Deadly Promises (17 page)

Twelve

“Still clear,” Carrie told Cav from the passenger seat.

She’d climbed into the front shortly after they’d cleared the village.

That had been a good ten miles ago and if his GPS coordinates and crash map lesson were correct, this narrow, serpentine road would lead them to the designated landing zone where the extraction team would be waiting for them in—he checked his watch again—less than five minutes.

Providing
the team was waiting for them.

And providing they could limp their way there with one flat tire. One of the Juntas had scored a hit. The flat had slowed then down, but there was no way in hell Cav could stop and change it.

Blind faith was a powerful thing. It had to be, because right now that’s all they had going for them.

Cav kept both hands on the wheel and one eye on the rearview mirror as they topped the rise of yet another steep grade, then rolled down a thirty-degree decline toward a long metal expansion bridge.

Straight out of an old erector set, it spanned a wide river basin flanked by deep ravines and lush grass. Small green islands floated like clouds on water the color of café au lait. A herd of brown horned cattle grazed placidly along the banks. Tall, jagged mountain peaks towered in the distance. And directly ahead of them hung the blazing ball of the sun, guiding their path down the road like a beacon.

The scenery was beautiful, idyllic and serene, and all Cav could think about was how in the hell a chopper was going to manage the wind currents that were bound to be prevalent at this altitude.

“How much farther?” Carrie yelled over the wind and the motor and
thump thump thump
of the deflated tire.

Cav glanced at her. She looked like a Rambo wet dream with the AK balanced across her lap, her unbound breasts straining against her tight olive T-shirt, and her long legs encased in green camo pants.

And she looked like a woman he did not want to let down. Ever.

“Getting tired of my company?” He was only half joking.

“Getting worried about that dust trail that just topped the hill behind us!”

His gaze shot to the rearview mirror and he saw Junta jeep.

“Fuck!”

He’d hoped they’d had a big-enough head start to meet up with their ride before the soldiers arrived.

If
they met with their ride.

He searched the road ahead of them, scanned the sky for a chopper. Except for the sun and a flock of birds
nada
.

He slammed down on the accelerator to spread the distance between them and the Junta, who were no more than a quarter mile away.

“Hold on!” he yelled and charged toward a pothole the size of a small ox.

Carrie clamped one hand around the roll bar, dug her fingers into his thigh, and let out a scream as the jeep hit hard, then went airborne. They crashed back down with a bone-rattling bang.

Miraculously the chassis held together.

“Hold on!” he repeated as they began to climb a forty-degree incline, the flat tire giving him ten kinds of grief as he struggled to keep the jeep on the road.

The sun was completely hidden by the hill rising in front of them; all he could see was road and sky. The motor whined and complained but he never backed off the gas. He was practically lying back in the seat as they struggled toward the peak, fishtailing and clawing for purchase.

Just when he thought they were going to stall out they crested the rise—and there, silhouetted against the burning sun, was a big, bad Huey hovering above the road like the Goodyear blimp.

The big bird was gray and gorgeous, with the
thwump thwump thwump
of the main rotor drowning out everything but his rebel yell. It was the most welcome sight he’d ever seen.

“OhmyGod!”
Carrie ducked, a knee-jerk reaction to the low-hanging Huey.

“It’s the cavalry!” Wyatt had promised a Huey and damn if he hadn’t delivered.

The pilot was good. The Huey banked hard left, made a full one-eighty, then flew straight down the center of the road toward them.

“Thank you, Wyatt!” Cav pounded the flat of his palm on the steering wheel.

“Are they going to land?” Carrie yelled, casting a nervous glance over her shoulder as the Junta vehicles—a truck had joined the jeep—showed no sign of backing off.

“That was the plan,” Cav yelled back, straining to be heard as the decibel level reached new heights. But when one of the chopper’s crew appeared in the open doorway and kicked out a coil of rope he knew the plan had changed.

“Oh, God!” Carrie went pale. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

Cav studied the terrain ahead of them, which allowed no spot for the chopper to land. He glanced at the Junta behind them. The truck had gained ground and a gunner had gotten into position behind the big gun mounted on a tripod on the truck’s roof.

Not just a big gun. Ma Duce. A Browning .50-caliber heavy-barreled belt-fed machine gun.
Christ
. Each projectile weighed an ounce and a half, and if one of them hit either the Huey or their jeep, there’d be nothing left but fireballs, fumes, and red mist.

Fire flashed from the big gun’s muzzle and a series of roaring
boom
s reverberated through the air.

When the road exploded ahead of them, Cav swerved hard right. The jeep skidded, fishtailed, and nearly slipped off the side of the eroding shoulder before he regained control.

Shit!
If the bastard got any closer they were done for. “Switch places with me!” he yelled.

Shifting his left foot from the clutch to the accelerator to maintain speed, he scooted toward the middle of the bench seat. “Take over driving so I can catch the rig.”

Her wild gaze flew to his face. “What rig?”

He hitched his chin skyward.

She looked up, saw the rope, and gasped. “You’re serious?”

“You can do this! Now move!”

She gave herself a nanosecond to come to terms, then, God love her, flew into action.

He’d never switched drivers in an open vehicle racing fifty mph down the road while being chased by men with guns, but they somehow managed to shift and shimmy and change seats with barely any loss of speed or control.

A second volley from Ma Duce kicked up dirt just behind them. Another narrow miss. Third time, someone was bound to get lucky.

But then the unmistakable
chuck chuck chuck
of an M-60 gave Cav a reason to believe they might just get out of this.

He glanced skyward and, sure enough, the barrel of an M-60 mini-gun poked out of the belly of the Huey. The gunner was peppering the Junta truck with 7.62 x 54 NATO rounds like he was seasoning a steak.

Cav let out a war whoop. These boys knew how to throw a party!

He stood up, one hand gripping the windshield frame, the other grabbing for the tail end of the hundred-plus feet of rope that dangled from the Huey. The rotor wash whipped the rope and the attached harness back and forth like a pendulum on a wide, arching swing.

“Can we really do this?” Carrie yelled.

“Piece of cake!” he promised as the Huey pilot timed its speed perfectly to theirs, then tucked in directly overhead just low enough for Cav to finally grab the spinning harness when it swung by.

Behind them, the Junta truck and jeep had gained ground. Ma Duce kept firing. The M-60 kept answering. Cav paid no attention. He unhooked the SPIES—Special Patrol Insertion/Extraction System—harness from the dangling rope, then concentrated on getting himself buckled in.

Now came the leap of faith. There was only one harness. They needed two. He improvised by quickly making a loop out of an extra length of webbing.

“Under your arms!” he ordered Carrie as he tugged the looped strap over her head, then under her armpits in a dizzying dance of coordination and caution while her hair flew around her face and she managed to maintain control of the fast-moving jeep.

“I don’t want to know what’s going to happen next, do I?” Her eyes were dead ahead on the road as Cav hooked a carabiner attached to the front of his SPIES rig to the strap he’d made snug around her chest.

“One more act of faith!” he told her as he quickly hooked his SPIES harness back up to the rope, looked skyward, and gave the Huey crew a thumbs-up.

“Let go of the wheel!” He pulled Carrie out from beneath the steering column and, just that fast, they were airborne.

“Arms and legs out!” he yelled when they’d cleared the jeep and the Huey lifted them fifty feet in a split second. “Spread-eagle it or we’re going to spin like a top, and then I’m going to embarrass myself and make you very unhappy!”

“I’m already unhappy!” She buried her face against his chest as the ground fell away beneath them and the
chuck chuck chuck
of the M-60 sang like music above them.

As they flew through the air and cleared the tree line, Cav looked down to see the jeep roar off the road. It bounced several yards, then rolled end over end down a steep ravine and exploded in a ball of fire. Even more spectacular was the sight of the M-60 lighting up the Junta truck in a blazing fireball when the Huey’s gunner scored a direct hit.

Prettiest sight he’d ever seen. Well, almost.

He glanced down at the woman in his arms as they continued to climb, dangling from the end of that long rope at a dizzying two hundred feet above the ground and a heart-racing seventy or eighty mph.

She
was the prettiest sight he’d ever seen as she lifted her face to his. Through her fear and her shock, she met his eyes with a smile so dazzling it lit a fire inside him that made the flame-engulfed Junta truck pale in comparison.

“M
AN, YOU GUYS
are a sight for sore eyes!” Cav yelled above the Huey’s engine roar.

They’d set down in a field a safe mile away from the extraction site so Cav and Carrie could climb on board.

“Just like old home week.” Luke—Doc Holliday—Colter grinned as he held out a hand and pulled Carrie up into the chopper bay.

He had that right, Cav thought as he scrambled up behind her, shook hands all around, and saw the men who’d enlisted his help to blow up half of Jakarta’s waterfront over a year ago in their rescue mission of Crystal Debrowski.

“Glad we could return the favor.” Johnny Reed sat at the bird’s controls with none other than Nate Black riding in the copilot seat.

“Thanks, man.” Cav returned a quick embrace and back slap from Joe Green, his old CIA buddy. “When Wyatt said he’d send a team, I didn’t know he was going to call out the big guns. Appreciate it.”

“Like Reed said”—Nate turned in the seat—“one good turn needs another.”

“I’d say this more than makes us even.” Cav glanced at Carrie, who was still wide-eyed and a little shocky. “Carrie,” he yelled to be heard above the Huey’s big engine, “meet Reed, Doc, Joe, and Nate. Friends of Wyatt’s. Friends of mine,” he added as he strapped in while Doc made sure Carrie was secure.

As soon as they were buckled up, the Huey lifted off and they tore through the skies.

“It’s over,” Cav said, leaning in close to Carrie. “It’s finally over.”

Not until then did she finally break down and cry.

Thirteen

Her life had gone from colorless to vivid Technicolor, then back to shades of gray again.

Rain streaked down the tall glass panes as Carrie stood alone, staring out the window of the waiting area outside the consulate’s office at the U.S. embassy in Jakarta.

She still couldn’t believe she was in Indonesia. Or that Cav was in conference with the consulate, arranging her passage back home.

Home. The concept was abstract to the max, even though she’d spoken to her parents a short while ago, fighting tears as they’d wept openly with relief.

She didn’t feel relief yet. She still felt numb disbelief. Less than twelve hours ago she’d been outrunning soldiers with big guns, flying through the air at the end of a very long rope before being set carefully back on the ground, then hustled into a helicopter by men she’d never met but now owed her life to.

Reed. Black. Green. Colter. Friends of Cav’s. Friends of Wyatt, who had orchestrated their action-adventure-movie rescue from thousands of miles away in the United States.

Life in living color
.

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and sighed deeply. It was what she’d wanted: a little excitement, a little color. Well. She’d gotten way more than she’d bargained for.

Her memories were so out of focus that she couldn’t accurately reconstruct what happened after the chopper had touched down. A fast, loud flight. Landing somewhere in Bangladesh. Boarding a waiting jet for a charter flight to Jakarta.

Shock, she supposed. Shock and confusion and a sense that life as she’d known it was never going to be the same again.

How could it be, after David Cavanaugh?

She flashed on a vivid, visceral memory of him naked and needing her. Of the dark eyes that had burned into her soul when he’d made love to her. The connection had been intimate and meaningful, and now… Well, now, apparently, it was over.

It had become acutly clear that with the transition from peril to peace, the only part David Cavanaugh intended to play in her future was that of a memory.

She jumped when she heard a sound behind her, spun around, and there he stood: the reason her life had changed forever.

Her savior. Her lover. And very soon part of her history, if the emotional distance he’d erected between them was any indication.

She watched him walk toward her, swallowed back the pain. He was larger than life, twice as imposing, a vibrant light as moving as a sunrise… but for the veiled look in his eyes when they met hers.

“It’s a go,” he said, holding up a handful of legal-looking documents. He gripped her elbow and steered her briskly toward the exit. “But we’ve got to move fast, before they change their minds and we end up hamstrung by paperwork that could keep you here until the next millennium.”

She didn’t ask him how he’d managed to unsnarl the paperwork; he wouldn’t answer her anyway. He never answered anything.

It didn’t matter. She’d already figured out by the deference he was shown at the embassy that David Cavanaugh was an important man. She’d already known he was extraordinary. And even though he had to know she was confused and hurt, he remained as distant as her freedom from the labor camp had once seemed to be.

Rain poured down in a deluge as they sprinted to a waiting car. She was soaked to the bone as they ducked into the backseat, then a driver took them through the clogged city streets to the airport, where a chartered jet waited to fly her back to the States.

Silent, she watched the city speed by through rain-blurred windows. What was the point in talking? Idle conversation would be both painful and insulting.

“You doing okay?” Cav finally asked from across the very far distance to his side of the backseat.

She nodded, unable to look at him. If she looked at him, she’d just see that carefully imposed distance that meant heartbreak, regret, and good-bye.

Could she really just let this happen without saying a word? Without at least making it a little easier for him? Didn’t she owe him that much?

She glanced at him, saw his dark eyes watching her with regret and maybe even a little longing. But she couldn’t go there. If he wanted more, he’d had ample opportunity to say so. Plenty of chances to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and tell her…

No. There was a bottom line here that she couldn’t ignore. He’d done none of those things. He was letting her go. It was the end of this particular love story, and she had to let him know it was okay.

“Look.” She drew a steadying breath to settle herself. “I get it, okay?” She forced a smile. “I understand that saying good-bye isn’t easy for you either.”

“Carrie—”

She held up a hand, stopping him. She didn’t want to hear that he was sorry. She didn’t want to make him tell her what she already knew. He deserved to walk away with a clear conscience.

After all, he hadn’t known she was going to fall in love with him. And as outrageous and illogical as it was she had. She’d fallen hard.

He leaned forward, pushed a button, and raised the glass partition between the front and back seat so they could speak in private.

“It’s okay,” she said forcing herself to hold his gaze. Forcing a smile despite the pain, when his expression told her how uncomfortable he was. “We got a little lost in the moment out there. Desperate times, desperate measures and all that.” She lifted a shoulder. “People get caught up in a life-or-death situation and it’s human nature to say things, do things… things they meant at the time but don’t translate to the real world.”

He looked away, ducked his head as if he was struggling to form the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was thick with regret. “You’re an amazing woman, Carrie Granger. Another life… another time—”

“Don’t.” She let herself touch his arm, just one last touch. “You don’t need to explain anything. And you don’t owe me anything. But I owe you. I owe you my life. More, even. You gave me the adventure of a lifetime,” she added, desperate to make him think she wasn’t dying a little inside. “To steal a line from my all-time favorite movie, ‘You’re the best time I’ve ever had.’

She made herself smile for him. “What matters is that I asked you for a moment back there. You gave it to me. And it was wonderful. But now it’s time for both of us to move on with our lives.”

She averted her gaze to the window then, willing back the tears that threatened to expose her for the liar that she was.

If he realized how close she was to coming unglued, he wisely chose to pretend right along with her that everything was fine.

Black and white and gray and fine.

C
AV WATCHED THE
G-550 Gulfstream business jet taxi down the tarmac, wait for clearance, then fire its powerful engines and roll down the runway.

For a full minute after the sleek silver bird disappeared he stood there in the rain, soaking wet and numb to the bone.

Carrie was on her way home to Georgia. Exactly where she should be, safe and sound, doing good things, having good things happen to her.

He was right to let her go. Like she’d said, what they’d had was a moment in time. And it was over.

He turned and climbed back into the waiting limo. Made a decision.

He was going to find himself a big bottle of scotch. He shoved his wet hair back with both hands, closed his eyes, and leaned his head back against the seat. A
huge
fucking bottle. Then he was going to do his damnedest to drink her out of his life.