A Necessary Deception

by Lucy Farago

  Monty lay on the ground…unmoving. The second man threw his arms in the air in a sign of frustration. Had he…had he killed Monty? No. Please, God, no. She drew in a sharp breath as, thankfully, Monty stirred, but her heart didn’t have time to recover. Daniel asked Monty again where she was, but when Monty didn’t answer, he raised his gun and aimed.

  She had no choice.

  She flipped the lid on the timer.

  And pushed the button.

  From there, everything slowed. Like the beating of an old brass band, her heart thumped loud, pounding in her eardrums. She waited for their reaction, holding her breath. Her ears rang as smoke billowed into the night sky. She expected more fire and was disappointed when there was none. But it didn’t matter. She’d succeeded. Both men ran toward the explosion. Monty was left behind.

  As if someone had reset a button, her adrenaline spiked, the snow no longer an obstacle as she ran toward Monty. Now sitting up on his hands, he spotted her before she reached him.

  “Taylor? What?” His words were barely recognizable through his cut lips. His left cheek was badly bruised, and if they hadn’t been short of time, she would have kissed him.

  “Saving your ass.” She was Wonder Woman. That’d was what she kept telling herself to keep from falling apart.

  She ran to the snowmobile farthest from them and pressed her second slab of C-4 under the running board, then rushed to get Monty. Crouching down, she grabbed his arm and pulled it across her shoulder, forcing herself to ignore his cry of pain. She didn’t know how much time they had, so he would simply have to suck it up. “Can you stand?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then hurry. I can’t lift you by myself.” With a heavy grunt, she helped him to his feet. “Snowmobile.” She nodded to the second machine. It wasn’t more than ten feet away, but it was the longest ten feet of her life. She was spent, and he wasn’t able to carry most of his weight. She plunked him down and grabbed his coat off the ground. She was helping him maneuver his leg over the seat when the first shot whizzed past her head. “Holy shit.” With her hands shaking, she yanked the second remote out of her front pocket and slapped it into Monty’s hand. “Your job.”

  His face barely registered surprise as a second shot cracked the windshield. She turned to see both men had returned. Both wore murderous glares.

  “Get on,” Monty shouted, attempting to slide forward, as the next shot was fired but, thankfully, missed its target.

  “I drive, you blow.” She hopped in front. Right now, this was the only good option. She wasn’t injured. She flipped on the ignition as a fourth shot took out the side mirror. She gunned it. Monty’s thighs tightened around her own a few seconds before his weight pressed into her lower back.

  “Monty,” she yelled over her shoulder, “blow the—”

  An ear-splitting boom startled her, and she oversqueezed the throttle. The machine lurch forward. Regaining control, she chanced a peek over her shoulder. Wood had nothing on gasoline as a fireball lit up the night sky. And if those two survived the explosion, she’d be surprised.

  Monty squeezed her shoulder, drawing her attention. “You can stop,” he shouted. “If they survived, they’d be hard-pressed to reach us this far on foot.”

  She nodded, indicating she’d heard, but drove another half mile anyway. Once she stopped, she had a funny feeling it would take her a while to start again. And she was right. The moment she unglued her hands from the throttle and handlebar, they began to shake uncontrollably—as did the rest of her. She told herself not to cry. Crying was stupid. But still, the tears came. And the shakes worsened. He shouldn’t be holding her. She pulled away from Monty, stumbled off the sled, and fell on her hands and knees, the light from the snowmobile casting long shadows on the snow.

  “I’m f-f-fine,” she said, managing to hold up a hand. “St-st-stay on th-th…” She dragged air into her lungs through gritted teeth. It helped. “Stay on that stupid thing.” She wasn’t sure how extensive his injuries were but making them worse by trying to comfort her would only make her feel like more of a wuss. “I’ll be fine. Just give me a minute.”

  “Okay,” he said, placating her.

  She closed her eyes, and when she was certain she could stand without making a fool of herself, she opened them and struggled to her feet. Was it her imagination, or had the knapsack suddenly gotten far heavier? “Are you all right? How badly did they hurt you? And,” she added, “please don’t lie.” She wasn’t happy about him keeping the truth from her. Had he been trying to be brave? To what end? Men were so stupid sometimes.

  “I’m not sure. I think one…or two ribs are broken. Could be bruised. The rest…I’ll survive.”

  “And your burn?”

  “The same,” he said, averting her eyes.

  “Yeah, we’ll deal with that lie later. What are the odds they blew up in the explosion?”

  “Pretty good. About that. What you did was really stupid.”

  She agreed. “I had no choice.”

  “You should’ve left me.”

  “I couldn’t do that. And you should be thankful I didn’t. He was going to shoot you.”

  “Probably.” He braced his arms on the seat, and she watched him take what must have been a painful breath.

  She was by his side before she realized her feet were moving. “What can I do?”

  “You already did it.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And it took guts.”

  “And stupidity?” She could’ve easily blown them all up—killed them.

  “And stupidity.” He reached out to her and, after climbing onto the running board, she took his warmer-than-expected hand. She wrapped her arms around him, eternally grateful he hadn’t been shot. What she really wanted was to make his pain go away, but that wasn’t going to happen. For now, she hoped this would do.

  “Thank you,” he said, looking up at her. “Now quit wasting time and kiss me. You know you want to.”

  He was such an ass. And just like that, tears filled her eyes as an overwhelming need to hold him and never let him go swept over her. She bent her head and covered his mouth with hers. Next to his, her lips were bitter cold. But not for long. She kissed him like this would be their last…because it nearly had been. It had nearly been their last everything. She kissed him because words could never express her gratitude. He was alive. They’d escaped the clutches of evil men who surely would have killed them both if given the opportunity. She kissed him because he’d nearly sacrificed himself to save her. Was Monty the type of person who did shit like that? Or had he done it for her? She didn’t know, but did it matter? He’d done it either way. She deepened her kiss, dragging her fingers across his scalp, keeping him close. He tasted good—alive. But a sharp grunt made her stop. She was hurting him. She pulled back.

  “What are you doing?” he asked, his eyes hooded and adorably confused.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, surprised she could talk past the lump in her throat.

  “And you’re crying. Why are you crying?” He tried to wipe away her tears, but that only made her cry more.

  She was crying because he’d risked his life for her—again. Because an asshole had pointed a gun at him and had been ready to pull the trigger. Because it hadn’t happened. Monty was here, in her arms. And she never wanted to let him go. And because she’d done exactly what she’d warned her clients never to do: fallen for someone she’d just met. It wasn’t that she’d fallen in love with him. She wasn’t that stupid. But he’d come to mean more to her in their short friendship than anyone else in her life…in a very, very long time. But she was smart enough to say none of that. “Adrenaline aftermath.”

  He gave her a look that said he didn’t believe her. “Are you sure? Did you get hurt in the first explosion? Take that knapsack off. Let me see,” he said, his panic sweet but unnecessary.

  “I’m not
as…” As what? Stupid as to lie about an injury? Why had he lied to her? “I’m not hurt. It’s been a traumatic evening. Can’t a girl cry?”

  “I guess. I just… Never mind.”

  “You thought I wasn’t a crier? I’m normally not. My father didn’t approve of tears. Tears, he said, meant weakness.” And she guessed he’d been right. But not in the way he’d meant. “Because of him, I didn’t cry at my mother’s funeral. I waited until I was alone.” A sign, she thought, of things to come. She was left with no one. And she’d been bang on. She’d seen her father less and less. “I was naïve enough to think my tears had driven him away, that I’d somehow hurt his precious pride. What a joke. My father is a coldhearted bastard. But crying isn’t a sign of weakness. It’s a release. And you, you bloody asshole, scared the shit out of me.”

  “Sorry. I’ll try not to let it happen again,” he said, his mouth close to hers. “We should go. Can you read how much gas we have?” He pulled away, holding his ribs with one arm.

  The man who’d risked his own life to help her was in pain and here she was, talking about a man who didn’t give a shit about her. “Sure.” She turned and squinted at the gas gauge. Thankfully, the dashboard had interior lights. “It’s almost three-quarters full.”

  “Three-quarters? Are you sure?”

  She took a second look. “Yes. Why?”

  “This sled isn’t built for speed but trail riding. With this size tank, it can travel one twenty, one thirty miles. That means they fueled up within a thirty-mile radius of us. We’ll need to stay ahead of them.”

  “And keep a look out for anyone else who’s following us.”

  “You impress the shit out of me. You know that?”

  A warmth she hadn’t expected spread across her chest and an involuntary smile tugged at her lips. “Ditto. Now, let’s get out of here. Maybe those people have medical supplies and we can fix that leg.” She swung her leg and straddled the seat in front of him.

  “You okay with driving this thing?”

  “I think I can manage, now that I’m not so afraid for my life.” She turned on the ignition and tried hard not to inhale the fumes spilling from the exhaust. “There’s a built-in GPS. Should I fish out the compass for the directions, or do you remember them by heart?”

  “Luckily for you, I think like a computer,” he said and gave her the coordinates.

  She smiled when a red dot blinked on the small screen on the dashboard. She guessed if someone was trail riding, they’d want to know where they were going or risk getting lost.

  “Taylor,” Monty said over the roar of the engine. “I owe you one.”

  “Hardly. Just do me a favor”—she pushed on the gas—“and stay out of trouble. Don’t know if I’ll be able to bail you out a third time.” She was only half-kidding. She didn’t think she could handle his enduring any more injuries because of her. It was comforting to think he didn’t know how much she cared for him. He’d think her a silly fool, and he wouldn’t be that far off the mark. She’d just have to make certain he never found out.

  Chapter 20

  From the burning pain radiating clear down to his ankle, Monty was fucked. Sweat dripped down his neck and back, and what he wouldn’t give to close his eyes and sleep for a week. But he wasn’t going to say a word to Taylor. Nor would he tell her how every breath he inhaled made him see stars. The people they were trying to find were nomads, and it was possible they’d already packed up for the winter. Taylor had to get there before they shuffled off to wherever their next location was—one the team had yet been able to locate. They had to reach the group before they could convince whoever was in charge to let them stay until Cowboy found them.

  He had to give it to Taylor; three minutes in and she’d learned the machine like a pro. He no longer had to grit his teeth with her jarring the sled as she grew accustomed to the throttle. They made good time and only slowed twice, due to dense trees. A good thing. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his head up. It pounded something awful, so much so that the grating noise of the engine became background noise. A day’s walk, Taylor drove in a few hours. Certain they were close, he rested his heavy head on the knapsack strapped to her back. He only needed a couple of minutes, anything to regain his dwindling strength.

  When next he pried his eyelids open, the sound of the motor had changed. Either that or the sled had suddenly grown a diesel engine. He blinked, unable to clear his vision. He shifted his legs…and realized he was no longer sitting on the sled. He was no longer sitting. “Taylor?” he said, or thought he had. He wasn’t certain her name had actually left his lips. He attempted to lift his head, but the damn thing weighed a ton, and all he could manage was a slight turn. Through the fog in his brain, he made out a person. Not Taylor. From the shape, a man sat on some kind of bench by Monty’s feet. Where the hell was she? Had the Russians caught up to them? Again, he tried her name, but all he managed was a grunt. It caught the attention of his guard, who nodded at Monty before knocking on the wall in front of him. A small panel slid open, throwing a soft illumination into the space. He was in the back of a moving truck.

  “He’s awake.”

  “Monty?” came a panicked voice.

  They had Taylor in the truck’s front cab.

  “Monty, are you all right?”

  He wanted to tell her he was, even though he was fairly certain he wasn’t, but his mouth wouldn’t move. She called out to him again. The man spoke, but he might as well have been in another country, the words too muffled, too far off for Monty to make out. Then the world tilted and forced him down a deep, black hole.

  * * * *

  He was supposed to do something, but for the life of him… he wasn’t doing it. What the hell was it? He opened his eyes. How did he get here? He stood in a white room, computer screens as far as the eye could see. They were everywhere. Which one? Which computer controlled security? With a sickening roll of his stomach, he realized they all did. Every last one of them. He tried to move his feet, to reach out and touch the first of a thousand keyboards, but his body refused him. Clacking keys caught his attention. But where was it coming from? He looked down at his hands. It wasn’t him. The sound grew louder, so deafening the walls shook. From his right, he caught movement. The team from Thailand—TK, Mason, and Frank—stood behind a wall, their fists banging on a door Monty hadn’t seen before. Behind them, a dragon opened his mouth, ready to incinerate his friends. Monty had to kill the monster. A virus. Have to upload the virus. He had to shut down security. Too many systems. Not enough time.

  If only his head would stop pounding. Then maybe his teeth would cease rattling. Fuck…the team. Monty tried to call out, to tell them to run, but with his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth all that came out was a barely audible groan.

  “Monty. I’m here.”

  Taylor. Fucking hell, he’d screwed up again. He was supposed to protect her. Keep her safe. Gritting his teeth, he managed to pry his eyelids apart long enough to see her sitting next to him.

  “Monty.” She sounded relieved, happy even. It was too dark to get a visual.

  They were in trouble. What could he do to help her when his body wouldn’t cooperate? Where had they taken them? If they’d fucking touched her, he’d kill them. He’d kill every last one of them.

  He moved his head, but being smacked by a sledgehammer would’ve been less painful.

  “Don’t.” Taylor pressed a cool palm to his cheek. “Don’t move. Rest.”

  She ran her fingers across his jaw, and it felt so good he’d have pressed his face into her hand…if he had the strength. He didn’t. What the fuck had they done to him?

  “Your burn; you were right. It’s probably infected. We’re almost there and they promised medicine.”

  They? Didn’t she know she couldn’t trust the Russians? They had to escape. He must have managed some movement because she pla
ced her hands on his shoulders to still him.

  “Shhh,” she cooed. “Everything will be all right.” She leaned in and touched her mouth to his. She smelled like gasoline and frosty nights, and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her back. But that wasn’t happening.

  “Rest,” she repeated. “I’m here. We’re safe.”

  Safe? How could they be safe?

  Then a frosty breeze swept across his face. In the briefest of seconds he could hold his eyes open, he saw daylight. How? Then his world went black again and he forgot his question.

  * * * *

  A sharp pain to his ribs and Monty opened his eyes. Timber walls illuminated by a kerosene lantern stared back at him. He was in a room large enough to fit a double bed and a small nightstand. He no longer smelled like a fueling station and his head had finally stopped its relentless pounding. He felt the compression on his injured legs and ribs and knew he’d been freshly bandaged. Two things, however, were missing: his clothes and Taylor. Where was Taylor? He propped himself up on one elbow, but the room spun so much he had to lay back down. He was going to be useless if he didn’t get his act together. The door opened and relief—and fucking yes, joy—washed over him. “Taylor.”

  “Hey, sexy. You decided to join the land of the living.” Her face lit up, her own relief at seeing him awake evident, but there was something else.

  She was nervous? Anxious…scared? Given their current situation, he understood that. “Where are we? Where have they taken us?”

  “They’re not sharing that with me.” She joined him on the bed, propping one knee up by his hip.

  She was dressed in an oversize flannel shirt, the clothes not her own. What else had they taken from her?