Damon turned a look over his shoulder and scanned the area. “The shed is relatively empty, except for a few crawlers.”
“What?”
A grin cracked his features. “I’ll dispatch said eight-legged creatures if you put that jacket back on.”
“We’re not staying, Damon. I want to keep going.”
“We have a small flashlight and the terrain is rough. If we use the road, it’ll be hard going on your feet and dangerous.”
Sloane shoved her arms through the sleeves, but refused to zip it up. Damon had dumped his jacket as well, which left his sweaty, hard chest to silently drool over. Who was she kidding? The man’s last name equated with his torso. Toned and marble smooth, with a rolling pack of muscles that made her fingers flex.
“Don’t you want some water?” she asked.
He strode toward her and leaned his weapon against the cedar planks of the wall, then splashed his face and drank from cupped hands.
She really had a thing about spiders. “I hate creepy crawlers.”
In the middle of palming water over his hair, he stopped and turned his head sideways, the droplets taking a zig-zag pattern across his unshaven jaw. “That bad, huh?”
“Adam used to chase me around the house when he found one. Asshole.”
Damon broke out laughing. “I used to do the same thing to my sisters. They hated me for it.”
“I can relate.”
“You can conquer your fear, ya know,” Damon said, shaking his head of the excess water.
Planting her hands on her hips, she grinned. “Just like you can conquer your need to keep looking at my breasts?”
He laughed. “What do you expect?”
“I expect you to be loyal to your girlfriend.”
He groaned. “Listen. I thought we covered that ground. I was being stalked. That’s who showed up at the beach.”
“Maybe she sees it differently.”
Damon swallowed another handful of water and turned off the tap. “Not anymore. I was pretty damn clear about what I do and don’t want, after you ran away.”
“What if she’s the one?”
“One what?” he asked, retrieving his firearm.
“You know. Your happily-ever-after.”
He chuckled and cradled the weapon in his arms. “Doubt that.”
“Why?”
The sound of gravel under tires and a plume of dust from the dirt road leading to the shed yanked them back to reality. Sloane ran for the door of the shed to search inside for a weapon. She didn’t see anything but a crowbar. Snatching the tool from the dirt floor, she darted outside as Damon slid the door closed.
“No time.” He pulled her into the bush.
She thought they’d keep running, but instead he dropped to his knees behind a stump and she followed his lead. “They’re going to know we’re here.”
The army Jeep came to a stop in front of the building, and they watched as four armed soldiers exited. Carefully, the soldiers scanned the area around the vehicle before moving toward the shed. Their steps cautious. Their weapons ready.
One of them broke off and circled the structure. He stopped at the water spigot and called to the others.
“Think it’s them?” a burly soldier asked, jerking the end of the weapon at the puddle of water.
“Probably, and recently,” another said. “Water doesn’t last long around here. They could be close by.”
Sloane wanted to draw back farther into the foliage, but Damon stayed the tug on his arm by placing a large hand over hers. Even with heightened adrenaline pumping through her veins, when his blue eyes set on her, she stilled.
He leaned close to her ear. “I’m going to draw them away. You go for the truck. Drive fast. Find your dad. Tell him everything.”
She shook her head vigorously. With his great paw, he unexpectedly cupped the back of her head and brought his lips down on hers with a gentle kiss. Then nodded.
Hunched over, Damon made his way through the trees, using the scrub brush and trees as cover to his advantage.
Watching him, caught between following orders and leaving her breathless, Sloane was determined not to abandon her partner.
Chapter Sixteen
Sloane watched as Damon used the forest to hide his movements. Certain she would follow his order to make a run for the Jeep, he didn’t look back. Her upbringing and Navy training nudged her closer to the truck, but she remained hidden in the mess of knotted weeds and underbrush. Would his actions be justified if he killed the men to assure her freedom? She had doubts thinking ahead to the JAG hearing sure to come. Their conduct during this exercise would be evaluated under a microscope once this was all over.
Damon was in SEAL mode: Never fail. Complete the mission. Caught midway between this being an exercise and the reality of her dead peers and attempted rape, Sloane considered the options. All her life she’d run to her father when she needed advice. Glancing again at the Jeep only forty feet away, she swallowed her fear.
She couldn’t leave without Damon.
The four men appeared from the left side of the shed. Damon hadn’t made his move and didn’t get the chance when the men jumped into the Jeep. More relieved that the soldiers were alive and leaving than sorry to see four wheels of freedom drive away without her in the driver’s seat, she waited.
Once the military vehicle rounded the bend in the road, Sloane stood up and retraced her steps to the gravel lot surrounding the shed. Damon appeared from the back side of the building.
Marching up to within a foot of her, he stopped and glared.
“What?” She offered a lopsided grin. “Admiral Paulson outranks you and he said we’re partners. Never leave a man behind, right?”
He gripped her shoulder none too gently. “If I don’t get you back to your parents alive, I fail.”
She met his glare with one of her own. “We,”—with emphasis on the we—“will get there.” Was it failure he really worried about, or the brimstone and hellfire he might face from her father for getting her mixed up in this mess? Maybe Damon’s concern was about his own hide. “Don’t worry. Daddy will give you a big pat on the back, regardless.”
Damon’s finger shot out, inches from her nose, anger churning in his expression. “Don’t even try to divert the conversation.”
She swatted his hand away from her face. “Conversation would mean you’re listening. You’re not.”
“I don’t give a shit what your old man thinks.”
One side of her mouth lifted in a caustic smile. “You’d be the first.”
He groaned and shook his head in frustration. “Let’s go. And I don’t want to hear any complaints. It’s your own fault you’re walking for not following my orders.”
“Have I complained yet?”
“Worse, there’s nothing but argument that pours out of your mouth.” He started to turn, then stopped. “You’re the kind of woman who doesn’t think before she acts. One day your stubbornness will get you in deep shit and I might not be around to help.”
“Oh, gosh darn,” she drawled. “Poor, little old me. Won’t be able to take care of myself without a big, bad, alpha asshat around. Take that inflated image of yourself and shove it up your ass.”
A scathing laugh erupted from his throat, then he turned and headed down the road at a good clip, leaving her behind. With an exaggerated eye roll, she followed His Royal Asshatness and steered for the edge of the gravel where there was more sand than jagged rocks.
Step after step, eventually the soles of her feet became accustomed to the rough ground and Sloane picked up the pace. Better to get a pebble pedicure than slivers from thistles and sharp sticks. Damon stayed twenty feet ahead of her, no doubt bubbling in the angry cauldron of his thoughts.
They made good time down the road instead of fighting their way through the forest. Nothing broke the sound of buzzing insects and soft crunch of gravel under Damon’s boots. The relentless sun scorched the back of her legs, but being part nat
ive, she didn’t burn easily.
Luck seemed to be on their side for at least a couple miles, until the sound of an approaching vehicle had Damon sprinting back toward her and they fought their way through waist high foliage into the forest. Crouched and watching behind a toppled tree, three military Jeeps roared up the road, leaving a plume of billowing dust in their wake. The soldiers who’d searched the shed had returned with reinforcements to sweep the area.
Sloane turned to look at the rugged profile of Damon’s features. “They won’t find us.”
He remained silent, his hawk-like stare unwavering.
“Maybe if we split—”
Damon’s hand covered her mouth and his gaze shot behind them, his eyes narrowing.
Twisting on her haunches, she looked over her shoulder to see the barrel of a rifle pointed at them not more than fifteen feet away. Her pulse accelerated, waiting for the familiar sound of a shot, and she prayed to the All Mighty that whoever had their finger on the trigger had lousy aim.
* * * *
Damon kept still with a hand on his unpredictable charge, unsure of her reaction to imminent danger. “Step out and announce yourself,” he ordered.
The man behind the tree said, “This is private land.” Slowly, the stranger lowered his weapon and stepped out. Wearing jeans, a San Diego Padres ball cap perched on his head and a pair of khaki pants, the hunter scanned the area then slung the weapon over his shoulder. “You with the military?”
Damon’s pulse leveled off and he stood up. “Yes. Whose land are we on?”
“This is part of the Palomar H Mountain Ranch. My father’s ranch.”
Damon glimpsed at Sloane as she shifted to take cover behind him. “Did you know there was a military exercise on this mountain?” Still cautious, he wasn’t certain this guy just happened to be out hunting.
The guy nodded and pulled off his ball cap, running a hand through his dark hair. “My father was in the Navy back in the fifties. Sometimes the military leases the land on the west side of the mountain from him.”
The man, somewhere in his late thirties, leaned to the right, and Damon felt Sloane lean at the same time in the opposite direction behind him. The palm of her hand rested in the middle of his back and made him highly aware of her presence, not that he wasn’t highly aware of her every fucking second. Her constant effort to ignore his orders flared his temper and turned him on at the same time, which confused the hell out of him.
The hunter arched a brow. “Ma’am, are you all right?”
“Fine.” Her voice an octave higher than usual.
“You’re sure? ‘Cause, um, you’re half-naked and not wearing any shoes.” Confused, the wrinkle on the hunter’s forehead deepened. “Odd place for a hookup.”
Sloane leaned around Damon. “Not a hookup. I guarantee it. I need a phone. Do you have one?”
The guy took a tentative step closer, but when Damon raised his weapon all movement stopped. “No cell service out here. You sure you’re okay?”
Sloane cleared her throat and stepped away from Damon’s protective shield. “We’re not crazy, although it might look that way. We just need to get to a phone.”
“My camp is about three miles due north of here. We can pick up my truck and head into town or head to the ranch.”
Sloane nodded. “We’d appreciate—”
The shot ricocheted off the trees and Damon threw her onto the ground. With Sloane’s small frame smothered beneath his bulk, she bucked and wiggled to free herself. One second the hunter was smiling at them and the next, he fell like a tree in the forest.
Damon rolled to his feet then gripped her upper arm and hauled her up against his side. “Don’t look.” He stopped and untangled the rifle from the fallen man’s body. Disobeying him again, she stared at the guy’s still form, his open eyes and the bullet hole through his forehead. “We need to move.”
Another shot bit into the tree bark not a foot from her head and she scrambled faster to keep up. Damon kept low and put distance between them and a clear shot from their pursuers.
More shots landed in the trees to their left, which meant the soldiers were guessing at their location. A roar of adrenaline threaded through every pore on his body as the sound of another vehicle approached.
Sloane stopped and turned. “Come on!” she hissed, seeing he’d taken a prone position and aimed through the rifle’s scope.
He didn’t glance her way, his chin tucked to the stalk of the weapon. “Keep going, Sloane. Due north. Find the guy’s truck.”
“Damon, please.”
“Don’t fucking argue. Go!”
“You stupid man, the keys are probably in his pocket. I have to go back.”
“Shit. Stay there.”
Seeing the military vehicles almost at the point where he and Sloane left the road, Damon bolted for the hunter and rummaged through his pockets at the same time keeping an eye on the trees. Hooking his finger through a ring, he drew out the keys. Hunched over, he caught sight of a bump in the hunter’s upper chest pocket. Pulling out the device, he palmed it and smiled. Tide was turning in their favor. He ran into the thicket where he’d left Sloane. With a harsh slap, the keys landed in her palm. “Get going. I’ll keep them under fire. It’ll give you time.”
He wouldn’t allow her to argue or ignore his orders this time. He needed to hold down their pursuers until she could get clear, then he’d follow her.
Adrenaline and fear made her eyes huge. “Give me the rifle,” she demanded.
Was she kidding?
“Jesus, man. Do you want to die or live? Give me the M16.” With only a few seconds to make up his mind, Damon swung the weapon from his shoulder and dropped it into her waiting hands. She twisted, searching the landscape.
They needed higher ground. “That way,” he said.
Behind them, the landscape rose steeply. She kept up, running close on his heels. An outcropping with a thick cover of trees perched on the rim looked promising. Sloane checked to make sure the weapon was secure, then slung the rifle strap across her shoulder and toed the ragged rock face, ready to climb.
They had to scratch and crawl their way to the top. The last ten feet were the worst. He made it up first and reached down for Sloane. When she gripped his hand, he dragged her entire weight up and over the ledge. For the first time ever, Damon wished he had a crystal ball. They were being hunted. Lady Luck and his marksmanship would have to be enough.
“You ready for this?” he whispered.
She nodded, the weapon secure in her grasp. Both of her eyes slammed shut for a moment. “I’ve never killed anyone before.”
He understood her misgivings. “Let me do the dirty work.”
“There’s no way we’re talking our way out of this, is there?”
He wasn’t going to lie to her. “No.” When she stared up at him, he saw her determination to do what she had to do. Only seconds before they would engage with the enemy, and yet the desire to kiss her was more important than giving her a pep talk about staying alive. She didn’t need him to kiss her, she needed an apology. “I’m sorry I chose you, Sloane.”
* * * *
Sloane’s heart flailed like a drowning woman. Easy to do when she looked into Damon’s tropical blue eyes. “Later.”
He pointed. “Take a position over there.”
Separated by twenty feet, she checked her weapon again and concentrated on lowering her pulse rate. Making a shot at a weapon’s range was a helluva lot different than these conditions.
The soldiers weren’t far behind. Somewhere below in the mass of bushes they were taking cover. She didn’t wait for instructions. Laying on her belly, right leg bent and her elbows secure, she used the sight and found a soldier in the open. She didn’t think. Her training took control, but it wasn’t her firearms instructor at RTC she heard in her mind. It was her father.
The memory of her dad’s massive frame stood behind Sloane, his hands over her small ones as he talked her through sighting
in the weapon. Breathing. She’d been ten-years-old and Adam had just turned twelve. Their mom was hesitant to let Dad take them to the range.
No more paper targets. The threat was real. She squeezed the trigger. The pluck and kick of the weapon, familiar in her hands.
Her target fell.
Panning the area in her sight, she saw movement, but the soldier had cover behind a cypress tree. The trunk was a lot thinner than the man.
She fired.
Another soldier down.
The sound of cartridges fired from Damon’s weapon mingled with her own until the last echo from their enemy’s return fire ceased. She waited. Listened.
Movement to her left and a grunt made her roll. She froze when a pistol was shoved in her face, but she’d been fast enough to raise the barrel of her own weapon. “Your balls or my brains. Which is it?”
The lean soldier hovering over her stilled. A quick glance revealed Damon in close quarters combat with another soldier. He didn’t expend much energy. Her rugged SEAL’s martial arts training gave him the upper hand. The soldier didn’t stand a chance trying to take down a man as large as Damon. When the guy fell on his back close to Sloane, she saw the freckles on his nose, the fear in his eyes and the pimples on his face. The kid raised his hands to ward off another beating. Damon didn’t comply and hit the kid so hard, he knocked him unconscious.
“Back up,” Sloane said. The soldier with the pistol aimed at her followed her order, but didn’t lower his weapon.
Neither did she.
This guy was definitely older, the creases around his eyes placing him in his late thirties.
“Lower your weapon.” Damon stood, legs apart, looking like some bad-ass out of an action flick, his weapon pointed at the remaining soldier.
The man complied, lowering his pistol to the ground and raising his hands. “My orders are to bring you back to camp. Not kill you.”
Damon’s blue eyes gleamed with the heat of battle still charging every blood cell. “Your friends didn’t get the same orders.”
The soldier swallowed thickly. “What was done to the women was wrong.”
Code Name_War 0f Stones Page 17
