by J. L. Saint
Allah, please help me. She swung around, gun pointed, afraid a guard had found her.
“Easy with that.” Roger stepped out of the line of fire and caught her elbow. He now had several guns slung over his shoulder. She didn’t ask how he got them. “Come on.” He urged her to run. “They know we’ve escaped. Ten are on our trail.”
Ten! Ten men! She nodded, gasping for air. Even with his wrists bound he may have been lethal in a fight, but as strong and sure as he was, she knew without a doubt they were dead if caught.
She ran, gun in one hand and the hem of her long gown in the other, but every step became harder than the last as she struggled against her confining dress. She tripped, knees slamming painfully to the ground. Tears and sweat stung her eyes. She could barely see Roger’s face as he helped her up and eased the gun from her grip. “Let me hold on to this for a bit. We don’t need you accidently pulling the trigger and I sure as hell don’t need your bullet in my back.”
Too winded to speak, too faint to argue, she moved forward. Her side hurt. Her heart thundered. Sweat poured and her muscles screamed at her until she realized she was trapped in an oven of death. Her garments were a dead weight, killing her chance to live. She jerked at her hijab until the headscarf came loose enough for her to pull it off and throw it away.
“Stop a minute,” she gasped.
“We can’t.”
“We must.”
Roger abruptly halted. “What?”
“I’m dying here.” Mari shuddered then grabbed at the hem of her long gown. “Help me get this off.” Panic tried to close in on her and she fought to breathe.
“Gladly.” He set his hands over hers and yanked the heavy material over her head then rolled it into a ball.
Mari sucked in air. A ton had been lifted from her shoulders in the space of a heartbeat. Her entire body could suddenly breathe as if every pore was free from a choking cocoon. She knew she’d never feel compelled to wear the cloaking gown again. She might do so on occasion out of respect or propriety, but she was free and would stay that way.
Maybe too free, she thought as she looked down. Beneath the bright sun, her cream-colored silk pants and shirt were almost transparent and clung intimately to her sweat-dampened skin.
“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand, his voice gruff. “You had better run really, really fast. Your father already wants me dead. He sees you like this and they’ll draw and quarter me as well.”
She frowned as she focused on keeping up with his six-foot-something stride and not tripping again. He still had her gown, carrying it under his arm when she’d expected him to throw it as far away as he could. “Are you wanting me to put my gown back on?”
“Hell, no. Just know that if I do die, I’ll die happy.”
They were in the middle of hell, running for their lives, and he not only could joke, but nearly make her laugh. Surely something was wrong with that, but her capacity to think about anything other than her next step died as the terrain turned into an uphill climb that went on and on as Roger urged her faster and faster.
It seemed as if they’d been at it for hours rather than just one. The only way to tell time was by the growing shadows and the reddening of the sky. She’d reached the point that every muscle had rebelled, refused to feel, refused to work.
One second her body was benumbed from the heat and the pace; the next second her shoulder was on fire. She looked down, saw blood spread over her breast and stumbled as a gunshot crack rent the air.
“Christ!” Roger wrapped his arms around her and dove for the ground. He slid downhill until his back slammed into a tree. Easing up, he settled her against the solid trunk and yanked open her shirt. Buttons flew. Blood had already turned her lacy bra red as it poured down her left shoulder.
She sat stunned. Shot. She’d been shot. The sight of her blood and the pain of the bullet made the danger impossibly more real.
“Thank, God. The bullet dug a trench in your shoulder and passed on. Nasty but not serious. ” He stripped off his shirt and covered the wound. “Keep pressure on it and stay here.”
“Where are you—”
Muscles straining, he grasped an overhead tree limb and started climbing. Hand over hand, long legs hugging branches and spanning gaps, he moved higher and higher. Then came back down so fast that she thought he was freefalling until he grabbed the last limb and dropped quietly next to her. His sculptured chest gleamed with sweat and her insides quivered. If purity of thought was utmost then men should go around in burkas twenty-four-seven too.
In Roger’s case though, she didn’t even think that would have helped her instant attraction to him two years ago. It had been his intense blue eyes that had grabbed her first. At some point she was going to have to resolve that in her heart. As married and devoted to Neil as she was and would have stayed no matter what, she had to face the fact that Roger had touched a chord inside her before and it vibrated louder and louder at every exposure. He spoke and she forced her gaze to his face.
“They’re about a hundred yards behind us and running,” he whispered. “Take your gun back. If anyone comes after you, don’t say a word, don’t show them your gun, just shoot them, okay?”
She nodded in agreement. What was wrong with her? Did everyone have wild thoughts when death was clawing at their door? “What are you going to do?”
“Even up the odds a little and give them a trail to follow before I circle back to you.”
She wanted tell him how he made her feel, but didn’t have the time or the words, so she leaned up and kissed his cheek instead. “Be careful.”
He exhaled as if she’d punched him in the stomach, looked at her intently then left.
Her insides flip-flopped. She remembered to breathe only after her vision dimmed. Her heart pounded harder than when she’d been running.
Sure, she was scared out of her mind, but it was more than just being shot and running for her life. It was because of him. There’d been nothing spiritual in his parting look. It had been primal. Sexual. Even though she hadn’t meant for her kiss to be seductive, his reaction had highjacked her gesture. And instead of turning from him, of running away from his intensity, she wanted to do it again.
What was wrong with her? That should be the last thing on her mind. But it wasn’t.
Minutes later the gunfire started and went on at a chilling level until the sound of a helicopter drowned them out.
One man against ten? How could he survive? But then, she would have never believed they’d make it this far. She prayed the rapidly growing shadows would help keep Roger safe and she focused on being ready to move when he got back. Roger had to come back. She had to believe it.
Tightening her bra strap, she held his shirt snuggly to her wound then tied the tail ends of her buttonless shirt together and gave up on modesty when she couldn’t change the plunging neckline or cover her bare stomach.
She’d gained her feet and was brushing the leaves and dirt off her clothes when she heard the snap of dry wood to her right. She turned, her hand sliding into the pocket where she’d stuffed Fahran’s gun, but couldn’t immediately grasp the hilt as it had wedged sideways.
This time it wasn’t Roger. It was a guard from the camp, the one that had held a pistol to her head. He grinned, leering at her exposed skin. The attack she’d suffered in the past exploded into her mind. This time she wouldn’t make the same mistake. This time she wouldn’t be a victim. Rather than cringe from him, she stood tall, even drew a deep breath that strained her tightly tied shirt. Anything to distract him as she grappled for Fahran’s gun.
The guard came at her. Using the muzzle of his gun he shoved aside the edge of her shirt, exposing her lace-covered breasts. Her heart hammered with fear and panic tried to render her mindless. Did his appearance mean Roger was dead?
Chapter Thirty-Six
GBI Headquarters
Decatur, Georgia
“What the hell is this?” General Dekker demanded.
&nbs
p; Hands still held high, Rico turned from the computer screen. He’d heard some shuffling in the room but had chosen to ignore it as he stared at the frozen video screen. Seeing the black Honda that had trapped him and Angie had brought the whole thing crashing back down on him. He didn’t deserve to be sitting here. He deserved to be in the hospital bed unconscious or worse—dead. Not Angie.
If Dick de Jerk was going to shoot him in the back, all Rico could say at this point was to fucking bring it on. He’d had it with everyone. He’d had it with life, but more than anything else, he’d had it with himself.
It was a surprise though to see SA Gibson with one hand planted in the center of Dick de Jerk’s chest. Gibson wasn’t exactly standing between him and the muzzle of the SOB SOO’s .44, but it was close. Gibson didn’t answer the general, but spoke into the cell phone he had pressed to his ear. “Yeah, Pete. I need to know how many of Corporal Santana’s prints are on the sniper’s stroller and exactly where they were placed.”
Dekker’s brows shot up as he gave Rico a killer look, but it was more of a pissed, what-now look and not accusatory.
“Thanks, Pete.” Gibson hung up the phone and glared at Dick de Jerk. “One print on the front bar of the stroller.” He shoved the man back. “Go chill and if you’re lucky I’ll let you know what the license plate search turns up.”
Dick de Jerk holstered his magnum but not his temper. “I don’t think you have any idea who you’re dealing with, Gibson. I can bury you in a minute.”
“You can try, but you’ll be in for on hell of a surprise. I’m not joining your pissing contest here and it’s taking up valuable time. Cross the line again like this and I’ll have you taken off the case.”
“On what grounds?”
“I don’t know what your bias against our star witness is but it is seriously compromising this investigation. You want to push me on this?”
“Your ass is mine,” Dick de Jerk said then turned on his heel.
“No,” Dekker interjected, before the man could leave. “You got that wrong, SOO. It’s your ass that’s mine.”
“We’ll see.” The man’s smile was pure rage as he walked out the door.
Gibson swung around. “Don’t get me wrong, Santana. Cross the line with me and I will nail your ass. What’s the partial plate?”
Rico read off the number. Within ten minutes they had a suspect. A man who owned a Dairy Queen and house in Suches, Georgia. Hiram Aleem, a Pakistani native who’d gained citizenship in the US seven years ago. The man was supposedly at work. Honda, front damage and all, was parked at the DQ.
When SA Gibson moved, he moved fast. Within twenty minutes they were in a helicopter, heading north over Highway 400. Georgia had a lot of rolling land and green trees. The setting sun had turned the horizon blood red. Not a good sign in Rico’s book.
Gibson had arranged for the local authorities to meet them at a heliport close to the suspect’s residence and business, but told them to hold off going after Aleem. As Gibson put it, he didn’t want a repeat of today’s bomb fiasco.
This time they were ready. Following them in another ’copter with the SOO were GBI bomb experts with some of their equipment. The rest of their gear was already on the road for the ninety-minute drive.
Rico stewed in his own thoughts and ignored the conversation over the headsets between SA Gibson and General Dekker as they discussed Ranger Mountain Camp Merrill in Dahlonega, Georgia, just south of Suches. Apparently Dekker’s son was in school there. It wasn’t long before they landed and unloaded. The fresh mountain air held a hint of nighttime and a fledging fall in it. They didn’t have long before full dark.
The local sheriff, Vernon Head, sauntered up, shook hands and smiled. Tobacco chew lumped his left cheek. “Before you all get any farther on my turf, you want to tell me what this is all about?”
SA Gibson started to explain, but Dick de Jerk ran over, flashing his badge. “I’m in charge here. If you have any questions you can call the Deputy Director directly. SA Gibson, you, General Dekker and the Corporal can set up a command center at the sheriff’s office. Me and the boys here will check Aleem’s house for explosives. When it’s all clear, then we’ll move in on him at the DQ. Sheriff, you send one of your deputies with them and you come with me. We have ourselves a terrorist cell operating in your little hole of a town here. Haven’t you been keeping an eye on things?” Dick de Jerk pulled the sheriff off.
“Can he do that?” Rico looked at SA Gibson.
Gibson already had his phone out. “We’ll see. Meanwhile, I don’t know about you two, but I could use a bite to eat before setting up a command center. DQ sounds good, doesn’t it?”
Dekker laughed and even Rico found himself smiling.
Gibson walked over to where a deputy leaned against the side of his car. Though younger than the sheriff, the man looked competent. “We’re with you, Deputy.”
“Riley’s the name.”
“Riley, we’ve got an urge for hot fudge sundaes.”
Riley grinned. “Yes, sir. I know just the place.”
Rico had learned a ways back that you could tell a lot about a man by the boots he wore. This man’s boots had seen a lot of action and care. They were clean and polished despite the dents and scratches. You could tell in one look the boy had grown up country-tough with the mountains as his playground. They all piled into the patrol car.
The deputy started the engine and backed out onto the road. His car radio crackled to life. He pushed the speaker button. “What is it, Emma?”
“Jesse Cruthers is on the phone again. She’s been complaining for hours that there’s a shootout on the next ridge over. I told her you’d come check it out.”
“Emma! That’ll take half the night. She’s likely got her hearing aid turned to high and it’s her Rice Krispies she’s hearing.”
“I know. She calls about every time her dog farts. But she’s old and it makes her feel better to have one of you guys check on her. I think she may have a legitimate complaint this time though. Ranger Joe said some hikers heard gunshots in the area too.”
“Did he check it out?”
“No. Gout’s got him taking it slow.”
“Okay. I’ll get over there sometime tonight.”
“You’re my hero, Riley.”
“Sure thing, Em. But I think Dan might have a problem with that.”
Emma laughed.
“So what’s that about?” SA Gibson asked as the deputy clicked off the speaker.
The deputy shrugged. “Old lady lives up next to the Chattahoochee National Forest. She has a couple of cabins she rents out during the summer and fall then hibernates all winter. Only comes to town once in a blue moon. She’s sort of a legend around these parts.”
“How far is it to her place?”
“Thirty minutes if I hug the mountain curves real tight. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
SA Gibson looked back to where Rico and the general sat in the back. “What do you think, men? Have I lost my mind?”
“Sound’s like a wild hair,” Dekker said. “But then some of those have been my best moves.”
“Hunches are rarely wrong. It’s your gut’s way of keeping a man on track,” Rico added.
“Turn the car around, Riley,” Gibson ordered. “Let’s check out this wild hair before it gets too dark to see. A five-minute helicopter ride won’t hurt since the SOO is in charge and taking care of Aleem.”
It was more like twenty minutes by the time they flew over the old lady’s cabin. Riley pointed it out. “There’s the next ridge.”
“Take her lower,” SA Gibson ordered the pilot. The chopper eased over the treetops. Rico had a pair of binoculars trained to the ground, as did Deputy Riley.
“I think I see some cabins,” Riley said. “Legally there shouldn’t be any there.”
“There’s a dirt road leading in,” Rico added. “What the hell? Did you see that?”
“Muzzle flash?” Riley said.
The whole mountainside seemed to come alive with automatic gunfire. “Take it up,” Rico shouted. “They might be shooting our way.” He trained the binoculars onto the area as the pilot rose higher. “There’s a black van moving fast on the road leaving the camp.”
“Black van?” General Dekker asked. “That makes twice in one day. You believe in coincidence, Corporal?”
“No, sir,” Rico said. “A dark van was spotted this morning in connection with Lt. Col. Roger Weston’s disappearance and a dark van is fleeing the area of a gunfight that’s been going on for ‘hours’. Snipers in the area. Roger’s uncle is shot not more than a ninety-minute drive away from here. Terrorist cell. I’m connecting the dots to one scary-as-hell picture.”
“Keep an eye on that van. I’m calling in the troops,” SA Gibson said.
“Are you guys for real?” Riley piped in. “Weston’s President Anderson’s cousin. We all watched the news conference less than two hours ago. You’re saying he’s down there?”
“Don’t know for sure, son,” Dekker said. “But when it comes to terrorism, you have to play every hunch you have. I’ll eat the crow if this one doesn’t pan out.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Outskirts of the River of Blood Camp
Union County, Georgia
Mari curled her finger around the trigger, refusing to give in to the panic closing in on her. She shifted the muzzle and shot the man right through the material of her pants.
He stumbled back, rage and shock twisting his face as he cried out in pain. She freed the gun from her pocket and aimed at his chest. From the blood staining his pants she’d hit him in the groin. He stumbled back again and brought the muzzle of his gun up. Before she could squeeze the trigger, Roger came out of nowhere and slammed the butt of his gun against the man’s head. The man went down and didn’t even twitch.
“You okay?” His gaze searched her face.
She breathed in. “Yes. I am.”
“Good, because I’m sure as hell not. Come here.” He pulled her into his arms and hugged her tightly to him, his body trembling. “I’m tempted to find an ivory tower and lock you safely inside. You’re a magnet for trouble.”
