by Kaylea Cross
Sex would be damn good.
Axelle had never been shy and retiring. Her dad had taught her early you didn’t get anywhere with “walk all over me” plastered to your forehead.
If she regretted anything in her life it was that she’d pushed her father away when he’d tried to help. She’d needed to prove she didn’t need anyone, she could do everything alone. She’d cut herself off emotionally from everyone. Falling in love with Gideon had been like a rebirth, and his death had hit her doubly hard and sent her so far in the opposite direction, she’d been impossible for anyone to reach.
Did her father know she was being bombed in this narrow finger of land that she’d boldly declared peaceful? Had he condoned it? Ordered it? Was he consumed with worry, already convinced she was dead? She’d never seen him truly grieve. Even when her mother had died she’d seen more anger than sadness. That’s how the Dehns dealt with loss. Anger and rage, burning away the softer emotions that might reveal their weakness.
So she’d avoided getting emotionally involved with anyone, concentrating on the needs of helpless animals instead. Dempsey had somehow penetrated her defenses. She should be grateful he wasn’t going to be around long enough to break her heart.
Her muscles screamed as she lifted her leg up and out of the snow. Angelina Jolie had nothing on Axelle Dehn—except beauty, a bunch of kids, loads of money and Brad Pitt. She grinned with fierce determination as she put one put one foot in front of the other. She refused to think of the pain or exhaustion. She was going to think about what Ty Dempsey might look like with his shirt off and how she’d whip Angelina Jolie’s skinny butt in a real fight.
The gunfire came out of nowhere and spat snow around them.
Dempsey spun around, grabbing his deadly-looking rifle and returning fire, shoving her behind him as they stumbled over a ridge.
“How did he get behind us?” She ran as fast as she could, stumbling in the snow, bracing for death as shots rang out. Dempsey hauled her up, still firing, still running.
“That isn’t Volkov.” He didn’t take his gaze off the attackers. He reloaded as they ran across another short, sheer face. “Shit, this snow is about ready to drop.”
Panic wedged itself tight into Axelle’s throat. The thought of an avalanche was as scary as facing a bullet, but they were more than halfway across the face now so she forced herself to move steadily through Dempsey’s tracks and prayed.
“Why don’t you think it’s Volkov?” She huffed out of breath. The altitude drained her energy.
Dempsey grabbed her arm and propelled her faster. A burst of bullets added extra incentive. They threw themselves over another small lip and Dempsey pulled her down behind a large overhang while shrugging out of his backpack. “Volkov lost his rifle when the cave came down, and these guys are firing AK-47s.”
“Are they Americans or Brits?” She crouched into a ball as bullets flew over their heads. “Perhaps they don’t know we’re friendly.”
“Perhaps.” Dempsey didn’t sound convinced. “They didn’t exactly ask, did they?”
“Why are we stopping?” Her legs felt like jelly but she was ready to sprint.
“We can’t outrun them.” He popped his head up and let out a burst of fire. Dawn started to paint the horizon crimson. She could make out the flicker of flames coming from the barrels of those weapons.
He put his pistol in her hand and curled her fingers around the grip. It was a damn site heavier than her Glock. “Keep firing at them, but keep your head down.”
He removed the magazine of his rifle and reloaded it with different bullets.
“We can’t just sit here.” She pointed the gun over the rock and squeezed the trigger three times.
“I’m waiting for them to begin crossing this face.”
The implications slowly locked into place. “Oh, God.”
“Here they come. Four of them.” He hunkered down to avoid a spray of bullets that splattered them in snow crystals. He took the SIG back and began rapid firing, spraying the hillside with a long volley. “Take cover. Armor-piercing round.” He raised his rifle and blasted a round into the slope above the heads of their attackers and hunkered back down. The boom was incredible and bounced off every peak.
An unhurried creak, as if huge fingernails were being drawn slowly over a chalkboard, made her freeze. Then it felt like the whole mountain began to shift.
“Holy shite!” Dempsey swore and the men screamed.
She eyed the snow above them and a wave of terror rushed through her. The entire snow load on the mountain had started to move. She grabbed Dempsey and pulled him beneath the overhang that sheltered them. He pressed against her and wrapped his arms around her so tight she couldn’t breathe. They clung to each other as snow rained over their heads and all around. It seemed to last for hours—a long massive snarl of nature’s fury that sent dread screaming along her nerves. When the noise finally stopped, agonizingly long seconds later, she opened her eyes and found herself staring into Dempsey’s intense blue gaze.
They were still alive.
There was utter silence around them, as if the world held its breath. Snow buried them in a thick shroud. Axelle felt a familiar panic but she’d already faced her biggest fear. She wasn’t about to let a new one paralyze her. Dempsey’s arms were shaking from the effort of pushing back against the snow at his back. They were shoved close together against the rock face, bodies flush, legs entangled, but nothing even remotely romantic about the situation.
Dempsey started clawing his way upwards, exertion obvious in his labored breathing. Axelle was helpless. She was trapped beneath the weight of his body and the snow above them. Her lungs felt squeezed. She wriggled her feet to try to loosen the snow’s tight grip. Grunting with effort, Dempsey worked until he created enough space for her get free of him and help dig. The tightness in her chest eased and she could finally breathe more easily.
Snow melted as it touched her bare skin, drenching her cheeks in false tears. She was cold, but the effort of digging heated her muscles, and it wasn’t long before she was perspiring.
A small patch of sky appeared and she almost choked on a suppressed sob as Dempsey made it wider.
She hadn’t panicked, but that was only because of the man now searching the snow above their heads for his pack and weapons. She didn’t know what she’d have done without him, and it wasn’t just because he’d saved her life too many times to count. He felt like a part of her—like an extension of herself. Her best friend.
She struggled upright, shoving more snow aside. Dempsey hoisted himself up and crawled to look over the ridge. She followed cautiously, testing the snow’s depth with each foot. With the exception of their overhang, the whole face had been swept clean, leaving nothing but a thin coating on the rock behind it.
She swallowed the lump of granite that lodged in her throat. “Are they dead?”
He peered toward the base of the mountain. “Hopefully.”
“You don’t care?”
His face was expressionless. Eyes scarily cold. “If someone shoots at me and I kill them—I win. I don’t waste my energy feeling sorry for the bastards. It was them or us. Thankfully, this time, it was them.” He scanned the face of the mountain. “Next time we might not be so lucky. Let’s get out of here, but carefully.” He raised his hand to indicate they take it slowly, down the mountain rather than across it.
She followed him, at times clutching bare rock as he helped her place her boots into decent footholds. He tied them together at one particular steep point. Christ. Her hands shook so badly she could barely hold on.
Fear and fatigue and icy cold continued to wear her down. She was completely out of her element and yet Dempsey seemed to be at ease with their predicament. He didn’t panic or sit around wailing. Not that she was the wailing type, but she understood the need. He stayed in the moment and dealt with what needed to be done. It humbled her. Made her realize she was a control freak who didn’t do well with the unexpected.
She was a planner. Maybe that was why she’d been so pissed when Gideon joined the Marines. She’d no longer been in control of their lives together. When she’d lost him to the chaos of war, it had cemented her need to plan and organize and prepare.
She couldn’t plan, organize or prepare for men kidnapping her, getting buried alive or being shot at.
Survival of the fittest was one of the basic tenants of ecology and evolution. In nature the strong ruled and the weak were culled. She’d been in enough war-torn countries growing up to know that without soldiers like Dempsey the world would be a dark and anarchic place, but she was still idealistic enough to wish it wasn’t so.
It took nearly an hour to gingerly climb down the roughhewn face with them sliding the last five hundred feet as if they were on a toboggan run. For the first time in what felt like days, maybe years, exhilaration filled her as the wind whipped her cheeks. Laughter burst out as she slid, out of control, relieved to be finally off Death Mountain. The humor was punched out of her system when she spotted an arm sticking out of the snow a yard from where she landed. She rolled over and wretched in the snow.
Dempsey had already seen the man. He began scooping snow away from the body.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to know who’s shooting at us.”
Axelle helped then, digging frantically around the corpse. It took forever. They uncovered him slowly. Black hair. Brown eyes. He looked mid-forties, clean-shaven, neck at exactly the wrong sort of angle.
“At least it was quick,” Dempsey pressed his lips tight together.
Axelle swallowed her horror and helped him pull back more snow. They cleared a hole to the man’s waist, and Dempsey started searching through his pockets.
“No rank or insignia or uniform. No labels on the clothes.” He held out some rounds which meant nothing to her. “Generic.” He paused and looked up. “His comms are gone. The writing on the MRE packs is Russian.” He stuffed one in his pocket. He got a camera out of his pack and took a photograph of the man’s face and a tattoo on his arm.
“Who were they?”
He caught her hand and searched the area, then took off downhill toward a pass heading northwest. Back toward the Wakhan Corridor. “They’re either nonmilitary”—mercenaries—“Russian Special Forces, or some sort of Black Ops.”
Her eyes widened. She looked at him as he helped drag her through the snow. “Josef said you were Special Forces.”
He looked at her with bright blue eyes and said nothing.
What sort of military units traveled in small packs far from backup? The secretive deadly kind. Axelle wasn’t surprised Dempsey hadn’t answered her questions. His silence confirmed her beliefs. He was British Special Forces.
“We need to get you to safety and I need a radio to try to find out what the hell is going on. Find out where Dmitri Volkov is and how we can bring him in.” He let go of her arm and checked his own rifle as they marched onward.
“Are we still following Volkov?” She shuddered. She wanted to get back to her leopards but until Volkov was stopped she couldn’t be sure he wouldn’t start taking potshots at her animals again.
Dempsey nodded toward a broken snow trial off to the right. “He’s going the same way we are. What’s the nearest settlement to here?”
She thought for a moment. She’d been tied up and unconscious for much of her ordeal yesterday but she had a general sense they’d been moving east. “There’s a small Kyrgyz settlement, south of Bozai Gumbaz. I’m guessing that’s the closest.”
They traipsed onward through the snow, which was melting under the now midday sun. The mountain had finally fought off the enveloping cloud. A few straggly dwarf shrubs and bushes started to appear and Axelle let out a sigh of relief as she spotted a swathe of green on the valley floor ahead. The snowstorm had only been in the mountains. If this was a trial of endurance, her quivering muscles told her she was just about done.
Birds darted all around and she spotted some goats on the hillside, which meant there was a goatherd not far away.
She stumbled and Dempsey stopped and supported her with an arm around her waist, helping her to keep moving when she was so exhausted she literally wanted to fall on the ground and close her eyes.
“If we could risk a fire I’d stop and build a shelter.”
It sounded wonderful.
“Why can’t we build a fire?” Her brain cells were sluggish. Excited by nothing except the thought of sleep.
“In case there are more gunmen out here. Or Dmitri Volkov isn’t as wounded as I hope. He’s clearing a hell of a lot of ground for a man with a gunshot wound.”
“You must have only clipped him.”
“He wore body armor, otherwise he’d be dead.” Dempsey’s lips were hard. Soldier mode. “He’s gone to a lot of trouble to get his hands on you. Something tells me he isn’t going to run away because he had a setback.”
“It was a hell of a setback.” She scanned the hillsides, but could see nothing moving through the valley. Her skin suddenly prickled and she pressed closer to Dempsey because he was the one thing that made her feel safe in this new world of bombs, bullets and death.
Chapter Twelve
From the shelter of a group of boulders on the western side of the track, Dmitri lay prone on the ground and followed the man and woman’s progress through a gap in the rocks. His hand throbbed from where the soldier had shot him. The bullet had gone straight through his palm but all his fingers worked so Dmitri counted that as a miss. His chest was badly bruised but for once he was grateful he wasn’t dead.
He was glad the soldier and the woman had survived. He admired their tenacity. But it did not change his plans. All the sacrifices and degradation his family had endured, not because he’d sinned, but because someone else had…
Sergei’s boy was dying and needed immediate hospital care. The pelts were lost. He had to change his plan. He still needed money, still needed to get his family out of Russia. Thankfully he still had something of extreme value in his sights. And Magdalena was counting on him.
His grandson would be saved no matter who else had to die to achieve it, but the bombing complicated things. Who ordered it? Russians via their spy? Or the US and British via the soldier? The man was impressive, Dmitri conceded. More impressive than he’d anticipated. Reminded him of himself from a long time ago.
Dmitri had made all the wrong choices in his life, trusted all the wrong people. He was paying for those mistakes now, but it broke his heart that his grandson was bearing the brunt of his grandfather’s legacy. If Dmitri hadn’t defected, if he hadn’t taught a young mujahedeen captain how to fight, he wouldn’t be wanted in half the nations of the world and his son would still be alive today. Dmitri had been painted a monster, but he’d never believed in collateral damage or civilian casualties. Women and children should be kept out of war. The mistake he’d made, over and over, was not realizing others had no such qualms.
He turned to the wide-eyed boy who sat beside him cross-legged on the rocky ground. “Tell your father to give them food and shelter. Tell him to put this into the soldier’s tea before he retires for the night.” He handed him a small capsule. A useful drug for those who had lost the power to sleep. “I need supplies and another horse and yak. Tell him I will pay him soon.” Just not yet.
The young boy adjusted his hat, nodded his elfin face, and stood to gather his goats.
“Be careful.”
The child scooted off and Dmitri turned back to watch the man and woman move out of sight. Another time, another place and he’d have let them go. Not this time.
* * *
The sun was sliding down the western horizon and she was still walking, although she was almost blind with exhaustion. Dempsey stopped and eyed her critically. “Do the people here know you?”
She looked toward the village and nodded. “Some do. We met the elders in Sarhad for a meeting when we started the project.”
“Then you and I just g
ot married.”
Her eyes popped. “We did?”
“Otherwise we’ll be split up when we get to their village and I don’t trust Volkov not to pull another stunt.”
She frowned. It wasn’t the idea of pretending he was her husband that bothered her. It was the curious pang at the thought of being separated.
“Then we’re newlyweds because last summer I was single.” She’d had offers; one man had even stretched to a camel.
He took her hand as they approached the squat clay structures. “Let me do the talking.”
“As long as I like what you’re saying, you can do the talking.”
“Stubborn doesn’t even begin to describe you, Dr. Dehn. My GPS signal should have kicked in by now. Volkov’s trail veered east about half a mile south of here. I’ll go after him as soon as the squad catches up with me. You’ll be back in your camp by tomorrow morning watching out for your cats.” His fingers squeezed tight.
She had to clear her throat to speak. She didn’t know why she was feeling so sad at the thought of rescue. “How do we explain the rest of your guys when they turn up? Bachelor party?”
“Students?” His grin was devilish.
“Too many guns.” Her smile faded. She wasn’t okay with people dying. They could have family. Wives… Who were those other soldiers anyway? She assumed the target was Dempsey, but getting caught in the crossfire wasn’t her idea of fun. The thought of Dempsey being killed settled like an onerous burden on her chest and she found it hard to inhale. The force of her reaction startled her.
“Let’s rest for a few hours. I’ll contact the CO from the village and worry about the details later.” They approached a group of squat buildings that seemed to be made of clay. Tiny puffs of smoke rose from holes in the roofs.
