He nodded. “Back yourself in, and don’t come out, no matter what you hear or see.”
“What about you? There’s no room for both of—”
“Just do it, Andrea, and I’ll come back for you. I swear to you, I will.”
Their gazes locked, his blue with her hazel. And in that fraction of a second, some understanding passed between them. Face pale with terror, she blew out a shaky breath.
“You’d better,” she whispered, grabbing handfuls of his shirt, “because if you leave me out here all alone, I swear to you, Ian, I will... Hunt. You. Down.”
Dire as their situation was, he grinned at her bravado, then ducked his head to briefly touch his lips to hers.
Shock mingling with confusion on her beautiful face, she took two steps back and then crouched to do as he’d asked, crinkling her nose as she backed into the dank space. “There’d better not be spiders in here, especially those ones with the nasty, hairy legs.”
“You’ll be just fine,” he assured her, not wanting to mention that a scorpion encounter was a lot more likely.
Still able to see her eyes, he dragged a tree branch to disguise the opening and moved off without another word. Stooping to palm some stones, he hurled them farther downstream, setting off a clatter.
The sniper didn’t take the bait, probably wanting to get a visual before wasting another bullet. Or maybe he’d decided to cut his losses and get out, now that he had lost the element of surprise.
Whichever was the case, Ian zigzagged up the steep hillside, his progress as silent as the animals so often drawn here by the water. When he heard the deep thrum of an engine, he picked up his pace, not wanting to miss a glimpse at the SOB who’d tried to shoot them here, on his family’s spread.
Remembering his brother, Ian paused and pulled the phone out of his pocket—the phone that he had, thank God, at last remembered to both charge and bring along. But down in this damned ravine, it was showing zero bars—no service. He tried sending a quick text, but it just sat in the outbox.
Jamming the cell back in his pocket, he continued his climb. With every stop, he fought to hold on to his focus, but his mind kept slipping backward, toward a past that had the blue sky above him and the brush before him fading to the ink-stained silhouettes of buildings along a blackout-dark street, where he craned his neck to see a minaret against a star-strewn sky. The crescent-moon shape at its top marked it as a mosque. He breathed in the dense smells of a city, the cooking smoke tinged with exotic spices, the animal dung mixed with burning sandalwood. A reminder that life mingled with death here, death that waited to jump out of the shadows...
As the thrumming sound receded, he wondered, by returning here to Texas, had he brought death back with him? Were the gunmen who’d abducted him heading to the house to storm its walls?
He staggered to a stop, the realization ripping through him that he hadn’t lost his freedom in a remote desert ambush as he’d been told. Hadn’t been knocked unconscious and captured when an explosive device overturned his Hummer and killed one of his comrades. Hadn’t been in Iraq with his unit...because he hadn’t been a member of an army unit at all.
The knowledge doused him like ice water, the certainty that he’d never been what he’d told his family, friends and Andrea. So what the hell were you, if you weren’t really army? And how’d you get so screwed up you’d swallow your own cover story?
Not only that, but the army itself had backed the whole sham, sending officers to debrief him, military shrinks and doctors to poke around his head. Which had to mean they were operating under someone’s orders. Or more likely, some of them had really been CIA agents, trying to determine what he knew. And whether he was capable of accidentally spilling truths they preferred to remain hidden.
Was it possible they’d sent a team to guarantee his silence? Could one or more gunmen be waiting on the prairie above, knowing he must eventually emerge from cover?
Frozen to the marrow, he was blindsided by more fragments of the past, each more horrifying than the rest. A dark cell so cramped he couldn’t stand up, so rank that he could scarcely breathe. A pang of horror as the door clanked open and two pairs of rough hands dragged him out for yet another beating. A coil of loose chain in the filthy straw, dripping with his blood and buzzing with flies.
As he crouched among the bushes growing along the side of the ravine, he slowly became aware of the shifting of rock and the crunching of leaf litter, the thud of fast-approaching footsteps.
Footsteps of a new threat coming up behind him, the fate he’d let himself imagine he’d escaped.
* * *
Between Andrea’s cramped, uncomfortable position and the fear that at any moment, a killer would appear and shove a gun in her face, she was miserable enough without the ants that had found their way into her boots, crawling up her pant legs and stinging her for all they were worth. She shifted her position, trying to escape them, but pinch after pinch assured her that now that they had gotten past the protection of her boots and clothing, they meant to defend their home from her invasion—to the death, if necessary.
With no other choice, she crawled out of her hiding place and brushed at, swatted and stamped out every fire ant she could get to before she was hit with more venom. Shuddering with revulsion, she took a deep breath and assured herself that the stinging devils were gone and she would be fine, save for the itchy welts that would erupt.
As she pulled her boots back on, she nervously looked around, her stomach spasming with the fear that someone might have seen her wild “ant dance” or heard her muffled yips. But she spotted no one and heard nothing, no sign of the person who’d fired on them or Ian, either.
She tried to remember how long she’d waited, still and hidden, before the stings had become too much for her to bear. Five minutes? Ten? She couldn’t be certain, especially not with her heart thumping so wildly she wanted to crawl out of her skin.
She relocated to another patch of shade, where she crouched and fought to calm herself for the next few minutes. But no matter how many times she assured herself that an experienced soldier like Ian, who had survived so much, knew what he was doing, phantom worries stung every exposed inch of her heart.
Before he’d left, he’d seemed so sure of himself, so tough and so cocky, the way he’d smiled and ducked his head to surprise her with a stolen kiss. Her stomach fluttered with the memory, with the knowledge that she’d have to talk to him about it later. But other thoughts troubled her more as she recalled those moments when his blue eyes had drifted, his expression troubled as something she’d said left him grappling with memories. Memories his conscious mind remained too shell-shocked to face.
She’d seen flashbacks before, had read case reports of terrible things happening—accidents, assaults and even murders—in the wake of something as innocuous as a backfiring car, a slamming door or a loud scene during a movie. In a situation as reminiscent of wartime as this one, would Ian’s struggle with the buried ghosts of his past endanger him in the present?
As more time passed, she fought to hold back the rising tide of panic, telling herself it was a good sign that she’d heard no more shots. Reminding herself of how present and centered Ian had been when he had promised to return.
But eventually, her worry overwhelmed her, and there was nothing to be done except follow in the direction he had taken. As she walked, she prayed she would encounter Ian rather than the shooter.
She prayed even harder that when she did, he would still be the man she knew.
Chapter 4
Like horses, cattle were first and foremost prey animals, ruled by their adrenaline when anything strange spooked them. A half-dozen head charged toward Ian, their eyes rolling in their broad heads as they sought a path out of the ravine, back up to a place where they wouldn’t feel trapped.
“Yah, yah!” Ian shouted, waving his
arms at the dumb beasts so they would veer around him instead of crushing him to the ground. Startled by his movement, they broke and headed downhill, their oversize calves bawling in protest, their hooves clattering noisily over the loose rock.
“Nearest exit’s that way, beef-for-brains,” he said, jerking his chin in the opposite direction the frightened animals had taken. But at least their presence had served to yank his mind back to the here and now and the threat that might even now be drawing a bead on him, thanks to all the racket he had just made.
No shot rang out, but as he climbed higher, he heard Andrea calling his name, her voice strained and her breathing heavy. Scanning the rocky incline below, he spotted her, except she wasn’t moving his way. Instead, she was following the cattle, her attention clearly drawn by their noise.
Had nerves driven her from her hiding place? Or had something down there frightened her into leaving safety?
Strength thrumming through his limbs, he moved downhill to intercept her. Before he could reach her, though, she slipped as a patch of loose earth shifted under her feet. Sitting hard, she slid with a miniature landslide of stones, her shriek echoing as she picked up speed, hurtling toward a pile of jagged rock some thirty feet below.
Though Ian was surer on his feet, he had trouble, too, as he broke into a shuffling run. His progress sent more scree rattling downhill and bouncing toward her. Arms flailing, she managed to grab on to a jutting tree root and break her fall, only to cry out as a fist-sized stone struck her above the left eye.
“Andrea, hold on!” he called, more worried about her passing out and falling than the chance that the shooter remained nearby.
She jerked her gaze in his direction, fresh blood streaming down her pale face from a small cut above her brow. “Ian? Ian, are you all right?”
She squinted and blinked at him as he picked his way toward her, as if she couldn’t focus. Concussion, maybe, he thought, cursing himself for sending the rocks raining down on her.
At last, he reached her and took her free hand. “Don’t worry about me. Let’s just get you someplace more stable. I know it’s pretty steep here, but I’m going to help you move to safety.” He pointed out a spot about twenty feet to the left. “The trick is to go slowly and slide your feet. You ready?”
She shook her head, her eyes rounding. “I’ll fall again.”
“Take some deep breaths though your nose if you can. That’s it. In and out.”
He betrayed no hint of the urgency he was feeling as he waited, though he desperately wanted to get them away from this spot where they’d made so much noise.
She darted a glance up the hillside, her nails digging hard into his palm. “Is whoever—whoever shot at us still up there? Did you see him?”
“I heard a vehicle drive away a while back,” Ian told her, not mentioning his worry that someone might still be waiting above, staking out the trail they’d taken to descend into the ravine. “Would’ve had to be a truck or Jeep—something with four-wheel-drive—to be out here.”
“So he’s gone, then,” she said, her grip on his hand easing.
“That’s right, darlin’. Now you need to let go of that root you’re holding on to, and we’ll get you up on your feet, slowly.”
“I—I’m too dizzy. And my head hurts.”
“I know, and I’m really sorry. I think I might’ve accidentally knocked down—”
“Don’t be sorry. Just get me back home.”
He wondered whether she was referring to the place she worked in Marston, some kind of rehab center for former military, he understood from what he’d read online. Or did she mean all the way back to where she’d grown up in Southern California?
“We’re going to get you out,” he said, “get you help as soon as we can. All you have to do is trust me. All right?”
“Okay. I can do this.” She pressed her lips together, pushing aside the fear and pain with a look of intense determination.
The expression sparked another memory of the afternoon he’d met her. Ian recalled how impressed he’d been by her courage, despite her cuts and one very torn-up knee. Rather than giving way to hysteria, she’d focused on what had needed to be done.
Now she reclaimed that survivor’s strength, standing with him on her own power and carefully choosing her footing as he steadied her with an arm around her waist. Together, the two of them made their way to stable ground before heading back down to a shaded spot beside the creek.
“How ’bout you sit right there, on that boulder?” he suggested. “I’d like to wash your face if you don’t mind, check out that bump on your forehead.”
“This time, I’m going to check for fire ants first.” She eyed the ground suspiciously, kicking at the coarse gravel around the rocks.
“Ants?” He winced at the thought of the aggressive little hellions. “Is that what happened with the place I left you?”
Sighing with relief when nothing stirred at her feet, she sat down and nodded. “You really know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you? Flying bullets and stinging ants, followed by a hard crack to the noggin.”
“It’s a gift, my way with women. But at least I held off on the tarantulas.” He smiled down at her, his hand digging in a back pocket for the clean bandanna he’d tucked inside that morning. Taking it to the creek, he stooped to dunk it in the cool, fresh water. “But then, it’s always good to hold back something for the second date.”
She managed a smile, but what came out was more groan than chuckle.
He squeezed water from the cloth and returned to the spot where she was sitting. “This could sting a little.”
She nodded and closed her eyes, her body tensing while he washed the red streamers coating the left side of her face. He dabbed gently at the wound itself, not wanting make the bleeding any worse.
“Do you think I’ll need stitches?” she asked.
“Maybe a couple,” he said, blotting the wound again. “You have a pretty good goose egg coming up, too, but that’s all superficial. I’m more worried about a possible concussion. Can you tell me what day it is?”
“I’m fine.”
“The date, Andie,” he pressed.
She grimaced. “Everybody calls me Andrea. And it’s Monday, September...the thirteenth, right?”
“The fifteenth, but we’ll call that close enough, at least we will if you can tell me where we are.”
She rolled her eyes. “A heck of a long walk from the mansion, since both the horses took off.”
“It’s not a mansion.”
“Not in your world, maybe. But you haven’t spent the past six months living in a dormitory.”
“And you haven’t spent the past year living in a cell.” Quick and vicious as a slashing switchblade, an image of the dark and filthy hole where he’d been kept made him swallow hard.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, sincerity shining in her eyes. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He wanted to tell her it was all right, but it was easier to change the subject. “Your idea about walking back home in the open might be a bad move. Down here, at least, there’s cover.”
Her gaze locked in on his. “I thought you said the shooter left.”
“I think he did, but I’m not willing to gamble our lives on the theory.” If Ian were here alone, he’d take the chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to risk Andrea’s safety.
He still had feelings for her, he admitted, feelings that refused to stay buried. She might have left him long ago, might be promised to another man now, but his heart and Swiss cheese memory had conspired to make all of that irrelevant. He’d tried, these past few days, to fight it, had fought to keep her at arm’s length. But seeing her bruised and smeared with dirt and blood, her hair as tangled as a little girl’s, ignited a fierce instinct to keep her safe.
“It makes sense that he’d leave, doesn’t it?” she argued. “He probably panicked after realizing he was shooting at human beings, not a deer or something.”
“It would make sense if I believed for one minute it was just some poacher hunting out of season. Or even some dumb teenager out with daddy’s rifle playing Let’s Shoot Anything That Moves.”
“But you don’t think that.”
He shook his head. “I don’t. Which means it’s possible someone’s still up there, waiting for us to make a move so he can take me out.”
He went back to the creek to rinse out the bandanna, creating eddies of pink water that quickly dissipated. Wringing out the thin cloth again, he took it back and gave it to her. “You’d better hold on to this, keep it pressed to your head until the bleeding stops. Since my phone won’t work down here, we could be in for a long wait before someone from the ranch comes looking.”
She dabbed at the wound and frowned at him. “This theory of yours, about someone waiting for us... Is there some reason you suspect someone might be after you?”
“Other than the bullets, you mean?”
“Just now, you said for us. But a moment ago you used the word me. You said, waiting for us to make a move so he can take me out.”
“If it makes you feel any better, he’d probably shoot you, too, to eliminate the witness.”
She snorted in response, intelligence glittering in her narrowed eyes. “Witness to what, Ian? Are you suggesting some kind of a—of an assassination? Your sister-in-law mentioned something earlier, some worries you had when you first came back that someone might try to take you away if the public didn’t know you were here.”
Anger flared, like a match struck in a dark cell. “So you’ve been talking about me, have you? Asking family members just how crazy this situation’s made me? Did they tell you it all started years ago, that Zach’s and my old man beat us so often we couldn’t get away from this ranch fast enough? That our mother turned a blind eye and explained away our bruises, since she didn’t have any of her own to worry over.”
Lone Star Survivor Page 5
