Miki winced slightly. She looked more uncomfortable than ever, trying to move her leg without shifting Truman’s body.
“What can I do?” Max asked quietly.
“A Brandy Alexander with one of those cute little umbrellas would be nice.” Miki gave a crooked smile and then yawned. “A pedicure and a deep tissue massage would be a bonus.” She yawned again. “Barring that, maybe you could—”
Max bent beside her, noticing the slab of rock that dug into her shoulder. Carefully he lifted her up, slid his folded vest beneath her side and neck, then settled her back on the ground. “Better?”
She stared at him, looking tired and more than a little dazed. “Who are you really?” she whispered.
Max walked around her and picked up his canteen. “I’m the person you’re going to have to trust.”
The silence seemed long and far too heavy. Then she shook her head. “Wrong again. I make it a firm rule not to trust anyone but the face that looks back at me in the mirror every day. Sometimes not even her.”
“Anybody ever tell you that you’ve got issues?”
She gave a tired shrug. “A few. I didn’t pay attention because I didn’t trust them.” She smiled crookedly, her eyes closing. “Shut the door on the way out,” she murmured, snuggling closer to Truman.
They made quite a sight, Max thought. Truman’s head rested on her chest, his body half covered by Max’s black T-shirt. Right now both of them were oblivious to the world.
Max tried to look away, but something held him immobile. Simple weariness, he thought. But there was something deep and real about the bond of trust he sensed between woman and dog. There was no questioning, calculating or negotiating between them. It simply was. Max wasn’t sure he had ever trusted anyone that much, outside of his Foxfire teammates. He wondered how it would feel to let down his guard that way. Just once.
Clean and simple, he told himself harshly. No strings and no emotions. Attachments broke your focus during a mission, but emotions could get you killed faster than bullets.
Max wasn’t taking chances on either.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE SEA WAS A RESTLESS curtain of silver beneath a darkening sky. Enrique Cruz sat without moving, hands locked on his seat. His focus was cold, intense and impenetrable. For a moment there had been a stirring of something familiar below him between the stretch of open sea and the dozen small islands scattered along the horizon.
He had sensed familiarity. And danger. He had seen what looked like fog, and the weather pattern continued to bother him. Now he opened his awareness, scattered a broad net of energy and waited for a response. The process had always seemed a little like sonar, except the trigger was his mind, focused like a weapon. Once he had been Foxfire’s best weapon, the first in a team of deadly warriors who fought in silence with skills no machine could detect.
Now Cruz fought only for himself. And his greatest wish was to cripple the men who had studied him, caged him and made him into a lab animal.
One day soon they would pay for that.
Sweat dotted his brow as the small seaplane circled. Once he sensed something…familiar, but he couldn’t trace it to a specific location. Give it time. Soon he would be able to verify his suspicions. “Go back,” he rasped. “Thirty degrees north. Hurry.”
His brother shifted uncertainly. “It is too late. Our fuel is already low. We must land, jefe. Tomorrow we can—”
In a savage movement, Cruz shot around in his seat and gripped his brother’s throat. “Now, I said! Never argue with my commands, imbecil. Tomorrow will be too late. He will be gone, hidden like the snake that trained him.”
The three other men in the plane’s small cabin watched in horror as Cruz slowly choked his own brother, but none dared to say a word for fear of a similar fate.
White-faced, Cruz muttered vows of death in a mix of Spanish and English. Then his hands opened and he took a harsh breath, staring at his brother, now unconscious. “Never mind. We will return tomorrow after my brother recovers,” he said unsteadily. “The snake can live for one more night.”
The pilot nodded, too afraid to speak. The small plane banked and circled back to the east, swallowed by a wall of sullen clouds.
The sun vanished over the ragged horizon, pulling behind it an endless curtain of night.
CHAPTER NINE
MIKI SAT UP ABRUPTLY and felt the ground spin.
She whimpered as the world went black and tilted sharply. Cradling her head, she opened her eyes slowly.
Truman was still asleep, draped over her chest, and Miki’s head felt as if it had been run over by a cement mixer. She had a vague memory of the fog that had come out of nowhere and Truman’s collapse, but the memories were little more than fragments strung together by threads. She couldn’t seem to hold any of them long enough to figure out how they fit together.
But something had happened, and it had been important.
Images began to return. She remembered how gentle Max had been with the dog and how carefully he’d arranged his vest under Miki’s head. He’d seemed vulnerable then, even wistful, and Miki hated that she had flinched at the sight of his chest and its web of silver scars.
What kind of car accident could have left him so badly hurt? Probably she would never know. He never talked about himself unless she probed hard.
Wind sighed outside the mouth of the cave. From where she lay, a corner of velvet sky burned with scattered stars that looked close enough to touch. Miki smoothed Truman’s head and fell back to sleep. Though it made no sense at all, she felt safe for the first time in weeks.
MAX DIDN’T CURSE, BUT he thought about it. Cool air rushed over his face as he moved silently through the night. With the probability that a hostile force was watching the nearby island, either directly or indirectly, he had only a few more hours to finish his surveillance, locate the target and extract—all without tipping off Cruz.
Now he had two civilians gumming up the works, and one of them was in bad shape. As for the woman, he still couldn’t decide whose side she was on or why it was starting to feel like a personal question.
Max studied the spot where he’d buried her shrug—or whatever the little sweater was called. He still couldn’t understand why she was so protective about a piece of clothing, especially one as beat-up as this was.
Crouching on the sand, he studied the darkness that stretched to the neighboring islands. He wouldn’t make radio contact until just before dawn, when he took his next trip out to the beached gunboat near the reef. That would give him enough time for a brief coded update about Truman’s condition and the airplane flyover.
After removing a camouflaged pack that he’d hidden in the sand, Max trotted into the trees and set up a sniper scope to view the ragged cove at the far side of the bay. As before, there was no sign of human presence. There had been no returning airplanes, either.
After an hour of continuous surveillance he stood up and stretched, working out the tension in his neck. From his cover behind a wall of bushes he could see the opening to the cave. So far Miki had stayed out of sight, along with Truman.
She had great legs, he’d give her that. None of that perpetual-teenager, skinny look too many women went for. The rest of her body wasn’t half bad either, though she was a little tall for his taste. What man liked to stand level with a woman when they kissed?
Max frowned, wondering where the idea of kissing her had come from. Probably it was due to their cramped quarters. He was a healthy male, after all. Like it or not, there was a quirky vitality about the woman that was…
Out of bounds.
Dead stupid and possibly dangerous.
Without making a sound, he crossed the moving shadows into the jungle. There was a higher vantage point two clicks to the south, and he wanted to make another long-range surveillance there. Once he was finished, he’d check the cave, but this time it would be quick and clinical. No personal questions and no intrusive thoughts about her body and that soft, full
mouth.
Ryker had taught him well.
Rule #8. Never tell the truth when a lie will do.
Most important of all was rule #9: Never forget that you’re different. This one was the easiest because Max’s life experiences hadn’t given him any opportunity to forget that fact. Being abandoned at birth in a cardboard box between the ammo and the valve grease at Wal-Mart left something of an impression when a person thought about his roots.
That was one of the reasons that Max didn’t dwell on the past. The memories of living through a string of foster homes that had taught him to be tough and keep his feelings hidden weren’t exactly Hallmark card-worthy. The present was a damned sight better, and Foxfire was the only family he needed.
Shouldering his second canteen and the sniper rifle, he set off for the cliffs. Soon he was swallowed up by the restless wall of the jungle.
THE SKY WAS STILL BLACK when Miki awoke. Though she tried not to move, Truman came awake, too, wagging his tail and licking her face eagerly. Miki watched the dog jump up and prowl the cave as if he had never been weak, let alone close to death. Only when the Lab found Max’s canteen and carried it to her did she realize how thirsty she was.
“Smart guy, aren’t you?” She smoothed Truman’s fluffy fur and laughed at the silly idea that a dog could read her thoughts. But her smile quickly faded. There were three who needed water now, so she would have to be economical. She gave a small amount to Dutch, listening to his steady breathing. Then she poured several inches into a small depression in the rocks, smiling when Truman finished it off enthusiastically. She took only one drink for herself. Max had made it clear that going outside could be very risky, and this canteen was their total reserve. Now it was half-empty. When it ran out…
Miki stood up, feeling shaky. The ground spun for a moment and she slammed into the wall of the cave, her arm striking rough rock. Pain shot up to her shoulder and when she cupped her elbow she felt blood on her fingers.
Stupid. She hated her clumsiness, which seemed to have gotten worse in the last few months. It had begun the summer she grew four inches, and her grace had never returned. Great genes, she thought.
But no more excuses. Something wasn’t right about her arm. As much as she hated doctors, she would schedule a complete physical once she got back to Santa Fe.
Assuming she lived through this nightmare.
Cupping her bleeding arm, Miki searched for the Mini-Mag light she had felt in Max’s vest. She hadn’t wanted to use it until necessary so she could conserve precious power. Now, in its clear beam, she saw rough walls gleaming with quartz fragments.
Something scuffled through the darkness at the cave entrance.
“Truman?”
There was no answering movement. The dog was gone.
Feeling a sudden stab of loneliness, Miki studied the small cave. She couldn’t stay here and do nothing. At least she could explore a little and look for a source of drinking water. They were going to need that soon.
She shoved up her sleeves and searched the other pockets on Max’s vest, hoping he might have a compass stashed there. She wasn’t an expert at orienting by the compass, but she knew enough of the basics to find her way back.
Before she could finish her search, Truman shot toward her, licked both her legs and then sniffed her right arm thoroughly, back and forth. He pressed his nose against her bloody fingers and licked her arm. With each pass the Lab seemed to become more excited, turning in sharp circles and bumping her leg.
“Take it easy, honey.” Miki held out her hand.
Truman backed away from her and bared his teeth. His head cocked as he took a hostile stance.
“Truman, what’s wrong?”
The Lab turned in another tight circle, his ears flattened against his head. Then he shot out of the cave and vanished into the darkness.
Miki stood frozen, confused by this sudden, inexplicable hostility. In the silence she felt a pang of utter loneliness. Truman had been the closest thing to a friend she had on this island, even if he was just a dog. His flight was unnvering. Sighing, she ran a hand through her hair, wincing at the tangles. It was going to take a week to clean up after this ordeal. A nice long bath with ylang-ylang oil was tops on her list after being rescued.
She stared around the cave restlessly, raising Max’s light for a closer look. Near the bottom of one wall she could see signs of earlier digging. Water had left a dirty trail in one spot where the floor was uneven, scored in deep lines. Miki had read about the complex fortifications used by both sides during the Pacific campaign of World War II. Once a natural cave, this space had probably been excavated for storage defenses. There could be dozens of hidden bunkers like this scattered across the island.
Holding the light in her teeth, Miki crouched down and ran her fingers over the cracked concrete. When she was nearly at the floor, she saw that something was off. After several minutes, she realized that the cracks were uneven and the stripes in the cement didn’t match. Even stranger, fresh cool air touched her face.
As realization hit, Miki began to smile. Could the manmade cave lead to a tunnel that had been sealed up and long forgotten? She had a hunch her search had just struck gold. Running her fingers along the floor, she searched for an opening or hidden latch, but all she managed to do was break two nails and skin her palm badly.
After ten minutes she sank down against the wall in exhaustion.
Her foot bumped a ridge on the floor.
Suddenly stone grated against cement, and the wall slowly began to move. Blinking, Miki watched a long crack appear, barely wide enough for her to squeeze through. After giving Dutch another small drink, she grabbed Max’s vest and pushed through the rough opening, gripped by excitement.
The air was thick with mold and rust, along with an ammonia smell that probably came from bird droppings. Bird droppings meant that the tunnel had been open to the outside at one time. With luck it would still be.
The current grew stronger, riffling her hair. In the tiny beam of her light Miki saw that something was moving on the uneven cement floor. Red eyes flashed, and she nearly screamed as a huge rat shot past her feet.
Fighting down her fear, she moved along the sloping tunnel, careful to keep the cool air in her face. As she climbed, the smell grew more intense, and she covered her face with the sleeve of her shirt to keep from gagging.
Suddenly wind gusted into her face. Directly overhead a tiny spot of light glinted from a distant star. Kit O’Halloran’s brother had been fanatic about studying the sea battles of World War II, and since Miki had a huge crush on Trace O’Halloran for most of her teenage years, she had studied the subject, too. That was before she had wised up and realized that if you had to change who you were to suit a man, he wasn’t worth having. But those old library books were priceless now because of their elaborate diagrams of fortifications on Iwo Jima—and her photographer’s eye, which never missed a detail. Miki remembered picture after picture of underground corridors with vertical access via ropes.
She looked up. She could still see one blinking star, a speck of hope in the colossal mess she’d landed in. The roof was fifteen feet high, too far to reach, and no ropes were visible in the shadows. Besides, any ropes would have rotted in the decades since the war ended.
Exhausted, she tried to think.
But calm planning had never been her strength. Recklessness, yes. Creativity, absolutely. But planning and continuity had always bored her senseless. Kit called her the Queen of Dropped Projects.
More red eyes flashed around her, and something jumped across her ankle.
Rats. This time she did scream, dancing from foot to foot. They had beady eyes, sharp teeth, nasty karma. Not that she knew if rats had karma or not, but if they did, it would definitely be nasty.
Gripping Max’s light, she started forward. A spider web hit her face, clinging to her hair and eyes despite her frantic attempts to wipe it away. As panic closed in, she forced herself to take deep breaths, trying
to stay calm and ignore the gleaming red eyes all around her. Then something else brushed her face.
Raising her light, Miki saw a rusting metal ladder strung from wire in the darkness above her, its end lost in the shadows over her head. Once there had been two sides, but one end had fallen. Now only a single knotted cable held the corroded rungs.
Back in sixth-grade gym Miki had sucked at climbing. Her gym teacher had sworn that someday she would find a use for that particular skill, but Miki had never believed it. Until now.
As rats skittered around her in the darkness, she held the light in her teeth, grabbed the ladder and started to climb.
Despite her karate classes, she was no Jackie Chan, and her movements were clumsy. Her shoulders ached and she could barely manage to hold on. Three times she lost her grip and slipped back to the ground, tearing welts across her palms. Angry, but on the verge of panic, she was almost ready to give up when a rat jumped up and nipped at her bare calf.
Miki screamed and shot up in the air, throwing hand over hand and straining upward while the wire swung wildly. Shadows danced on the rough cement shaft and she was almost too exhausted to feel the gust of wind that slipped through her hair where the shaft opened at the top.
Her shoulders throbbed, her whole body neared exhaustion as she clung to the twisting cable. Looking up, she saw a metal grate blocking her way out, but how could she hold on and push the metal lid open at the same time?
With clumsy movements, she caught one of the rungs under her left arm, and looped the wire over her shoulder. With her right hand, she banged hard at the circular piece of metal. Dirt and leaves tumbled down, blinding her. Her hand slipped.
She dropped three feet, gripped the line and climbed slowly back up, finally able to reach up and shove away the rusted grate, then pull herself out onto cool, rocky soil.
With a tortured gasp, she collapsed on the ground. One leg still dangled over the black hole, but she was too tired to crawl any farther.
Code Name: Bundle! Page 36
