by Kaylea Cross
Not that they saw themselves that way. Oh, no. They were heroes of the revolution. Heroic fighters in a guerilla war that had lasted decades. It was him they blamed. He could see it in their eyes.
The priest droned on and on. Finally, as one, they made the sign of the cross. It was a wonder they weren’t struck down dead on the spot for hypocrisy. If Tyrone had been looking for a sign that religion was bogus he’d have just found it. But he’d stopped believing three days ago when his little sister had been caught in the bomb his dad had built and his brothers had planted.
Prayers ended. Rage simmered.
The priest moved away for the mourners to pay their private respects. His father stood by the grave and looked down at the shiny white coffin for a long moment before turning away, deliberately pushing past Tyrone as he went. He fell back a step, shaking so hard from trying to rein the fury all in, that it was consuming him, cell by cell. His brothers stared at him stonily.
“What are you looking at?” he jeered.
“Shut your hole,” his father snarled.
“Or what? You’ll fecking kill me too?”
The patriarch of the family’s lips firmed. “Don’t think I’m not tempted,” he murmured.
Then his mother was in his face, wearing her old wool coat and a black scarf that she’d tied over her rampant curly hair. The whites of her eyes were red, skin blotchy. “Hush, love. Give your da some time and space.”
“I hope he gets all he needs in his own fucking cell in H-block.”
She slapped him. Hard. But her betrayal struck him harder. “That’s enough of that talk, Tyrone Dempsey.”
He rubbed his cheek. He should be used to it by now, but it always came as a shock.
“That’s your father you’re talking about. Show some respect.”
He almost choked. “Catch yourself on, Ma. He’s a fucking stone cold killer and you let him in your bed every night.” His voice had grown louder, accent thicker. Too loud for a churchyard full of mourners. Too loud for secrets this volatile. His dad turned to face him, his expression a cold mask of loathing.
Hatred welled up inside Tyrone. He hadn’t known what his father and brothers were planning to do, but he’d known they were planning to do something.
He stabbed his finger toward his da and raised his voice. “It was him! Paddy Dempsey who laid that bomb that killed twenty-seven people last Saturday, and the only reason you lot give a fuck is because he got Siobhan too.” His voice broke but he was done with this shit. He was done with living in the land of bigotry and misery. He looked at his ma. “How can you not see how wrong this is?”
His mother flinched and two of his brothers came over to give him some. God, he was ready. He’d never hurt a fly in his life but he was desperate to pound something or someone into the ground.
“You’re the one who was supposed to watch her. It was a fucking Orange parade.” Ronan grabbed him around the back of the neck and leaned so close their faces were touching. Tears drenched his brother’s cheeks. “And keep yer fucking voice down—the Brits’ll be watching.”
Tyrone pushed him away. “It was market day, you ignorant shite, or are you too stupid to understand women and children go to market on the weekend to get their fucking groceries even when the Orange men are marching?”
“You were told to watch her.” Declan—the brother closest to him in age—shoved him hard. Twenty pounds heavier, he’d always liked throwing his weight around. Tyrone didn’t give a shit. He welcomed a pounding almost as much as he wanted to dish one out. It might numb the pain of losing his sister. If only for a few brief moments.
“I was in the fucking kitchen listening to the fucking radio the way you told me. She snuck out of the bedroom window. I didn’t know she’d gone to town to meet Rory until you came home looking like the cat who’d got the fucking cream.” He shoved his brother, who fell back a step. Surprise widened Declan’s eyes before they narrowed with malice. Tyrone sneered. “You’re not enjoying the victory quite so much now, are you, Declan?”
Declan’s skin went bright white. “It wasn’t supposed to go off until later. Until the shops were closed and the fucking Brits were doing their rounds.”
“Jaysus, will you listen to yourself? You fucking loved the carnage, the wreckage. You strutted around that kitchen like a rooster in a cockfight, right up until we found out she was gone.” Dead. Siobhan was dead. She’d never grin at him again. Never tug his hair or tease his gentle nature when surrounded by all these killers. Dead, dead, dead.
They were right. Siobhan was dead because of him. Not because he’d failed to keep her locked up in her bedroom like an animal, but because he’d let his father and brothers ply their deadly trade and never said a word. Never fought back.
His vision blurred, or maybe it was just the rain. It didn’t matter. He looked at his da who was staring at him like he wanted to put a bullet in his brain. Well, he knew the fucking feeling. He pointed again. “You killed her. And I’ll never forgive you for it.”
He turned his back on them and started walking. Things were about to change, and there’d never be any going back.
The touch of a hand on his face snapped him back to the present. Axelle. The cave. Russian terrorist. There wasn’t much left of the boy he’d once been and sometimes he missed the naivety and innocence. He was shaking, and grateful for the darkness.
“I’m sorry,” she said. He could hear her thinking, heard the hesitant probing in her voice. “You told me you were dead to your family—did you have something to do with her death? Is that why you try so hard to save people now?”
He’d forgotten the sharpness of her brain.
“No. I didn’t kill her. They did.” He didn’t want to reveal all his deep dark secrets. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “We may as well cover some ground if we’re both awake. Let’s go.”
An hour later, the batteries in the torch began to fade. Not good. They were making progress but without light they were going to struggle to cover much ground. The spots of blood had disappeared, suggesting the Russian had managed to patch himself up and keep moving. Dogged, determined, old bugger.
They got to a divide in the tunnel.
Down one Dempsey could clearly hear the rumble of fast-flowing water. He hesitated.
“I feel a breeze.” Axelle went to take a step forward but he stopped her and pulled her close, whispering in her ear.
“This is where I’d set a trap.”
She moved back around the corner to give them more cover. Dempsey dropped his pack and stripped off his body armor.
“What are you doing?” Her expression was outraged as he tried to hand it to her.
“I only have one vest. I want you to wear it.”
She folded her arms, her eyes glinted but she kept her voice low. “Why are you here, Sergeant Tyrone Dempsey?”
Use of his full name and title gave him pause. “To catch a known Russian terrorist.”
“This is your job. Right? Your mission.” He nodded. “And they provide you with body armor to do your job, right?”
“It’s personal now.” After another look at her determined face he pressed his lips together and nodded. “It’s my job, yes. That doesn’t mean—”
She held up her hand. “I appreciate you rescuing me—I do.” Her eyes flashed with unexpected fervor. “Because I couldn’t have survived in here alone. But no way in hell am I wearing your bulletproof vest when you’re the one he’ll be shooting at.”
“Axelle—”
“No.”
“Axelle—”
“No. We can argue about it all day.” She was someone who was used to giving orders not taking them. At least she was getting some of her mettle back, but damn, he’d rather it happened a little later in the operation. “I’m not changing my mind.” She stood in the wide stance he used when he was determined to get his own way.
He pulled the vest back over his head. Damn stubborn woman. “Why did you become a wildlife biologist?” It was sudd
enly important he knew what made her tick.
She frowned at the change in topic. “Because animals need people who care enough to fight for them.”
It wasn’t so different to why he’d become a soldier. To stand up for those who couldn’t stand up for themselves. He stared at her as their light faded. For some crazy reason he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her tight against him. Hip to hip. Her eyes widened before her gaze dropped to his lips, and he slowly lowered his mouth and kissed her—half expecting a kick in the balls for his audacity. Instead she wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning in as she kissed him back.
Her body felt amazing. Lean and strong, but soft in all the right places. Her mouth like hot wet silk. She probed the seam of his lips and he deepened the kiss, holding her hard against him so she could feel his arousal, feel how much she turned him on. He didn’t know the last time he’d wanted a woman like this. Like his brain was going to explode if he didn’t have her, right here, right now.
It was a heart-pounding, skin-scorching, soul-blasting kiss, and he didn’t want it to end.
Breathing hard, he released her mouth and rested his forehead against hers. He stared into her dark eyes, wondering if his held the same mixture of insecurity, curiosity, and need swirling in their depths. They should, because that was exactly what he was feeling.
He let her go.
No time to enjoy the moment. No time to get distracted.
He pulled NVGs from his pack and slid them over her head. He left his kit against a rock and gripped his carbine. He turned on the night scope.
“You’ll be able to see through the NVGs if there’s any ambient light at all.” He folded her fingers over his pistol. “It’s loaded, so shoot any bastard who looks like he wants to kill you. But I’d appreciate if you didn’t nail me when I come back.”
“What if you don’t come back?” her whisper was gruff.
“I’m coming back.” Her mutinous expression told him she’d heard that promise before. Her eyes rolled toward the ceiling.
“Hey, don’t think about the past,” he ordered. He leaned down and kissed her again, hard and fast. His heart rate jacked up to full speed in a split second. And suddenly he wanted to do a whole lot more than kiss her, so he backed away. “I’ll be back, if only to see if you’re good at anything beside kissing.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to shoot you before—”
He grinned at the crispness of her tone.
“—but now I might.”
“Be safe, muirnín.” Then he took off.
Right fork in the tunnel went toward the thundering rumble of water, which spelled trouble if they had rain—one reason to be thankful for the frigid temps outside. To the left was another dark abyss but the air seemed to move slightly against his skin with the barest hint of a breeze.
He didn’t trust the other guy. This is where he’d set up an ambush if he were the one being chased. He was definitely getting light through the scope as he moved along the tunnel as fast as he could while still checking for tripwires.
Dempsey frowned. The Russian could have set mines and tripwires that would have slowed down soldiers and possibly killed them. Why hadn’t he? A lot of the intel they had didn’t make any sense.
The floor of the tunnel was surprisingly smooth. He suspected the reason for that rumbled forcefully down a nearby chasm. Piles of boulders had been dumped and he had to crawl up and over them. He was careful about where he put his hands and feet. That was why he’d left Axelle behind. He didn’t want to risk her life by walking down what could be suicide alley. There was no visible danger but the absolute quiet had the hairs on the back of his neck vibrating. He rounded the corner and saw the dim sparkle of stars blinking through an opening ahead.
Thank bloody Christ.
He thought about going back and getting Axelle, or maybe trying the communication systems. But he wasn’t home free yet and she was safer back there, especially with the exit so close.
His boots made a gentle scrape against the rock and he swore he heard the mountain itself draw in a deep breath. He could see no one. Hear nothing. The wind brushed his skin with fresh air he was grateful for after the stale atmosphere beneath ground. But he’d swear on everything he held holy that he was not alone.
He crouched and kept scanning the ground, the opening. He made it out to the face of the mountain and cautiously peered around. Row upon row of spectacular peaks surrounded his position. No trees. Snow, ice, rock and sky. Then above him he spotted the mottled coat of an animal disappearing over the shoulder of the mountain. He gave it a salute, knowing that despite Volkov, these creatures would endure in the high inhospitable peaks.
A deep furrow snaked through the snow, heading over the nearest ridge and out of sight.
The Russian? Who else?
Maybe the old feck hadn’t had any more explosives with him? Maybe they’d all been in Axelle’s vest, which had helped bring down the cave earlier? Or maybe the old man couldn’t risk injuring Axelle until his demands were met. Which meant she was still in danger.
The sound of a footfall behind him had him wheeling, his finger already hugging the trigger. Axelle. Holy shit. Her eyes widened but she said nothing. The stubborn woman had also carried his pack, which weighed over seventy pounds. She dropped it to the floor and took in huge deep breaths of fresh air and freedom. He lowered the gun and went and grabbed the satellite phone that was about to save their sorry asses.
“Who you gonna call first?”
“HQ.”
“Let’s hope they don’t send a rescue mission like the last one.” She crossed her arms against the frigid temperature.
“That could have been the Americans…”
Her arms tightened. “I know.”
“What sort of relationship do you and your father have?” He pressed the on button but nothing happened. Crap. He started fiddling with the device.
“He hasn’t tried to kill me before, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I spoke to the Regimental CO, which isn’t exactly normal.” He locked his teeth in frustration as he played with the phone. “Something tells me someone high up is more interested in seeing Dmitri dead than alive.”
“No matter the consequences for others?”
“Collateral damage is accepted within a war zone.”
She flinched. “Not by me.”
He straightened. “I’m not a big fan either.” His eyes held hers and she lost the suspicious look that pinched her features. Who could blame her for being pissed? No one wanted to be sacrificed for someone else’s political machinations. Enough of his fellow troopers had already died because shitheads in the MOD had failed to take their equipment requests seriously. Like this piece of shit sat phone. He tried it again.
“I’ll be lucky to keep my position at the Trust after this fiasco.” Which meant she wouldn’t get to work with her precious snow leopards anymore. She met his gaze—her expression defiant. “Josef knows what he’s doing, though, and someone else can take over as his supervisor. I’ve got plenty of work to do in other countries.”
The Dane wouldn’t be happy about that but Dempsey wasn’t gonna tell her Josef’s feelings weren’t strictly professional. He wasn’t a hypocrite.
He tried the phone again with a growing sense of frustration. Swore and wanted to throw it down the mountainside. “It’s fucked.”
“Let me have a look.” She held out her hand.
He hesitated. The problem with Axelle was she needed to be in charge and so did he. They were basically incompatible because they were too similar. “The battery is dead.” He’d managed to dismantle the back.
“Lemme see.” She gestured. He gave up and handed it over. “The battery is damaged.” She passed it back with a grin.
“No shit.” He tried his PRR radio. “Alpha Alpha One Nine, over. Come in, over.” He waited for a moment but there was nothing but dead air.
“We’d do better yelling,” Axelle said
quietly. She shaded her eyes, the strain around her mouth evident. “Except then Volkov would know we’d made it out of that nightmare alive.”
Her hair stuck up and her eyes were dark with turbulent knowledge and residual fear. Too vulnerable, too innocent to be swept into this kind of deadly situation. But she was coping well, considering what they’d been through.
Taz had the shortwave radio, so despite all the advances in modern technology he and Axelle were incommunicado. At least his GPS signal should have reappeared on the main system by now—assuming that wasn’t broken.
“What do you reckon? Do we stay here and wait for rescue or climb down the mountain and try to hook up with the squad?” he asked.
She stamped her feet and blew clouds of mist into her hands. “I don’t want to stay here.”
“You’re sure? Because it could be a difficult descent.”
“Hell, yes, I’m sure.”
He dug into his pack for his fingerless gloves and handed them over. “You want to borrow these? Only the ends are bulletproof.”
“Funny ha-ha.” She pulled them on and nosed over his shoulder for what else he had in there. He had a fleece. She was already wearing two of his T-shirts and his other pair of socks. He pulled out some dried rations and threw them to her.
“They taste like dog biscuits, but should keep you going.”
“Thanks.” She tore into them and they shared a drink of water from his canteen. He packed it with clean snow and slipped it inside his shirt.
He took a good look around. They weren’t out of danger yet. “Okay. Let’s go.”
* * *
Axelle trudged in Dempsey’s footsteps, so grateful to be out from the belly of that mountain she wanted to hug him until he couldn’t stand up. The past week was her idea of hell, and she’d got through it because Tyrone Dempsey had been at her side. For a woman who had an aversion to being taken care of, he’d done a heck of a job of saving her life.
He’d kissed her.
Her fingers rose to her lips.
She’d been shocked by her own physical response. Now she found herself watching the way he moved, all those lean muscles exerting themselves to make her path easier. And wondering if they’d ever get the chance to take things further than a kiss. Did she want to? Damn, it had been so long she didn’t even know what a man felt like anymore. She shook her head and watched her breath freeze. This wasn’t the time to think about it. Although, Christ, she didn’t want to think about anything else in her life right now either.
