2000 Kisses

by Christina Skye

There was no reply to the clipped question.

  “Dammit, if he’s drinking again, I’ll slit his throat myself.” Footsteps crunched loudly and Tess caught the scent of cigarette smoke. “I’ll deal with the woman. You go see what’s keeping Sanchez.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Tess waited, braced for another burst of cold water and a sharp slap.

  Neither came.

  Instead, she heard a muffled thump, followed by a rain of skittering pebbles. Smoke wafted close by her head.

  “Sanchez?”

  No answer.

  “Dammit, Hammond, is that you?”

  The silence stretched out, heavy and unnatural.

  Boots crunched away up the slope. Above the fierce slam of her heart, Tess heard the sigh of the wind and the lonely yowl of a single coyote.

  Her feet were free now. With luck she could work the blindfold off. Instinct screamed for her to move before they came back. Twisting hard, she strained at the blindfold with her bound hands, careful to make no noise. She finally managed to shove the dusty cloth high enough to make out a thin line of darkness.

  Overhead she saw the glitter of a million stars, like a beacon of hope arching through the sky. T.J. would come for her. But until he did, she wouldn’t be waiting around. She had to save herself.

  “Sanchez, where are you?” The angry question drifted over the slope.

  Tess braced one arm carefully. When the silence held, she pushed to a crouch and slipped past a barrel cactus into the darkness.

  T.J. stared at the body.

  Miguel must have gotten here already and handled this kidnapper. It was the pilot, judging by his flight suit with the bogus TV logo. He was bound with heavy black tape, legs to hands and an extra piece across his mouth. He was out cold, but Miguel was clearly taking no chances.

  T.J. pulled the battery from the chopper and clipped two sets of wires, just in case they had any plan of heading for Mexico.

  Three more to go. And it had to be done fast, before the kidnappers realized they had company.

  He heard a noise up the hill. Swinging the night scope, he saw a man with a metal can running toward the helicopter.

  “Sanchez?”

  T.J. flattened against the wall of the chopper.

  Liquid sloshed in the metal can. “Dammit, Sanchez, if you’re drinking again, you’re dead.”

  T.J. dropped behind the curve of the chopper, then went flat under its belly, waiting.

  “Sanchez, answer me.”

  T.J. figured that Sanchez didn’t answer because he was out cold and bound with tape, thanks to Miguel. In ten more steps his body would be visible. T.J. cupped a hand over his mouth. “Over here.”

  “Sanchez, if this is some new trick, you’re going to be eating dirt for a week.”

  The boots crunched closer. The metal can rocked, then slammed down onto the ground inches from T.J.’s face.

  He drew a length of steel wire from a coil over his shoulder and reached closer, circling the dusty boots. In one sharp movement he jerked the coil, bringing the man down while he rolled free of the chopper and smashed down on his target’s throat, cutting off his cry mid-breath.

  He needn’t have bothered. In the man’s plunge to the ground, he had struck his head on the strut of the chopper. Now he lay prone, eyes closed. T.J. gagged and cuffed the motionless figure, then stood slowly.

  Two more to go.

  He swung his head, listening to the restless sounds of the night. A small animal skittered up the other side of the cottonwood trees. Probably a rabbit. A javelina would have a characteristically unpleasant odor at this distance, and no coyote would come so close to men.

  T.J. swung the rifle to his shoulder and swept the hillside, picking up the green phosphorescent flare of a cigarette bobbing up the hill. He was inching closer when something broke hard through the scrub near the cliff base.

  Then he heard Tess’s broken scream.

  25

  Run.

  Ignore the pain and run.

  She stumbled, hitting rocks and sand and bushes, her heart pumping in terror. A shout came from behind her, and she dodged beneath the thorny arms of a palo verde tree. A branch snapped at her face, clawing at her cheeks as she plunged furiously up the slope.

  The ruins were somewhere before her. All she had to do was dodge her pursuers until she got there.

  Frantic, Tess tried to remember where the path came in. Had it been beside the boulders at the wash or in front of the broken walls on the east? The memory was a blur.

  She stopped, panting, bent double in pain as she tried to find the dark outline of the stone steps.

  A bullet exploded beside her, burning through her shoulder and tearing a scream from her throat. Instantly, she heard the slam of running feet and knew she had only a second to make a choice.

  Which way?

  She summoned up the memory of that strange afternoon when she had stood in the shadow of the cliff walls, transported by images of an eerie past.

  Remember.

  The shout came again. Tess stood shaking, certain if she made the wrong choice, she would die there in the restless night.

  Some instinct made her work one trembling hand into the front pocket of her jacket to grip the ancient piece of pottery.

  She closed her eyes, concentrating, letting its heat fill her fingers.

  Suddenly light flared, outlining the broken edge of the ancient stone walls. She raced forward, oblivious to the wild poppies, oblivious to the sharp thorns of a saguaro cactus that dug into her ankle. Ahead of her the light grew, flickering higher. She followed, half in a daze, her attention locked on the dancing glow as if it were a lifeline. Somehow Tess knew the steps were just before her, and driven by an instinct she could not name, she plunged through the darkness, tripping over debris and fallen bricks that seemed to be out of place. Another bullet flashed, ricocheting off the walls and shattering the stone in sharp fragments that burned against her skin.

  She stumbled and fell to her knees on a flow of slip rock and gravel, gasping as she struck the hard outline of the lowest step. Without hesitating, she lurched forward in the darkness. Somewhere she heard the low drone of voices—and what almost sounded like drums.

  An illusion. It was only her heart, slamming in terror.

  Or perhaps it was the helicopter, motors whining as it prepared to take off.

  She didn’t stop to question the strange images. At the top of the uneven steps, she pressed her fingers to the ancient wall, following it higher. A few feet farther there would be a doorway. Somehow she knew this, just as she knew that beyond the door were three storerooms.

  Though she couldn’t see them, somehow Tess knew they were there.

  She gripped the clay shard tightly, feeling its heat against her palm.

  A bullet cracked off the cliff wall, its angry ricochet bouncing among the towering stones. Boots clambered behind her as she found her way to the last room and huddled down in the darkness, curling her body into a tight, frozen ball.

  Waiting.

  He made no effort to be quiet. He had lost one man and possibly two. The helicopter had plenty of fuel and he had a man to fly it, which meant he could always go to his backup plan.

  But first he was going to find the woman. He had come too far to leave loose ends. He was actually looking forward to dealing with Tess O’Mara after all the trouble she had caused him.

  She was right ahead of him now. He heard her feet on the narrow stairs that led to the ruin and raised his halogen light, outlining the ragged walls. Not many places to hide there. He would take his time, follow silently.

  And then he would kill her.

  Something drifted through the shadows behind him. He turned sharply and saw a shadow form near the underbrush. Probably another coyote. He’d seen too many since he’d come to this damned desert waste.

  A howl rose from a boulder up the trail. A moment later the cry was echoed by another and then three more. The coyotes didn’t frighte
n him. When a shape rose, silhouetted before him, he snapped off three bullets from his high-power pistol, then smiled as the creature gave a sharp yelp and tumbled from the rock.

  That would teach the damned things to get in his way.

  While the pleasure of the kill still throbbed warmly, he made his way upward in the darkness.

  He was coming.

  Tess shrank back, crouching behind a low wall. It would hide her from a brief glance, but if he had a light, he would find her.

  She cast a wild look around her, searching for a handhold or an opening she might have overlooked. Her mind seemed to hold a shadowy image, almost like a memory of an opening near the top of the rear wall, but in the darkness it was impossible to see.

  Something brushed the wall behind her. Tess heard the whisper of an indrawn breath and flattened herself, holding her breath.

  A form dropped into the darkness and plummeted against her chest. She was struggling blindly when callused fingers closed around her throat and clamped over her mouth. She heard nothing beyond the roar of her pulse, struggling, telling herself over and over that she had to hold out because T.J. would come.

  “Tess, it’s me.” His voice was a hiss, his mouth at her ear. “Stop fighting.”

  Tess took two gulping breaths. “T.J.”

  “Right here.”

  She sank against him, shaky and trembling. There were a thousand questions she wanted to ask, but for the moment only one mattered. “What about the man coming up the steps?”

  “First thing to do is get you somewhere safe.” He pulled her down as a bullet whined across the walls overhead. “There’s a second path that leads down the cliff face. It will be hell in the darkness, but we’ll have to try it.”

  Rocks spilled over the nearby steps and vanished into the darkness. There was no time left. “Come on,” T.J. rasped, guiding her up through the opening in the wall and out onto the narrow stone walkway at the front of the ruins.

  More stones clattered into space, and a beam of light cut across the front of the cliffs. T.J. jerked her back out of sight as the light swung past again.

  “We can’t go that way.” Tess turned, inching along the base. Images were forming in her mind in a way she couldn’t explain. “There’s some sort of tower at the end of this corridor. I think there’s a ledge above it.”

  “What kind of ledge?”

  “Just trust me.” Tess wasn’t sure herself about the source of her knowledge. All she knew was that they would lose precious time talking.

  T.J. moved in front of her, one hand to the wall. He trotted into the last room, then cursed softly. “Nothing here,” he whispered.

  Tess drew a shaky breath. Was she crazy to trust a vision that had neither basis nor explanation? “It has to be there.” She stretched onto her toes and traced the wall, trying to ignore the flashlight beam playing back and forth over their heads. “There was some sort of stone bench. You could hear the drumming from there.” As she spoke, memories welled up like churning water.

  “From the bench, you could just touch the wooden beams, and the ledge was right there beneath the roof.”

  “Tess.” T.J. spoke low and tightly. “The roof is gone, and those beams have been rotted for centuries. We have to go back.”

  “No.” She stood tensely. Light flared, as if from a small fire. She heard the muffled beat of great skin drums.

  The vision of the ledge came again, more clearly than before. “Through here.” She tugged him past a huge slab of fallen stone. Beyond it stretched a wall of mortared clay bricks.

  The remnant of a bench was just behind the fallen slab, half concealed by the debris of centuries. Tess climbed up, searching the top of the wall while the drums pounded furiously in her blood.

  The room was entirely familiar to her now.

  Here her blood had burned. Here she had met her warrior when the drums sobbed. He had waited for her beneath the ledge, stroked her long hair and whispered where he would meet her in the rocks above. She remembered that his skin bore the marks of many battles and a necklace of ocelot teeth that was the envy of her brothers.

  She moved blindly, caught in flickering memories. As she reached up, a rock cut her fingers, making her sway. Then she felt the ledge. “Here.”

  “You found it?” T.J.’s voice was tight with surprise as he touched the high inset, then braced his hands and caught her foot. “Go on, climb up. I’ll hold you.”

  “But how will you—”

  “I’ll use the bench.”

  Tess clutched at the tiny ridges in the wall and struggled up, slipping back onto the ledge. She turned, reaching a hand down for T.J.

  But he was already moving away. “I’ve got to go, Tess. Trust me.”

  “But—”

  He faded into the darkness.

  The drums sobbed as she pressed close to the wall. The world seemed to shudder like a picture tossed between positive and negative images, leaving her chilled by a sense of unspeakable tragedy and betrayal.

  In the faint light of the rising moon, Tess froze as a second figure slid past the edge of the wall. It was too late to warn T.J. Her voice would echo, alerting anyone else who waited in the darkness. She searched the ledge until she felt the heavy outline of a rock, then peered down across the broken masonry.

  The shadow crept forward, nearly beneath her. Moonlight glittered on the barrel of a gun.

  The drums coaxed, warned, boomed, part of her blood, like a too-vivid dream. She prayed he would not look up where she crouched.

  One more step. One more drumbeat.

  He was directly beneath her as she held her breath, heart pumping, danger screaming in her chest.

  She threw the stone at his head with all her strength.

  T.J. heard a low crack, followed by a curse. He flattened himself against the rough wall, watching a shape sway on the walkway.

  He realized the falling rock had been no accident. Tess must have seen the man following him and had taken matters into her own hands.

  He smiled grimly as the figure slid to one knee, mouthing a string of curses. Then T.J.’s smile fled as bullets cracked against stone. The man stumbled back onto his feet, firing wildly. Over the slam of gunfire came an odd yelping that rose and fell in eerie cacophony.

  Something rustled behind T.J. He could have sworn he saw a dark shape shoot past, headed toward the man on the cliff face.

  A bullet whined near his feet. Metal clattered as the gun hit the stone walk, followed by another high-pitched howl that echoed through the ruin. T.J. shot forward and grappled with the man, toppling him to the cliff floor. They struggled, panting, then T.J. landed a solid punch that sent his opponent’s head snapping back against the mortar wall. This time the man did not get up.

  T.J. stood slowly, wondering at the presence of the coyotes. Normally, they were wary of humans, ever careful. Yet there had to be at least four or five animals here, he realized. Maybe they had a den somewhere in the back of the ruin.

  Straining, he made out the dark shape where Tess was still stretched on the ledge. It would take a direct beam of light to pick her out, and he wasn’t going to give her kidnappers that opportunity.

  Rocks clattered below him. T.J. heard something like the muffled slosh of liquid. Crouching, he inched forward, glad to feel the weight of his holstered pistol. He had counted three men down so far, and if his initial assessment was right, this should be the last of them.

  But he was taking no chances.

  He swung back to the narrow doorway as a flashlight beam shot over his head. Gravel skittered, raked by stealthy steps.

  T.J. eased his weapon from his holster and slid the safety free. Outside the wall he heard a panting breath. With luck, his own presence had been unnoticed, and the kidnapper would only be looking for Tess.

  On the other hand, they had to be wondering why at least three of their party weren’t answering.

  Boots scuffed against stone.

  A flashlight beam cut through the d
oorway, stopping only inches from where T.J. crouched. He waited tensely, watching the light move closer. A hand emerged through the near doorway, light scattering off the outline of a gun.

  The figure swung left, searching the small room, and T.J. lunged, knocking the gun and flashlight to the floor. He wanted to bring the kidnappers back for questioning, and that meant using his own weapon as a last resort. He took a step back, circling in the shadows while the intruder panted and groped at the shaft of his boot.

  T.J. didn’t give him a chance to find a second weapon. He drove forward, ramming him with one shoulder. They tumbled to the debris-covered floor while the unearthly howling rose around them, rippling and dancing off the cliff walls, amplified by the empty rooms of stone.

  T.J. almost had his target pinned when he slipped on a rock and swung sideways. The man was on his feet in an instant, driving forward as a blade glinted in the faint moonlight. The slashing blow burned across T.J.’s chest, and he spun backward with a grunt, slamming at his attacker’s hand.

  Too late.

  The man was on his feet, dodging out through the doorway. As T.J. followed, a bullet cracked inches from his head. Even then he didn’t slow down, coming in low and crouched, thinking only of bringing down this man for once and for all.

  Another bullet screamed past, spraying sharp fragments of clay and stone against his cheek. The eerie howling grew around them, a macabre counterpoint to the man’s half delirious laughter as he sent another bullet into the shadows, then turned to clamber down the narrow steps.

  Liquid sloshed, echoing against the walls. T.J. heard the scrape of metal. A veil of liquid sprayed out in the darkness, soaking his head and chest, and he caught the sharp odor of kerosene a second later.

  Tess’s kidnapper tore at his pockets. His ragged laughter echoed as he pulled out a flat square of metal.

  One click sent flame dancing from the cigarette lighter.

  T.J. leveled his gun. He didn’t dare go closer, not soaked and ready to become a human torch. He’d have to risk a shot at the man’s knee.

  The kidnapper was spinning and twisting, denying T.J. a clear aim as he scrambled to a boulder above the stairs. With a wall behind him, T.J. could only edge sideways, gaze locked on the small silver lighter and its dancing wedge of flame.