She tilted her head back to look up at him and it struck him again just how beautiful she was. “Deep down, under the…conditioning or whatever, I knew you wouldn’t hurt me.”
He stroked her cheek with the side of his thumb and her eyes slid closed, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. “It’s been so long since I’ve been held by somebody who cares about me, Hans.”
Jack. My name is Jack. He tightened his arm around her, pulling her closer to his chest. He did care. And every minute he spent with her, he cared more.
There was no room for caring in their situation.
“What now?” she whispered.
He had to clear his throat before he could answer her. “I’ll buy you a little time away from the others by making you recopy those lists, then I’ll try to come up with something else. I need you to be aware of your facial expressions and body language every single second we’re not alone, though.”
She nodded, then burrowed her head under his chin. It was killing him. Slowly.
He took a deep breath and tried to kill his burgeoning attraction for her. She was young. Traumatized. Of course she was clinging to him. He was the first person who’d been kind to her in almost two years.
“Can you stay here for a little while?” she asked in a small voice. “I feel safe with you. I haven’t felt safe in a long, long time.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he said, and he’d never meant anything as much as he meant those words. No way in hell was he leaving this compound without her.
It was another two days of haggling before Le Roux finally asked the magic question—could he get weaponized anthrax?
Donovan hid his relief with a small shrug. If Le Roux hadn’t asked, he would have had to find a way to bring it up himself. It was a lot less suspicious this way. “I have to call my supplier to check for availability.”
The warlord narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “I thought you trusted nobody.”
Jack shrugged. “I failed chemistry, so I have to go to a supplier for chemical weapons.”
“Too bad, then, that the battery for your phone has been…depleted.” Smart move, removing the power source for the only electronic device he’d brought—that his men found, anyway.
“I know the number. Hand me your phone.”
After giving him the Evil Overlord stare, Le Roux set his phone in the middle of the table and activated the speakerphone. Jack reached over and punched in the number.
“Thank you for calling Astrid Pharmaceuticals. How may I direct your call?” Charlotte asked in a fast, chipper voice.
“Arnold Rogan.”
“One moment please, sir, and I’ll connect you.”
About twenty long seconds of bad music, and then O’Brien’s voice. “Arnold Rogan speaking.”
“Hello, Arnie.”
“Hans? Oh, geez, man, I’m in the lab.” Sure enough, in the background were the slightly tinny sound of voices and some scattered beeping.
“I need a delivery.”
“I don’t know, man. My courier’s gone under. I got another guy—Chris Walker. It’s been about three years since I used him, but I trust him. Given him a lot of rope, and he ain’t hung himself yet.”
Acid bit into Jack’s stomach, but he did his best not to show it. Chris. They wanted him to climb the freakin’ cliff.
Not just climb the cliff, but get Isabelle up with him.
“I don’t know about that,” he said. Even if they had a rope in place for him, it was risky. What if he froze and the two of them were stuck on the wall like flies waiting to be swatted?
“Man, that’s like the only courier I got.”
Gallagher was the man behind the plan, but as soon as the cliff went into play, Rossi would have clued him in on the climbing situation. O’Brien using the name like that was proof they all knew what had gone down. If they needed him to do it anyway, that was the only hand they were holding.
“He better be solid. Do you have a timeframe for the delivery?”
“Jeez, man, lemme think. Umm…probably four days if I hustle. Make a nice diversion from reading biorhythms and watching the rats twitch, know what I mean?”
The diversion would come much sooner than four days. Sometime between three and five in the morning, when their biorhythms would be at their lowest point. “Usual arrangements. If the Walker fellow’s fee is higher, that comes from your cut.”
“I hear ya, man.”
Jack reached out and disconnected the call. “Done.”
Le Roux laughed and gestured for more drink. “Most excellent news, my friend! You will tell me how best to use it, no?”
“Of course. My reputation is based on satisfied clients. Blindly handing over a biological weapon and getting a client killed would be bad for business.”
So would getting Isabelle killed if he choked halfway up the face of the cliff.
Gallagher penciled another dot on the grid in front of him, then sat up straight with a groan and rubbed his temples.
Coming up with a plan for one man to distract two hundred armed guerillas while one climbing-shy guy carried a damsel in distress up the side of a cliff wasn’t his idea of fun.
But he had one. More or less.
Despite the extra helping of oh shit their local guys had served up. Technology had apparently skipped over the Matunisian black market and, while he had the explosives to make some pretty big booms, he’d have to trigger those booms by hand. Not a timed or remote detonator to be found.
Nothing he hadn’t done before, but it meant one big, unhappy change in the plan—he wasn’t going to be able to rendezvous with O’Brien and Carmen. The two of them had to take the truck and retrieve Donovan and the girl. Still doable, just a lot more gut-churning for all of them.
Then there was the fact Le Roux’s people were night owls. Late to bed and late to rise meant to catch them at their most vulnerable, it would be an attack close to dawn. With an almost full moon. While it meant the team wouldn’t have to mess with night vision equipment, it also meant the guerillas wouldn’t need it, either.
“Rossi’s up,” Carmen told him, and he realized with a start she was sitting next to him. He was more tired than he’d thought. “Time to get some rest.”
It’d be best to look over the grid with a fresh eye, anyway. He started to nod, but the strain of hunching over the coffee table for hours locked up the muscles in his neck and he winced.
Carmen was instantly on her feet. She took his hands and hauled him upright. “I’ll rub you down as you go to sleep.”
He couldn’t handle her hands on him. Not after she’d shut him down so forcefully—after he’d decided to let it go. “I’m good.”
“No, you’re not. And you need to be.” She shoved him into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. He flopped facedown on the bed, trying to will away the pain in his shoulders.
The mattress moved as she knelt next to him and he forced himself not to react when her hands started kneading between his shoulder blades.
“I…I’ve wanted to talk to you anyway,” she said.
“No talking. You’ve said enough.” He was exhausted and wasn’t up to a relationship discussion. Or any discussion. “You’ve made it pretty clear you think I’m some kind of petty asshole who would destroy your career if you quit sleeping with me.”
When she lifted her hands, he thought maybe he’d managed to drive her away. It was for the best.
But then her fingers were there again, easing the kinks out of his neck. “I don’t think that.”
She could have fooled him, but he kept his mouth shut. He was tired enough he might say something he couldn’t take back. He might tell her how he really felt. If he did that, things would get a lot more awkward than they already were.
“My mom died when I was little. I went into foster care,” she told him, a softness in her voice that told him, in a rare moment of male clarity, his best move was to keep quiet and let her talk. “I was lucky. I went to great hom
es. But the first couple, they moved out of state and I couldn’t go. The next family, they really loved me, but their son died and…they couldn’t deal. Another family gave me up when they adopted a sibling group.
“I learned a long time ago that everything ends. No matter how much somebody cares, nothing’s really forever. And…you’re the first person in so long—since I was a little girl—who has the power to hurt me.
“I know you’re not a petty asshole, John. But if I let myself care about you—really care about you—when it ends, it’ll hurt.”
He rolled over so he could see her face. So she could his. “Everybody hurts when a relationship ends, babe. But it’s worth the risk because sometimes it doesn’t end. Sometimes it’s forever and after the work is done and the world’s been seen, there are two rocking chairs side by side on the front porch.”
“The one on the house with the white picket fence?” She tried to smile, but it was more of a quiver.
“That’s the one.” He pulled her down next to him and got a little hopeful when she only offered a token resistance. “Stay with me.”
She gave him a short, disbelieving laugh. “I don’t think so.”
“I’m not asking you to have sex during an op with our boss on the other side of the door.” He tugged on her until she lifted her head so he could wrap an arm around her. “Just let me hold you so I can get some sleep. I sleep better when you’re beside me.”
But she fell asleep first and he kissed her hair before nodding off himself.
Pain. Panic. Chris’s hand twisting, grasping. He tried to hold him, dug his fingertips into Chris’s wrist.
Slipping. He couldn’t hold him.
Muscles stretching, tearing. If Chris could get his other arm up. Just…reach…up.
The weight gone. Oh god, Chris’s face as he fell away.
Chris disappeared with one blink, replaced by beautiful, worry-filled blue eyes. “Hans, wake up. It’s just a bad dream.”
Hans? Who the hell was…
Jack took a shuddering breath and tried to focus on the present. “Did I shout anything? Was I loud?”
If he’d been loud enough to attract attention, they might have company they weren’t ready for. They were both wearing too many clothes, for one thing.
“No,” she whispered. “You were crying, but almost silently. Your whole body was shaking, though, and that’s what woke me up.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you.” He scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling the light sheen of sweat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed about…since I’ve had that particular dream.”
He didn’t have the strength to pull away, or even give a token protest, when she scooted close to him and laid her head against his shoulder.
Just to comfort her. Maybe himself.
“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked.
Hell no, he didn’t want to talk about it. Hey, did I ever tell you how my best friend died because I wasn’t strong enough to hold him? Not exactly his style of pillow talk.
“Not really. It’s just an old nightmare.” But it shook him enough so he stupidly raised his arm so she could get closer and he could hold her.
Isabelle snuggled against his chest and Jack closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her against his body. He should send her back to her side of the bed. He should feign sleep and pray the real thing came eventually.
Instead, he turned his head and rested his face against the soft fuzz of her hair. She sighed and rested her hand on his chest, and he thought it was odd such a small gesture should kick his pulse into overtime.
Gritting his teeth and willing his body back into submission, Jack forced his focus back onto the mission. He was here to save her, nothing else. And to do that, he might just have to share his nightmare after all.
Isabelle needed to know she might be putting her trust in a man who didn’t deserve it.
“Listen,” he said into her hair, “there’s a good chance to get out of here, we’re going to have climb the cliff behind the compound.”
“Like in that movie with Sylvester Stallone? Do you know how to do that?”
More like that movie than he’d care to admit under normal circumstances. “You know that scene in the movie where he’s trying to hold that girl and he can’t?”
“Yeah.”
“Something similar happened to me three years ago, only he was my best friend. He…he screamed my name over and over until he hit.” There was more he needed to tell her, but nothing else was getting past the lump in his throat right then.
“And that’s what you were dreaming about?”
Jack nodded, then swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “I haven’t been able to climb since, so you need to know I…I might freeze up on you or freak out. If that happens, you need to get yourself up that cliff. My people will be at the top and they’ll take care of you.”
She wasn’t much for fidgeting as a rule, but he felt her grow even more still against him. “I’ve never gone climbing before. Not even an indoor rock wall.”
“Your instincts will guide you if you let them. Don’t overthink it or second-guess your gut.” Her body was relaxing against his again, and he knew it was only a matter of minutes before she slid back into sleep.
“I know you’ll save me,” she mumbled. “Just like I know if it was at all humanly possible to save your friend, you would have. I don’t think you have it in you to let somebody down.”
“Don’t go slapping some kind of hero sticker on me, Isabelle,” he warned. “I’m not Superman.”
“No,” she said softly against his chest, “you’re my Obi-Wan.”
As they lay there in the dark hut and her breathing slowly grew deeper and steadier, he didn’t have the heart to remind her Obi-Wan died in the first act.
Chapter Twelve
Gallagher sighed and leaned back in his chair. “She sounded pretty damn close to the audio mic.”
“She did,” O’Brien agreed. They kept their voices low because Carmen was in the other room sleeping and Rossi had finally crashed on the couch. “How far gone do you think he is?”
“Far enough to second-guess his judgment when it comes to her.”
“But we should trust yours when it comes to Olivera?”
Gallagher didn’t take offense. Hell, back in New York he’d practically said straight out he didn’t trust his own judgment when it came to her being in the field.
“She’ll be with you,” he told O’Brien, “so it’s your judgment that matters.”
“You know I’ll do my best to bring her back in one piece.”
He did not want to have this conversation. O’Brien talking about bringing Carmen back in one piece was too vivid a reminder the possibility existed she might not. “Make the best call for the situation. She’ll bring herself back.”
O’Brien nodded. “You figure out where you’re putting the charges?”
“Yeah.” They were like timed firecrackers, designed to simulate the gunfire of a smallish army. “And I’ll blow the front tanks first. Once Donovan’s up the cliff I’ll blow the reserve tanks in the rear—drive them away from the area.”
He could picture the entire operation in his mind and it would work. Assuming everybody did everything they were supposed to do when they were supposed to it, which very rarely happened in real life.
“Rossi on comm?” O’Brien asked.
“Yeah, but Charlotte will be running the show from Texas. No way in hell I’d try something like this without her.”
She was going to earn her money, for damn sure. To keep the chaos under control, all audio would be fed to Charlotte, who would then pass necessary info between the agents. Multiple agents in multiple locations in possible multiple gunfights all shouting over one another never helped.
O’Brien chugged some water and scrubbed his eyes. “No chance at all of incapacitating the rocket launchers?”
“No. He was smart enough to protect the hell out of those outposts. At
this point, it is what it is.”
Gallagher closed his eyes, picturing every agent. Every step. Between the planning and the coming prep work, he’d done everything he could. God willing, it was enough.
Carmen went about the business of looking like a documentary maker breaking down camera equipment, but the awareness of what Gallagher was about to do grew stronger with every second, until she could barely hear over the roaring in her ears.
When they packed up and drove back to the hotel, they’d be going without him. He’d be spending every second of darkness reconnoitering and prepping the area for Donovan’s extraction. The same area occupied by Le Roux and his men.
And the bastard was laughing. He and O’Brien were actually cracking jokes as they checked Gallagher’s gear. Yes, she knew that’s how they readied themselves, but this time the lightheartedness grated on her nerves.
Once she and O’Brien drove away, she wouldn’t see Gallagher again until it was over. Assuming everything went according to the half-ass plan they’d concocted—the one that could go wrong in a hundred different and fatal ways.
Carmen tried to concentrate on breaking down and stowing the camera equipment that was part of their cover, but she couldn’t shake the really bad feeling that was churning her stomach and making her hands tremble badly enough so she fumbled a battery pack.
She was coiling the last of the cords when, through her peripheral vision, she saw O’Brien shake Gallagher’s hand, then slap him on the shoulder.
Oh God. They were done. It was time to leave him behind.
As Gallagher approached her, pride made her suck it up and after a few seconds she was calm enough to meet him halfway.
“Time for you guys to hit the road,” he said. “Remember what I said—stay close to O’Brien. Be aware of where he is and put a bullet in anything else that moves.”
She nodded, not sure she could actually speak. There was nothing soft about him at that moment. The man who could charm the knickers off a nun was gone, leaving behind the warrior who was totally focused on his mission.
As he should be. Now wasn’t the time to distract him with her own fears and…whatever it was she was feeling. If she couldn’t even sort it out herself, there was no sense in dragging him into it.
No Surrender: The Devlin Group, Book 3 Page 10
