Drake closed his when he felt her snuggle in and get comfortable against him. His shoulder ached like a bitch. He felt like he’d walked a mile-long gauntlet without armor and his leg throbbed with each beat of his heart. He’d had a few bouts of vertigo while they were climbing, so he probably had a concussion, but he hadn’t been nauseous, and he’d known who and where he was when he’d come to at the base of the trail. His exhaustion was physical, of that he was sure. He turned his head and kissed Jillian’s forehead before he closed his eyes and allowed his body to rest.
Drake woke with a start. The sun beat down from high in the sky. It was at least ten, if not later. Not moving, he listened. A red squirrel chased another along a long pine branch. Several birds flitted through a small open area off to the right of their position. Drake slowly tensed and relaxed his muscles, grimacing with each movement. He winced and sucked in a breath when he moved. The dried blood around the bandage on his calf pulled and that fucking hurt like a bitch. He could feel blood seeping from his wound again. Damn it.
Drake looked down at Jillian. She’d somehow managed to rest with her head in his lap. The position seemed awkward as hell, and he had no doubt the woman was going to be stiff and sore when she woke. He shifted and planted his arms beside his butt, pushing himself back up against the wall he’d used as support throughout the night. Jillian bolted upright, her eyes wild and searching. “What? What is it?”
“Nothing. We’re fine.” Drake rolled his shoulders and watched her gather herself.
Jillian rubbed her hand over her face and yawned. “I need to…” She searched the area and then pointed. “Is it okay to go?”
“Yeah, just a minute.” He pulled himself up and tentatively put weight on his leg. The dull ache ratcheted up about ten notches, but it wasn’t so bad he couldn’t deal. He adjusted the weapons in his holsters and grabbed the handgun he’d laid on the blanket beside him last night. “Okay, you find a bush. I’ll keep an eye out.” He needed to figure out where the hell they were. He knew they’d started to go south and if he’d followed the ridge like he believed he had, then they should be able to reach a branch of the eastern slope of the Black Hills.
He waited for Jillian and then took his turn before he ushered her back under the rock overhang. His hastily picked defensive position was actually a damn good spot. He lowered himself back down on the blanket.
“I need the first aid kit.” She motioned toward the backpack. Drake opened the thing, grabbed the white box, and handed it to her. “And that little bottle of whiskey.”
“What for?” Drake blinked at her.
Her brow furrowed, and she cocked her head at him as if she was examining a bug. “To disinfect this wound, of course.”
Ahh…no. “How about you use the alcohol wipes instead.” He motioned to the first aid kit.
A single eyebrow arched up at him, and she extended her hand. “The whiskey.”
Drake opened the pack and pulled out four bottles of water, and two MRE packets. There was a flint and a steel striker, waterproof matches in a plastic sealable bag, and two chemical sticks that glowed when the capsules inside the plastic were broken and the elements mixed. “Sorry, no whiskey.” Drake held up his hands like a dealer in a casino.
Jillian reached toward the pack. Drake moved it just out of her reach. She laughed and crawled over him grabbing the pack. She gave it a good yank, but his grip wasn’t budging. “Okay. How about I promise not to use all of it.” She tugged the bag again.
He shook his head. “Only if I pour it.”
She sat on her butt and stared at him before a wide smile split her face. “That works.”
Drake glared at her, the minx was up to something. He pulled the small flask of whiskey out of the pack and held it next to his chest. He didn’t necessarily like whiskey, nor did he want to drink it, but he’d been on the receiving end of Doc Cassidy using vodka to clean out a wound once. That shit stung and not just for a little while. He’d rather be the one in control of his torture. Maybe.
Jillian used his knife to cut the old bandage off. With care, she unwrapped the wound. The bandage released from his leg without too much trouble because it had started bleeding again this morning. He watched as she cleaned his leg and then glanced up at him. “The wound is clotting, but there is still a deep puncture, here. Please give me the alcohol so I can pour some into the wound. I don’t know enough about field care to know if I need to pack the wound or not.”
Drake leaned over his leg and glanced at where the knife sliced through his muscle. There wasn’t a lot of swelling, nor was there any extraordinary redness around the puncture. “If I keep it elevated a bit today, rinsing the wound out with alcohol should suffice.”
“Had a lot of knife wounds, have we?” Jillian extended her hand, and he made a reluctant act of handing over the small bottle.
“Not personally, but in my line of work, you see a lot of wounds, see how the medics and docs care for them in the field. This is one I need to stay off of and keep clean.” He winced, and his entire body tensed as she poured the liquor. It stung like an entire hive of wasps were buried inside his wound. The bastards were pissed, too.
“Are we safe here?” Jillian looked up from unwrapping a clean pad to cover the hole in his calf.
“As safe as can be. Guardian will be sending people from the complex.” Drake mentally fingered through the list of people that resided at the complex. Fury, Asp, Anubis, hell any of the Shadows. He tried to remember the training schedule. Were there any teams due in? Possibly, but he wasn’t a hondo on that recollection.
“Why?” Jillian picked up the trash after taping the gauze wrap liberally coated with antibiotic gel securely around his leg. “I mean why now? I thought the idea was to make sure we couldn’t be traced back to the complex. Sending someone now would do that, wouldn’t it?”
Drake patted the ground next to him and waited for her to move up beside him. “When I didn’t check in today, it pushed the situation into another response level. There are specialists at the complex who…well trying to track them would be like trying to track a ghost. It is impossible. Knowing my bosses, they will have dispatched those assets, and they’ve probably already tapped into a satellite to get a visual on the safe house.” Drake turned to her. “And while we are on that subject, why did you blow up the house?”
“What do you mean why did I blow it up? You said to watch for the signal. I did. The lights went out.” Jillian turned and drew her arms across her chest and mimicked him, “There is no reason the lights would go out unless I turn them off.”
“Well, I did say that.”
“Yes, you did. You said that meant you were at your fallback position, the tool shed and you’d cut the power.”
“Right.” She’d followed directions. Once he cut the power, he’d have ten seconds to haul ass away from the shack before it blew. Instead, for some unknown reason, the power had gone out, and he was standing too damn close to the first and largest explosion. “I have no idea what caused the power to go out.”
“You didn’t do it?” Jillian popped away from his side and stared at him, mouth agape.
He reached over and put his finger under her chin, closing her mouth. “No, but it worked out.” He pointed to one of the MRE packages. “Let’s get that open, get some calories into our systems, and then we’ll be lazy and rest.” He planned on keeping them quiet and still for the remainder of the day. People who aren’t moving don’t leave tracks. Fewer tracks, less chance of becoming prey. She continued to regard him with a horrified expression for a long moment, before, with a shake of her head, she did what he’d asked, muttering to herself the entire time. She didn’t elaborate. He didn’t ask.
Drake helped Jillian figure out the cooking tabs for the field heater contained in the kit. He moved his weapons, setting them where he’d have instant access, and he scanned what he could see of the ridgeline they’d followed last night. Yes, they were holding up, yes, they were concealed, but no
, he didn’t believe for an instant the danger to them had passed.
Drake glanced over at Jillian as she slept. There was a reason he’d dozed off and on during the day. If someone had located them during the day, a night-time attack would put Drake at a disadvantage. When they hadn’t been resting, they’d collected sizeable rocks and built a stone wall about three feet high. Jillian now slept behind it. Would it stop a bullet? God, he hoped so.
Drake shifted carefully and leaned back against the mountain. He was tired, sore, and pissed. A small clattering to his right brought his rifle up, although he swept to the left first. A large shadow stood on the trail. The man’s arms lifted slowly until they rose over his head. He stepped forward, and Drake moved his thumb, switching the selector from safe to semi. The loud metallic click stopped the man in his tracks.
“Blowing my house up wasn’t enough? You figure to shoot me, too?” Joseph’s low, evil growl felt like a warm fucking hug.
Drake lowered his rifle and eased the safety back as Joseph approached the entrance to the space he’d claimed. He rolled and winced, allowing his brother-in-arms to sit down next to him.
Joseph scanned the area, including the rock overhang. He reached in his pocket and tossed a bag toward Drake. “Antibiotics and mild painkillers.”
Drake lifted his eyes from the pills. “Walking pharmacy?”
Joseph growled, “Getting to be a habit.”
“Being a pharmacy?” He pulled the antibiotic pill bottle out and popped two, swallowing them dry.
“No. Pulling Alpha Team’s asses out of the fire.” Joseph huffed out a lungful of air. The sound said more than his words.
Drake laughed quietly and shook his head. “Been a hot minute since I’ve been on Alpha Team.”
“Doesn’t mean y’all don’t still fuck up by the numbers, does it?” Joseph relaxed back against a tree. “Asp has the high ground, and we are covered until we start down in the morning. She injured?” Joseph nodded in Jillian’s direction. Her feet were visible from behind the wall he'd built. The woman was mentally and physically exhausted, as was he. It didn't surprise him that she hadn't heard their conversation yet. Hell, if he didn't have to be vigilant, he'd sleep through an earthquake. The last week of sixteen-hour days had depleted both their physical and mental stamina.
Drake shook his head as he spoke, “No. She’s not injured.”
“You going to live?” Joseph taunted.
He reached for the bottle of water that remained and took a swig, dislodging the pills that were stuck in his throat. He put the cap back on and shrugged. “Probably, unless you kill me for blowing up your house.”
“Jury is still out on that, and thank you, motherfucker, for destroying the one safe house in the continental United States that had any sentimental value.”
“Shit, man, sorry, and I was unaware you possessed the ability to be sentimental.”
“Not for me, fuckwad. Ember liked that little place.”
“Is that why you seeded all those wildflowers?”
The look Joseph gave him could peel paint off a wall. He chuckled and held up his hands in surrender. “I won’t tell a soul. No one will ever know what a romantic you are.”
“Tread lightly,” Joseph growled.
Drake stifled all the laughter that bubbled up. He needed to change the subject, and quickly, before the big teddy bear in front of him grew fangs and decided to kill him. “Noted. What’s the status?”
Joseph shifted and shook his head. “Impossible to say. Jason and Gabriel have been unreachable. Jacob and Jared are chasing leads that vanish as quickly as they appear. Jewell has gone off the deep end. Zane had to head back to D.C., and he dropped a fucking shitball in my lap.” He pinned Drake with a cold, deadly stare. “Whoever is fucking with us needs to die. Now.”
“For once, I concur with every word that just came out of your mouth.”
“For once, huh?”
“Yep.” Drake darted a glance toward Jillian who was snoring lightly. His woman. “I’m in.”
“Whatever it takes,” Joseph ground out.
Drake swung his gaze to the assassin. The words he’d uttered so many times, the ones that he and Dixon lived by, morphed in that instant and took on an entirely new meaning. Joseph lived those words, lived them not only for his family in Guardian but for Ember and their son, Blake. Drake nodded. Once. He got it. Message received. “Yes. Whatever it takes.”
Joseph moved a finger indicating Drake and Jillian. “I’m taking you both back to the ranch.”
Drake shrugged. “I figured.”
“You’re both dead. Officially. Lycos is planting the evidence.”
Fuck him. “Her father? Brother?”
“Can’t be helped right now. Need to make sure no one is coming after you. Can’t risk it, not with non-combatants at the ranch. You explain it so she understands.”
“She understands. She doesn't like it. At all.” Jillian’s voice rose from behind the rocks.
A ghost of a smile traced Joseph’s lips. “She should know it won’t be forever and her father and brother will be watched to make sure they are safe.”
“She appreciates the effort,” Jillian said as she sat up and blinked toward the darkened corner where Joseph sat. “Who are you?”
Drake offered, “Joseph, meet Doctor Jillian Law. Jillian, this is Joseph King, the man whose house we just blew up.”
Joseph dipped his head in acknowledgment.
“Oh. I’m so sorry about your beautiful house. I can pay to have it replaced.” She pushed her hair out of her face. Drake knew the offer was sincere.
“No need.” Joseph stood and rolled his shoulders. “You two get some sleep. Asp and I have you covered. We leave at first light.”
Drake watched him drift back into the darkness.
“He’s kinda intense, isn’t he?” Jillian asked. A low, evil laugh floated back to them. “And he obviously has excellent hearing. Who is Asp?”
Drake smiled and moved beside her. “Yes, he is and that he does...and you don’t want to know who Asp is.”
“Okay.” She snuggled into him as he lay down beside her. "My dad and brother are going to be devastated. I can't..." She sniffed and wiped at her cheeks. "I can't do that to Cliff or Matthew. Please, don't make me put them through this." Her voice cracked as she turned into his chest and sobbed.
Drake kissed her hair. “I wish there were another way, but Joseph is right.”
"No. It isn't fair, they wouldn't tell a soul. You know that. You know they wouldn't jeopardize my safety, or yours." Sobs laced Jillian's words.
Drake ran a hand down her hair and played with the ends. He was in a fucking no-win situation. Maybe Jacob or Jason would understand. Hell, he'd ask if they'd do the same to Tori or Faith. He couldn’t believe Jacob would have allowed Frank to think his daughter had died. He had to hope that Dixon would realize what had happened. Maybe he could get word to him at some point. "I'll talk with the bosses and try to make them understand. If they do agree to let Cliff and Matthew in on what is going on, it will have to be after whatever type of memorial service is arranged for you and me. These people are deadly. If they believe for a second that things don't add up, they will come after me again."
Jillian sniffed and hiccupped, "You mean us."
Drake closed his eyes for a moment. "If they knew what you meant to me, they'd come after both of us. Or they'd try to use you to get to me." That thought sent a cold shiver of apprehension down his spine.
"You understand, don't you? Why I can't..."
Drake could tell she was trying to compose herself. He drew a deep breath. "I do. I'll do what I can." He wondered if Jewell would be able to do something, make contact in a way that was untraceable. The woman was a digital genius.
He felt her head move as she looked up at him in the darkness. “What evidence are they going to plant?”
He shook his head and snuggled her back against him. He had a good idea about what would happen. A John and
Jane Doe would be planted out here in the hills. The bodies would be similar in size, but there would be no way to identify them. The corpses would eventually be identified as Drake and Jillian, but she didn’t need to know anything about that. Ever.
He knew the moment she succumbed to sleep. Her body relaxed against him, and he thanked the heavens that she was able to rest, despite the shit-show that was happening around her. Drake closed his eyes and allowed himself to completely relax for the first time in over a week. Worrying about what would happen tomorrow wouldn't do anything except deny him the rest he needed. With Fury and Asp watching over him, he’d sleep like a baby. God knew he needed it too because walking down this mountain was going to hurt like a bitch.
Jillian glanced at the men that flanked them. The one from last night hadn't said more than three words. The big guy with the rifle that looked more like a science fiction weapon than the guns she saw on television was polite but spoke maybe three words more than the other man. That was okay because she had more than enough to think about.
She was dead to the world. Her father and brother would be told she was alive, according to Drake, but not until after the memorial or service or whatever Cliff and Matthew decided.
A cold chill raced through her. Fear and anxiety formed in the bottom of her stomach. Every instinct told her to trust Drake, that he would do whatever it took to keep them all safe, but putting her family through the pain and suffering, even for a small time...Jillian snuffed back tears and wiped her cheek again. Drake squeezed her hand. She glanced at him, and he lifted an eyebrow in silent question. She could only shrug. No, she wasn't okay, but she'd have to learn to deal with the circumstances.
Drake (The Kings of Guardian Book 11) Page 19
