Hawk (The Quiet Professionals, Book 2) (44 page)

“You don’t think they’ll see the smoke?”

His intense gaze roamed their surroundings and the sky. “Maybe.” He started walking, the pelt slung over his shoulder. “I’m just praying the wind and snow will blind them.”

Praying? Did he really pray?

As they climbed, he hesitated before they entered the cave. Then glanced at her. “What we did—”

Fekiria glared at him then pushed past him into the cave. She would not talk about the mistake. She did not want to hear him apologize. Or say he shouldn’t have done that. Or even bring it up because she had no idea what she felt or thought about it. Except for liking it. A lot. Too much.

“Wait,” he hissed, his voice low.

Ignoring him, she made her way around the switchback. Ducked, though she didn’t need to, and slipped along the edges. She quickly scanned the darkened interior. At the back, curled against a pitch-black wall, Aadela and Sheevah slept soundly.

Near them, Mitra opened her eyes and glanced up. Then frowned. “You okay?”

“Yes. Fine.” She picked her way toward them. “Three men found Sergeant Brian, but we are okay.”

He stepped into the cave and hovered in the corner, where he used something from his pack to start a small fire. Only then did she realize he had a bloody gash across his right cheek. Several other cuts and bruises peppered his face. Blood shadowed his jaw and mouth.

“So, nothing else happened?” Mitra asked, her voice strange.

Fekiria frowned. “What else would happen?”

Mitra looked to be hiding a smile. “If you want to lie to your friend, you should wipe the blood from your mouth.” She laughed. “Or should I say,
his
blood from your lips?”

Hauling in a breath, Fekiria turned away. Pushed herself to a corner and sat alone as she swiped furiously at her face. Looking at her hand, she found the red traces. Her gaze betrayed her and skidded into his, but she jerked away. Closed her eyes. Sagged.

Sergeant Brian came over, sat next to her, and extended a small cloth. “I tried to warn you before you came inside.”

She snatched the cloth and wiped away the evidence. “It was a mistake!” The cave’s echo snatched her hissed words and trailed them around the smoky area. She hated herself more for saying it. She’d never lied to him before. But she couldn’t do this. Couldn’t undo all the words she’d spoken. All the things she said she believed.

“For a mistake, you were pretty passionate.”

Tears swarmed her vision. She fought them. Fought as hard as she could. “Leave me alone.”

“No.”

Fekiria glowered.

He angled one arm over his knee. “Things are complicated. But don’t give me that about a mistake, that you don’t like me. I see the way you look at me. The way you watch me when you don’t think I know.” He leaned closer, and her breath went shallow. “I know, because I feel the same way. I do the same thing. I can’t get enough of being around you. And it doesn’t make a lick of sense.”

She looked into his eyes. “No.” Everything in her trembled with the admission. “It does not.”

He nodded. “Good. We agree.” He seemed to be memorizing her face. And she couldn’t help but think he might kiss her again. Instead he rose to his feet. “Get some rest. We pull out in a few hours.”

L
ike peace, sleep evaded Fekiria. Cold and restless on the floor of the cave, she curled close to the others wishing for a small corner of the thermal blanket. But guilt pressed against her, reminding her that Sergeant Brian stood at the opening watching over and protecting them.

Sergeant Brian. She’d kissed him, and she did not even know his full name. Honestly, she did not know much except he was a man of courage and honor. He had integrity and respected her as a person. She’d had admirers and offers of marriage, and men who saw a pretty girl and wanted to know her.

Like Captain Ripley.

An ache squeezed her chest. They’d killed him. Somehow that tragedy seemed like weeks ago. Yet it was only a few hours. How could that be? She felt like they’d endured a thousand troubles. She should be angrier. Grieve him more.

But he never made her feel the way Sergeant Brian did. He talked to her like a friend. Like someone who was his equal. Captain Ripley did the same, but his closeness did not set off sparks in her stomach. Did not make her heart race.

Even now, remembering the way Brian cupped her cheeks, told her firmly and forcefully that he wouldn’t leave her, swam as real and tangible as if his hands touched her now. Embarrassed as heat filled her again, Fekiria curled tighter, her nose against Sheevah’s back.

Sleep dragged her into its icy embrace. Pale moonlight bathed the landscape in a chilling tone. Howling crested the wind and snaked toward her, reaching, pulling. The mournful timbre gripped her tight, like unbreakable threads cocooning her in its haunting song. Wind swirled and spiraled, taking corporeal form before her. A man. In all white. Robed in winter but radiant as summer. “Go to the house,” his words came as a strong whisper tickling her ears. Loud, yet not. Cool, but strangely warm.

Something prickling cold seeped up from the ground, tugging at her attention. She did not want look away from the man. He could not be real, not formed of snow and whispering on the wind. Yet he stood there. “Who are you? Are you real?” she shouted over the storm raging around them. Though she raised her arm to shield her face against the storm, in the middle of that tempest, they stood oddly unaffected.

Cold snapped around her ankles. Pulling. Hard. Fekiria shifted, tried to kick her feet, to rid herself of whatever it was, but it wouldn’t release. She glanced down, stunned to find the snow around her ankles was black. Ebony staining the pristine blanket. With a yelp, she tried to free herself. Instead of freedom, she watched in horror as the black crept up her legs. “Stop!” Her gaze hit the man, who stood placidly watching. “Do something!”

“It is your own doing. Go to the house.”

“I can’t go anywhere!” She gulped panicked breaths. Black slid up around her waist, creeping ever upward. Her breathing tightened. Chest constricted. “How do I stop it? Please stop it!”

“Just say it.”

Fekiria frantically looked between the blackness overtaking her body and the snow-white man. “Please! Help me!” The black reached her throat, the heaviness unbearable. She screamed.

“Fekiria.”

Darkness like night bled through her vision.
I’m dying!
“No!”

A firm shake against her shoulder. “Hey!”

Fekiria blinked, catching something in her hand. She jerked herself up, gripping tight to the lifeline. She saw in the semidarkness the hard lines of a handsome face. “Sergeant Brian,” she breathed. In relief, she pulled herself into a sitting position, a hand automatically going to her throat. She rubbed her neck, reassuring herself the blackness wasn’t real. “I—I was dreaming.”

“Screaming is more like it.” On a knee, he leaned closer. “And really? After that kiss, you’re still calling me
Sergeant
Brian?”

She met his eyes, disconcerted and unwilling to be goaded into verbally sparring. “The dream…” Swallowing hard didn’t shake the dread or near tangibility of the dream from her mind.

He lowered himself to the ground, concern stamped on his face. “You okay?”

“The dream,” she repeated. Silly to even try to explain the concoction of elements a brain puts together during a dream. She shook her head. “It’s nothing. Just…”

“Yesterday was enough to create some demons for dreams. A few angels, too.” A twinkle in his eye told her he was thinking of their kiss.

Only then did she realize the darkness didn’t hang as oppressively. “It’s…lighter.”

“Dawn, but the storm’s shielding most of it.” He thrust his jaw toward the others. “Let’s get them up. Time to set out.”

“Already?” She glanced toward the opening. How long had she slept? Disoriented, she tried to shake the cobwebs from her mind. “Did you sleep?”

“I’m going to get the little one swaddled up with part of the pelt. Can you get the others moving?” Without answering her, he moved to the other side of the huddle and crouched beside Aadela. He didn’t wake the six-year-old but drew back the thermal blanket, lifted her leg, and to Fekiria’s surprise, slipped on a makeshift pelt-boot. How had he made that?

As he shifted to place the other on, he met her gaze. Nodded for her to get the others moving.

Yes. The others. “Sheevah, Mitra, wake up.”

Her friend turned to her, eyes not even an ounce sleepy. A sly smile filled her face as she sat up. And Fekiria knew in that moment her friend had heard Sergeant Brian’s comment about the kiss. But she would not discuss it. Instead she turned her attention to waking Sheevah. “Time to go.”

Sheevah whimpered as she rolled over, sleep clinging to her with an iron grip. “I’m so tired.”

“We all are,” Fekiria said. “But the sooner we get out of here, the sooner we can reach town again.”

“Quiet!” Brian hissed, hand over Aadela, holding her in place as he stared toward the opening. With stealth movements reminiscent of a panther, he pushed to a standing position and freed his weapon. Slid through the semidarkness toward the mouth of the cave, every step deliberate. Silent.

Fekiria felt every move, every step against the thundering of her heart as she watched him. Anticipated the moment when he’d—

He jerked back.

So did Fekiria.

Brian pivoted toward them, a new storm on his face. “Up,” he hissed. “Now. Go!”

She knew enough and trusted him enough not to ask questions. If he said go, they did. On her feet, Fekiria grabbed the thermal blanket. Folded it in half then again as she hurried to Aadela, who was still groggy and not sure about the new warmth tied to her legs. “We have to go,” she said to the little one.

“I’m hungry,” Aadela whimpered.

“We will eat soon. But first, we must hurry. Can you do that?” She nudged the little one toward the front. “Go stand by Sergeant Brian.”

Aadela shuffled toward him as he knelt, stuffing gear and supplies into his pack. Groggy, the little one slumped against his back as if she’d known him her entire life. Brian jerked up and glanced at Aadela. His expression went from surprise to…confusion, it seemed. Fekiria couldn’t help but feel a small bit of envy that Aadela could lean on him so openly. Letting anyone know what she felt for him would open her up to ridicule, condemnation…humiliation. Perhaps even death. All these years she’d spewed the “Americans are evil” venom, that now she’d infected her own world with it.

“It is of your own doing.”

As if a lightning bolt shot through her, Fekiria jerked upright. Was that…was that what the man in the dream meant? A gasping whimper came from the side. She watched as Sheevah helped Mitra to her feet, her friend almost doubled over in pain.

Brian was already watching Mitra, his expression grim. He said nothing as he met Fekiria’s gaze evenly. And she understood his silent message—Mitra had to walk on her own. They had no way to carry her.

“C’mon,” Brian hissed to them, a hand on Aadela’s shoulder as he stood near the opening again. “Keep her close,” he said to Fekiria.

She slid her hand into Aadela’s. She wanted to ask him, needed to know what was going on out there.

“Go out and to the right. Around the cleft. Understand?”

Fekiria nodded then gave the instructions to the others in Pashto.

Sergeant Brian—because he was the soldier once more—stepped into the switchback and crowded out the light. Seconds passed before her vision adjusted and light returned. Fekiria scooted along the space, stone touching her shoulder blades and chest as she sidestepped through.

She ushered Mitra through with the help of Sheevah, who seemed very distressed at seeing her teacher—who was more like a mother—in pain. “Stay close to each other,” Fekiria whispered as she followed them, holding Aadela’s hand.

In the open, she moved quickly but noticed the thick gray blanket stretched across the sky. Snow, deep and powdery, layered the mountain again. Wind swept the powdery landscape with a rough hand.

“Go!” Brian hissed and leaned into his weapon propped on a rocky outcropping, part of the lip that protected them in the cave. He never looked back. Just kept his gaze trained on whatever he’d spotted.

She turned to the right, finding a very narrow footpath—not eight inches wide—that snaked upward around the mountain like a spiral staircase. Though she’d hesitated and considered Brian, and though Mitra and Sheevah had a couple minutes’ head start, Fekiria was already on top of them. Urgency and panic thrummed against her pulse. They were in danger and her friend could barely move.

“Here,” Fekiria said to Sheevah. “Take Aadela. Keep going. Faster!” She hooked her arm around Mitra’s waist.

Her friend grunted. “It is a storm. You would think the bad guys would stay where it is warm.”

“Their veins are heated by bloodlust.”

Rocks gave way beneath Mitra’s feet, causing her to stumble. Fekiria tightened her arm around her friend’s waist, holding her up. Gritting against the weight and the cold. Slowly—too slowly—they wrangled their way up the steepening path. Minutes in, she glanced back down the path, seeing nothing but snow and a hint of the path they’d trod.