't get her out of his mind. And behind that was worry about the Taliban. And Ahmed's warning. The man had threatened Cali. Pete knew the Islamic belief in an “eye for an eye.” Was it all hype? Empty intimidation to soothe the man's ruffled feathers? Cali was too alive, too vibrant, to just disappear. That thought made Pete's gut clench as nothing else ever had.

He knew it was only a matter of time until the Taliban tested them. The first attack had come from bandits, who were much less dangerous than the real foe. The Taliban didn't want to see progress; they wanted everyone in Afghanistan kept in the dark ages. The question then became not if they would strike, but
when.

C
ALI PULLED HER GRAY
dappled Arabian gelding to a halt. She'd taken a little-used rocky trail up the side of a barren hill now come to life with spring wildflowers. In the sudden heat of late May, she wore a long-sleeved white blouse to protect her skin from the hot, burning sun overhead. She'd covered her head with a white Roland Construction baseball cap. But even with her light clothing, Cali felt the powerful, dry desert heat. Good thing she was used to it. The Arabian caught her attention by snorting and lifting his nose to test the air. A smile tugged at Cali's mouth as she looked down upon her kingdom.

The construction site was coming online. After three weeks, it was finally starting to shape up. On a nearby hill the quarry operation was being built. The giant metal hoppers being erected would hold sand, gravel and concrete. The present work site was surrounded by a cyclone fence with razor wire. This would discourage anyone from visiting without authorization, or stealing equipment. And she'd completed the fence on schedule, so the major couldn't hold it over her. He seemed pleased that the barrier was in place.

Bees buzzed around her head and she waved them away. The breeze was scented with the fragrance of wildflowers that seemed to have popped up overnight. The once red-and-brown gravelly slopes were now covered in lush tufts of green grass and waving, colorful blossoms. It was like a miracle of sorts to see the arid area come alive like this, and Cali marveled over its beauty.

Leaning back in the leather saddle, she enjoyed the feel of being on a horse again. Sheik Hesam had given her and Pete each a purebred Arabian horse a week ago—a wonderful gift. Cali had been itching to ride since the small barn with two stalls had been built near their trailers for easy access. Horses were in her blood. When she was a child, her father had given her a dappled gray pony when they lived in India.

Too bad Major Trayhern couldn't join her. Cali had asked him if he had time to scout the hill area above the site. Oh, it had been professional courtesy, Cali told herself. He was just as worried about Taliban attacks as she was. One way to see if they were around was to look for fresh horse tracks. Security wanted to escort her, but Cali turned down their request. The major said he was mired in meetings with accountants from Kabul.

Cali felt sorry for him; she'd gone head to head with those same bean counters already, and they wanted to know where every friggin'penny was being spent, why and when. They only cared that the paperwork was in order; construction progress wasn't their concern.

Snorting herself, Cali resettled the baseball cap on her head, tugging down the bill to shade her narrowing eyes. What if Major Trayhern had said yes to her offer? Cali wasn't sure what she'd have done. Their meetings were always professional and short. Fine by her. It made her life easier, really. Taking out her small Nikon digital camera, she began taking shots of everything. Daily, she would go around taking photos, because it became a way to look at progress—or the lack of it—and what needed her attention.

Twisting around in the saddle, Cali also took photos of trails running across the slopes, each layer of hills a little higher and more rugged than the last as they flowed upward into the blue granite Kush Mountains soaring above. She could still see a lot of snow on them, and Hesam had told her they remained cloaked with white throughout the year.

It felt good to get away from the trailer. Sometimes Cali needed to break free of the intense, focused work and take a breather. Being able to ride the gray Arabian—which she'd named Bat because he moved like a bat out of hell—was going to be a godsend. Even now she found herself thinking of Pete. The last three weeks he'd worked nonstop, burning the midnight oil. And so had she.

Cali knew that start-up on a project like this was an engineering nightmare from the superintendent's point of view. Until the major could get everyone in harness, working and pulling the same way at the same time, there were hourly headaches to take care of. Cali was glad she was on the other end. Her subcontractors, who collectively resembled the United Nations, or more aptly, the Tower of Babel, were all getting along and working seamlessly. She was relieved, because it didn't always happen that way.

Bat swished his black tail as flies gathered around him. He snatched at tufts of green grass. Cali patted the horse's thin, steel-gray neck. For much of the year, animals had a hard time trying to find anything to eat on the desert plain. Hesam had a nice herd of Arabians, and he was proud of them, but he would never think of giving them hay during the dry season. No, the hardy animals knew how to eke out an existence on nearly nothing. That was why Bat was small and slender, probably eight hundred pounds and only thirteen hands high. Still, Arabians were the hardiest breed for desert living and riding. Cali had come to appreciate the small, nimble animals years earlier in Saudi Arabia.

She noticed a trampled area and scattered prints of what appeared to be deer or sheep leading up the side of the hill. Was this a shepherd's resting spot, or was it someone overlooking the site, making a map of it? Cali decided to investigate. Even though Hesam's mounted soldiers regularly patrolled this area, there simply weren't enough men and horses to cover it all.

The slopes were slippery with loose stones. Time and again, the Arabian dug in his hooves, lurching forward up the steep ascent, dust spiraling in the wake of his arduous climb. Following the prints, they reached a rocky wash, and found the tracks petered out at a six-foot-tall bush. Mouth quirking, Cali guided Bat to higher ground.

When they reached the hilltop, she frowned, spotting more tracks. Shepherds moved flocks of sheep and goats throughout this region in search of grass at this time of year, she knew. But as she followed the prints in the dust, something else caught her attention. On a rocky butte towering above the hills she'd just climbed, she saw two caves set back in the blue-gray rock.

Moving a little closer, Cali lost the trail once more. She pointed Bat to a somewhat smoother area, where they ran into a new set of tracks: that of many horses. Who was using this trail? Shepherds never rode on horseback. They were always on foot. Maybe Hesam's soldiers had ridden over this area recently.
Probably.
The indentations looked pretty fresh to Cali as she leaned over to study them more closely.

A feeling of sudden unease prickled the back of her neck. Automatically, she rested her hand on the pistol strapped to her right thigh. Hesam had warned them that the Taliban hid in the hills, and he constantly sent out patrols to keep the roving bands at bay. As a result, the warlord handed over more Taliban members to the police in Kabul than any other tribal leader in the northern provinces.

Bat's ears began to twitch rapidly. He became very alert, his interest drawn to the right of the first cave as they slowly approached the entrance. Cali unsnapped the holster and pulled out her 9 mm Beretta. She flipped off the safety, and held the pistol ready.

The Arabian halted suddenly. Not expecting the horse to balk, Cali nearly found herself flying out of the saddle and over the animal's head. She grabbed his mane at the last second, which stopped her forward motion. Bat snorted, but remained frozen as Cali righted herself, clamping her legs against his heaving sides. What the hell did he hear or see?

The sharp crack of a rifle reached Cali almost immediately, the sound echoing across the hills. A geyser of dirt shot up a foot away from Bat's front legs.
Where did that shot come from?
Anxiously, Cali twisted around, poised to return fire and retreat. Who was it? How many of them? Nostrils flaring with fear, Bat trembled violently, obviously wanting to turn and run. Cali could barely hold the animal in place with the reins and her legs.

Then she heard hoofbeats coming in her direction. Like the rolling of thunder, the sound grew louder. The unidentified horsemen were on the other side of this hill. Cali couldn't see them, but she sure as hell heard them. Bat shifted beneath her, wanting to race off toward the desert plain below. Hauling him to a standstill, She quickly scanned the slope.

There!

She saw a man in tan clothes and a dark brown turban kneeling near the first cave, his rifle aimed at her. That was the shooter! Hesam's soldiers always wore yellow, orange and red when patrolling the hills, to identify them from other riders who might well be Taliban.

Cursing softly, Cali looked to see if there were any goats or sheep nearby. If this was a herdsman, she didn't want to return fire. She couldn't mistakenly kill one of Hesam's people. Since Cali wasn't a hundred percent certain, she hesitated fractionally. Besides, a rifle shot could travel a lot further than a pistol could.

More hoofbeats!

They were coming closer and closer.

Damn!
Unsure of the identity of the man at the cave, Cali refused to fire, and whipped the Arabian around. Bat lifted his fine front legs and pivoted quickly. Then he leaped forward, tearing down the steep hill. Clouds of dirt and small stones flew up behind him as he dug in his hooves.

The mane of the horse whipped against Cali's hand as she jerked a look over her shoulder to see who those hoofbeats belonged to. More shots rang out, and dirt spat up on both sides of the lunging Arabian. By now, Cali was sure the man at the cave was not one of Hesam's militia or a herdsman. He had to be a Taliban sniper. Legs clamped to Bat's sides, and Cali leaned back to give the animal the balance he needed as he skidded down a steep incline. Dust rose around them, choking Cali. More gunshots ripped through the air.

Dammit, she wanted to return fire, but couldn't because of the horse's speed, plus the riders were out of pistol range. She either paid attention to her mount as he leaped and skidded down the sharp incline, or she stopped him to fire her pistol. With the sound of rifle shots echoing around them, Cali knew she was outgunned and outmanned. The only thing to do was run! She holstered her pistol and gripped the reins.

Wind slapped her face, making her eyes water. She moved her hips in synch with her horse, which slid and skidded nimbly down the hill. The larger rocks were daunting. Cali didn't know how the stalwart Arabian was able to dodge them. One collision with any of those good-sized boulders and Bat could stumble, break a leg, and she'd be flipped out of the saddle. Heart pounding in her chest, Cali threw a glance back toward the crown of the hill where she'd been moments earlier. She saw ten horsemen on small Arabians with rifles.

Anger mingled with her fear. They were the enemy! Bat shifted sideways on the steep hill. Righting himself instantly, he galloped down the last slope that would lead them back to the safety of the site. How far the Taliban would trail her, Cali didn't know. She hadn't expected to run into the bastards in full daylight. Hesam had said they always struck at night. Cursing softly, she rode Bat hard down the next incline, which wasn't as steep. The Arabian knew they were being fired at. His small ears lay against his neck, his nose was thrust outward, and he clamped the bit in his teeth.

More rock and dirt spat up around them. The horsemen were continuing to fire, and Cali was damned if she was going to be a convenient target! She zigzagged the fleet Arabian down the hill, and by the time Bat leaped onto the desert floor, the firing had stopped.

Bringing the foam-flecked Arabian to a skidding halt, Cali whirled him around and scanned the hills. The horsemen were gone. Bat's flanks were heaving like a bellows, his snorts loud and harsh. He was shaking with fear. Automatically, Cali reached out and stroked his sweaty neck.

“It's okay, okay, Bat. The worst is over. You did great.” She patted him with calming motions.

Cali heard an approaching vehicle and shifted to look toward the sound. Relieved, she recognized one of the four security trucks that Jake Barnes and his men drove. They must have heard the gunfire or seen the horsemen through their binoculars. Steering Bat, Cali headed toward the speeding vehicle.

To her surprise, she saw Pete Trayhern getting out of the Toyota Tundra, an M16 rifle in hand. His face was thundercloud dark, his gray eyes anxious. Hakim, Cali's driver, parked the truck and started scanning the hills.

“Cali, are you all right?” the major asked.

She nodded. It was one of the few times he'd called her by her first name. She dismounted to give Bat a well-deserved rest. “Yeah, I'm fine. You must have heard those bastards firing at me?”

Pete halted in front of her, rapidly assessing her. Cali looked a bit pale, her green eyes stressed. “Security called me. They had you in their binocular sites and saw what happened. Are you okay?” He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. It was an instinctive reaction, Pete realized belatedly. Actually, Cali seemed fine. A little windblown, her cheeks a ruddy color, but no gunshot wound and no bruises. For that, he was more than grateful.

“Really, I'm okay.” She gave him a slight, trembling smile, surprised at his actions. She had never expected the major to touch her. The care radiating from him staggered her.

Cali felt his fingers dig slightly into her shoulder as if he wanted to convince himself of her assurances, and her skin prickled. There was strength in his grip, and she hungrily relished the unexpected feeling.

Lifting her gaze, Cali met his concerned eyes. “I'm good, Pete.” His first name just slipped out. What the hell was wrong with her? Pulling free of his grasp, she saw his eyes fill with confusion and questions.