A Warrior’s Mission

by Rita Herron

  Still, several details about the kidnapping disturbed him, questions that had led the police to believe that someone inside the family had been involved in the kidnapping. Mainly, how had Grace or whoever had helped him gotten into the Langworthy mansion and abducted the baby from the house without being detected? The Langworthy security was state of the art. Who exactly had been in the house? Had Grace had a conspirator whom the Langworthys trusted, someone they hadn’t questioned or wouldn’t suspect? The maid? A friend? Someone on Langworthy’s political campaign? So far, Colorado Confidential had uncovered nothing.

  Night saw face again. Sanders had been questioned during the preliminary interviews. But what was his relationship with Holly now? Once she returned with Sky, would she and Sanders pick up where they left off?

  The idea caused his body to clench with anxiety. He forced himself to another plane, a level where he separated body and mind, using the ancient skills of his ancestors as he practiced the art of mastering his control and emotions. Then, and only then, did he finally allow himself to fall asleep.

  But in the wee hours of the morning, Holly’s troubled cries woke him again. He lay in the darkness, holding her tightly.

  “No, Daddy…no, I can’t do that. I can’t marry him,” Holly whispered in a tortured voice. “Night doesn’t know about the baby, his son…”

  Jesus. She was talking about him.

  “I won’t, I don’t want to get married. I…I don’t love him.” She cried out, pulling away from him as if recoiling in horror. “I could never love him, and I…won’t trap him into marriage.”

  Night rolled to a sitting position and bolted from the bed, his heart hammering. He had known a rich princess like Holly Langworthy couldn’t love a man like himself, a man torn between a world of ancient customs and modern evil.

  But hearing her say the words aloud cut him to the core.

  WHEN HOLLY WOKE, she realized three things. Her head was killing her, she had had nightmares of her father trying to coerce her into marrying Carlton Sanders and she felt very much alone. Where was Night?

  Had Grace come for him, taken him away? Killed him?

  Panic rippled through her. She tried to sit up, but a dizzy spell caught her off guard and she swayed. Bracing herself with one hand, she lay back and waited until it passed, then rolled to her side to check the room.

  Night stood with his back to her, his massive shoulders squared, his body so rigid she ached to touch him and soothe away the tension. But he didn’t want her.

  Hadn’t he told her that enough times?

  Although he had joined her in bed for a while. She’d felt the warmth of his body and heard his low gruff voice reassuring her. But maybe she’d been dreaming then, too.

  “Night?”

  If possible, he stiffened even more, then pivoted toward her, the gentle assurance that he had offered her the day before vacant from his cold brown eyes. He seemed so distant, a million miles away.

  “Did something happen?” Nausea rolled through her. She remembered the fight, Mary trying to take her baby, Bertram running in with the gun, then pain and needles and fear.

  He stared at her, his mouth in a flat line, and fear pounced in her veins.

  “Is Schyler okay? Mary didn’t escape with him, did she?”

  “No.”

  She eased herself up, fighting queasiness, giving her eyes time to ajust to the dimness of the room and to let the blurriness recede.

  “How do you feel?”

  She raised a hand to touch the bandage on her forehead. “I’ll live.”

  He nodded curtly. “But not up to traveling?”

  She took a deep breath. Had Grace given her some virus? She felt strange, disoriented, hot and cold at the same time. But she would not complain to Night. She didn’t have time to be weak. “If you can sneak us out of here with Schyler, I’ll do my best to keep up.”

  He almost smiled, then seemed to catch himself. “Then I have a plan.” He came over and sat down beside her on the bed. She started to reach out and touch him, but he stiffened and spread his hands on his thighs, so she clutched the blanket covering her.

  Wearing that iron mask expression of his, he leaned over and mouthed, “The place might be bugged. Now listen, this is what I want you to do….”

  THE RATIONAL part of Night’s mind warned him Holly wasn’t ready to try an escape, but he refused to listen. Every minute they spent in Grace’s clutches made them vulnerable.

  Just as every minute he spent with Holly made him vulnerable.

  An emotion he could not afford to feel. He had a job to do and he needed to focus. Not only did his son’s life depend on it, but it was imperative that Colorado Confidential stop Grace’s chemical warfare research. The only way they could determine his exact activities was to seize control of Grace and his lab. Night had to escape, contact his fellow operatives, let the DPS know what they were dealing with, so they could confiscate all of Grace’s files.

  Who knew when Grace might completely lose his mind and decide to attack another segment of the population with one of his dangerous germs? Or what if Grace sold some of his germs or a virus to a foreign government, one of the enemy countries who would use Grace’s work to destroy the U.S.?

  With either scenario, they’d have a national crisis on their hands, if not an international one.

  Night tried to distance himself from the fear in Holly’s eyes. He couldn’t forget the words she’d murmured in her dreams—she didn’t love him. She would never marry him.

  “Are you ready?”

  She nodded, then stretched back out on the bed, preparing herself to play the role they’d discussed. He banged on the door. “Grace, come here! Holly needs some pain medication! Can you hear me?”

  It took several minutes and more yelling before he heard footsteps. Thankfully, Grace appeared instead of Bertram. His eyes looked sluggish, his hair disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his glasses sat crookedly on the end of his nose.

  “I brought some Demerol.” He produced the needle, then closed the door and approached Holly.

  She played the part well, thrashing her head back and forth, holding her temples with her fingers and groaning. “Make it stop, my head’s going to explode, please…”

  Grace patted her arm, a frown puckering his bushy eyebrows as he felt her forehead. “Oh, my, you feel a little warm.” He tapped the hypodermic. “This should make your head feel better and let you sleep. I’ll come back to take more blood and figure out what’s going on.”

  Just as Grace raised the needle, Night jumped him from behind. Grace was agile for an old man, but adrenaline surged through Night. He landed a swift blow to Grace’s midsection, knocked the shot from his hand, and karate chopped him at the base of his neck, sending the man to the floor. Then he grabbed the needle and jammed it into Grace’s arm, bent and searched his pocket for the man’s gun. When he found it, he aimed it, ready to fire.

  Holly jumped off the bed, leaped over Grace’s body and they raced into the hallway.

  Chapter Seven

  Holly held her breath as they darted through the corridors. Soon they would get Sky, soon they would escape. Soon they would be home.

  She had to believe that.

  Her head was swimming, but she clutched Night’s hand to steady herself, and crept behind him as he rounded the corner to the corridor housing the nursery. She was amazed at the ease with which he found his way through the maze of hallways, how his senses guided him. He moved so silently she couldn’t even hear his boots on the hard flooring beneath them.

  How long would Grace stay unconscious? Had he already awakened and alerted Bertram they were on their way? What would Grace do to them if he caught them?

  Her chest heaved as Night slowed, crooking his thumb toward the nursery and gesturing for her to stay behind him. Sky’s cries echoed through the closed doorway, tugging at her heart. Night had taken the keys from Grace before they’d run. He jammed the key in the hol
e and slowly turned the knob. Motioning for her to hide behind him, he raised the gun, then slid into the room. Holly inched up behind him. Mary was bent over the changing table, cooing to Schyler in an attempt to calm his cries.

  Expecting Bertram or Dr. Grace, Mary’s eyes widened in alarm when she saw Night wielding a gun.

  Mary hurriedly gathered the baby to her chest. “You can’t have him, he’s my baby now.”

  Holly bit her tongue to keep from lashing out. Any noise might alert Bertram.

  “Just stay still and you won’t get hurt,” Night warned.

  Mary’s expression turned desperate. “No, you can’t have him.”

  But Night stalked toward her, his size overpowering hers as he reached for Schyler. Mary tightened her grip, but Holly hurried forward and took the baby. Schyler quieted instantly.

  “Sit down in the chair,” Night instructed.

  When Mary remained frozen, Night pushed her into it, tied a cloth around her mouth, then grabbed her arms and tied them behind her to the rocking chair. At the same time, Holly stuffed some bottles and diapers in the diaper bag, then reached for the tounny. “Get that blanket,” Night instructed. “And a hat and extra blanket for the baby.”

  Holly obeyed, then they ran out the door, locking Mary in behind them.

  Night checked every corner, searching for Dr. Grace or Bertram. Once he heard footsteps and shoved Holly into the shadow of an overhang. They waited until the sound passed, then he waved for her to follow. Instead of going toward the door he’d entered near the waterfall, Night went the opposite direction down a long, winding hallway. Holly realized he wanted to locate the helicopter, but wondered if they were wasting time.

  His instincts seemed to be on target though, as only minutes later, after winding in and out of several corridors housing labs, they found a door that led upstairs to a garage area which could have held a chopper.

  “Damn it, it’s empty.” Night guided her outside. “Bertram must be on an errand for Grace.” Night assumed Bertram was the pilot.

  Holly nodded, breathing in fresh air and light for the first time in days as they stepped outside. Night guided her to a patch of woods behind the side entrance to the fortress, and placed Sky in her arms while he quickly dug his backpack out of the underbrush.

  Suddenly Grace appeared, staggering from the drug, but waving another gun. He aimed and fired at Night.

  Night shoved Holly forward. “Run!”

  She darted into the woods, hugging her son to her as she jumped over roots and bushes. Night followed, dodging a bullet. Their only hope was that Grace was too weak from the injection to keep chasing after them.

  WHEN THEY finally reached a small ravine and Night decided they had cleared the gunfire, he stopped long enough to fashion a baby carrier out of the blanket. Then Holly helped him secure Schyler to his back. Holly was winded and flushed, but she hadn’t complained. Undaunted, she slung the backpack over her shoulder as if she tackled hiking the rocky terrain of the Colorado mountains every day.

  “We’re heading southwest toward Ouray.” He pointed through the thicket of trees to the steep jagged peaks beyond. “I parked the jeep in a ravine at the base of that mountain.”

  “How far?”

  “Two days.” Unfortunately Grace had confiscated Night’s cell phone. “I have another phone back in the jeep, we can call for help. Colleen and the others must have gotten lost in the storm.”

  Holly nodded. “You think Grace followed us?”

  “I don’t know. He probably contacted Bertram in the chopper. Be on the alert.”

  She nodded again, her concerned gaze on Schyler, who wiggled behind Night, cooing.

  “We’re taking you home,” Holly whispered. “Where that crazy Dr. Grace will never get to you again.”

  Night tensed, wondering if she would shut him out of her son’s life as well. But they’d have to discuss their relationship later. “Let’s go. We need to travel while it’s daylight. Once the sun goes down, the will drop.”

  Winter sunshine slashed through the pines and fur trees, splicing shades of color over the pearly white snow and icy ridges as they climbed. Since the lab had been built in a small canyon, literally carved out of the San Juan Mountains, they had to climb over the mountain, then descend on the other side. In November the daytime temperature ranged in the thirties, but at night dipped into the low teens, sometimes lower. Night intended to get them to shelter before then.

  The elements could be brutal at high altitudes, and exhaustion would make Holly and the baby more susceptible to injury or illness. A light snowstorm had already struck, but dark storm clouds hovered in the distance, promising heavier snowfall before night.

  Not wanting to alarm Holly, he kept his worries to himself, and maintained a steady pace, guiding them toward the general location of Ouray and the ravine where he’d left the jeep, although he had to zigzag around the mountain to avoid some of the more difficult impasses.

  The San Juan Mountains were rugged, sharp inclines with gorges that made many patches nearly impossible to climb, especially for an amateur or a couple with a baby. So far, Schyler had been amicable, cooing and jabbering, and later, dozing off. Holly remained quiet, climbing behind him, matching his pace, only occasionally reaching for him to take her hand and help her cross the narrow ledges. Those moments were awkward, the tension between them palpable, especially since he couldn’t shake the words she’d muttered in her sleep.

  I don’t love him, I could never love him.

  Hadn’t Charity said the same thing? I only went to bed with him, Mother, I’d never marry a Native.

  He rubbed the name bead necklace. Holly’s words stung even more because they had created a child together.

  A rumbling sound broke through his thoughts and he raised his hand to shield the sun from his eyes, searching the skies. Colleen would most likely send a search party in a chopper, too.

  But Grace had probably alerted Bertram and they would be combing the area for them.

  He spotted a semblance of a trail and turned right, veering onto a faint footpath that tunneled between rows and rows of dark-limbed pines. Better to be hidden by the forest than out in the open where Bertram could spot them if he flew overhead. Unfortunately, the shade of the trees robbed the air of the sun’s warmth, and as he checked over his shoulder, he saw Holly blow out a stream of foggy breath. Nestled inside the makeshift blanket baby carrier with his cap on, Schyler still slept, safe and warm for now.

  Holly glanced up then and met his gaze. Her cheeks were rosy from the exertion, her nose slightly red, her eyes bright with the earnestness of their hike. She latched onto a tree limb to support herself as she trekked up the incline.

  A brief glimpse of hunger flared in her eyes. Or had he imagined it?

  No, it flickered again, the same kind of yearning that she’d worn like an open invitation when he’d played bodyguard at her house. The kind of naked longing that made him want to forget their different lifestyles, their backgrounds, the fact that she’d given birth to his son without bothering to inform him.

  Dammit. After hearing her say’t love him, how could he possibly still want her?

  BY EARLY EVENING, snow was falling in a thick fog, and Holly had lost track of the hours and which direction they were traveling. Night led them through the darkest parts of the forest-covered mountain, zigzagging around various gorges and cliffs, siding around the ridges and bypassing the more straightforward open areas. She understood. He didn’t want Bertram to spot them. She’d heard the helicopter twice, circling above, searching for them as a hunter stalks his prey. But the climbing was hard, especially since she still felt weak from the concussion.

  Night had no problem. His physical prowess and strength astounded her, as did his calm demeanor. She’d never seen anyone so instinctively in tune with his surroundings. It was as if he and nature had become one, as if he only had to listen and the wind or the sun told him the right direction to go. Had he inherited those instin
cts from his Cheyenne ancestors? Had her son?

  Her father didn’t want Schyler to know any part of his Native American heritage. But could she deny her son the strong bond of fatherhood? Especially now that she knew Night wanted to be a part of his life?

  And what had happened back at the lab? One minute, she’d thought she and Night were bridging the gap between them. But since she’d hit her head, he’d become more distant and brooding than before.

  The smell of a dead animal penetrated the sharp piney smell of the woods, and she glanced to her right, down the jutting cliff and grimaced. A small deer lay on its side, the stark rawness of its bloody carcass reminding her of their peril. She dragged her gaze away, focusing on Night’s broad back. He climbed on with amazing skill and fortitude, not winded, his body resilient and full of energy while hers sagged with fatigue.

  She was losing steam fast. They had stopped only once, no longer than ten minutes, long enough to feed Schyler a bottle, check his diaper and grab a snack and some water from the backpack of supplies Night had packed. Night had made efforts to cover their tracks. The temperature had already begun to drop, sending a chill through her denim shirt. She desperately wished she’d had time to retrieve her coat and gloves before they’d hit the woods.

  Night said nothing to her as he led the way, although he constantly spoke in hushed tones to their son, telling him about the earth, naming the trees, describing tracking methods and assuring him they would soon rest. If she hadn’t been so exhausted herself, his brooding manner and intentional dismissal of her presence might have grated on her nerves. But her feet ached so badly she thought she couldn’t move them anymore. Blisters rubbed raw beneath her boots, her hands were numb and stiff, and in spite of the fact that she was shivering from the cold, a hot flush beaded her face every few minutes and chased down her spine.

  She had a fever, felt as if she was coming down with a flu. But even if she was sick, she would damn well not complain or even mention it to Night. Night had risked his life to rescue her and their son, and she would not slow him down or solidify his opinion of her as a pampered rich, weak girl. Besides, if they stopped, Grace might catch them and take Schyler. She’d die before she’d let him get his hands on her son again.