Echoes at Dawn (5 page)

He glanced at the sat phone and blew out his breath. It was time to check in with Sam.

When he received no answer, Rio methodically went down his list of contacts by command. It wasn’t unusual not to be able to contact one or more of the Kellys but all of them?

With a grimace, he punched in Steele’s number. Steele was the team leader for the other KGI team, and while they all worked well enough together, Rio would rather eat nails than have to rely on Steele for anything. The other team leader was an ice-cold bastard, more of a machine than a man, and he had an uncanny instinct for nosing out trouble, which meant no one ever got the upper hand on him.

Yeah, well, Rio was waiting for the day that changed. No one was blessed for long. Sooner or later, he’d fall on his face, and Rio would try not to laugh too hard when it happened.

When he couldn’t reach Steele, his gut started screaming again. Rio had left the Kelly compound just as Grace’s sister, Shea, had been rescued and brought in for safety. But Rio hadn’t hung around to get details other than what he needed to track Grace.

Something was wrong, which meant Rio and his men were on their own and it was up to him to make sure Grace got the care she needed. Which was fine with him. He’d much rather rely on himself and his team. KGI always had his back, but he had theirs just as many times, and when it came to something important to him, he’d rather have sole control.

He left a message with the resident tech guru, Donovan, but was purposely vague. An idea—his idea—had already started forming in his head.

He’d been called stubborn. Rebellious even. He’d had a career in breaking all the rules. No one had ever been able to contain him, and his respect and position at KGI had been the closest he’d ever come to being a subordinate in any matter.

Sam trusted him, though, and just as often was content
to let Rio go his own way. He didn’t push his team leader. If he had, perhaps Rio would even now be solo. But for now he was comfortable within the confines of KGI, because it suited him.

After so long living and breathing those shades of gray, it was a nice change to be on the Captain America side. He’d lived outside the lines. He’d been the very thing he now loathed. People who’d stolen young women like Shea and Grace Peterson. Used them. Discarded them. All for the greater good. As if there was such a thing. In this world, the struggle was never about good or evil. It was about money and power.

Grace would bring money and power to the men who managed to capture her and bend her to their will. If Rio had anything at all to say about it, they’d never get their hands on her again.

His resolve to protect this resilient woman had nothing to do with penance or guilt. He was pragmatic enough to know that he’d done what was necessary in his life. He had few regrets, but it didn’t mean he wanted to remain a ghost. Nobody. Not real. Not existing. Having no life except to serve the next great ambition.

He was his own master, his own God now. He had only himself to answer to. As long as he could wake up every morning and look at himself in the mirror, he was content. As content as someone could be who’d lurked in the shadows for so long that he dared not step too fully into the sun.

He glanced at Grace’s still form and was compelled to touch the soft side of her neck. Her pulse pattered softly against his fingers and some of the tension eased in his chest.

It was difficult to explain, even to himself, his compulsion when it came to Grace. The first time he’d laid eyes on Shea Peterson, something inside him had twisted. He’d seen the torment in her eyes. Knew that she’d experienced more than most warriors had faced in their lifetime.

And then he’d been confronted by the video footage of Grace standing in the living room of her parents’ house.
Frightened. Skittish and prepared to bolt like a spooked deer.

It had taken him back to years before. The image of Rosalina, his precious younger sister, had burned bright in his memory. Her belly softly rounded. The fear in her eyes. The knowledge of her own mortality. The knowledge that she wasn’t long for this world.

It was the same look and the same feeling that he got from Grace. It spurred his determination not to let her slip away. Not like Rosalina had. She’d died in his arms, never once condemning the asshole who’d done so much harm to her.

It had taken Rio an entire year to track the bastard down and another twenty-four hours before Rosalina’s former lover had died an excruciating death, begging for mercy the entire last two hours.

Killing was something Rio was no stranger to, but he’d never before taken pleasure in it. Neither did he regret the task. He’d learned early on to have no emotions. It made him a better soldier and assassin. But he’d taken savage satisfaction in making his sister’s murderer suffer. And when death was imminent, Rio had stared into his eyes and whispered Rosalina’s name so that the bastard would take the knowledge to hell with him that Rosalina had been avenged.

Grace stirred and moaned softly, her forehead wrinkling as if she were in pain. He moved closer, laying his hand against her cheek so she would know he was nearby.

Dusk had blanketed the mountains and the chill had deepened. His men would need to return soon so they could move Grace to a safer, less exposed area. She needed time to rest and to heal before he took her thousands of miles away. To his world. His turf. The one place where he answered only to himself and he could be assured of keeping her safe.

THE
ghosts invaded her mind. Her very soul. They murmured. Shared their sorrows, their pain, their insanity. The remnants of so much death and illness weighted her down, mixing with her own pain.

Grace wondered if her own sanity had been sacrificed, if she’d done too much, been broken by the repeated healings. Exhaustion and despair were every bit as prevalent as the pain, and she had no idea how to compartmentalize any of it.

She was an open book, broadcasting to the universe. No barriers. No shields. She was as vulnerable as she’d ever been in her life.

It was cold again, and she shivered but even so slight a movement sent more pain through her body.

There was a man nearby, speaking in low tones. Fear was her first instinct, but there was something familiar and soothing about his voice.

She searched her fractured consciousness for clues, something to tell her he wasn’t a danger to her. Then she
remembered bits and pieces, it all coming back like some jigsaw puzzle that had been tossed into the air.

Rio. He’d said his name was Rio and he knew Shea.

He’d carried her a great distance, with her slipping in and out of consciousness the entire way. His men had disappeared, and Rio had placed her into a sleeping bag in an effort to keep her warm and motionless.

He had no worries on that count. She hadn’t the strength or desire to move.

She blinked some of the fuzz from her vision and stared up at the star-filled sky. Fairy dust against black velvet. Carelessly tossed across the sky like someone throwing jacks.

How many times had she stared up at the stars, silently wishing she was normal, that she and Shea could live a normal life. That they could have their parents back.

She closed her eyes again. No, they weren’t even her parents. She wasn’t sure who they were. She hadn’t had time to fully read Andrea Peterson’s diary. All she knew was that she and Shea were some lab experiments and that Andrea and Brandon Peterson were scientists who’d stolen Grace and Shea as very young children and raised them as their own.

“Grace, are you awake?”

Rio’s voice was quiet in the dark, barely a discernible whisper.

She nodded and then thought how ridiculous it was because he wouldn’t see the small movement.

She inhaled through her nose and then whispered back, “Yes.”

He moved closer, and when he did, she could see he held an automatic rifle, and though he shifted so he was against her, his gaze was still trained on the distance, watching, observing, never once looking down at her.

“We’ve got a problem,” he murmured. “We’ve been cut off from my men. I don’t want to engage. It’s too dangerous. You could be hurt or killed. I’ve told my men to stay
put where they are. You and I will find an alternate route to where they are.”

“Cut off how?”

“There are men looking for you and they’re in between our position and where my men found cover for us. I sent them ahead to find a place where you could rest and hopefully heal enough that we could make it out.”

Some of the haze surrounding her lifted and she fought through the ghosts battling for control. She turned, searching out his profile in the darkness. Maybe he felt her gaze or it could be a coincidence that he looked down at the same moment.

“I can make it,” she said.

He shook his head. “You’re not in a good way, Grace. I won’t risk you.”

She pushed herself up to her elbow, ignoring the pain the movement caused. “I want out of here. You say you’re not one of them. Okay, I believe you. So I want as far away from here as possible. Nothing you can do to me can be worse than what’s already been done. I can make it.”

“I can’t carry you,” he said softly. “If it weren’t just you and me, I could take you like I did before. But I have to have my hands free to protect you, which means you have to walk.”

“I can do it.”

There was a fierce edge to her voice that reflected strength she didn’t have. It didn’t matter. She would find the strength. The will. If her choices were staying here and risking capture or crawling off the damn mountain, she’d do it on her hands and knees the entire way.

“Then we leave now and go through the night. It’s not going to be easy.”

She reached up and put her hand on his arm. He tensed beneath her touch and the muscles went rigid, giving her just a sample of the raw strength he possessed.

“I won’t die here and I won’t let them take me back.”

Rio put his hand over hers and curled her small fingers
around his before squeezing. “You aren’t going to die at all.”

A tiny beacon of hope warmed her insides. There was such conviction in his voice. It sounded like more of a vow than a statement, and she grabbed hold of that promise.

“Do you feel any change yet?” he asked.

She glanced down at her arm, which was still splinted. She flexed her fingers, waiting for the pain to shoot up to her elbow. Her fingers were stiff, but the pain had subsided to a dull ache. She wouldn’t know about her ribs until she attempted to get up.

“It’s better,” she said, not caring if it was a lie. It was her turn to give him a little hope.

“Okay then, this is how it’s going to go down. We’re going to move out together. You stay on my six no matter what.”

“Your six?”

“My back. You stay behind me. I want you to put your finger through the belt loop of my fatigues, and when I move, you move. I won’t go too fast and I’ll be careful. If I tell you to get down, you drop. No hesitation. If I tell you to run, you haul ass.
Whatever
I tell you to do, you are to do without question and without hesitation. Understood?”

“Yes.”

“We’ll rendezvous with my men but it’s going to take us longer than it will them because we’ll be moving so much slower. They’re going to have to cover more ground than us and do it double time so they can provide cover for us as soon as possible.”

She had a thousand questions but she knew the only thing that mattered was that they get as far away from here as possible. So she bit her lip and began preparing herself mentally for the ordeal ahead.

First she took stock of her most recent injuries. Breathing was easier even if still painful. Her arm was bruised, tender and still swollen, but it felt stronger, as if the break was already mending.

She knew it would take longer because she was so weakened, but she was gratified that even the few hours of rest had begun the healing process. If only her mind worked like her body.

She forced the weariness from her clouded mind and carefully pushed herself upward. Rio didn’t help her, and perhaps he wanted to see how she would do on her own. Or perhaps he just wanted to prepare her for how difficult the upcoming task was going to be.

While he eradicated all signs of their presence from the campsite, she pulled herself to her feet and sucked in deep breaths of the crisp air.

Her legs trembled and the weakness in her pissed her off. She curled her unbound hand into a tight fist and planted her feet firmly, refusing to allow her knees to buckle.

She could do this. She
would
do this.

“Ready?”

His voice was low and husky next to her ear. She turned to see that he’d secured his pack to his back and stood a foot away from her, studying her as if judging her ability to make it.

“I’m ready.”

He reached for her hand and pressed the stock of a pistol into her palm. “It’s loaded. Here’s the safety. If worse comes to worst, just point, fire and keep on firing.”

Her hand shook as she pulled the gun back. She looked down, not having any clue where to put it. Rio gently took it from her, turned around and slipped it into a leather holster attached to his pants a mere inch from where he’d instructed her to slide her finger through his belt loop. Then he moved in front of her.

She slid two fingers through the loop and took a step forward, wanting to be as close as possible without hindering his forward progress. There were no words for how much she didn’t want to be doing this.

Her body screamed at her for mercy. She needed rest. She was at her limit—beyond her limit. She had been for some time. But she couldn’t stop now. She had no choice. It
was do or die, and she didn’t want to die no matter that she’d come so close to giving in.

“I can do this, Rio,” she said in a low voice.

He surprised her by reaching back, closing his hand briefly over hers in a gesture of support. “I know.”

RIO’S
goal was to get them to the plateau. His men would do their jobs and have transport there waiting. Rio’s job was to avoid engaging the enemy and get Grace safely under their radar.