by Kaylea Cross
To do something useful she gathered their few scattered belongings and stuffed them in Dempsey’s pack.
“Is he okay?” Her voice wavered.
Cullen narrowed his gaze at her. “Any idea who the shooters were?”
Axelle shook her head. Cold to the bone. “No, but there were more of them in the mountains. Dempsey set off an avalanche and killed another four men.” She caught Cullen’s blue-eyed gaze. “We dug one guy out of the snow, but there was no identification on him either. Dempsey took a photo.”
The soldiers looked at one another, Baxter keeping watch from the front door.
“What’s going on?” A shiver rippled over her flesh as she realized how close she’d come to kidnap and death—again. She didn’t want any of this. She wanted to be left alone with her cats, but Dempsey was lying unconscious on the bed.
Taz sat on the bed. “Why does Volkov want you so badly?”
She frowned. “I don’t know.” She huddled into her fleece, reached out a hand to touch Dempsey to reassure herself he was still alive. He felt solid and warm and immovable. “He saved me. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”
“We thought you were both dead,” The controlled tone of Cullen’s voice betrayed him. “We sent Josef back to camp while we came on, looking for bodies. Then Dempsey’s GPS signal started pinging again and we busted a gut running here. Arrived in time to see Volkov leading you out the door.”
“I woke up to him holding a gun on me. I figured if I left quietly, there was less chance of Dempsey getting hurt.”
Cullen grinned. “You do know he’s the one supposed to be protecting you, right? Not the other way around.”
She hooked her hair behind her ear. “He already saved my life more times than I can count.”
Taz lifted Dempsey’s arm and let it flop back down. “He’s out for the count.”
Cullen frowned at his friend. “At least he’s got a smile on his face.” He waggled his brows at Axelle.
She pushed past him impatiently. “We need to talk to the elders.”
Cullen grabbed her arm. “We will, but you’re staying here.”
She wrenched out of his grasp. “Why?”
She noted a glance flicker between the three men. Uncertainty. She crossed her arms. “You don’t trust me?”
“That isn’t it exactly.” Cullen shrugged. “We need to protect you and Dempsey, and the easiest way to do that is by keeping you contained.”
She narrowed her eyes to thin slits and stared him down.
“Me and Taz will talk to the locals. Baxter will be your lookout.” The way his eyes strayed over Dempsey, she knew they’d all be watching her to make sure she didn’t hurt Dempsey either. Which made no sense, but then none of this made any sense.
She walked forward until she was nose to nose with the pretty-boy soldier and gave him a shove. “That man on the bed rescued me from a sadistic bastard who’d kidnapped me and put me in an explosive vest. Dempsey led me through tunnels in the mountains—my own personal version of hell—and brought me out alive on the other side. I would kill for this man.” She poked him in the chest again. “And if you think I’d hurt him in any way”—she had to pause for a moment to swallow her rage—“then you’re more stupid than you look.”
His eyes softened a notch and he held her by her upper arms, his grip gentle. “I found him in bed, drugged. I have no idea where you’ve both been for the past twenty-four hours. You were walking away with one of the world’s most wanted terrorists when heavily armed men pop out of nowhere and try to kill you. Not just the terrorist. You. Now, I might not be a scientist and I may look pretty stupid, but don’t let the handsome face fool you.” He let her go. “Something fishy is going on and until I figure it out, or until Dempsey wakes up and tells me you are Mother-fucking Theresa, I’m being cautious. Is that okay with you?” With a nod he left her to Baxter’s watchful eye. She sat on the bed beside Dempsey. Closed her eyes and wished them all to Hell.
* * *
Holy mother of God, his head ached like he’d downed ten pints of bitter and finished the night off with a bottle of Famous Grouse. Dempsey tried to open an eye but it hurt too much. He gave it five beats, then forced his lids apart, forced himself upright on the bed and waited for the world to settle. He scrubbed a hand over his face to try to wake himself up, but he felt like he had glue in his veins and it was all he could do not to throw up.
Baxter watched him from the door. Flashing a grin, the soldier walked toward him and handed him a canteen of water. Axelle lay asleep beside him, her mahogany hair fanning out against the red covers, her lips slightly parted. He took a swallow and washed away some of the sourness that coated his tongue. His memories were a little fuzzy but he was pretty sure he and Axelle had…Christ.
Exactly when had Baxter arrived?
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced himself to his feet. Sunlight shafted through the tiny windows. He walked to the front doorway—not that there was an actual door—and stepped outside. He peered at three local men digging graves in the hard-packed earth.
“What happened?” His voice sounded as though he was a forty-a-day smoker.
“You slept through the party.” Baxter filled him in. Anger mounted up inside, but Dempsey held it back until Baxter finished.
“We were worried Dr. Dehn might be involved in some way.”
“No. Axelle’s an innocent in all this.” Dempsey shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “We ate separately. They probably put something in that tea that tastes like piss anyway.” His stomach churned. “Any idea what they gave me?”
Baxter shook his head. “I figure Taz and Cullen will get it out of the chief there.”
Dempsey nodded. “Volkov is trying to use Axelle as leverage for something. I just don’t know what it is.”
Who were these other shooters? Snake eaters? Why try to kill Axelle—unless they just didn’t want any witnesses? Shit. He didn’t know.
“Watch her,” he said then strode across the dusty square and walked straight into the chief’s abode. He nodded to Cullen, who was sitting talking to the leathery faced old sod.
Cullen grinned.
The old man’s eyes swept over him and widened. He stood stiffly, bent with age, and bowed from the waist. “I must apologize. I do not know how drugs got into your body. Your soldier assures me it must have happened while you were here in my home, and I am deeply shamed.”
Dempsey ignored the old man. He’d once watched his father feed a couple of squaddies tea and biscuits in their farmhouse kitchen, all full of chat and smiles. Half an hour later, they’d bombed the army checkpoint where one of the lads had been on duty. He’d been sent home in a box and never made it past his teens.
This man’s wife and daughters stared at him from what he assumed was the kitchen. They averted their eyes but not before he saw fear in the old woman’s eyes. These people had seen a lifetime of war and treachery. Damn, he didn’t want to add to it, but shit… He looked away.
Old photographs were propped in various places of honor on an antique wooden cupboard. He scanned them. Plucked one grainy black-and-white image from pile.
“This man.” He held the photo beneath the elder’s nose. “You were friends?”
The old man shook his head.
“You’re lying.” The photo showed a much younger Dmitri Volkov. “This man is a known terrorist who taught Islamic extremists everything they needed to know so they could vaporize innocent civilians.”
The old man’s jaw looked thin and fragile but it firmed up. “You are mistaken. The man in that photograph saved this village from the Soviets when they were shooting anything that moved and burning everything you could eat.” The unfocused eyes sharpened. “That man in that photograph died many years ago.”
Dempsey held his tongue and rifled through the other photos in the man’s collection. Most of them were black and white or sepia. He didn’t know what he was looking for and slammed them
down in frustration. Nothing made sense. Then he collected all the photographs and slid them into a pocket. The old man looked stricken. “I’ll make sure you get these back.” He looked at Cullen. “Did you radio HQ?”
Cullen nodded and they went outside to talk. ““We’ll have another two four-man squads in a couple of hours. You sure Axelle Dehn isn’t involved in any of this?”
Dempsey might have blacked out after he’d made love to Axelle, but he remembered everything that had happened in the run-up to that perfect, glorious moment.
“I’m sure. Volkov’s trying to use her but her father isn’t falling for the bait. I’m surprised the Americans haven’t turned up yet.”
They looked at one another.
“You don’t think…?” Cullen looked toward the four corpses, neatly wrapped and ready for burial.
“I fucking hope not because there’s another four on the mountain who won’t defrost until spring. Do you know which way he went?” he asked, meaning Volkov.
Cullen pointed south to the Boroghill Pass. “He’s running scared.”
Maybe.
They had to follow him ASAP but they couldn’t take Axelle with them and he wouldn’t risk leaving her behind with these people. “Get HQ on the blower. I want a helo here, ASAP, dropping off reinforcements and getting Axelle to safety.” He had a job to do. His heart battered his ribs when she appeared in the doorway of their hut and looked his way. Her eyes were narrowed, mouth pinched, and yet he’d never seen a more beautiful sight in his life.
He didn’t want to leave her but he needed her safe.
A subtle vibration lit the air. As one, the troopers cocked their heads and held their weapons higher. The villagers ran back to their huts. He jogged over the dirt courtyard and caught Axelle’s hand and dragged her back inside. Helicopters. If they were friendly, bloody great. If they were foe, unless one of the boys had found an old Stinger missile lying around, they were in for the fight of their lives.
* * *
Axelle stared at the soldiers who stepped out of the helicopter and felt the tangible release of tension from the four men around her. Dempsey ran out to talk to the man on the door of the chopper. Then he jogged back to her, the expression on his face freezing the words she wanted to say to him. He took her arm and pulled her into the bedroom they’d shared. The room where they’d made love a few short hours ago. She pushed the memories aside. It was done. Finished. A moment of happiness in a lifetime of loneliness.
“The pilot agreed to give you a ride back to base camp. You should head back to the States as soon as you can, until it’s safe to return.”
She started shaking. Whatever she’d expected it hadn’t been this abrupt departure, and she couldn’t explain the feelings that ripped through her at the thought of leaving him. He was a soldier on a mission. Not a holiday romance. He had to go. More important, she had to go. There was work to do.
“You’re going after Volkov?” she asked. Her teeth chattered, but neither of them mistook it for cold.
His vivid blue eyes stared hard into hers. A muscle ticked in his jaw. All the years of doing everything by herself crowded inside her. All that experience of pushing people away surged up in an unstoppable wave. She raised her hand to stop him when he started to speak.
“Good, because I need to get back and see how the leopards are doing. Reevaluate the project. See if the cubs are okay.” Her voice cracked. Why was this so hard? She wrapped her arms tight around herself and took a step away. She felt colder than she had during that blizzard. Colder than jumping into a frozen lake. She didn’t want Dempsey to go. She didn’t want to be alone anymore. But he was a soldier—this was what he did.
And this awful aching heartbreak was exactly why she didn’t get involved.
“Axelle—”
“Please…don’t say goodbye.” Her plea turned into a sob as he took a step closer. “The last time I said goodbye to a soldier he died. I can’t go through that again.”
He said nothing but his eyes spoke volumes. This was his reality. He might not come home. Even if he did survive, the chance of them ever seeing each other again was nonexistent. This was goodbye.
She needed to tell him things. Important things. Meaningful things. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. She reached out and took his hand. “I don’t know how to thank you for everything.”
The memory of them coming together last night flashed through her mind and she saw it reflected in his expression. He squeezed his eyes shut and raised his face to the ceiling. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed whatever words he wanted to say. There was no way out of this. This was the end for them.
She raised herself on tiptoes and kissed his cheek though he didn’t move and didn’t look at her. “So, thank you for everything, Sergeant.”
His fingers tightened on her arms for a moment and then he let her go.
She ran out of the hut, forcing a smile and wave for Dempsey’s men and blinking away the sudden onslaught of tears that wanted to drown her in misery. She had promised herself a crying jag once she escaped the mountain; she just needed to hold it together for a few minutes longer. She jogged across the hard-packed earth, bending instinctively away from the threat of the rotors. One of the crew pulled her on board, and like that they were airborne, her heart falling out of her chest as the ground dropped away. She watched Dempsey as he stood in the village square, staring after her.
Some things weren’t meant to be.
Maybe she was meant to be alone. But there was this physical pain at the thought she’d never see him again. A sickness that wanted to take a bite out of her soul.
A crewman offered her water and she shook herself out of her melancholy. She yanked her gaze from the man on the ground because he’d been a short interlude and now it was time to get back to reality. Her leopards should hopefully be safe again. Now she had to get back to camp and decide the way forward for the project. For the first time ever the thought didn’t excite her. She slumped against the unforgiving metal sides of the chopper.
Maybe she was just tired.
She closed her eyes against the majesty of the mountains and a sky that reminded her of one man’s eyes. One man she needed to forget. One man she was terrified she’d never get over.
Chapter Fourteen
Dempsey organized the men into groups and they pored over maps—ironically Russian-made and probably by Dmitri Volkov—and checked gear and comms. He did not think about the sadness of Axelle’s mouth, or the tumult of emotions washing through her eyes. He didn’t think about how it had gone against every instinct inside him to send her away. He just did his job, followed orders the way he had for the past two decades, ignoring the unsettled turmoil going on inside him.
“Same squads as before then?” Captain Robert Prentice was the requisite officer on the op. The team had worked out a new plan together, based on their knowledge of the situation, with eyes in the sky and boots on the ground, taking into account someone else was also looking for Dmitri Volkov.
Dempsey nodded. “One team tracks him directly, the rest circle and flank. Pretty sure he’s lost all his communication equipment so we should be okay to talk over the PRR and secure radio.”
“We’ve discovered his grandson is sick and needs a liver transplant,” said Captain Prentice.
Dempsey drew in a tight breath. That was why he’d reappeared after a decade as a ghost. “He was trying to use Dr. Dehn as some sort of leverage to get his grandson treatment?” He couldn’t help it, it changed his outlook a little. No one knew better than him that bombers and terrorists were flesh-and-blood people with families, lives and hopes. And shedloads of regrets.
“Seems that way. The Russians have had tight restrictions on the family leaving the country for years.” The captain laughed. “Ironically, the last time one of them left it was Dmitri’s son, Sergei. He was part of a trade delegation to New York in September 2001.”
Dempsey reared back. “He died in 9/11?”
>
The captain nodded.
“That’s not irony, that’s bloody tragedy.” Dempsey ground his teeth together.
“The irony is Volkov helped these bastards in the first place. Now everyone and his ruddy cat is looking for the man’s dying grandson in the hopes of controlling the old bastard and finding out everything he knows.”
“I don’t like the idea of using kids as pawns.” Dempsey planted his boot on a rock.
“The boy is the grandson of one of the world’s worst terrorists. Shit happens.” The officer tried to look down his Sandhurst nose at Dempsey but he had to tilt his head too far back to get there.
“You can’t make the kid pay for the crimes of the father.” Dempsey held the naive gaze of the young officer.
Captain Prentice frowned uncertainly, unsure what had happened, but knowing he’d somehow upset the most experienced man on his team. There was an unwritten rule in the SAS: Don’t fuck with the NCOs if you wanted to make it out of an op still breathing.
His own service record spoke for itself. He had more years in than anyone else here, and yet he still felt the need to prove himself every fucking day because of mentalities like this guy’s. “At least the poor little bugger probably has a better chance of survival if we pick him up, rather than the Russians.”
They’d used facial recognition on the dead men. Spetsnaz. The Russians wanted Dmitri dead. No surprise there.
Dempsey got his head out of his ass and got ready to move out. “Watch out for this fecker. He’s a sniper, plus he could set mines, tripwires, and he moves like a bloody greyhound. He knows all the hidey holes not marked on this map. Plus, he has friends here in this valley, people who’ll help him.” He let his eyes stray over the locals. They’d leave behind a squad here and use the position as their forward operating center, see if they could build some positive rapport by the medics treating any health issues in the village.
