by Mallory Kane
“Matt, here. Have some more water.”
He shook his head. “Not now,” he whispered.
It was the same answer he’d given the last three times she’d asked.
He turned his head to look behind them, as he’d done a number of times. Even though he hadn’t said anything, she knew what he was doing. He was worried that someone was behind them, following them.
“I know there’s someone following us,” she said.
He didn’t comment, but she felt a deep breath shudder through him.
“It’s the terrorist, isn’t it? You told me you found Kinnard dead, so it’s got to be Al—Al—?”
“Al Hamar.”
“So how do you want to handle him? Just keep ignoring him? It’s after one o’clock. We should be getting close to the rendezvous point.”
He nodded. “Half a mile—maybe.” His voice was nothing more than a raspy whisper.
Half a mile. They’d only come three-fourths of the way? It felt like they’d been walking for hours.
And Matt sounded so weak it made her want to cry. But crying wouldn’t accomplish anything. He’d been so strong for her. It was her turn to be strong for him.
“Matt. I’m not taking another step until you drink some water. You of all people should know that if you’re losing blood, you should be drinking water.” She uncapped the bottle and held it out.
“Drink,” she commanded.
He took the plastic bottle, but all he did was fill his mouth. He acted like it was agony to swallow.
“Are you nauseated? Do you want another hot chocolate?” She tried to give him a smile. “It’ll do you good.”
He shook his head and swallowed the mouthful of water with difficulty. Then he blew out a hard breath, as if the mere act of swallowing had exhausted him.
His face had turned from merely pale to a very scary gray color. And she knew gray-tinged skin was not a good sign.
He wasn’t going to make it.
As soon as that thought crossed her mind, her brain screamed in protest.
No. Matt couldn’t be dying.
Oh, yes, he could, her rational brain answered her back.
The water bottle fell from his hands.
“Oh, no. That’s all we’ve got!” Aimee let go of Matt and reached for the bottle, which had rolled away. The water represented life to her. If she could get him to drink the water, he’d be okay.
“Aimee!” Matt rasped.
She grabbed the bottle. “We only lost a little bit. It’s still half-full.”
She turned, holding the bottle up.
But Matt had gone down on one knee. His head was bent and as she watched, the rifle slipped from his shoulder.
“Matt! Oh, I am so sorry.” She stood.
He lifted his head. “Get down!” he yelled hoarsely. “Now!”
She dove for the ground, her hands plowing snow in front of her.
Then she heard the gunshot.
Chapter Fourteen
SUNDAY 1500 HOURS
Matt heard the bullet whiz by his ear. His entire body clenched at the sound of the shot.
Ignoring the pain that throbbed through his injured arm, he grabbed the strap of Kinnard’s rifle and crawled toward the pile of snow that marked where Aimee had fallen.
“Aimee,” he whispered desperately. “Are you okay?”
He saw the top of her head.
“Keep down,” he snapped, expecting another shot at any second.
He slithered like a snake across the melting snow until he was close to her. Then he flipped over, so he was facing the shooter.
He was going to have a hell of a time shooting with only one arm, but he could do it if he had to.
Aimee was in danger. He had to take a shot.
Lifting his head up over the top of the snow, he scanned the clearing, but didn’t see anything.
“Matt?”
“Don’t move.” He knew he could outwait the other man. It would be hell to lie in wet snow with the pain in his arm stealing his breath and his fingers going numb again, but he was only minutes from getting Aimee to safety. He wasn’t about to give up now.
Clammy sweat stung his eyes and rolled down his neck. His empty stomach cramped, sending nausea crawling up his throat.
There. A flash of sun on metal. He lifted the rifle with his right hand and looked through the scope, but he couldn’t focus.
His eyes were blurry. He lowered the rifle and bent his head to wipe his eyes on his sleeve, but his sleeve was wet.
“Here,” Aimee said. From somewhere, she pulled a dry piece of cloth and handed it to him.
He wiped his eyes and face. She took the cloth back. “Can I do something to help you hold the rifle? I could lie down and you could prop it on my back.”
Matt barely heard her. Something else had grabbed his attention. He cocked his head and listened. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his ears. He’d already found out he couldn’t completely trust his eyes.
He rolled onto his right shoulder and looked up. He had heard the rhythmic whup-whup of helicopter blades.
Aimee followed his gaze. She gasped. “Matt! Is it Deke?”
Without waiting for him to answer, she waved her arms. “He’s here! Deke!” she cried.
“Aimee, don’t!” His left arm jerked, an instinctive move to try and grab her. He couldn’t stop an involuntary cry. He sucked in a breath.
“He sees us.”
Just as she pulled her arms down, another shot rang out.
“Ow!” she cried, grabbing her hand.
Matt pushed himself up onto his right elbow. “Aimee! Are you hit?”
She looked at her hand. “I felt something hot—but I don’t see anything.”
“Give me your hand.”
He examined it closely. There was a tiny red scrape along the flesh of her palm below her little finger. “Looks like the bullet barely missed you.”
He closed his eyes for a second, willing away the dizziness and blurred vision. Then he glared at her. “Could you please stay still, and do what I tell you?”
She bit her lip and her cheeks turned pink. “Yes, sir,” she whispered.
“Bastard’s desperate. He knows once Deke lands he’s got no chance to kill you or capture me.” He raised his head again, scanning the area for the shooter. “We’ve got to stay down until Deke lands,” he told Aimee. “If Al Hamar starts shooting at the helicopter, Deke will have to abort.”
“Abort?”
Matt nodded grimly. “We can’t afford to lose the helicopter, or Deke. But don’t worry. He’s got a high-powered rifle on board. Maybe even a machine gun. He’ll be back, loaded for bear.”
She nodded, but her eyes were wide with fear.
“Our job is to stay down until he can put down. If I can, I’m going to take out Al Hamar when he tries to shoot the helicopter again. I’d like to take the SOB alive, but that may not be possible. The most important thing is to get you out of here.”
“No,” she snapped. “The most important thing is to get you on that helicopter and to a hospital. I’ll take my chances.”
Matt felt his chapped, cracked lips widen in a smile. It hurt but he didn’t care. He raised his brows. “You’ll take your chances…”
Her cheeks got pinker, but she lifted her chin. “That’s right. In fact, why don’t you give me that rifle and I’ll take care of Al Hamar, or whatever his name is.”
The terrorist was shooting again, this time at the helicopter. Over the sound of the rotors, Matt heard the zing of a bullet ricocheting off metal.
Deke took the bird up a few dozen feet, but he didn’t turn away.
Matt squinted up at him. “Come on, Cunningham. That’s just stupid.”
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Deke’s drawing his fire.” Matt swiped his forehead on the sleeve of his parka again and flipped over onto his stomach, suppressing a groan.
“Why?”
Matt swallowed the bile that was th
reatening to erupt from his throat. He felt like he was about to puke his guts up. The good news was that his arm had quit hurting. It was just numb.
Or was that the bad news?
Pushing away those thoughts, he lifted the rifle and sighted through the scope. “He knows our terrorist friend’s got to come out from his cover to get a shot at him. He’s drawing him out so I can shoot him.” He blew out a harsh breath. “I hope I can.”
Aimee scooted over closer to him.
“I told you—”
“Matt, lean on me. Use me to brace the gun.”
Matt’s right arm was shaking with fatigue and weakness from loss of blood. He shook his head. “I can’t even figure out what you’re talking about.”
“Here. Move over.” She crawled around until her body was perpendicular to his. “Now let me lie down in front of you and you can brace the gun on my back. Won’t that work?”
He didn’t want to tell her that most of what she’d just said sounded like gibberish to his buzzing ears. He just watched as she lay flat on her stomach in front of him. “Now, can you brace the barrel of the rifle on me?”
Slowly, his brain processed her words. “Maybe so,” he whispered. “I can try.”
“Listen,” Aimee said. “Deke’s coming lower. Al Hamar will probably shoot at him.” She took a long breath. “Get ready.”
Matt set the barrel of the rifle across her shoulders and pushed himself forward until he could see through the scope. “Aimee?”
“Yeah?”
He blinked sweat out of his eyes, and swept the scope back and forth, looking for the terrorist. “I love you.”
Her body stiffened, making the scope wobble. “Hey. Stay still. I almost had him.”
“Are you okay?” she asked, a worried tone in her voice. “You sound like you’ve been drinking.”
“Hold still.” He concentrated all the energy he had left in him on watching through the scope. Then he saw him. Al Hamar. He’d slipped out from behind a tree to get a shot at Deke. He’d braced himself and was aiming at the helicopter that loomed over their heads.
“Don’t move,” Matt whispered. “I’ve got him.” His vision wavered, but hell, it was a short shot. And the guy was presenting a perfect target, the way he stood with his feet apart. It was a sucker shot.
Slowly, carefully, Matt squeezed the trigger. He saw the man jerk, saw blood blossom on the leg of his pants. As he watched, the terrorist dropped to his knees.
Then the man turned the rifle on Matt. For an instant they were scope to scope, then Al Hamar shifted his barrel downward. He was going to shoot Aimee.
Matt pulled the trigger again and again and again.
The last thing he remembered was a burst of bright stars before his eyes.
SUNDAY 2000 HOURS
THE CLEAN WHITE SHEETS and pillow felt like heaven to Aimee’s exhausted muscles and chapped skin. Even the cotton hospital gown couldn’t have felt better if it were the finest silk.
But what felt better than all that, even better than the warm bathwater or the delicious hot soup they’d given her, was the tiny bundle that was nestled into the crook of her arm.
She looked down at William. He was asleep. He’d seemed singularly unconcerned that she’d been gone. As soon as she’d stopped kissing him all over his face and touching every tiny perfect finger and toe, he’d fallen right to sleep.
“Must be nice,” she murmured drowsily, “to be so sure that everything’s fine in your world.” She chuckled softly. “Know what, William? I think they gave me something to make me sleepy.” She reached for the cup of water on the bedside table and took a small sip, letting the cool wetness slide down her throat. “I’m just going to take a little nap while you’re sleeping. Then when I wake up, we’ll go find Matt.”
Matt. Her heart gave a slight jump. Deke had told her he was going to be fine. Hadn’t he? Her eyes drifted closed.
Or had she dreamed it?
She didn’t remember much after Deke got them into the helicopter. Just his deep, reassuring voice, saying everything was going to be all right.
But what else was he going to say in that situation? Sorry, guys, looks like you’re not going to make it?
Then he’d put the helicopter down on the roof of the hospital and all kinds of mayhem had broken out. Men and women dressed in blue with rolling tables had rushed out into the wind and grabbed Matt.
Aimee remembered trying to see where they took him, but more people ran out and grabbed her. Somebody leaned over her and said something, and that was all she remembered until she woke up while a nurse’s aide was bathing her.
Nurse. The nurses could tell her about Matt. She reached for the call button. Her movement disturbed William and he whimpered.
“Sorry, baby. I’m just going to call the nurse.” But her arm was tired, and her eyelids were heavy. “In a minute,” she whispered and tucked her arm closer around her baby.
THEY WERE BACK. Parker and Aimee Vick. According to a brief message from Irina, Parker was in surgery and expected to be okay, Aimee was fine, and she and her child had been reunited.
He couldn’t deny that he was relieved that the child hadn’t been harmed.
But how the hell had Parker managed to outsmart Kinnard at every turn? Kinnard knew these hills and conditions better than anyone he’d ever known. Parker was supposed to be a weather specialist and something of a survival expert, but Kinnard had at least three inches and fifty pounds on him, plus all the time Parker had been overseas in the military, Kinnard had been roaming the mountains, learning how to survive. Having been a Marine, he already knew how to fight.
He had to find out what had happened out there.
His cell phone rang. He glanced at the display. It was Irina’s administrative assistant, Pam Jamieson.
“There’s a briefing in the conference room in twenty,” she said, all business as usual.
“Got it,” he responded.
Good. He’d have information to pass on tonight. He glanced at his watch. He had just enough time to check on the next phase of the plan. With any luck, by this time tomorrow, Deke Cunningham would no longer be protected by the security surrounding Castle Ranch.
MATT JERKED. The terrorist! He was shooting at Aimee! Matt tried to pull the trigger, but he couldn’t. Something was wrong with his hand.
He opened his eyes. All he saw was blue and white. Blue walls, low blue light. White sheets.
Sheets?
He looked down at himself. He was covered up to his chest by a white sheet. His left arm was wrapped up like a mummy and his right arm was strapped down, with tubes running in several different directions.
What the hell? He felt drugged. The way he’d felt years ago when he’d woken up from an emergency appendectomy. His eyes burned and his mouth was dry, but not as dry as it had been. His arm hurt, but not as badly as it had before.
Before what?
Closing his eyes, he tried to wipe his mind free of all the confusing and disturbing images that were clicking through it like a slide show gone out of control.
—Aimee, lying so close to the spreading pool of gasoline.
—Kinnard pointing that assault rifle at her.
—His own arm impaled by a sharp piece of wood.
—Kinnard’s girl jerking as the bullet hit her head.
—Deke hauling up the basket carrying its precious cargo.
Matt growled and opened his eyes. Closing them had only sped up the slide show. He stared at the ceiling, counting off the pictures as they flashed across his inner vision, trying to pick out the latest ones and shuffle them into some sort of order.
He remembered Aimee waving at Deke, and the horrifying sight of the red dot wavering on the front of her parka.
He remembered her lying down in front of him so he could use her as a prop for the rifle barrel. He remembered pulling the trigger again and again and again.
But for the life of him he couldn’t remember anything after that. What a weakling
he was. Some rescuer he was. It was pretty bad when the rescuer himself had to be rescued.
It was a good thing Deke was there, because if it had been left up to him, Aimee would probably be dead now.
Aimee. He had to find her—check on her. He looked around for the nurse call button, and discovered that someone had had the foresight to put it next to his right hand. With more effort than he’d have thought he’d need, he lifted his hand enough to get his finger on the button and pressed it.
“—help you?”
“Get me a nurse now!” What he heard in his ears was nothing like what he’d intended. He’d barked a command, but a raspy whisper was all that had come out of his mouth. Plus the very act of punching the button and speaking had started his heart hammering and his head pounding.
He closed his eyes and pretended that the dampness that leaked out from under his lids wasn’t tears.
“Mr. Parker, are you all right?”
He turned his head enough to see the pretty young woman dressed in some kind of smock with dogs and cats on it.
“Get me unhooked from all this stuff. I’ve got to check on Aimee.”
The young woman smiled as she stepped over to the bed and patted his hand. “I’m glad to see you’re awake and feeling better, but you’re not going to be able to get up for a while. You’ve only been out of the recovery room for an hour or so.”
“Recovery room?”
“The surgery on your arm.” She punched some buttons on the monitor that was beeping behind his head, and checked the bag of fluid that hung on a pole beside him.
“Everything looks good. You have some visitors who have been waiting for you to wake up. They’re down in the coffee shop. I’ll call them, and in a few minutes, I’ll bring you a sleeping pill.”
“Visitors? Is it Aimee?”
“Aimee? The young woman who was brought in with you? No.” She pulled off gloves he hadn’t noticed she had on and pumped a bit of antiseptic gel on her hands from a dispenser hanging on the wall.
“Wait a minute. Where am I?”
