by Radclyffe
A nearby explosion threw his face into bright relief as he turned to her, a faint smile on his face. The rifle swung in her direction and she fired.
*
Loren raced across the center of the camp, skirting abandoned vehicles whenever she could, trying for cover and hoping to avoid getting caught up in the firefight. Ramsey crouched behind the hood of an overturned Humvee, firing his automatic at anything that moved. When he saw her, he screamed, “What the fuck is this? Are those fucking missiles?”
“I don’t know,” Loren yelled, crouching beside him. “But there’s more than a fucking militia shooting at us!”
Ramsey hunched lower when another explosion kicked up rocks, and shards of metal clanged off the Humvee. “Motherfucker! We’re outgunned with those things falling on us. We need to get out of here.”
“Fucking A we do,” she said, although she doubted he’d be able to organize the scattered bikers into any kind of retreat. At least he wouldn’t see her searching for Sky. “Go ahead. I’ll cover you.”
He scuttled back a foot, stared at her. “Watch your ass, McElroy.”
“You know it. I’ll be right behind you!” Loren laid down cover fire, and Ramsey disappeared. She waited half a minute and took off running in the direction her prisoner had taken. Halfway to the building at the edge of the clearing, she saw a figure running for the woods. Sky.
A surge of triumph filled her. Sky was alive.
A man appeared, rifle aimed in Sky’s direction.
She pulled up, aimed, but before her finger depressed the trigger, he fell. From ten feet away, a banshee howl split the air. She spun—the woman she’d been chasing stood backlit by flame, her face a contorted mask of rage. She pointed her Glock at a second woman running after Sky.
“Drop it,” Loren yelled.
The woman dove and fired. Searing pain creased Loren’s forehead, and she landed hard on her back. She tried to focus, struggled to aim her weapon, but the woman had already melted into the shadows. Dazed, she lay on the ground waiting for her ears to stop ringing, staring at the clouds swirling overhead in macabre death’s-head constellations of terror and despair.
She couldn’t stay here. Sky was waiting. Wiping the blood from her eyes, she staggered to her feet and stumbled toward the woods.
*
Cam staggered a few feet into the woods, her right leg burning, and braced one arm against the trunk of a birch tree for support. She trained her weapon in the direction of the clearing they’d just left. Someone in the camp had to know they were gone by now. The sound of small-arms fire was slowing down to the occasional burst. Either ammo was running low or they’d managed to kill each other off. And she had no idea if help was on the way. “Keep going,” she said to Dunbar. “Head downhill as much as you can. Come morning, they’ll be looking for us.”
“No way,” Dunbar said, taking cover behind an adjacent tree. “You need all the firepower you can get.”
“I’ll follow you as soon as it’s clear. That’s an order.”
Dunbar laughed. “Sorry, I don’t work for Homeland.”
“Everyone works for Homeland.”
“Can’t do it—if I left you hanging out to dry, my ass would be—”
A figure lurched out of the dark fifteen feet away.
Cam shouted, “Drop your weapon, federal agents.”
“I’m FBI, I’m FBI,” a woman called.
“Come forward slowly, keep your hands out to your sides,” Cam said.
Sky pushed past Cam with a sharp cry. “Loren!” She threw her arm around Loren’s waist. “Loren, God, you’re hit.”
“I’m okay. I’m okay.” Loren leaned into Sky. “You hurt?”
“Nothing serious.”
Loren peered at Cam. “Loren McElroy, Director Roberts. We ought to move our asses out of here.”
“I agree.” Cam motioned toward the forest. “They’ll be looking for us before long. If we can find a defensible position, we might be able to hold them off until an extraction team finds us.”
“We’ve already got aerial surveillance,” Loren said. “They’ll have eyes on us soon if they don’t already, and a Delta Team on the ground before morning. I’m the least injured. You two go, and I’ll guard the rear.”
“I’m not leaving you,” Sky said.
“Nobody’s leaving anyone.” Cam put some weight on her leg, gritted her teeth when pain knifed up her calf. “Everyone check your ammo, and then let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter Forty
Blair’s cell phone rang, followed half a second later by Stark’s. Blair stood, pressed the phone to her ear. “Yes?”
“She’s safe,” Lucinda said.
Blair wrapped one arm around her middle, fighting off a wave of dizziness, as relief poured through her. Turning away from Stark, who spoke in a low murmur to someone, she walked to the hotel window and looked out over the snowy vista. The early-morning sun was so bright, tears filled her eyes. “Where is she?”
“They’re en route by helo to the 366th Med Group at Mountain Home base. They might be there by now.”
Hospital. The word cut her breath. “Is she hurt?”
“Blair,” Lucinda said gently, “I don’t have all the details. There are some injuries, yes. All of them have been through a lot. But they’re all alive.”
“Did you talk to her?”
“No. All I got was a sit rep from the Delta Team leader that they’d made contact and were extracting three agents. What matters is they’re safe now.”
“Thank you. Thank you, Luce.” Blair’s mind finally started working. “I need to get over there.”
“Just be careful. We don’t know the status of the kidnappers or how many others might be involved who weren’t at the compound.”
“Stark is here. I’ll be fine. I have to go.” Blair disconnected and slid the phone into a pocket. She took several deep breaths and turned to Stark. “How soon can we leave?”
“I’ve already called the team. We’ll have a car downstairs by the time you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” Blair threw her things into her suitcase, and they were on their way in less than five minutes.
Once on the road, Blair curled up in the corner of the SUV and stared out the window. Cam was alive. She couldn’t think of a single thing that mattered beyond that. She just needed to see her, to know how badly she was hurt, to touch her. God, to touch her again.
“Here,” Stark said, handing her a cup of coffee. “You’ll need this. If you’re hungry we’ve got doughnuts.”
Blair stared at the takeout cup that said Chrissie’s in big swirly pink letters. “Where did it come from?”
Stark smiled. “Diner across the street. I told Mac to grab something when he was bringing the car around.”
“You’re really going above and beyond the call, and I appreciate it.”
“I don’t think so.” Stark sighed. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like enough.”
“Believe me, I never want you to have to do more, because I know what that would mean.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Stark said. “I wouldn’t want to do anything else. It’s just that…I wanted to be out there looking for the commander as badly as you did.”
“Just remember that Cam didn’t have to spend any time worrying about me because of you. And that helped her do what she needed to do.”
Stark blushed. “I hope so.”
The SUV slowed at the gate, the guard checked their IDs, and then they moved onto the air force base and followed the signs to the medical center. Another guard directed them to the emergency entrance. Blair climbed out and, surrounded by her detail, made her way into the ER. A youngish man with short brown hair and flashing dark eyes, wearing scrubs, came forward immediately.
“Ms. Powell,” he said, “I’m Captain Guzman. If you’ll come with me.”
“I need to see Director Roberts.”
“Yes. Right this way.”
The captain took her a
nd the others down a hall past a warren of small rooms enclosed with curtains to a windowless waiting area with a vending machine, a few plain club chairs, and a TV that sat blank and silent in one corner. The doctor seemed to fade away as Blair stepped into the room, but that might have been her imagination. The only thing that mattered was that Cam was standing there. Blair hesitated, taking her in. She wore a scrub shirt that said 366th Medical Group above the breast pocket and matching pants. She’d made an attempt to clean up—her hair was wet—but a spreading bruise shadowed her throat and a million tiny scratches marred the backs of her hands and her left cheek. Someone had hurt her, and Blair wanted them dead.
“I brought you a change of clothes,” Blair finally said.
“Thanks.” Cam caressed Blair’s cheek, kissed her. “I’m glad you’re here. I’m okay. How are you?”
“You’re limping.”
Cam smiled crookedly. “You’re very observant. It wasn’t a bullet.”
Blair grasped Cam’s shoulders gently, needing the solid substance of her beneath her fingers. She kissed the angle of Cam’s jaw away from the bruise. “What was it?”
“A splinter the size of a redwood. It went right through. They stitched it up. Ought to be fine in a week or so.”
“No other damage?” Blair let her hands drift down over Cam’s chest, felt the beat of Cam’s heart beneath her fingers. Strong. Steady. Her world righted. The terror that had haunted her for hours disappeared. Cam’s arms came around her and she let herself be held. She pressed her cheek to Cam’s shoulder. “Well? What else?”
Cam rubbed her cheek against Blair’s hair. Sighed. “Just some scratches, a muscle strain or two. We did some hiking to get away from the compound.”
“What about Agent Dunbar?”
“She got hit in the shoulder. They took her to the OR to clean her wound. She should be all right.”
“And the kidnappers?”
Cam closed her eyes, drew in the sweet scent of Blair’s shampoo and the summer rain aroma that was distinctly Blair. “We’ve got agents closing in on the compound from all directions. There was a firefight between the militia and a local biker gang. A lot of casualties. We don’t have a count yet—I doubt we’ll even have identification on most of them for a few days.”
Blair wrapped her arms around Cam’s waist and leaned back to study her. She was all right—she was Cam, resilient and sure. And very tired. Shadows deepened the hollows beneath her eyes. She took Cam’s hand, led her to the sofa against one wall, and curled up against Cam’s side. Cam needed to rest, but she needed to talk out the pain and fear too. She was strong, not inhuman. And Blair needed to touch her. Needed her above all else. “What about the woman who took you? The one negotiating with Lucinda?”
“I don’t know. She might be one of the dead or wounded. She could’ve gotten away. I’m sure some did.”
“You have to find her.”
“Oh, we will.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“I have a pretty good idea. I know she’s Jennifer Pattee’s sister.” Cam stroked Blair’s arm, held her close. “But there’s a lot we still don’t know yet. I don’t know where they came from. Or who the moneyman is behind it all. We don’t know the true identities of the FALA leaders. We’ve got a lot more to go on, and after we scour the compound, or what’s left of it, we’ll know more.”
“At least now you’ll have help.”
Cam sighed. “A blessing and a curse. The more people involved, the tougher the security.”
“I called Valerie.”
Cam laughed. “Well, now I know where the Predators came from.”
“We owe her.”
“Valerie won’t think so. But I’ll make sure there are no consequences.”
Blair slid her hand under Cam’s scrub shirt and stroked Cam’s abdomen. The hard heat of her was enough to keep her warm for eternity. “This was scary.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“No, you don’t need to be. I’m okay.” Blair kissed Cam’s throat. “But I’m really, really pissed. This kind of thing can’t happen here. We have to do something about it.”
Cam spread her fingers through Blair’s hair and caressed the back of her neck. “It’s going to be a long war.”
“Maybe, but it’s one that has to be fought. I have to travel with my father during the campaign. You know, that, right?”
“Yes. You’ll be careful.”
“You think we’ll be targets?”
Cam’s arm tightened around her. “We probably all will be.”
“Well then, we’ll just have to be prepared for anything.”
“I love you. When I was out there, knowing you were counting on me, trusting me to come home—that made all the difference.”
“I love you too.” Blair settled her head on Cam’s shoulder. “And that’s what will let us win in the end.”
Chapter Forty-one
Loren paced outside the operating room, drinking a cup of vending-machine coffee she couldn’t taste, searching for someone who could tell her something. Hospital personnel she couldn’t classify streamed by, pushing stretchers, carrying specimens, talking in urgent tones. She was starting to feel invisible when a green-eyed blonde in scrubs who looked familiar did a double take and stopped in front of her. Her ID read Captain Gabrielle Hill. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the ER for observation?”
Loren shook her head. “I’m fine. I need to be here.”
“At least sit down. You’ve got a concussion. That is a bullet wound on your forehead, you know.”
“Barely touched me.”
Captain Hill rolled her eyes. “I so love taking care of alpha warriors.”
Loren smiled. “See that a lot, I guess.”
“All the time. Who are you waiting for?”
“The FBI agent with the gunshot wound to the shoulder. Can you find out how she’s doing?”
“Who are you?” Hill asked.
Loren didn’t have ID, but at least she was wearing the scrubs they’d given her in the receiving area and not her biker gear. Her jacket and pants had been trashed from tears, burn holes, and embedded grime and grit. She’d had to turn over her weapon to the Delta troops, but since the place was on an air force base and crawling with feds, she wasn’t too worried about safety. So far, she’d been flying under the official radar and hadn’t been questioned as to just how she fit into the big picture. She wasn’t exactly authorized to be in on this operation, but since Roberts knew who she was, she figured her ass was covered.
“That’s a tricky question. I’m federal, but I can’t prove it. I think Director Roberts will vouch for me—I came in with her.”
“I saw the three of you arrive.” The captain looked like she was waiting for more.
“That’s not what I’m doing here, though,” Loren said. “The agent in there is my lover.”
Hill nodded. “Wait here.”
She donned paper booties and a cap from a shelf by the OR doors, entered a sequence of numbers on a keypad, and disappeared into the hallway beyond.
Alone again, Loren watched the second hand on a round clock with big black numbers, visible through the window in the closed OR door, go around three times before Hill reappeared.
After disposing of the cap and booties, Hill said, “Come with me and try to look like you work here. Lose the coffee.”
Loren followed, dumping the paper cup in the first trash can she passed. Hill pushed the red button on another set of doors marked Recovery.
“She’s in bay eleven. You’ve got five minutes,” Hill murmured, “then you need to get out of here before we both get written up.”
“Thanks.”
Only two of the beds in the recovery room held patients, and bay eleven, nearest the door, was curtained off from the rest of the room. Loren slipped inside. Sky lay on a hospital bed covered by a thin white blanket. She appeared to be asleep. Her eyes were closed, her lids a bruised, fragile blue. Her lips were pale, her
cheeks chalk white. Monitors beeped, a blood-pressure cuff automatically inflated and deflated on Sky’s right arm, and clear fluids ran through intravenous lines into her wrist.
Loren eased up to the head of the bed, leaned over, and kissed Sky’s forehead. “It’s Loren, Sky. You’re okay now.”
Sky’s eyes opened. “Hi.”
“Hi.” Loren’s throat was so full she couldn’t say more. Sky was alive. She couldn’t think past that.
“You okay?” Sky whispered.
“I’m good.” Loren brushed the backs of her fingers over Sky’s cheek. Everything was clear now. Sky was alive and anything was possible. “Real good. How you feeling?”
“Like that bitch shot me.”
Loren grinned. “You’re in the recovery room at Mountain Home Air Force Base. They just got done taking care of you. You’re gonna be okay.”
“What about you?” Sky’s brows drew down. “I remember blood. You were hurt.”
The beeping on one of the monitors increased, and the readouts for Sky’s pulse and blood pressure jumped. Loren leaned closer, stroked her hair. “Hey, I’m fine. I’m up walking around. It was just a graze. You know head wounds always bleed a lot.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. I’m sure.”
“So…” Sky paused. Licked her lips. “Thirsty.”
Loren looked around. Saw a Styrofoam container with a straw by the bed. Figuring it wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t meant for Sky, she placed the straw to her lips. “Just a little, baby.”
Sky drank. Let out a long breath. “Thanks. How long will I be in here?”
“I don’t know.”
“You can’t go back to Silver Lake. Too risky. Your cover—”
“Shh. Don’t worry about that. I’ll figure it out.”
Sky’s eyes sharpened. She tried to sit up and failed. “Loren, listen. Sooner or later, Ramsey will figure out someone was feeding intelligence to the feds. He’ll trace me and find out I wasn’t Lisa. And then he’ll start looking at you. You can’t—”
