Cover of Darkness (11 page)

"Well." She tried to think of something appropriate to say, lips tingling from the imprint of his mouth on hers. "Well."

"Thanks for saving my ass, Bryn," he said, eyes closed.

"Never thought I'd say this to a woman, but I'd want you on my team any day."

The compliment warmed her to her toes.

A nurse came in. "Bryn?"

One look at her solemn expression, and all the blood drained from Bryn's face. Her father. Her muscles tightened.

"Is he...?"

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She couldn't say the words aloud. Shock rendered her jaw and limbs rigid.

"I'm sorry. He's taken a turn for the worse," she said, coming over to inject something into the IV line.

A turn for the worse. Wasn't that something they said to prepare family members when their loved one had already passed away? She couldn't believe her father was dying.

"This will counteract the morphine, and then I'll help you into a wheelchair and take you upstairs to see him."

Her heartbeat sped up. What if they hadn't come to her in time? What if she didn't get to say goodbye?

As the nurse went to fetch the wheelchair, she caught sight of Spencer's face—sad and full of sympathy. He muttered something about how he was sorry and that he wished he could go up with her.

So she wouldn't be alone.

Oh God, she really was all alone, wasn't she?

The stitches in her arms and side pulled and throbbed, but the pain didn't register as she eased herself into the wheelchair. The nurse hustled her to the elevator and upstairs to the neurological ward, then down the hall to her father's room.

Halfway to the cab waiting at the curb, Dec stopped on the sidewalk and looked over his shoulder as the nurse came running out of the hospital calling his name.

"I'm McCabe," he said, bracing himself for bad news.

The middle-aged woman was out of breath as she reached him. "Petty Officer Spencer sent me after you," she panted with a hand on her chest. "Miss McAllister is going up to see 101

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her father. The doctors expect him to pass away any time now."

Christ, poor Bryn. He wiped a hand over his face and let out a hard sigh. She'd been through so much already, but to lose her father this way on top of everything else was beyond cruel. At the very least she shouldn't have to go through it alone, which was no doubt why Spencer had sent the nurse for him.

Damn, he couldn't leave her to face this by herself. He glanced at his watch, grabbed his cell phone and dialed headquarters as he followed the nurse back into the hospital.

Once he'd explained what was going on, they promised to send someone from Jamul's staff to come and be with her. He would gladly have stayed as long as she needed him to, but he had to be back at the base in less than three hours.

In the lobby, he ditched the elevator and took the stairs, running the four flights two steps at a time. Someone at the nurses' station directed him down the hall and he stopped outside Jamul's room to peer in the window. Bryn was in a wheelchair, her right arm bandaged as she bent over her father's inert body, holding his hand in her left and squeezing so tight her knuckles were white. Her pale face was turned toward her father, eyes locked on Jamul's face as though she could will him back to life with the power of her concentration. Her lips moved. Was she speaking to him or was she praying?

His heart ached for her as he stood outside the door, hesitant to intrude on her private goodbye. Maybe it would be best for him to wait out in the hall for a while. He didn't want 102

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to disturb her, and if he was still here when she came out, he could try and comfort her.

Not that there was much he could do for her. Even holding her would hurt her because of all her shrapnel wounds. But God, he couldn't stand knowing she was in pain.

As he watched, her slim shoulders began to shake, and then her head bowed as she gave vent to her grief. Her ravaged face turned away as she pressed it to her father's chest and Dec knew he must be gone. He stepped away to give her more privacy, feeling helpless.

Sure enough, a few minutes later a doctor and two nurses went in and stayed only a few minutes before leaving again.

As they passed, Dec heard the word 'morgue.' It was over.

Bryn stayed in the room, probably not wanting to leave him yet. Dec tried to imagine sitting there next to his father's body, knowing that when you left, the staff would come in and take him to the morgue and put him in a refrigerated drawer. The notion made him feel sick. His family meant everything to him.

He walked the hallway a couple of times, watching the clock on the wall. After spending almost an hour that way, he only had a little while left before he had to report for duty.

Would it be better to leave before she'd seen him?

No. He couldn't do it. He'd wait as long as he could and if she hadn't come out yet, he'd leave a message of his sympathy with the nurses for her. She might have been alone in that room when her father had died, but at least she would know he'd been there.

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Jesus, he'd never felt such a powerful need to comfort anyone.

Another nurse passed him, her rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the linoleum, and went into Jamul's room. Less than a minute later, Bryn emerged through the doors in the wheelchair with the nurse pushing her, and when she saw him she froze.

She had to be exhausted and devastated, and she seemed surprised as hell to see him standing there. "Dec," she said, voice rough as sandpaper.

He came to hunker down in front of her, took her icy hands in his. The nurse left them alone. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded and sniffed, gazing down at their joined hands. "Thanks."

Damn, he wanted to hold her so bad. She looked so lost and alone it almost broke his heart. He didn't understand how it had happened so quickly, but over the past few days he'd grown attached to her. Protective of her.

"At least I got to say goodbye," she whispered. "Not everyone has that chance."

He rubbed his thumbs over the cool skin on the backs of her hands. "Someone from his staff is coming to be with you."

Those obsidian eyes were so full of pain. "You came back."

"Yeah. Spence sent someone after me as I was leaving."

"It was sweet of you. I appreciate it."

Hell, he'd have done anything for her. He respected and admired her. Waiting in a hallway an hour or more was nothing. "I didn't want you to be alone."

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Staring at him, her beautiful eyes filled with tears, then she flung her arms around his neck and burrowed into his shoulder. Cursing himself for making her cry, he could feel her pain as she battled for control, and slid his arms around her. Careful of her bandages, he tucked her in close and stroked her back, giving her what comfort he could. She felt so fragile in his embrace. Too small to carry such a burden on her slim shoulders.

After a minute or so she pushed away and dragged her hands across her wet face. Sucked in a ragged breath. "Sorry.

I'm okay now."

"Don't apologize." Unable to stop himself, he framed her face between his hands and stroked her hair. "What can I do?"

She forced a sad smile. "Nothing. You've done more than enough for me already."

No he hadn't. "Want me to take you downstairs?"

"Sure."

Glad to have something to do, he went around behind her and pushed the wheelchair to the elevator and back to her room.

Spencer turned his head as they came in. "Bryn," he said,

"I'm so sorry."

"Thanks."

Dec stood beside her and glanced down at her face. Her eyes were staring dully now, from exhaustion and pain and grief. Sleep was probably the only thing that would comfort her.

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Two nurses came in to take over and helped her back into her bed. He still couldn't believe the anguish she must be going through. But he was out of time and couldn't do anything more for her.

He came over to her bed, brushed a hand over her hair.

"You have to go?" It was an observation, not a question.

He nodded.

She reached up and pressed her hand against his where it lay on her head. "Thanks for coming back. It means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." He bent and kissed her forehead, wishing he could make it better. Straightening, he looked at Spencer. "You'll take care of her?"

"You know it."

When he turned back to her, Bryn's eyes were glazed. "Try to sleep," he whispered. "I'll get in touch with you as soon as I can."

She nodded almost mechanically, as though she was sinking deeper into grief. "Bye."

When he looked back at her from the doorway, her eyes were already closed.

Day 5, Near Syria-Lebanon border

Evening

Farouk Tehrazzi leaned back into the front seat of the battered pickup as it bumped and rattled over the rough dirt road that led to his childhood village, fighting back the bitter rage that filled his heart. When the intelligence had come in that morning about the traitor, at first he'd refused to believe who had helped the Americans escape. He did not want to 106

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believe his blood would commit such a terrible sin. But the evidence was incontrovertible. They had betrayed him, and now they would pay the ultimate price so that no one would dare cross him again.

In his mind he saw his victim paused in front of the fire crackling in the crude hearth to warm her old bones. Every arthritic joint in her body would be aching and throbbing as they always did this time of day. How many hours had he spent rubbing those gnarled hands to relieve her suffering over the years? But her recent actions had sealed her fate.

Did she know he was coming for her? He imagined her weakened heart fluttering against the cage of her ribs like a trapped bird.

Mortal terror did that to a person.

Whispers about the foreign captives' escape had circulated through the local marketplace that morning. He had made certain everyone knew he was searching for those who had betrayed him, and when he found them, their deaths would be brutal. A matter of hours ago he had learned the truth about the betrayal. Now, mere minutes remained before he would mete out his swift and savage retribution. Her betrayal had pushed him into a rage so vast...

He forced a calming breath. She would pray for death before he was finished with her. As would her husband.

Even the bond of shared blood would not save them from his wrath.

He thought of the stoning he'd witnessed in Kabul a year after the Taliban had restored law and order to the chaos of Afghanistan in the wake of the Communist defeat. Found 107

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guilty of adultery, the man and woman had been wrapped in white cloth, bound hand and foot and buried in the ground up to their waists. Neighbors from the village had carried out the sentence. The memory of the rocks and stones hitting their bodies was still fresh in his memory. He could still hear the sound of it—each dull thud as the stones smashed into flesh and bone, until the white cloth was soaked crimson with blood. Left alone where they lay, the victims had taken another day to die from their injuries.

He was a hardliner. He believed in upholding the traditional Islamic Shari'a law. Should he stone the traitor to death?

Behead her? He pushed away the surge of guilt. She was a woman of strong faith. No matter what crimes she had committed here on Earth, there was a place in heaven for her. After her mortal suffering was finished, Allah would have mercy on her, even if Tehrazzi did not.

As they entered the village, people peered out the windows of their tiny mud-brick huts. Children played in the dusty road, but stopped when they saw them. A few dogs skulked in the lengthening shadows. The truck announced his presence for him, as he was the only one wealthy enough in the region to afford a vehicle. Every man, woman and child in that village knew who he was and why he was here. He thought of his intended victim. Was her husband still out herding the goats? She couldn't leave without him. She was too old to provide for herself up in the mountains, even if she managed to get that far. It was too late to run now. She had nowhere to hide from him.

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Arriving at the last house, the driver pulled up and shut off the engine. A curtain twitched in the tiny window looking out onto the street. She knew he was here. Was she praying for her soul's redemption? He and his bodyguard exited the vehicle. His heart pounded as they approached the door of the only real home he had ever known.

The old woman jumped in her threadbare slippers when he threw the wooden door open. It crashed into the wall with a thud. She cowered in the corner, her knees quivering. His long shadow fell over the rug-covered dirt floor.

A second later, he walked through the doorway. Qamar's wide-eyed gaze traveled up his frame and she dared to look at his face. A burning rage swept over him, bitter on his tongue. The taste of betrayal.

He stood there a moment, gazing at her stricken face.

Then his upper lip curled in disdain. "Hello, Grandmother."

She shook at the promise of hell in his eyes.

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Day 6, Beirut

Afternoon

The funeral passed in a blur. Ben Sinclair, the head of Bryn's father's security team, stood beside her the whole day, never letting her out of his sight, and she was glad to have him there. A couple years younger than her, the former Army Ranger was a mountain of strength for her to lean upon, making her feel relatively safe amongst the media and crowd of mourners gathered at the Beirut cemetery. He was the protective brother she'd never had, and though she'd sensed more than a platonic interest on his part lately, for her they could never be more than friends.