He was glad to have Wyatt on his side. He’d met the big, blond Aussie when they’d both been assigned to a joint task force of international troops. They hit it off and kept in touch. When Wyatt decided he needed a change, it had been Grant who hooked him up with the job.
He needed Wyatt’s jovial personality to pull him out of his head. His friend wouldn’t let him brood or get too down. Spending time with him was better than the hours he’d spent on shrinks’ couches, per military requirements.
A familiar sound pricked his ears and he lifted his head. What the hell was a tank doing rumbling through the streets. If he wasn’t mistaken, it was an M47 Patton, a US made battle tank. He didn’t know the things still ran. Marching alongside were several troops in camo fatigues, carrying assault rifles.
“What the hell?” Wyatt muttered.
This was bad. “Uh, Sawyer? We’ve got a problem.”
“Just one, Grant?”
“This is a pretty damn big one. It looks like a military parade or something.”
“What?”
“Armed troops are storming the streets.”
As soon as the words left his mouth, a rolling rumble preceded a large blast as a ball of fire shot from the building across the street, shattering glass and sending brick and rubble hurtling through the air. The tank had stopped and as people fled the ruins, the soldiers opened fire.
Grant grabbed a man’s arm as he rushed past. “Qué es ese edificio?” What is that building?
The man’s eyes were so wide, the whites were showing. “It’s the government offices,” he answered in Spanish.
“This isn’t any military parade,” Wyatt said.
Grant’s voice was grim. “It’s a coup.”
“Take cover,” Sawyer ordered. “I’m doing the same.”
“I thought we left the military behind,” Wyatt grumbled as they hunkered down in the doorway of a building. Up until now, watching the opening minutes of Saving Private Ryan was one of the worst things he’d watched. This made that look tame in comparison. In the movie, armed forces were shooting each other. Here, the soldiers were gunning down unarmed people as they fled in fear. Men. Women. It didn’t matter. Their bodies were being ripped apart by bullets. He wanted to rush in and protect the innocent people. He’d been trained to do so. But going into this battle would be a suicide mission.
“Damn,” Wyatt murmured. “I feel helpless.”
One woman had almost crossed the street when a soldier spun around and opened fire, shooting her a dozen times in the back. She jerked and shuddered before falling face-first to the ground. Grant choked down bile. He’d seen some brutal things in battle, had even been the cause of many, but this was hard to watch.
“We need to take better cover,” Wyatt said. “We’re sitting ducks here.”
Grant tested the door behind them and when it opened, he jerked his head and they darted inside. Several others had taken refuge and were huddled together in a corner. When they spotted them, they cried out and held up their hands in surrender. He looked down to realize the two of them looked pretty damn intimidating with their size and the fact they were both wearing khaki colored cargo pants, dark t-shirts and carrying SIG Sauer P226 9mm handguns.
He held up his hands and reassured them in Spanish that they were not the enemy. The people looked dubious but finally relaxed when they didn’t open fire.
Once the group had been reassured, he and Wyatt took positions by a window so they could keep tabs on what was happening. It was a risk being this close to the action, especially when another blast rattled the glass. Women screamed as parts of the ceiling crumbled.
“We don’t have a choice but to stay here,” Wyatt said, reading his thoughts.
“Sit rep,” Sawyer barked.
“We’re safe for the moment,” Grant answered. “We’re holed up in a building with a group of people. You?”
“Safe for the moment. Any sign of Harlow?”
“No, you?”
“Not yet. Keep me posted.”
Grant glanced outside to see troops tossing bodies into a pile like they were twigs on a bonfire. He couldn’t stomach watching if they actually lit the bodies on fire. “Maybe there’s a back exit.” Leaving his pack, he crawled over to the others and asked them in Spanish if there was a back way out of the building.
“Yes,” a man said, pointing down a narrow hallway. “But it is not safe to be out on the streets.”
“It may not be safe here, either.” He crawled back to Wyatt. “There’s a back door. I say we make a run for it.”
Another explosion tossed them forward and they covered their heads as more fragments rained down. “I’m with you,” Wyatt agreed when the dust settled.
They slid on their packs and stayed low as they moved across the room.
“Where are you going?” one of the women asked.
“We’re going to make a run for it. You should all come with us. It’s not safe here.”
The men and women all looked at each other and shook their heads. “We will stay here.”
“They might target this building next,” Wyatt told them. “You should come with us.”
“We will take our chances,” a young man said, notching up his chin.
“Buena suerte.” Grant wished them good luck and Godspeed as he and Wyatt moved down the hall to the back exit. It opened into a narrow passageway that led in either direction, and another one directly in front of them. The coast was clear so they took off down the alley straight ahead. They’d only traveled a few hundred feet when an explosion knocked them off their feet and they hit the concrete with a bone-jarring thud.
Grant pushed to his hands and spun around, watching in horror as the building they had just left crumbled into a pile of dust.
#
Sawyer was still trying to recover from the first blast when he was almost plowed over by a woman and her four children as they fled in fear. He had to do some fancy footwork to step out of their way and then he glanced around, absorbing the scene in front of him. The streets were chaos. People were screaming and fleeing in every direction, their terrified cries mingling with the sounds of automatic gunfire and heavy artillery. A dark cloud of smoke had settled over the area, giving it an ominous feel.
He needed to take cover, but he needed to find Harlow first. God, if she was out somewhere, caught in the middle of the fighting—
No, he refused to think that way. He frantically searched the ground and found another drop of blood and another. He bumped into people, muttering apologies, as he kept his gaze trained on the dots, cursing when feet smeared the drops. He prayed both that it was leading him to Harlow and that it wasn’t. He needed to find her, but the blood meant she’d been injured and that frightened him.
His heart almost stopped when he lost the trail. He turned in a circle, his eyes scanning for another flash of red. There. Breathing a sigh of relief, he picked up the trail and followed it down a weed-choked walkway that led to a dilapidated building that looked abandoned. Windows were boarded up and the façade was decaying.
He withdrew his SIG and gripped it as he stepped over the crumbled threshold. There wasn’t even a door. It smelled like rotten food with an underlying odor of urine and other foul scents he didn’t want to define. He didn’t know about the homeless population in La Grande, but this looked like a perfect spot for those unfortunate souls to hole up if the weather turned bad. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior.
That’s when he saw her.
Or he prayed it was her. Small feet were sticking out from behind a crumbled half-wall. He checked behind him to make sure there were no surprises lurking in the shadows and then he rushed over. Relief weakened his knees and air left his lungs in a rush. Long, black hair covered her face, but he just knew. It was her.
“Harlow?” She was sitting on the ground with her back propped against the wall, her head lolling forward. She was dressed in an oversized blue oxford and jeans that were rolled at
the cuffs. One arm was tucked close to her side and it was stained red. He dropped down beside her and brushed her hair aside before he cupped her cheek with his palm. “Honey, talk to me. Are you okay?”
Her head swiveled, and she blinked up at him with a wistful smile. “Sawyer? I must be dreaming?” Then her brows puckered. “I hope it’s a dream and I’m not dead.”
He stroked her soft skin with his thumb. “You’re not dead. It’s me, honey. I told you I’d come for you.”
She reached out a trembling hand. “I knew you’d find me.” Then she promptly passed out.
Sawyer caught her before she slumped to the ground and eased her to the mud-caked floor.
“I’ve got Harlow,” he told his coworkers.
“How is she?”
“Bleeding. She just passed out on me so she’s unconscious at the moment, but alive. It looks like she might’ve been stabbed. I’ll keep you posted.”
He slid the backpack off and settled it on the ground just as another explosion rocked the ground. He threw himself over her as bits of rock and plaster rained down. He grunted when a big chunk of concrete slammed into his back. Once the ground settled, he eased back and gently peeled the shirt away from her side, tugging a bit when it clung to the injury. Sure enough, she had been knifed. The cut was about six inches long but not too deep, meaning no internal organs had been compromised, thank God. He rooted around in his pack and found a field kit. After removing the dried blood, he checked the wound and his initial assessment had been spot on. It was still seeping blood, but not much. While painful, it wasn’t life-threatening. As he was disinfecting the cut, Harlow’s eyes popped open and she hissed.
“I’m sorry. I need to take care of your injury.”
“Is it really you, Sawyer?”
His lips curved. “In the flesh.”
“Thank you for coming for me.”
The whispered words broke his heart. “Anytime.” And he meant that.
“How does it look?” She tried to sit up to peer at the wound, but he kept her down with a hand to her arm.
“Let me clean this up first before you move. We don’t want it to start bleeding again. It’s not too bad.”
“I can take it if you need to stitch it up.”
He smiled at her grit and felt something in his chest squeeze. Even with eyes glazed with pain and concrete dust coating her ebony hair white, she was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen. “Butterfly bandages should do the trick.” He applied the steri strips and then covered the wound with a nonstick dressing pad and an oversized bandage. He didn’t want the cut to get infected. He found an ace bandage. “Can you sit up? I want to wrap this around the wound.” He helped her sit and then he threaded the bandage around her torso, making sure it wasn’t too tight to restrict her breathing, then he secured it with clips.
“Sawyer?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t wear this anymore.”
Her nose wrinkled as she held the saturated garment away from her skin. She was right. Before he could answer, she was peeling it off to reveal a black sports bra with a white Nike logo above her left breast. There was nothing revealing about the bra. It was functional, and he’d guess supportive. Women wore way less at the beach. Still, it was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Harlow’s body was lithe and tone with very feminine definition and muscle tone. Hours of yoga had sculpted her body into a work of art. He swallowed hard, trying like hell not to stare. But hell, he wasn’t a saint. His eyes automatically landed on the swells of her breasts. She was perfect. She was also clueless as to what the sight of her body was doing to his.
When she winced, it was like dumping a bucket of ice on his erection. He’d been gawking at her like a horny teenager when she was injured and in pain. Real smooth, Oldham. He removed the shirt from her hands and tossed it aside. Then he dug in his bag and pulled out the bullet-proof vest he’d packed for her.
“I brought a vest for you to wear.”
“A vest?”
“Kevlar.”
“Oh. Okay.”
He lifted it over her head and ordered himself to keep his eyes away from the danger zone. He only slipped once. Okay, twice. Once he had the straps secured, he reached back into his pack and found the pill box. He shook two tablets into his hand. “You need to take an antibiotic and drink plenty of fluids.” He twisted the cap off a bottle of water and handed it to her. She drank greedily, a drop of water rolling down her chin. He followed the drop, wanting like hell to lick it off. He leaned forward but another boom jarred him from his thoughts.
“What’s happening?”
“It looks like the government’s being overthrown. We’re in the middle of a coup.”
She tried to stand. “Oh my God. How are we getting out of here?”
“At the moment, we aren’t. We need to hole up until it’s safe.” Another thick slab of stone crashed down, precariously close to their heads. “But not here. This place is one more bomb blast away from total collapse.” He was worried about moving her. She’d lost a lot of blood. “Do you think you can walk?”
“I think so.”
“Wait.” He almost forgot an important step. He rooted around in his backpack and pulled out the bag of supplies he’d picked up from the Prop Shop. “Here. He handed her a short blond wig, the front edges longer than the back. Camille told him it was called an angled bob, whatever that meant.
“You thought to bring me a wig?” Her eyes misted over and he cleared his throat.
“Uh, yeah. Here. Camille said you might need these.” He handed her a pouch full of hair pins.
“Who’s Camille?”
“She works in the Prop Shop…er, the department that takes care of disguises. He watched, mesmerized as she quickly pinned her long, ebony tresses and then slid on the wig. The change was startling. She moved it this way and that until she was satisfied with the feel, then pinned it in place.
“Sawyer?”
“Huh?” He shook his head, realizing he’d been staring.
“I asked if you had a mirror.”
“No, sorry. How good are you at putting in contacts?”
“Not very, but I wore them once for a Halloween costume.”
“Your eyes are memorable. We need to mask them.”
“You think my eyes are memorable?”
Oh, yeah. He could get lost for days in the shimmery depths that looked green or blue, depending on the light. When he gazed into them, he felt his heart lighten, his worries drop away. Sounds disappeared except for the beating of his heart. He felt a magnetic pull that locked his gaze to hers. When he stared into them, he wanted to protect her, to take care of her, to cherish her. Instead of saying any of this, he simply nodded.
She took the case from his hand and opened the lid, revealing two brown disks. “I’ll try.”
She managed to work the contacts in, and then she blinked and looked at him. “Well?”
Black hair, blond hair…green eyes, brown eyes, it didn’t matter if she tried to disguise herself, she still took his breath.
“Big difference.” He handed her one more plastic container.
“What’s this?”
“A dental appliance. It might not fit perfectly, but it’ll alter the shape of your face.”
She snapped in the devices, one upper and one lower, and it completely transformed her. It was as if he was looking at a stranger…one he still felt deeply connected to.
“It feels funny.”
“You’ll get used to it. It’ll help disguise you if they have facial recognition. Now, do you think you can stand?” He needed to get some nutrition in her to replenish her blood supply. Red meat, bananas, foods high in calcium, folate, and Vitamins B, C and K. He hoped with the chaos outside, they were able to find food. He was packing energy bars and MRE’s…meals ready to eat…but none that would provide the fuel she needed right now.
He activated the mic on his comm device that he’d turned off while he was working on her wound.
He didn’t need for Grant and Wyatt to listen in on their conversation. “Sit rep?”
“Sit what?”
He smiled and pointed to his ear. Recognition dawned and she nodded her understanding.
“It’s a damn war zone,” Grant muttered. “I thought I’d seen the last of this kind of action when I mustered out of the military.”
“We overheard soldiers talking about storming all the transportation hubs,” Wyatt said. “Don’t know which ones they’re targeting, but I need to get back and secure the airplane. I may need to fly it out of harm’s way.”
“Do what you need to do,” Sawyer said. “Be careful and keep me posted. We’ll try to work our way in that direction.”
“Don’t take too many chances, Sawyer,” Grant advised. “It’s brutal right now. It looks like they’re pulling officials from their offices and executing them in the streets.”
“Then they are just tossing the bodies in a pile,” Wyatt added. “It’s like a horror movie.”
“Damn.”
“What’s going on?” Harlow asked when he finished the conversation, her now-brown eyes wide in question.
“It’s pretty hostile out there. It looks like the government is being overthrown.” No way would he tell her about the massacre. It would be bad enough if they came across the bodies as they made their way out of the city. “We need to be careful.” He stood and then held out his hands. Harlow clasped them and it was as if another bomb went off, only it was her touch that ignited it. Electricity zinged up his arms. Her eyes and mouth were rounded…she felt it too. He helped her to her feet. She teetered and wobbled and plunged into his arms. He caught her easily and cradled her to his chest. She felt so good in his embrace. So right. His eyes drifted closed and he shuddered, thinking of how close he’d come to losing her. If the knife wound had been deeper or hit an organ…
“Sawyer?” Her voice was soft, breathless.
Hunted Page 7
