Only a handful of men remained. Their uniforms weren’t much different from her own. In the confusion, she might just pass for another soldier. She tucked her long braid down the back of her shirt and pulled her cap low. After scanning the area one more time, she pulled out her nine-millimeter Smith & Wesson automatic and ran.
When she reached what was left of the east wall, she flattened against it. A minute forty-five seconds had elapsed. Her eyes burned from the drifting smoke. Sharp bits of wood dug into her back. She ignored it all and pictured the compound diagram. Prisoners were kept in the third building over. If it was still standing. If he was still there.
Adrenaline coursed through her, and her heart pounded, but her head was clear. Zach had made her the best. This situation wasn’t unfamiliar. She’d performed this particular exercise many times before. The only difference was, now it was personal. Pray that one change in circumstance didn’t get them both killed.
She pushed off the fence and ran into the compound. A few soldiers milled around. One she passed looked dazed. When he glanced up, his eyes widened. The edge of her left hand connected with the back of his neck, and he went down.
A jeep raced past her. The officer in the front passenger seat screamed orders. She ignored him and jogged toward the only low, one-story building. The structure next to it had collapsed in on itself, but this one was fine. She pulled open the wooden doors.
Empty interrogation rooms lined both walls. Beyond them were small offices, also empty. The floor was concrete, stained with blood and cracked. The air smelled of fear and suffering, and of the dead. Jamie held her pistol ready and jogged toward the back, where the prisoners would be kept.
The compound was an outpost, its purpose to guard the depot and distribute munitions. There should only be a half-dozen prisoners. The first two cells were empty. The barred opening in the third door showed three starved men huddled together in the far corner. She ignored them and kept moving.
Three minutes twenty-five seconds.
The last door on the right was the one. She felt it in her gut as she approached. She glanced through the barred opening. One man lay on the dirty straw. He was turned away from her, but she would have known him anywhere.
“Zach,” she said softly. He didn’t stir.
She glanced at the thick, ancient lock, then the sturdy wooden door. Despite how easy they made it look in the movies, in real life it was time consuming to shoot open a door. But she didn’t have a key and there wasn’t time to find one. She kicked the door once in frustration, then prepared to fire on the lock.
She didn’t have to. As her foot connected with the wood, the door swung open. She immediately crouched down and moved away from the opening, prepared to shoot whoever was hiding inside.
No one appeared. She held her gun in front of her as she entered the cell. When she cleared the door, she jumped back and aimed her gun. But there was no enemy.
Zach stirred slightly. She heard the unmistakable clink of metal on metal. The unlocked door suddenly made sense. They didn’t need to lock him inside. He wasn’t going anywhere; they had him chained.
She was at his side in less than a heartbeat. His clothing hung in tatters, and there were bruises everywhere. She didn’t want to think about that. She had to concentrate on getting him out of there. She touched his shoulder, and he moaned.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. “You’ll be fine.”
She lowered her backpack onto the dirty straw and flipped open the flap. Her supplies were packed in the order she would need them. Her clippers were on top. As she reached for them, Zach rolled onto his back. Her body stiffened.
She knew about torture. She’d been beaten herself, threatened with death, shot, stabbed. She’d seen prisoners with broken legs and missing limbs. In her head, she’d known what he would look like when she found him. She’d promised herself she would ignore his condition long enough to make their escape. Seeing him now, that emotional distance wasn’t possible. Every fiber of her being rebelled against the truth.
Blood matted his dark hair and stained his face. His mouth was swollen, his lips cracked. He wore a black T-shirt over army-issue trousers. His arms were purple and red with welts and bruises. His skin had been split in dozens of places, and most of those were infected. His trousers were rags. She could see more bruises and open wounds on his legs. Some looked as if they’d been made that morning. He was painfully thin and dehydrated. She touched his forehead. Fever, too.
Next to him was a small bowl of grayish gruel and a cup of water. Neither had been touched.
Four minutes thirty-five seconds.
Time was running out. But instead of moving him, she brushed her fingers against his cheek. “Oh, Zach, I’m so sorry.”
The feelings returned. They sucked her under like a riptide, threatening to drag her out to open sea. She remembered what it had been like to see him that first day of training. Tall, strong and powerful. He’d held the keys to what she most wanted in the world—a job with the agency. How she’d tried so hard to impress him and how discouraged she’d been when he never seemed to notice. She’d fought against her crush and the odds to be a success. In the end, she’d made it because he’d pushed her so hard.
She remembered their week together, the joy she’d found in his arms, then the pain of realizing he didn’t want her. She remembered how long it had taken to forget him and the endless nights when she wondered if she ever really would.
It had been seven years. Why hadn’t she been able to let him go?
Five minutes.
She shook her head to clear it and ignored the lingering memories. No time for them now. She pulled a penlight out of a slender pocket on her thigh and checked his eyes. His pupils responded to light. Thank God. From another pocket, she removed a syringe filled with morphine.
“This is going to be a long, painful trip,” she said as she gave him the shot. He didn’t stir. Next she used the clippers to cut the chains. She didn’t worry about the collar around his neck. They could get that off on the plane.
She grabbed both of his arms and pulled him into a sitting position. He was limp, which would make it harder. She took a drink from her canteen, then slipped on her backpack.
“Let’s go.” She bent forward and drew him up, tugging until she could settle her shoulder against his midsection.
“Please don’t have any internal injuries,” she murmured, then grunted as she took his weight and started to stand.
She cursed several times as she got her balance. Zach had probably lost thirty pounds, which meant he still outweighed her by twenty. She wrapped her left arm around the back of his thighs, holding him securely. She pulled the nine-millimeter pistol out of her waistband and clutched it in her right hand.
“Show time,” she said, and headed for the door.
They made it to the main entrance before she saw someone. A middle-aged man, probably a captain, stepped into the building. When he saw her with Zach, he shouted something. She kept walking toward him. He reached for the gun at his side. She pulled the trigger of hers first.
He slumped to the concrete floor. Jamie was out of the building before the sound of the shot stopped echoing.
Six minutes thirty seconds.
Zach’s deadweight drained her energy. She dismissed the pain ripping through her shoulder and down her back. Her thighs felt as if they were moving through quicksand. She glanced around the open compound, but no one was there. The captain might have been the only one left behind.
She hurried back the way she’d come, clearing the fence without incident. Then there was nothing between her and the jeep but two miles of desert. Two miles with Zach’s dead weight to drag her down.
“Damn you,” she said, more to distract herself than because he was listening. Between his condition and the painkiller she’d given him, he would probably be out until they landed in the States. “All those times you told me I wouldn’t be enough. All those days you tormented me about my lack o
f strength. Well, look at me now. I’m strong enough to save your sorry hide.”
Sweat poured down her face, chest and back. Her heart pounded. His arms hung loose, his hands gently bumping against her rear. She settled into a medium-paced walk. Her instinct was to run from the compound, but she couldn’t, not with his extra weight. As it was, she wasn’t sure she was going to make it back to the jeep. Of course, she didn’t have a choice. She would find the strength from somewhere. Once she nearly lost her footing in the loose earth, but she staggered a couple of steps, then kept going.
She used the sun to gauge her position. When she figured she’d gone about a half mile, she pulled out her compass and double-checked her direction. Right on target.
Memories from the past returned. She didn’t bother fighting them. What was the point? She remembered everything about their time together, then she cursed him for what he’d done to her. Harsh laughter cut through the silence of the open desert.
“What did you do to me, Zach? Nothing I didn’t want. You made me the best. If you hadn’t done such a fine job, I wouldn’t be here rescuing you today.” Her left arm and shoulder were on fire with pain, but she kept walking.
“You told me I would have to work harder and smarter. I did. I beat them at their own game. I’m stronger and better, and you’re not even awake to see it.”
She sucked in a breath. She felt as if she’d come off a ten-mile run. The temperature had been pleasant on the walk to the compound. Now the air was hot. She paused long enough to drink again from her canteen, then started walking again.
“Even the fact that you dumped me made me a better agent,” she said, her breath coming in pants. “After that I decided I would never need anyone’s approval again. Do you know how many times you’ve saved my life? Not just when we were on assignment together. But since then. A dozen, maybe two. I could hear your voice in my head telling me what to do. All that training. And if that didn’t help, I would ask myself, ‘What would Zach do?’ Then I did it. So I guess I’m grateful. But I still hate you.”
There were other emotions, but she refused to deal with them now, just as she refused to think about why, after seven years, she still hadn’t been able to forget.
“Look at me,” she said. “I’m a perfectly trained agent. A killing machine. The dead don’t keep me up anymore. What does that say about me? I want out, Zach. But I don’t know what I’ll do when I leave the agency. Isn’t that funny? I have everything I thought I wanted, and I hate what it’s done to me. But I can’t say you didn’t warn me.”
Her thighs trembled with each step. She had less than a half mile to go, but she was starting to worry that she wasn’t going to make it. Zach was a hundred and fifty-five pounds of deadweight. She stumbled and went down to her knees. Every breath was agony. She waited until the pain in her chest and legs subsided, then forced herself back on her feet and kept walking.
“I don’t know how to be a normal person anymore. I don’t know what it means to be a woman.”
Zach groaned. She wiped the sweat from her eyes and kept going. Ten minutes later, she heard the sound of a boot against gravel. She pulled out her pistol and spun in that direction.
Rick jogged toward her. He was covered with dust and soot, but he was grinning. “You made faster time than I thought,” he said when he was in earshot.
“Why aren’t you back at the jeep?”
“I was heading back to help you. It’s two miles, Jamie. Did you really expect to carry him all that way yourself?”
“If I had to.” But she didn’t complain when he took Zach from her.
Rick grunted under the weight. She stretched her muscles, then walked beside him. She grabbed one of Zach’s arms and felt for his pulse. Faint.
“We might be losing him,” she said, fighting the panic that blossomed inside.
“We’re almost there,” Rick grunted. His face flushed under the soot.
“Hang on,” Jamie said. “Dammit, Zach, don’t you dare die on me now.”
Zach felt something prick his arm. The tiny point of pain was so small compared to what he’d endured, he almost laughed. Almost. He didn’t because he doubted he had the strength left. The last beating had been the worst. They were going to kill him soon. He was counting the hours.
“Get that IV hooked up, nurse,” someone said heatedly.
Zach fought to remain conscious. Nurse? He tried to move, but his arms and legs felt sluggish. Only then did he recognize the pleasant blurring feeling. Someone had pumped him full of painkillers. The roaring in his ears became the discernible rumble of a plane taking off. He’d been rescued.
Gentle hands probed at his body. Clothing was cut away. Something damp brushed against the open wounds. He barely felt any pain, just vague discomfort.
“Is he going to be all right?” a female voice asked.
Zach stiffened. He knew that voice, knew the woman. Then he dismissed the recognition. It couldn’t be her. The beatings might have stopped, but he’d found a new way to torture himself. Just as he’d been doing for years.
Without wanting to, he opened his eyes. At first he had trouble focusing. He could see the ceiling of the plane and a uniformed doctor examining his legs.
“He’s awake,” an unfamiliar voice said. “Zach, can you hear me?”
But he didn’t want to talk to the nurse. His head turned to his right. He blinked to bring her into focus. At first he wasn’t sure. Had his tormentors found a unique way to break him?
Familiar but different. Same high cheekbones, same wide mouth. She looked thinner, honed. Almond-shaped eyes stared at him. Concern darkened the hazel irises to a muted blue. She raised her hand and touched his cheek. So gently. He didn’t want her to stop. He opened his mouth to tell her that, then pressed his lips together. He didn’t have the right. He’d never had the right where she was concerned.
The doctor said something. Jamie turned toward him, and a long, thick braid fell over her shoulder. The soft end brushed against the back of his hand.
She stepped away, or so he thought. Then he realized the blurring was deepening and the walls of the plane were fading. His last conscious thought was that he was pleased she’d grown her hair back.
Jamie brushed her bangs off her forehead, then let them flutter back into place. Winston stared at the letter, read it once quickly, then motioned for her to take a seat. She did so reluctantly.
She’d never considered herself a coward, but right now she wanted to bolt from the room.
Winston looked up at her. His pale eyes gave nothing away. “You’re sure about this?” he asked.
She nodded. “I want to quit the agency.”
“Just like that.”
“You know I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
He dropped the letter on the desk. “Jamie, you’re the best female operative this agency has ever had. You’re number three in the overall ranking. You don’t get that high up in the standings without a hell of a lot of hard work. Now you’re telling me you want to walk away from it?”
If she was number three, who were two and one? She had a feeling Zach took first place. He’d always been excellent. Funny, seven years ago Zach had warned her what would happen if she stayed with the agency. Now she faced that reality.
“I’m not sure I can explain it to you,” she said.
“Try.”
She leaned back in the chair and rested her hands on her lap. Once the mission ended, she’d changed back into jeans and a sweatshirt. Nothing stylish, despite being in the nation’s capital.
“I know eight different ways to kill a man. I shot one rescuing Zach.”
“I know. I read it in the debriefing report.”
“Did it mean anything?” she asked.
“What? That soldier’s death?”
She nodded.
“No. Why should it?”
“My point exactly.” She stared at him. “I killed someone. I took a life. Not my first, but certainly my last. I didn’t c
are when I shot him. I still don’t. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t continue to be a mindless killing machine. I’ve got to find out what it’s like to be a normal person. I want to know how it feels to wake up in the same bed every day. To have a routine. I’m a woman with all the working parts of every other female walking this planet, but I’ve ignored that side of myself for years. I want something different. I want to find balance. I don’t know if I can, but I have to try.”
“There’s nothing I can say to change your mind?” he asked. “You’re not angling for a big raise?”
For the first time since finding Zach, she smiled. “It’s not my style.”
“You’re right, it’s not.” Winston picked up his pen and tapped it on the desk. “What will you do now?”
“Go home. Recover. Think.”
“You’re willing to walk away from everything you’ve trained for? You worked harder than any other operative, Jamie. This agency has meant a lot to you.”
“I know.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’ve thought about this on and off for a couple of years. I have to do whatever it takes to find my way back. I don’t want to end up chained in a foreign prison like Zach.”
“Zach lived.”
“You didn’t see him there, Winston. I did. That’s no life. It’s just surviving. What price did he pay for that?”
Winston glanced toward the window. Silence filled the room.
“That’s what it comes down to,” she said. “No one knows the price. And I’m not willing to pay it anymore.”
Chapter 5
Zach listened to the steady drip-drip of the IV and tried not to think about anything but getting well. Even though he knew it was going to hurt, he shifted uncomfortably on the hospital bed. He’d spent three days drifting in and out of consciousness. Three days of people hovering over him, giving him injections, examining him—three days of slipping back into a drug-aided sleep.
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