Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 (30 page)

Jack didn’t see Mac or Surf. Up toward the front, CID’s Sergeant Vance stood next to bull of a man bellowing on a megaphone.

Jack piled out of the car. “Why the hell is everyone still centralized?”

Beck followed. “Wasn’t Mac spreading the word?”

Jack redialed Beck, his spine crawling. “No answer.”

“Think Dugar got Mac? Do we scream ‘bomb’ and force his hand, or do we find the bomb?”

Jack dialed Mac again, not wanting to believe something had happened. “Dugar had only timers on the workbench. No cell phone components. No RF devices. He was in a hurry. I’m willing to bet he can’t detonate it remotely.”

Beck grunted. “You’re assuming there’s only one bomb. It’s been at least twenty minutes since the last explosion and almost three hours since I followed him to the camp. He took enough C4 to crater the area. You think he’s been twiddling his thumbs all this time?”

“Shit.” Jack ran for the men. “Bombs. Get away from the vehicles.”

“Head for the ravine!” Beck shouted. “Bombs!”

For a moment most of the gathered men just stared. Only a few started moving. But then they didn’t know him or Beck from Joe Blow. Jack saw the ATF agent Beck had captured and made eye contact. “Dugar is here! Get them to the ravine!”

“Run!” the ATF agent screamed. Everyone moved then.

Jack went for Sergeant Vance at the head group, who had yet to catch on to the situation. “Bomb! Run for the ravine!”

The bull with the horn scowled. “Who the hell are you?”

“Our savior,” Sergeant Vance said, heading for the ravine. “When a soldier says bomb, move first, ask later.”

Wood splintered from a tree trunk near Jack’s head a split second before automatic gunfire split the air. Jack dove for the ground. He had no doubt Dugar was fit to be tied to see his plans going south and had started shooting. Neither he nor Beck had considered that.

“What the hell, DT?” Surf appeared from the woods then dove near Jack as another round of gunfire peppered the area.

“Dugar’s here with C4 and firepower. Where’s Mac?”

“He’s not back yet? He went to the car—”

Jack didn’t wait to hear more. The vehicles were opposite the safety of the nearest ravine. If Mac was there and unconscious, Jack had to know. Staying low, Jack ran. Surf moved in behind him. Gunfire followed. Several agents running for the ravine fell.

Jack looked for Beck but didn’t see him and knew that his friend had gone after Dugar. Likely a split second after the first shot.

He and Surf passed the ambulances and headed for the vehicles, his gut telling him they were all on borrowed time. Up ahead, at the end of the line of cars, was Mac’s Mustang. Jack ran faster, harder, his body screaming in protest as he demanded more. Surf kept pace.

The blast his sixth sense had known was coming blew him into the air, wrangling him end over end until he hit the asphalt and made a flesh-eating slide across the road. That’s when Jack saw a body underneath Mac’s car. He didn’t look back, he didn’t look up. Any second debris would hit. He struggled to rise, surprised to find Surf tugging on his arm. Surf’s mouth was moving but Jack couldn’t hear.

“He’s under the car.” Jack pointed at Mac’s body and gained his feet, feeling like a drunk in an underwater ballet as he stumbled forward. Ten steps later the first, second and third cars lining the road exploded. Armageddon had come.

His gaze met Surf’s. They both knew Mac’s car would blow, yet neither of them stopped. They reached the Mustang, each grabbing one of Mac’s legs sticking out from beneath the car and ran for the ditch, dragging Mac’s body. They didn’t know if he was alive or dead and it didn’t matter. No man left behind.

The car blew. The last thing Jack felt as hellfire and brimstone rained down was the diamond ring in his pocket.

Chapter Thirty-Five

River of Blood Camp

Union County, Georgia

Mari dove to the side as the guard’s muzzle moved her way. Any damage he planned to do, Roger’s rage brought to a screeching halt.

Mari wasn’t sure how, but in seconds Roger had the guard on the ground and his legs locked around the guy’s neck. The guy twitched several times then went lax, his gun falling to the dirt. She didn’t know if the man was dead or not and wasn’t going to ask. She slipped Fahran’s knife out and freed Roger’s wrists.

He had to be in as much pain as she had been, even more so. The tape on his wrist must have been tighter or he’d fought the bonds more. His wrists oozed blood and his swollen hands were tinted blue. He didn’t groan or even flinch. He snatched the tape from his mouth, grabbed for the guard’s gun—had to do it twice before his fingers worked—then spun around, looking for danger.

She heard a gunshot, but didn’t even get the chance to gasp before Roger pushed her for the trees. “Run as fast as you can and don’t look back. I’ll catch up,” he whispered.

She didn’t want to run ahead without him, but he looked at her as if his life hung on her decision and she did as he asked. Gun in hand, she dove into the cover of the trees and ran. Thankfully it was downhill, letting her gain more distance from the camp with every step. At least she’d worn tennis shoes that morning rather than slippers.

So much had happened in just the space of a day. From the despair and the terror of being taken by her brother, to seeing the madness in her father, to discovering her family had not completely forsaken her in that cell. Her heart ached to go back to say something, to do something to let them know she loved them. She might never see them again and she hadn’t even said good-bye.

Distracted, she tripped and nearly fell down the hill. If she hurt herself, she and Roger would be killed. She forced family from her mind. She’d have to think about them later. For now, she had to focus on survival for her growing child, for herself, and for Roger.

Minutes later, shots rang out from the camp and men started screaming. Mari stumbled again as she wavered over what to do. She almost stopped running, almost turned back, afraid that Roger had been caught. Her mother and brother had sacrificed everything to help her and Roger escape. There wouldn’t be a second chance.

She ran ten more feet, forcing herself to go on and to trust that Roger would come back. Then she stopped suddenly as rocks clattered behind her.

Allah, please help me
. She swung around, gun pointed, afraid a guard had found her.

“Easy with that.” Roger stepped out of the line of fire and caught her elbow. He now had several guns slung over his shoulder. She didn’t ask how he got them. “Come on.” He urged her to run. “They know we’ve escaped. Ten are on our trail.”

Ten! Ten men! She nodded, gasping for air. Even with his wrists bound he may have been lethal in a fight, but as strong and sure as he was, she knew without a doubt they were dead if caught.

She ran, gun in one hand and the hem of her long gown in the other, but every step became harder than the last as she struggled against her confining dress. She tripped, knees slamming painfully to the ground. Tears and sweat stung her eyes. She could barely see Roger’s face as he helped her up and eased the gun from her grip. “Let me hold on to this for a bit. We don’t need you accidently pulling the trigger and I sure as hell don’t need your bullet in my back.”

Too winded to speak, too faint to argue, she moved forward. Her side hurt. Her heart thundered. Sweat poured and her muscles screamed at her until she realized she was trapped in an oven of death. Her garments were a dead weight, killing her chance to live. She jerked at her hijab until the headscarf came loose enough for her to pull it off and throw it away.

“Stop a minute,” she gasped.

“We can’t.”

“We must.”

Roger abruptly halted. “What?”

“I’m dying here.” Mari shuddered then grabbed at the hem of her long gown. “Help me get this off.” Panic tried to close in on her and she fought to breathe.

“Gladly.” He set his hands over hers and yanked the heavy material over her head then rolled it into a ball.

Mari sucked in air. A ton had been lifted from her shoulders in the space of a heartbeat. Her entire body could suddenly breathe as if every pore was free from a choking cocoon. She knew she’d never feel compelled to wear the cloaking gown again. She might do so on occasion out of respect or propriety, but she was free and would stay that way.

Maybe too free, she thought as she looked down. Beneath the bright sun, her cream-colored silk pants and shirt were almost transparent and clung intimately to her sweat-dampened skin.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand, his voice gruff. “You had better run really, really fast. Your father already wants me dead. He sees you like this and they’ll draw and quarter me as well.”

She frowned as she focused on keeping up with his six-foot-something stride and not tripping again. He still had her gown, carrying it under his arm when she’d expected him to throw it as far away as he could. “Are you wanting me to put my gown back on?”

“Hell, no. Just know that if I do die, I’ll die happy.”

They were in the middle of hell, running for their lives, and he not only could joke, but nearly make her laugh. Surely something was wrong with that, but her capacity to think about anything other than her next step died as the terrain turned into an uphill climb that went on and on as Roger urged her faster and faster.

It seemed as if they’d been at it for hours rather than just one. The only way to tell time was by the growing shadows and the reddening of the sky. She’d reached the point that every muscle had rebelled, refused to feel, refused to work.

One second her body was benumbed from the heat and the pace; the next second her shoulder was on fire. She looked down, saw blood spread over her breast and stumbled as a gunshot crack rent the air.

“Christ!” Roger wrapped his arms around her and dove for the ground. He slid downhill until his back slammed into a tree. Easing up, he settled her against the solid trunk and yanked open her shirt. Buttons flew. Blood had already turned her lacy bra red as it poured down her left shoulder.

She sat stunned. Shot. She’d been shot. The sight of her blood and the pain of the bullet made the danger impossibly more real.

“Thank, God. The bullet dug a trench in your shoulder and passed on. Nasty but not serious. ” He stripped off his shirt and covered the wound. “Keep pressure on it and stay here.”

“Where are you—”

Muscles straining, he grasped an overhead tree limb and started climbing. Hand over hand, long legs hugging branches and spanning gaps, he moved higher and higher. Then came back down so fast that she thought he was freefalling until he grabbed the last limb and dropped quietly next to her. His sculptured chest gleamed with sweat and her insides quivered. If purity of thought was utmost then men should go around in burkas twenty-four-seven too.

In Roger’s case though, she didn’t even think that would have helped her instant attraction to him two years ago. It had been his intense blue eyes that had grabbed her first. At some point she was going to have to resolve that in her heart. As married and devoted to Neil as she was and would have stayed no matter what, she had to face the fact that Roger had touched a chord inside her before and it vibrated louder and louder at every exposure. He spoke and she forced her gaze to his face.

“They’re about a hundred yards behind us and running,” he whispered. “Take your gun back. If anyone comes after you, don’t say a word, don’t show them your gun, just shoot them, okay?”

She nodded in agreement. What was wrong with her? Did everyone have wild thoughts when death was clawing at their door? “What are you going to do?”

“Even up the odds a little and give them a trail to follow before I circle back to you.”

She wanted tell him how he made her feel, but didn’t have the time or the words, so she leaned up and kissed his cheek instead. “Be careful.”

He exhaled as if she’d punched him in the stomach, looked at her intently then left.

Her insides flip-flopped. She remembered to breathe only after her vision dimmed. Her heart pounded harder than when she’d been running.

Sure, she was scared out of her mind, but it was more than just being shot and running for her life. It was because of him. There’d been nothing spiritual in his parting look. It had been primal. Sexual. Even though she hadn’t meant for her kiss to be seductive, his reaction had highjacked her gesture. And instead of turning from him, of running away from his intensity, she wanted to do it again.

What was wrong with her? That should be the last thing on her mind. But it wasn’t.

Minutes later the gunfire started and went on at a chilling level until the sound of a helicopter drowned them out.

One man against ten? How could he survive? But then, she would have never believed they’d make it this far. She prayed the rapidly growing shadows would help keep Roger safe and she focused on being ready to move when he got back. Roger had to come back. She had to believe it.

Tightening her bra strap, she held his shirt snuggly to her wound then tied the tail ends of her buttonless shirt together and gave up on modesty when she couldn’t change the plunging neckline or cover her bare stomach.