They had one chance and a slim one at that. As he ran, he pulled a flashlight from one of his many pockets and made out two passages ahead. He shone his beam across the floor; a blood trail led one way. He followed it—because the Russian was still his mission and he hadn’t failed a mission yet. This crafty old bastard wasn’t about to outfox him.
He forced Axelle to move, knowing the chance of them making it out of this hellhole alive was about as likely as Al Qaeda becoming pacifists. The roof above them groaned. Stones shifted and showered down in a rush. Giant slabs of rock torqued and heaved as the mountain buckled under the bombs.
This wasn’t how he’d expected to die. His fingers tightened over Axelle’s slim hand, half apology, half encouragement, all desperation. A God almighty explosion brought the roof of the cavern down behind them, and they were thrown forward by the percussion. His head hit a rock and blackness washed over him.
***
Axelle opened her eyes but she was blind. Omigod. Omigod. Her chest heaved like broken bellows. Dust filled the air and she couldn’t breathe. Blood pounded her ears, the pressure so intense it rammed her brain and made every nerve in her body fry as she lay there in the darkness with only the sound of her own mortality for company. Thousands of tons of rock blocked the cave entrance, and they would never get out. The bombs had stopped, but the absolute silence was solid and terrifying. They were buried. In a crypt. In a tomb.
Rock was like a malevolent living creature, squeezing her airway, licking her skin. Sweat ran freely down her brow and beneath her armpits and heat radiated from her body even though the air was frigid. She wasn’t hurt beyond the bruises and scratches she’d been carrying for days and yet she lay on the ground, paralyzed by sheer terror and piteous weakness, unable to move. She wished she was dead.
She drew in ever shallower gulps of air, the rational part of her brain understanding she was hyperventilating and would pass out if she couldn’t control the panic.
Unconscious sounded pretty damned tempting right about now.
Roll over and die while you’re at it.
Her fingers groped around her and she touched something soft and warm—a sleeve, a hand.
Dempsey?
God, please don’t be dead.
She cupped her hands over her mouth and nose, and willed herself to take slower, deeper breaths. He’d risked his life to save her. She had to help him or he might die. Assuming he’s not already dead.
She reached out again and found his wrist. His skin was warm and there was a faint but crucial flutter beneath her fingers. She rolled onto her knees, moving slowly and using her hands to check for jagged rock overhead. Her stomach roiled. Fear threatened. But none of that would save her from this nightmare. Nor would tears. Nor would screaming for her mommy for thirty hours straight. She snapped out of the memory. She was here with Dempsey, whether she liked it or not, and she had to deal. She pushed the fear into some other part of her brain and refused to think about it.
Through touch, she worked her way up Dempsey’s body until she found his face. She placed her palm near his lips and felt a puff of air against her skin. He was still breathing. She closed her eyes and let out a breath. She shook him gently but he didn’t stir.
What if he was seriously injured? How could she help him? “Dempsey?” Her words echoed in the thick darkness and she almost lost it. The idea of being alone down here was enough to drive her insane if she let herself think about it.
Don’t think about it.
She ran shaky hands over him, searching for sticky blood, bending each limb, looking for obvious sign of injury. She was sweeping her hands up his torso again when he grabbed her wrists. She lost her balance and fell against him and he huffed out a groan.
“I’d let you keep doing that but this is too dark to be heaven.” His voice was hoarse. Such a bolt of relief shot through her system she couldn’t speak.
“I take it we’re still alive and kicking?” he said.
She gripped his shirt with both hands, forced emotion into bite-sized chunks that she could talk around. “Not sure we’re at the kicking stage yet, but we’re alive—thanks to you.” This man, this soldier, had run into a cave that he’d known was about to be bombed, to save her. How did you thank someone for doing that? What could you say to a man like that?
He eased out a breath and tried to sit up.
“Are you hurt?” She went to grab his arm to help but connected with a body part a damn sight more personal.
“Jesus,” he hissed and groaned. “Woman, I’m in no condition for that kind of thing.”
She heard laughter in his voice. Laughter?
They were buried inside a mountain with no way of knowing if they’d ever get out, and he was amused? Was he crazy? She felt herself retreating, the walls closing in on her again, the reality of their predicament drilling holes through her reason.
He swore in obvious pain and reached out a hand that brushed her thigh before finding her fingers curled into tense knots against her body. “Are you okay? Did that old fecker hurt you?”
Shaking her head, she raised blind eyes to the ceiling. “He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking. Didn’t beat me either.” Her throat felt raw with the effort to talk when she was enveloped in terror. “Physically, I’m fine”—her voice cracked—“but I’m so scared I can barely breathe…” She swallowed repeatedly, feeling her throat shrink with every inhalation. Admitting weakness went against everything in her nature, but she owed this man complete honesty. “If you weren’t here with me, my heart would already have exploded.”
They knelt together in the void. “No one in their right mind would be happy about this situation. The important thing is”— he ran his hands down her arms—“that we work together. We don’t panic because panic is what gets you killed.”
Tears burned but she refused to let them fall. She would cry when they got out of this hellhole. She would bawl her eyes out and sob like a baby for twenty-four hours straight, but not until then. She hadn’t reached breaking point yet, because this man was at her side and she trusted him. She wouldn’t let him down.
“I’m going to need your help.” She couldn’t do this alone.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
A sudden rush of alarm swamped all the calm that had started to settle her blood. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” She gripped his arms and shook him.
“Christ. It’s a good job I don’t have a big ego, lady, because you crushed it the first day we met and have been stomping on it ever since.” Laughter swam around her even as strong hands squeezed her shoulders.
God, she was such a witch. “I’m sorry.”
“Pardon?” She felt his breath on her face as he leaned closer. “I didn’t quite catch that?”
She gritted her teeth because he was teasing her and she wasn’t comfortable being teased. “You heard.”
He snorted and her temper spiked and she tried to pull away. She hated everything about this situation. Hated being helpless. Dependent. So damn scared she couldn’t think.
“Relax.” He smoothed a warm hand down her back and, despite everything, it felt good. “You’re funny.” Her anger dissolved when he kissed her knuckles. “Now help me stand and we’ll figure a way out of this fucking shithole.”
She eased him upright and put her shoulder under his arm, trying to avoid being poked and prodded by various pieces of his equipment. “You swear like a trooper, you know that?”
“Here I’ve been trying to watch my language around the ladies.” There was more amusement in his voice. He was working at keeping her mind off their situation and her incapacitating fear.
She forced herself to make the effort, to push past the horror. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Like a total pile of wank.” There was a click of a flashlight and suddenly she could see his face, the crinkles around the blue eyes, the slight twist of his full lower lip, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead.
>
“You’re hurt.” She raised her fingers to the swelling but he captured her hands.
“It’s nothing.” His voice grew serious. They stared at one another in the beam of the flashlight as if they’d never seen one another before. His deep piercing eyes didn’t judge her fear or insecurity. Instead they promised her hope. When had she ever been that generous of spirit?
She constantly pushed people away because being alone was easier than dealing with heartbreak. But to survive this, to not lose her mind, she needed Dempsey.
“We’ll find a way out of here, don’t worry.”
To her horror, hot tears flooded her eyes and a sob filled the air. Dempsey pulled her to him and pressed her face against his chest.
“We’ll get out of this mess and you can plead my case at my court-martial.” He rubbed his chin in her hair and she gripped him as if she was hanging over a precipice.
“What do you mean, court-martial?” She hiccupped.
He drew away. “Let’s start moving before this rock decides to shift—”
“Don’t scare me any more than I am already and don’t try to distract me.” She took his chin in her hand and made him look at her even though his expression went carefully blank. “What court-martial? How did you find me?”
“I tracked you from camp.”
Her eyes lit up. Did that mean the other soldiers knew they were here?
He shook his head, reading her mind. “I left before the others. They were at least an hour behind when the storm struck. Josef was with them.” His lips tightened. “If I’d played by the rules and stayed with the others, this would never have happened.”
“No,” she said softly, “I’d still be sitting in a cave wearing a vest packed with explosives, and the chances of you ever finding me would be zero.” Dust shimmered in the air between them. Dust and something else. Something sweeter. “They’d court-martial you for leaving your men behind?”
He grimaced and her thumb brushed his lips. His eyes flared with heat that found an echo inside her. She pulled away. Now wasn’t the time for anything except survival.
He released her to check his gear. “A couple of hours ago I caught a glimpse of the Russian in the entrance of this cave. I found another cave around the corner and called in the position to HQ. Next thing I know I’m ordered to get the hell out of the area because they were going to bomb the bastard to smithereens.”
“But…” What about me? The mute question must have shown in her eyes. He lifted a hand and stroked it across her cheek in a move that sent a ripple of sensation clear down to her toes. She didn’t back away. If she could find any courage at all, it would be in facing up to her attraction to this man.
“They knew he had a hostage but they didn’t know your name or your fancy relations.” His voice was gentle. “It wasn’t personal. They’ve been after this guy for decades because he’s been teaching bomb-making to the masses. No way they’d risk him escaping during a hostage rescue mission.”
And once again her death would have been deemed acceptable collateral damage. That was when she figured out exactly why he’d get court-martialed. “You came for me anyway.”
“It’s my job.” But he was lying. He took a step back, obviously uncomfortable talking about what he’d done. His job was to follow orders, not to save her.
“Come on.” He hoisted his pack more securely. “I might have shot the old bugger—he must be wearing Kevlar under his shirt—but the old wolf is still a threat.”
He held out his hand. She could almost stand straight, but he had to bend his head to avoid the top of the tunnel. She squeezed his fingers in simple thanks, was grateful to be squeezed back by such a capable human being.
She was capable—but not under these circumstances. She could barely walk and talk, let alone make a constructive plan to escape this nightmare.
Their footsteps competed with the occasional drip of water from the rock above their heads. The air smelled dank and stale and there was something surreal about following this man into the unknown—into her darkest fear. The walls sparkled in the faint beam of light and were generally worn smooth.
“Who made these tunnels?” she asked.
“They could be natural.” Dempsey kicked some of the loose debris out of his way. “But they were probably expanded by humans at some point.” He turned to her, impossibly handsome as a smile cut deeply into one cheek. “Could have been Marco Polo for all we know.”
They carried on through passages that seemed to lead deep into the mountain like some dark maw. Part of her wanted to panic, to curl into a pathetic ball and stay there forever. But Dempsey held onto her, and she would not fall apart in his presence. No matter how much she wanted to.
They trudged onward. She followed him closely, using his broad back as her lifeline at the same time refusing to think about the situation they were in. They came across a rope ladder that someone had cut down, proving humans had used these caves at some point in history. It didn’t take Dempsey long to scale the rock face and rig a rope for her to climb. He moved quietly but fast, stopped regularly, listening to something she couldn’t distinguish over the treble of her heart.
Everything hurt—her muscles ached, her head throbbed and she was tired and thirsty. Having this soldier here inspired her to keep on moving. She didn’t whine that they were going to die because it wouldn’t help. She didn’t want to be the damsel in distress, even though that was exactly what she had been when he’d found her wearing that explosive vest. She couldn’t begin to describe that sensation. Being scared on such a primitive, cellular level.
Dempsey had saved her life even though he’d been ordered not to.
Yesterday, he’d told her he tried to save innocent lives. She might not have truly believed him, but she’d never doubt him again. He was a hero. A goddamned hero.
What about her meager existence? Even though she’d worked her ass off, she wouldn’t leave much of a legacy. It turned her stomach to think she might become more famous for getting animals killed than for rescuing them.
Her stomach growled and without a word he handed her some dried rations which actually tasted pretty yummy. They didn’t stop to eat. Just kept walking through the maze of tunnels.
“Did you ever see Lord of the Rings?” she whispered at last, trying not to think about the implacable rock balanced above their heads and the absolutely no chance of rescue should it collapse.
“About a million times,” he whispered back. “Are you keeping an eye out for trolls?”
“And the Balrog.” She stepped in a blood drop that had smeared across the stone and shuddered. The Russian was still alive. “You think he knows a way out?”
“I’m betting on it.” Dempsey nodded. “I only hope he doesn’t bleed to death before he gets there.”
She was quiet again, concentrating on placing her feet without tripping. Her breath was hoarse and she was starting to shiver despite the physical exertion. She stumbled for the third time and Dempsey turned. His eyes narrowed with concern. He glanced at his watch.
“Let’s take a break and get a few hours sleep.” There was a relatively flat area tucked between two rocky outcrops.
“I’m sorry. I can’t keep up.”
“Two apologies in one day? This must be one for the record books.”
The gentle teasing in his voice made her let go of her natural tension. He was trying to keep the mood upbeat and she appreciated the effort in this nightmarish situation. “Am I that bad?”
He considered his answer as he slipped out of his pack and started unpacking some supplies. “You’re driven. Stubborn.”
She nodded. “That I can admit to.” She held up her palm when he opened his mouth to add more. “Please. I promise to be a better person if we get out of here.”
“When,” he corrected. “Not if.”
She braced herself against a boulder as she started to sway. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” She bowed her head and tried to blink away her exha
ustion. “Maybe I’m not stubborn enough.”
“Yeah, you’re a real lightweight.” He took a step toward her and she registered how attractive he was. She hadn’t thought so when she’d first met him. He’d scared her to death because she’d thought he was killing her leopards. All the while it had been her fault. “In case you’ve forgotten, you’ve had barely any sleep for days.”
She opened her mouth to argue that he’d been awake too.
“You’ve been mauled by a leopard, kidnapped, hauled for miles on the back of a horse, bombed and trapped underground.”
“You haven’t had it any easier.”
“It’s what I train for every day.” He rested his hands on her shoulders, the pressure reassuring. “It’s why they pay me the big bucks.”
She rolled her eyes. Money had nothing to do with why he did what he did. He passed her the canteen and didn’t have to tell her to ration water. It was all they had. She caught the drip on her chin and sucked it off her finger, memories from her time as a child fresh in her mind.
“At least your leopards are safe,” he said.
A pain shot through her chest. “If it wasn’t for me they wouldn’t have been in danger in the first place. Volkov killed them to lure me here.”
He pressed his lips together. “What did he want? Did he say?”
She shook her head. “He called and threatened someone about me—I’m assuming it was my father but I don’t know for sure. He drugged me. I think he said something about wanting his family out of Russia?” If he’d called her father, why had the military bombed the place? Her father was a top US official with a lot of political clout. He wouldn’t have stood by while his countrymen murdered his daughter. They hadn’t been real close recently but she didn’t think he hated her that much.
A chasm cracked open in her chest. She hadn’t even spoken to him in months. He’d disapproved of her career choice and she’d disapproved of his new wife. It seemed childish now. She loved him. She should have told him she loved him. They both knew life could be cut short in an instant.
The Killing Game Page 17
