Mutiny glinted in her eyes and he barely managed not to flinch under her murderous glare.
"My assignment was to infiltrate this group. I had a contact, but I didn't know where they were. I had to turn you over to get in here—to prove my loyalty."
He grimaced bitterly at the last word. The General believed him to be a mercenary who had deserted in the interest of money. If he was caught, the United States would disavow all knowledge of his actions. He would be branded a traitor by the very country he defended.
"It was the only way to get to Crawford and let my people know where we are,” he finished.
Realization dawned in her eyes and she stiffened under him. He could almost see her mind racing as she connected the mental dots. He slowly removed his hand. Pain flashed again in her eyes then disappeared as she quickly recovered her wits.
"You used me,” she accused hoarsely. “I thought you felt something for me. I thought...."
"Laurie...."
"Shut up,” she snarled. “I made love to you. I was a fool—again."
Peering deeper into her eyes, he teetered on the edge of his own despair. Beneath the expected anger, hate, and pain lay abject despair—caused by him. He swallowed convulsively and expelled a heavy sigh. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. She had loved him once. He would love her forever.
"Get off,” she ordered flatly.
He stood up, his soul bleak. She closed her eyes, rolled over, and put her back to him.
"I'll get you out of here,” he vowed grimly, then left her to her cold, impenetrable silence.
Staring at her through the small window, Damien cursed his chain of command to hell. The success of his mission rested on a woman he was forced to use. If she hated him enough, she might betray him in turn. He shook his head in vehement denial of the very notion. Judging by her reaction, there was not a traitorous bone in her body. Though he had expected a drastic change in her feelings, a deeply buried part of him hoped she cared enough, believed in him enough, to realize he would never deliberately hurt her.
He uttered a vicious, self-directed curse. Why should she believe it? He had intentionally hurt her. What he had not expected was the soul deep depth of his own guilt at using her. He had not expected to fall for her, to care for her, to love her. He swallowed hard but the guilt remained.
"I should never have touched her,” he muttered under his breath. His body burned with the memories of that one night of love. His mouth twisted in self-disgust and he turned from the window. Fighting the urge to punch something, or someone, he paced the confines of the small room that served as his quarters. Guard duty enabled him to protect her, from others if not from himself. He owed it to her to get her out alive.
* * * *
Laurie struggled awake in the early morning darkness. A small glow flickered in the door window, drawing her reluctant attention. Wincing slightly at the lingering aches and pains, she forced her body slowly off the cot. A wave of dizziness staggered her. She caught herself on the small table then limped across the room to look through the window.
A kerosene lamp burned low on another small table in the next room. It threw flickering shadows into the corners and along the walls. A cot like hers took up one corner, a footlocker at the foot. Damien slumped in a chair, his arms folded across his chest, and stared miserably into the lamp's tiny flame. Reluctant to go to him but unable to resist the urge, she turned the knob slowly. The door wasn't locked so she pushed it open.
Snapping his head in her direction, Damien pulled the gun from his holster in a rapid fluid move that froze her in her tracks. His eyes widened in surprised recognition and he lowered the gun.
"What's wrong?” he demanded urgently as he leapt to his feet.
"That is an incredibly stupid question,” she retorted coldly, but she could not drag her gaze from him.
He looked tortured. Misery etched his face. Guilt lurked in his eyes, giving her a sense of cold triumph. He deserved his misery.
He shoved the gun impatiently back into the holster on his thigh. But his hand trembled as he raked his fingers through his hair. She lifted an eyebrow at that unexpected sign of uncertainty.
"What are you doing awake?"
She shrugged and winced at the accompanying ache. “I'm not tired."
His eyes wary, he backed away as she moved into the room. She frowned at him and dropped weakly into a chair. A faint sheen of sweat dampened her skin. She blinked and looked at Damien across the room.
"Tell me the rest,” she ordered, leaning on the table.
"The rest of what?"
Though her head swam, she glared at him. “Everything you haven't told me yet."
He shook his head, his face grim. “I can't."
"Can't or won't?” She propped her chin on her hand and waited.
He gave a negligent shrug. “What's the difference? I'm not telling you anything else."
She fidgeted under his relentless stare as he approached her. He muttered something she didn't hear. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it.
"I never liked this operation,” he admitted. “But they insisted."
Regret tinged his voice and put a quick flutter in her heart. She could not stop the yearning so she struggled to ignore it.
"They—who?” she asked sharply.
"It doesn't matter,” he shot back curtly. “I liked it even less after I met you, after we.... “His voice trailed off before he spoke again. “I didn't have a choice."
She shook her head on a wave of profound sadness. “We all have choices, Damien. We just have to live with the results.” A weary pained yawn escaped her. “Why didn't you just ask me?"
Shock widened his eyes and she realized it had never occurred to him to simply ask for her help.
"Would you have agreed?"
"You'll never know will you?” she said softly. It hurt and amazed her that he had not even considered the option of simply asking for help.
"You could at least have told me,” she continued, unable to keep the accusation from her tone.
"I'm sorry. I didn't want to hurt you."
He reached for her. She flinched and jerked back, evading his touch. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and she looked away.
"Well, you did—more than you can ever know.” Tears blurred her vision. “Why, Damien? Why did you make love to me? Why did you make me...?” She stopped, unable to say the words that had trembled on her tongue when she lay in his arms.
"I wanted to make love to you,” he insisted firmly. “One had nothing to do with the other."
Her gaze snapped to him. A fierce passionate gleam entered his eyes—eyes that burned with memories. She wanted desperately to believe him, to forgive even if she did not forget. Her heart ached to believe every word he said. But she couldn't.
"No. You used me. I was a convenient tool—apparently in more ways than one.” Her voice broke on a guttural sob as she got shakily to her feet. “Don't lie to me, Damien. I can't take any more lies."
Her knees buckled under the strain of exertion and she clutched the edge of the table. Damien moved fast and silent. He swung her into his arms. She let out a startled yelp and instinctively wrapped her arms around his neck. Her gaze clashed with his. Memories blazed in his dark eyes—memories of the last time he carried her to bed.
In the other room reality crashed over her and she dragged her gaze from his. He lowered her onto the cot then knelt on the floor beside her. She pushed on his chest, felt the metal buttons of that hated terrorist uniform. He released her slowly but leaned over her.
"Look at me—please,” he murmured.
She did. “We're going to die here,” she predicted tonelessly, struggling to ignore the physical effects of his nearness.
"No, we're not. Trust me on this, Laurie. I know what I'm doing."
In the dim light from the other room, she searched his expression for any sign of doubt. Only grim refusal to concede defeat glinted in his eyes.
"All right, Damien
. I'll trust you with my life.” But never again with my heart, she finished the painful thought.
"Try to get some more sleep,” he suggested quietly and his expression softened for a moment. “You'll need it."
Her breath caught in her throat and she let her gaze linger on him for a few seconds. Then she blinked, jerked the covers to her shoulders, and rolled away from him. She heard his dejected sigh then silence. She didn't hear footsteps but knew he had left her alone.
Sometime later, unable to sleep, she once again left the cot. Damien had left the door open, allowing some light into the room. Shadows wavered on the walls and in corners as she made slow, aching progress to the barred window, ignoring the apparent invitation of the open door. She didn't have the emotional strength to deal with Damien just then. The guilt and remorse in his eyes had almost swayed her. She wasn't ready to forgive him, wasn't sure she ever would. Nor was she sure she should forgive him.
Squelching the pangs of heartache, she leaned heavily on the window frame. Exhaustion seemed a constant companion since she had woken up in the hospital. Suddenly feeling like a caged animal, she had to resist the futile urge to smash glass with her bare hands and rattle the bars in clenched fists. The harsh glare of moonlight in a cloudless sky, unbroken by trees, threw everything into stark black and white. If it weren't for buildings and tents, the area could have been a flat harsh moonscape. The place wasn't airless but she had no doubt it was distinctly unfriendly.
Directly across from her, a large dark building shadowed the space between it and her. In her area of vision, she noted much smaller buildings and tents, all glowing with the flickering light of lanterns, kerosene lamps, and candles. Human silhouettes of both sexes moved around the small cramped structures.
"Why would anyone choose to live like this?” she wondered, her voice a mere whisper, “To live in violence, one step above being an animal?"
"Survival,” Damien said quietly behind her.
Her heart slammed against her ribs and she jerked around with a startled gasp. Her head smacked the wall. She stumbled as sharp jolts of pain shot into her skull. Damien caught her, his hands gripping her upper arms to steady her. Desire surged through her, made her tremble as he held her.
"Don't sneak up on me like that,” she hissed raggedly, struggling to contain her more basic urges. Her breath came in short choppy gasps, her chest heaving as she sucked air into her lungs.
"I'm sorry,” he said softly. “I didn't mean to scare you."
She didn't reply but noted that his gaze dropped to linger on her breasts, the tips close to grazing his chest. The feral gleam in his eyes had nothing to do with the light spilling from the open door. Her breath hitched. Her hands rested on his arms, just above his elbows. Bewildered, she stared at him. After all the lies, the deception, how could she still want him?
Chemistry, she reminded herself. It's strictly physical. But her body refused to listen to her mind. Her heart remained deaf to logic. Her breasts tingled under the intense focus of his eyes. Her heart quickened as anticipation exploded through her. His gaze roamed slowly back up to meet hers and she could not look away from him.
Her back met the wall without force. A shudder passed through her. Her breasts barely touched him but that slight contact jangled her nerves. She jerked her hands from him, flattened them on his chest, but she didn't push. She stared, mesmerized, into his hungry eyes. The deep fiery glow in his eyes riveted her as he lowered his head.
Oh, God, was her only thought just before his lips touched hers. The contact was light, tentative—and electrifying. Before she realized her own intentions, her hands slid over his shoulders, linked behind his neck. He moved slightly and she was pinned, trapped between the wall and the hard length of him. On a deep groan, he changed angles and his mouth covered hers more firmly. Her lips parted in automatic acceptance and his tongue slid over hers.
Her heart lurched. Her arms tightened convulsively around him and her body responded to him without consent of her brain. The blood rushed from her head to her loins and throbbed. He leaned into her. Cushioned against his chest, her nipples tingled and her breasts ached.
An incomprehensible but light-hearted shout, followed by a blur of movement in the window out the corner of her eye jerked her out of her sensual haze. She snatched her hands from him and tried to shove him away.
"Shhh,” he murmured huskily against her lips. “It's okay."
She twisted her head, evading his hungry mouth. His lips slid hot and moist along her jaw and down her neck. Her involuntary glance out the window stilled her heart and sobered her senses. She flattened her palms on his chest, braced her back on the wall, and shoved with every ounce of her meager strength.
"Damn it! Get the hell away from me!” she commanded on a harsh whisper, her gaze riveted out the window.
Damien jerked back and dropped his hands from her. “What is it?"
She gnawed on her lip and silently cursed the tears that gathered in her eyes. She blinked but the wretched tears only slid over her lashes.
"This place,” she hissed and shuddered in revulsion. She wrapped her arms around herself to stop the tremors and turned to stare blurrily out the window. Damien's hands covered her shoulders, gentle and comforting but unwanted. She flinched.
"Don't touch me,” she said brokenly. Even to her ears, the request resembled tearful begging.
He went still behind her. She felt the tension radiating from him. Finally his hands left her in a soft lingering caress to her elbow. When she sensed he no longer stood behind her, she turned from the window. She was alone in the room, the door now closed. She curled into a tight ball on the cot, let the tears fall, and sobbed in miserable, aching silence.
* * * *
Shouts and pounding footsteps roused her abruptly from a fitful doze. Laurie blinked and bolted upright. Her feet hit the floor with jarring thuds. She lurched off the cot and ran to the window, ignoring minor aches and pains. In the bright morning sun, people with guns ran everywhere, shouting at each other. Laurie scanned what she could see and cringed at the window, trying desperately not to be seen as she anxiously peered between the bars.
Five old jeeps drove single file between buildings and tents. Whoops and shouts greeted the two military trucks that followed the jeeps. More people poured out of tents and flimsy wooden structures. Most scrambled toward the large building across from her window. Metal scraped metal in an ear-piercing shriek as two huge rolling doors were dragged open. People ran in empty-handed and came back carrying rifles and pistols. Loaded ammunition belts crossed their chests and circled their waists. Laurie's heart beat in triple time as she took in the rushed, almost frantic spectacle.
Terrorists of both sexes scrambled with eager shouts into a ragged formation in the center of the compound. The General strode purposefully toward the assembled group and stepped up onto an overturned crate. He raised a hand for attention and the group fell into awed silence. He spoke loudly to his people, who appeared ensnared by his mere presence and his excited speech. Laurie had to admire his ability to persuade and rally a crowd but not the man. Hitler had been a charismatic maniac, too.
The door crashed back against the wall, the explosion of sound reverberating through the room. Laurie whirled and dropped into a defensive crouch. Damien's bulk filled the doorway. She blinked and stared at him. He exuded an air of calm, supreme, confidence. Dangerous, grim excitement glittered in his eyes. She swallowed hard but maintained her defensive posture, eyeing him warily. He carried a rifle, full ammunition belt, and wore his pistol on his hip. He looked so much like a terrorist she trembled at the sight of him.
"Laurie,” he said urgently.
She only stared at him. He unsnapped the holster and slid the pistol out of it. He flipped the safety switch off then hesitated. Would he shoot now? No, she told herself. He had promised to take her home. That very personal, though brief, fear must have shown in her eyes. He scowled but only flicked an appraising glance over her. He stalk
ed across the room and stood over her.
"Get up,” he commanded.
She was abruptly reminded of that last day of training at his cabin. Of course, his harsh cold demeanor had changed drastically that night when he.... She pushed those memories aside and slowly got to her feet. Her eyes never left him as she tried to gauge his intent. He nodded as though making a decision and handed her the pistol. She took it, tentatively curling her hand around the grip.
"It's ready to fire,” he warned. He paused, his expression hard and unyielding. “Shoot to kill."
She gulped at the glint of steel in his eyes and nodded, unable to speak. Trying to look deeper, she studied him with a kernel of hope. But the tender love they had shared was gone. Of course, there had only been love on her side. He felt nothing then or now. She faced a professional government trained killer whose goal was to accomplish his mission and survive for the next one. The image terrified her but at the same time inexplicably thrilled her.
"What's going on?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She locked her knees to stop them from shaking.
"Shit's about to hit the fan,” he growled, low but harsh. “Follow me and keep your head down."
He turned to lead the way, clearly expecting her to keep up with him. Terror grabbed her in its icy grip and Laurie stood rooted to the spot. Trembling uncontrollably, she mentally ordered her feet to move but they refused. The room offered a flimsy safety preferable to the certain danger waiting outside.
Damien turned back and frowned. His single lightening glance raked over her, missing nothing of the terror radiating from her. Muttering curses under his breath, he stalked over and grabbed her hand. She gripped the gun tightly in her other hand until the fierce ache spread from her knuckles to her wrist.
"Don't wimp out on me now, honey.” She caught a flicker of understanding in his eyes as he stared hard at her. “Don't let fear paralyze you."
"I—I can't move,” she stammered past the hard lump of fear in her throat.
"Yes, you can.” He jerked her toward him.
Adrenaline surged into her bloodstream and she stumbled through the door after him. Once moving she snatched her hand from his. He shot a sharp, fast glance back at her. Terror still churned her stomach but Laurie found herself free of that paralysis. She nodded, indicating she was fine. He focused his attention forward and she followed him to the outer door.
Always a Warrior Page 12
