by Susan Stoker, Cristin Harber, Cora Seton, Lynn Raye Harris, Kaylea Cross, Katie Reus, Tessa Layne
“Only if you come with me.”
He studied her in silence.
“Nick, for fuck’s sake, let’s go.”
“Copy,” he said.
She reached over and opened his door. Then she opened hers and ran around to help him out of the Jeep. He had one foot on the sand when she got there.
In the distance, she could hear the roar of an engine and voices shouting in Arabic. But she didn’t see anything yet. They’d hit the dune face-first, burying the front of the Jeep into it. The battery had been disconnected in the impact, most likely, because there were no lights to illuminate the interior. Thank God for modern safety features.
Nick climbed the rest of the way out and stood there tall and strong. “We have to take as much of this as we can.”
“I know.”
She got busy shoving the seat forward and throwing the packs onto the sand. Nick grabbed two and put them on his right shoulder. His left would be out of commission, of course.
Victoria lifted everything she could and slung it over her shoulders.
“Leave the rifle,” Nick said when she hefted it.
She shook her head. “If we get a chance, we can use it to pick them off. No way am I leaving it here.”
“We won’t get that far, Vic. They’re coming too quickly.”
“Just go! Let me worry about the damn gun.”
“Jesus H. Christ,” he muttered. But he turned and started trudging up the side of the dune, tracking away from the Jeep and the rapidly approaching enemy forces.
Sweat streamed down her face as she climbed the sand behind him. Her heart felt like it would burst from her chest as her lungs dragged in air and her muscles burned. If she felt like this, what must he be feeling with a gunshot wound added to the burden?
He reached the top of the dune—and stopped so quickly she plowed into him from behind.
“Get down,” he ordered as he dropped and dragged her down with him.
Victoria lay against the sand, panting, her eyes stinging with sweat. “What is it?”
“A patrol.”
“On the other side of the dune?”
“Yeah. Not leaving anything to chance, I guess.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
She reached for the rifle case and started to unzip it.
“Assemble it but don’t fire. It’s possible they may not spot us up here.”
“For God’s sake, I know that as well as you do. Stop giving me orders.”
She put the rifle together quickly and aimed the night-vision scope. She had to belly crawl up the dune a little ways to do it, but what she saw made her pulse kick up. Three big trucks, filled with fighters, rolling south. Maybe they were headed to Ras al-Dura. Maybe they were just trying to cut off the road and stop the flow of supplies into the southern quadrant.
Or maybe they were after the uranium mine. It was well guarded, but it was certainly a target in this war.
The trucks were going slow, but they didn’t show any signs of stopping. Victoria’s blood pounded in her ears, her throat.
They might just make it. If they lay here quiet and still and waited, they might be okay.
She turned to say something to that effect to Nick. But before she could get the words out, a spotlight shined on their position, illuminating them for the soldiers below.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Victoria tried to turn and aim the rifle, but it was too late. The men fired in the air and someone shouted something in Arabic.
“He said get up,” Nick told her. “And drop the gun.”
“I’d rather shoot him.”
“I know, baby. But even if we could see them, I’m no help right now.”
She knew what he meant. Without the two of them firing, the chances they’d be killed were even greater if she started to shoot. Though she hated to do so, Victoria flung the gun away and stood slowly. She was still armed—Nick was armed too—but she put her hands in the air and waited for the men to approach. A glance at Nick told her he was feeling the effects of his wound pretty badly. He grimaced as he tried to hold his left arm up.
A surge of emotion flowed through her. She wanted to stand in front of him and fire on all these bastards, but the light was too bright and she couldn’t see them approaching. She had no idea how many there were or where they were. Firing would be suicide. Nick knew it as well as she did.
So they stood and waited while the men approached.
“Drop your weapons,” a heavily accented voice said.
Victoria glanced at Nick. The light was still in their faces and she could tell they had no chance. She was squinting as she reached behind her back and pulled out her pistol. Nick removed two pistols and dropped them.
“And the legs,” the man said.
Victoria bent and slipped her weapon from her leg holster. Beside her, Nick was fumbling for his. But he got it and dropped it.
“Kick them away.”
They both did as told, then the light dropped and someone ran forward to collect the weapons. Other men strode forward and grabbed the two of them. Victoria winced as her arms were jerked behind her back and tied with cord. If they were treating her so roughly, she feared for how Nick was handling this with his wound.
She managed a glance at him. His face was agony, sweat pouring down and soaking his T-shirt. Or maybe that was blood. Victoria shuddered.
The man holding her thrust her forward. She would have fallen if he hadn’t jerked her back. He rushed her down the dune, then picked her up and tossed her into the back of a truck.
Before she could get up and look for Nick, he clambered into the truck and sank down beside her. Her heart hammered and her mouth felt gritty and dry. Swallowing hurt.
“Are you okay?” she asked as several men climbed in the back of the truck with them.
A door slammed and the vehicle lurched into gear. The men seemed uninterested in them now that they had them captured and tied. One of them took out a pack of cigarettes and passed it around.
“Yeah,” Nick said, his voice hoarse.
She couldn’t really see his face in the darkness, but she could tell by his voice that he was in a lot of pain. She couldn’t reach for him to find out if his shirt was soaked with blood or sweat, and worry tightened her chest.
Victoria couldn’t reach for his hand, but she managed to shift herself until she could press her thigh against his. She shivered and he moved his leg just slightly in what she thought was meant to be a caress.
She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the truck’s panels. “We had a good time, didn’t we, PB?”
“The best, honey.”
“It’s not over,” she said on a fierce whisper. “I refuse to let it be over.”
* * *
“What time did the SOS come in?” Mendez demanded over the speakerphone.
Billy Blake answered. “Midnight, sir.”
Everyone looked at each other, their expressions grim. They’d just spent one long-ass night and an even longer day in this shit-hole of a place, holding Ian Black and getting fucking nowhere while they waited for permission to haul him back to base. Echo Squad had carefully checked everyone leaving the consulate grounds. There’d been no vials of smallpox on any of them, including Ian Black.
Either Chernovsky hadn’t brought it with him, or it was still inside the consulate. One diplomatic phone call to the Russians, and it was their responsibility now. Not that Garrett had much faith in their ability to secure it after they’d let it get out of a top-security lab in the first place.
He was on edge and fucking ready to punch something or kill something, he didn’t much care which.
They were at the airport, ready to climb on their transport, when Brandy’s locater signal popped up on the secure link. They’d quickly gotten on board but delayed taking off while Billy Blake did his magic with the trace and Richie called Mendez.
“Fucking hell,” Mendez breathed. “Where is he?”
> “Two hours north by air, sir. And moving south.”
Moving this way if Brandy was still in possession of his equipment. Or dead somewhere and someone else was moving this way. They all knew what the possibilities were, though none of them would say it.
“Find him, boys. Bring him and Miss Royal back.”
Richie shot a look toward the cockpit of the C-130. “This pilot has a hard-on to return to Baq. We’ll need you to run interference, sir, if we’re changing the plan.”
“Goddamn Air Force,” Mendez grumbled. “Don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
The line went dead. Richie looked determined as he studied their faces. “You heard the man. Let’s figure out where our teammate is and bring him home.”
* * *
Victoria didn’t know how many hours they were in the truck or how far they traveled, but they eventually came to a halt near a cluster of mud-brick buildings. They’d reached a road a while back, for which she was thankful since it meant Nick wouldn’t be jostled so much.
At one point he’d stopped answering her questions when she spoke to him, and she’d nearly panicked. But then he’d snored, and relief melted through her that he wasn’t dead. Now the tailgate of the truck fell open and men jumped down, talking loudly. It sounded like a reunion out there.
Nick stirred, and she leaned into him carefully so he’d know she was still with him.
“We’ve stopped.” He sounded groggy.
“A village of some sort. I think…”
One of the men still in the truck jabbed her with a rifle. She took it as a sign to stand. Her legs were numb after so much sitting and the vibrations of the truck, but she managed to get to her feet with only a little swaying.
Nick had to be jerked to his feet, and her heart hammered at the rough way their captors treated him. Soon they were both on the ground and being hustled into one of the mud-brick buildings.
They passed through the front rooms of the building and got shoved into a smaller room before a door slammed and a lock twisted. It was completely dark in the room. There was a window set high up in the wall, but it was very small and didn’t let in much light.
Victoria tested the strength of the cords tying her wrists. They were tight, but if she worked her way down into a crouch, she could get her hands in front of her by sliding them under her butt and stepping through her arms. It wasn’t easy, but she was flexible and she’d done it before. It was a good skill to have in her line of work.
“Are you okay?” she asked Nick as she carefully worked her way down, stretching her arms to go beneath her.
“Been better.”
Her arms ached with the effort, and the cords cut into her skin—but then her butt popped into the circle of her arms and she was able to slide them down until she could step through.
“I’ve got my hands in front of me,” she said.
He made a noise that might have been a laugh or a snort. “Don’t need to think about how flexible you are right now, Vic.”
“I don’t know, babe, maybe you do.” She walked over to where he’d leaned against the wall and groped for the knots at his wrists. “It’ll take your mind off things.”
She felt the knots. Carefully, she followed the ends of the cords, traced the knots, and tried to figure out how they were tied.
These men weren’t Boy Scouts, thankfully, and she eventually worked it out. Nooses secured by slipknots and secured again by simple overhand knots. It took a bit of tugging, but she worked them free and the tension in Nick’s arms eased.
“Goddamn,” he swore when the cords slid free. “That fucking hurts.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” It had been about four hours since he’d been shot, she reckoned. Fear tasted bitter in her throat as she prayed the wound wouldn’t get infected before they could get help.
Before they could get help, not if. She wasn’t thinking in terms of ifs.
“Can you get me free?”
“Yeah.”
She stood in front of him while he worked the knots on her wrists. It took him longer, and he fumbled and cursed a bit, but she knew that every movement of his arm had to be agony.
Finally, the knots eased and she worked the cords open just enough to slip her wrists free. Then she reached up and touched his face. He turned his cheek into her palm, and she felt her heart clench. She had to get him out of here.
She made a circuit of the room, finding a mattress on the floor. There was nothing else, not even a chair.
“There’s a mattress to sit on.”
She helped him over to it, and he lowered himself. Then she knelt beside him, wrapping her arms around his head and pulling him to her chest, just relieved for the moment that they were both here and both alive.
He wrapped one arm around her and held her tight. She stroked his damp hair, twisting her fingers into it and remembering how it had felt when she’d dug her hands into it while he’d been making love to her.
God, she wanted that again. She wanted that and more. So much more. But right now she wanted to keep him talking. If he was talking, then she knew he was okay, at least for the moment.
“These men are opposition, aren’t they?”
“I think so. The Qu’rimi Army isn’t much more disciplined than this, but they have better structure. Usually.”
He would know better than she would because his job often involved other nations’ militaries. Hers didn’t. “If they were going to kill us, they’d have done it. Ransom?”
She eased away from him and started to feel carefully along his shirt. The field dressing was still in place, but he needed a sling. His T-shirt was damp, but she couldn’t tell if it was blood or sweat.
“Ransom is a good possibility,” he said. “They always need money to fuel the cause, and taking Westerners is often profitable for them.”
“That’s the best-case scenario.” She stood and removed her T-shirt. Then she tore it so she could fashion a sling to help support his arm.
“Stripping, Vic?”
“Just for you, sexy man.”
He laughed, though it didn’t sound particularly happy. “Wish I could take advantage of it. Would love to lick that sweet pussy of yours until you screamed for me.”
Her body tightened at the image that put into her brain. “And you will, I promise. Just not right now.”
She put the sling on him while he winced and groaned. But then it was done, and he let out a long sigh.
“Is that better?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
She took his good hand and squeezed. “I know it hurts, but maybe taking the weight off will help.”
He pulled her hand up to his mouth and kissed it. “It does, baby. Thanks.”
His skin was hot where it touched hers, but that wasn’t necessarily anything to worry about. Yet.
If he didn’t get medical attention soon, however, she was afraid he’d deteriorate fast. And she didn’t know what she would do when he did.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Victoria was dozing when a crash woke her. Belatedly, she realized someone had flung the door open and it had hit the wall. For a moment, her heart soared as she hoped that somehow they’d been rescued.
But that hope was proven futile when a light shined on her and Nick and a man laughed. She’d spent time prowling the room, looking for anything she could use as a weapon, but all she had were the clothes on her body and the cords they’d been tied with. It wasn’t much, but if someone got close enough, at least she could attempt to strangle them. She sat up and felt for the cords in her pocket.
Suddenly, an electric lantern lit the room and she could see three men. It was the one who was laughing that made her blood chill.
Beside her, Nick had grown very still. He was lying down, and while she’d felt him jerk with the crash of the door, he wasn’t moving now. His eyes were closed and her stomach fell. But he was still breathing, and that made relief flow through her. She could see now that the darkness on his T-shirt was blood, n
ot sweat as she’d hoped.
She got to her feet, sick inside. Whether it was to shield Nick or confront the man laughing at them, she didn’t know. Anger and terror swirled in her belly.
Zaran bin Yusuf had changed since Emily had sent smiling selfies of her and him a few years ago when they’d first started dating in New Orleans. He now sported a black beard, cropped to nearly a point, and he wore Qu’rimi dress—a thobe and keffiyeh with black cords holding the headdress in place. He also wore a curved dagger at his waist, and a gun holstered near that. He looked absolutely formidable—and pleased beyond belief.
“When they told me they’d taken an American man and woman with enough guns to start their own army, I admit I’d hoped. There’s only one American woman I could think of who would be wandering the Qu’rimi desert with an arsenal at her disposal. Greetings, sister-in-law.”
Victoria’s skin crawled at the way his gaze raked over her bra-clad torso. Her stomach churned. She hadn’t wanted to believe that Emily had married this man, but it must be true. “Where is my sister?”
“Safe. For now.”
She didn’t want to know what that meant—and yet she did. She had to. “I want to see her.”
Zaran sat in a chair that someone had brought into the room for him. He stroked his beard as he studied her. “So you keep saying. Yet you are a bad influence on my wife. You make her remember her life before.”
“I’m her family.”
His expression clouded. “No, I am,” he shouted as he leaned forward to glare at her. “I am her family. I saved her, Victoria. I got her off drugs and alcohol when you could not. When you didn’t care.”
Victoria shivered as guilt slid through her. She knew it wasn’t her fault that Emily had spiraled into addiction, but she always wondered what she could have done differently. How she could have helped by staying instead of leaving Emily in treatment and going into the Army. She’d been trying to build a better life, but it had all imploded on her.
And led her to this moment, apparently, where she was at the mercy of a man who’d already tried to kill her once before. If only he would come closer. She thought about how she might take the gun from him if he did.
