As his feet found purchase on the branch, his weight sent a shiver through the tree, enough that the sniper turned his head while he was still talking. His eyes went wide with shock and he broke off abruptly. Sam lunged forward, kicking hard, driving his foot into the man’s chest, sending him tumbling out of the tree as he tried to swing his rifle around.
The man fell, his mouth wide-open but no sound emerging. The rifle fell with him, but not before Sam caught a good glimpse of it. There was no doubt in his mind that the rifle was a Dragunov sniper rifle, produced in Iran as the Nakhjir sniper rifle. He needed that evidence. He materialized beside the body and snatched up the rifle, projecting himself back to his chosen retreat spot before sliding into the brush once again. Bullets hit all around him, zipping into the brush from several directions.
“Surrender,” a voice barked out. The command was issued in English, but heavily accented.
Sam scuttled like a crab, his body hugging the ground as he slipped through the small animal trail into heavier brush. Bullets pounded the dirt, spat splinters from the bark on the trees, whipped through leaves, and hummed past his ears. One burned his back and another skimmed his arm, slicing hot and painful, taking a strip of flesh. But he found the depression he’d been looking for and scooted into it, burrowing deep.
The volley of shots ceased as if someone had given an order. “You will die if you don’t surrender,” the voice warned again.
When Sam made no sound, the hail of bullets seemed to increase their fury.
Where the hell was the cavalry? Azami? Are you clear? He was going to have to chance surrendering, because he was definitely going to take a bullet if this kept up.
I’m coming around behind them, taking them out one by one. Are you hit?
He loved how calm her voice was. She could have been strolling through the park. Not yet. I’m going to give myself up. Hopefully they won’t shoot me. Stay out of sight. I’ll escape as soon as I’m able.
They might kill you.
He liked the protest in her voice. True, but I don’t think so. I think they’ll want information. They’ve come a long way for something. If they take me with them, I’m leaving a rifle here. Take it to Ryland, and for God’s sake, don’t get caught.
That’s not going to happen. Go ahead and surrender, but if they kill you, I’ll be following them all the way back to their base, and I don’t take prisoners. You know they’re after my brother, not you.
Sam was counting on whoever these people were wanting her brother or at least information about him—that and they would know his team would be coming down that mountain any moment after them and they’d want to wrap this up fast and get the hell out of Dodge.
“Stop shooting,” he called. “I’m giving myself up.”
CHAPTER 4
Sam pushed the rifle slowly into deeper brush, careful not to rustle any leaves. He waited until the guns were once again quiet. “I’m standing up now. No one get crazy on me.”
His heart drummed out the time in his chest. This was the single moment no one ever wanted to live in. Life or death? There were at least seven to ten of the enemy, not including the second Jeep full of mercenaries. Any one of them could get trigger happy and his life would end in a hail of bullets. He really didn’t want to go out that way. Taking a deep breath, he let it out and slowly stood, both hands raised high. His gaze moved fast over the entire area, noting positions of the enemy. There weren’t as many as he’d first thought—or Azami was making the most of her time.
Do you need me to create a distraction? I can lead some of them off you.
No, don’t do anything yet. When I need you, I’ll give you the signal, but don’t let them know you’re close—not yet.
“Link your fingers behind your head and walk forward,” the man in charge ordered.
Sam had six semiautomatics centered on him. He did what he was told. The occupants of the Jeep were worrisome, and now that they had him, they were going to move fast to keep his team from raining fire down on them. He and Azami had bought a few minutes, but not enough to get his team down the mountain.
The brush was thick and he swore as he deliberately walked through it, swallowing more precious minutes and making a show of stumbling. He didn’t want to look like a threat to any of them. He couldn’t quite look like a whipped pup, but he tried to project that image. He was about to reveal secrets to Azami, and there would be questions he didn’t want to answer, but if he was going to get out of this alive and keep her safe, he had no other choice. She’d be watching him this time and she’d see what he could do. This time, the battle was more like a pool game, all about the angles.
One of the men made a comment, laughing a little at his discomfort, the words in his own language. Not so tough. They lied to us about these men, he interpreted.
“Shut up,” the commander growled, clearly not wanting them to speak anything but English.
He was more cautious than the others and absolutely the biggest threat—which meant the commander had to go first. Sam chose each target carefully. He could take out five of them for certain, but his energy would be sapped quickly after that. He’d have to be in almost continuous motion, taking only a second for each kill. His body wouldn’t have time to catch up to the speed he was moving. He wouldn’t feel whole, the sensation of his body tearing apart strong, but he simply had no other viable choice.
Azami, when I give you the word, can you take the two soldiers hanging back in the trees, nearly out of my sight? Can you see them?
No problem.
There it was—that supreme confidence he found sexy as hell in the middle of a firefight. Who knew he was such a fucking pervert that a woman in battle could turn him on with just her soft voice filling his mind with assurance that she could take out the two soldiers. Purring. She purred, the sound of her voice vibrating through his entire body.
Time slowed down like it always did for him when he needed it to. The wind rustled the leaves in the trees and lighter branches swayed gently. The sky overhead was pale blue, a few wispy clouds floating. A perfect day. He noted the faint crackle of leaves as mice scurried away from the intruders. Somewhere a hawk screamed. Life continued with or without Sam Johnson.
The commander signaled the closest man forward. It was now or never. Sam sent Azami the order. Take them.
He ran straight at the commander, his fingers gripping the handle of his knife. He crossed thirty feet with blurring speed, so that the commander blinked and Sam stood in front of him, already drawing the blade across his throat. Sam ran for the soldier twenty feet from the commander, banked off a tree and plunged the knife through his throat, twisted and was sprinting toward the third soldier. Racing up the trunk of a tree, slingshotting off, somersaulting in the air, he landed behind the third soldier, cutting his throat as his feet touched ground. Another burst of speed took him directly to the fourth soldier.
He slashed in a figure eight, cutting arteries, feeling the effects of repeated teleportation, his body beginning to shake with overload. He put on another burst of energy, racing from the fourth soldier to the fifth. He zipped around trees, to come up behind the soldier.
The entire thing had taken seconds only, but the fifth soldier had caught the fall of his companions and whirled around in a circle, his finger steady on the trigger. Sam had to turn with him, staying behind the man, praying Azami was clear of the stream of bullets as they cut through leaves and trees and mowed down branches. His body shuddered, legs suddenly rubber. Sam plunged the knife deep into the soldier’s kidney, knowing he was going to go down. He had to take the soldier with him to keep him off Azami.
The gunfire would draw the Jeep filled with mercenaries, and he was terribly weak. He might not be able to protect the woman. Get out of here. Make your way back to your brother. The team is on the way, in the air now. I can feel them getting closer.
He twisted the knife free and plunged it a second time, determined to take the soldier down with him. His knees gave
out and he went down hard, retaining possession of the knife. The semiautomatic continued firing as the soldier sprawled over Sam, the sound deafening.
I don’t need protection.
There was just a bit of haughtiness in the soft voice filling his mind. She poured warmth and confidence into him. The gun went silent, but he felt the vibration under him, indicating the Jeep was racing toward the battle. Sam summoned strength and shoved the dying soldier off him. The man rolled, his dark eyes staring at Sam in a kind of a shock. They’d been a far superior force in numbers, but one GhostWalker and a woman had destroyed them.
You get your men?
Of course.
Sam pushed down the smile that little haughty note brought out and rolled to get his hands under him. He groaned at the sudden crashing pain and tried to push himself onto his hands and knees. This was more than weakness from teleporting too much. The distances had been relatively short and his body felt nearly settled. He’d taken a couple of deep wounds from the stabbing broken branches in the trees, but really … in front of Azami?
“It isn’t going to happen,” he muttered. “You’re a fuckin’ GhostWalker. Get on your feet and move, soldier.”
He felt a surge of psychic energy, a strong wash surrounding him, and instinctively he twisted, looking for the threat. Azami materialized on his left side, reaching down to slide her arm around his waist. Shock waves rocked him. There was no way she could use teleportation, yet she’d been a great distance from him. How had she managed to cross that space in under a second? As far as he knew, he was the only one in the world who could do such a thing—and yet, she had. He recognized the burst of power, the alarming buildup of energy and the way her body shimmered for a moment, nearly transparent until all molecules caught up with her speed.
He found himself looking into those dark, mysterious eyes. For one moment, he felt as if he was falling forward and he caught himself. He was not about to lean on anyone, let alone a woman. “Who the hell are you?” Because she was no ordinary woman, and more and more his radar told him he was dealing with a fellow GhostWalker. And if that was so, and she hadn’t identified herself as such, if she was lying about who she was, they had a major problem.
He did not want to kill this woman. Everything in him rebelled against the idea, yet that nagging suspicion refused to go away. He held his breath. The wind seemed to cease.
“I’m the woman who happens to be saving your butt right now. Keep walking. We’re about to have more company. If you go down again, you won’t be getting back up.”
Hell. He knew he’d been hit, it just hadn’t registered in his brain yet. He’d been moving too fast, but someone had fired repeatedly and a bullet had clipped him—somewhere. He was used to the aftermath of teleporting, the sheer exhaustion and the pain as bones and tissue realigned, as if somehow, they hadn’t all quite found their rightful places back in his body. He accepted the help from her, not wanting to fall on his face in front of her.
Her waist was very small. His hand was so big, he was almost afraid to put it on her—afraid anywhere he touched would be inappropriate. Fucking hell. He should be thinking about guns and bullets and self-preservation, not how perfectly her body felt against his.
They hobbled away from that scene of death and chaos, back into deeper woods. Azami didn’t go far. She set him down beside a large tree. He could feel the earth trembling.
“The others are close. My team’s about five minutes out.” He blew out his breath and assessed the damage. “I can handle this. Seriously, woman, you’re driving me crazy.” She was too, but not in the way she should be. He should want her hiding in the bunker with her brothers, Kadan and Nico protecting her, but no, she was here, in danger, and all he could think about was how good she smelled. And how very glad he was that Kadan and Nico had wives they adored.
Azami laughed softly. “I seem to have that effect on men—driving them crazy. Apparently my behavior is not normal.”
“You’re damned attractive and you’re distracting me.” The words were out before he could censor them, shocking him and judging by her face, shocking her.
“I think you’re a little delirious.”
The teasing note in her voice slipped inside his guard and warmed him. Damn it all, she wasn’t who she claimed to be and he was responsible for the safety of his team and for Lily’s baby. The woman was overpowering his good sense with sheer sex appeal. He turned his head toward the sound of the engine drawing near, more to distract himself than for any other reason. He’d known all along that Jeep was close.
Overhead they could hear an approaching helicopter, the sound of the blades growing loud. Azami sent him another smile and made a move to rise from behind the brush. Alarm rushed over him and Sam caught her wrist, yanking her back to safety. She didn’t resist, or even look annoyed. She simply looked down at the fingers shackling her and then back up to him, raising an eyebrow.
Damn, she was calm. He liked that. He also liked that her fingers had settled around the hilt of her knife. His curved around hers, holding her hand still. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t know you. But I see you lack trust in me as well.”
He flashed a wan grin. “I don’t know you either.” He indicated above the canopy with his chin. “They aren’t ours.”
Thorn glanced at the sky, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Two helicopters? That was some serious firepower. Mercenaries and Iranians. What was going on? Someone wanted either Sam Johnson or her—very badly.
Ropes dropped from the helicopter hovering some distance away, and several men began fast-roping down. She assessed the damage to Sam. He’d been shot. It looked like a through and through, but the bullet had entered on his right side and come out the back. He’d lost a lot of blood. It was only his training and iron will that kept the pain at bay and the soldier from passing out.
It was impossible for a woman like Thorn not to admire Sam as he pushed himself up, sliding his weapon forward and going to ground without so much as wincing. The back of his shirt was covered in blood and there was more on his calf. “Stay still,” she advised. “And take a breath.”
She didn’t give him time to think about it, as she pulled a thin, rather large rectangle-shaped bandage from her pack. Shoving up his shirt, she slapped it over the wound. He gasped and turned his head to look at her over his shoulder, suspicion in his eyes. She ignored it and reached for the front of his shirt.
“That feels like some form of a drug called Zenith. My blood vessels are expanding rapidly. My body’s going hot and flooding with adrenaline. You get the same reaction from Zenith.” There was accusation in his voice. “I had no idea there was a topical form. Before it was banned, it was given via injections.”
She slapped another medicated patch over the entry wound. “It’s second-generation Zenith. Definitely not going to kill you, so mellow out.”
The suspicion didn’t ease, she could tell by his eyes, but he turned back toward the enemy. There was nothing he could do either way, the patches had been applied, the Zenith was in his system, and so he turned with a casual shrug of his shoulders, making her admire him all the more.
“How would you know about Zenith if you don’t know Dr. Whitney?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t acquainted with the man. You never asked me.”
Thorn slipped into place beside him, lying on her belly, her eyes watching the enemy force fan out and disappear into the brush. “Military. Trained. I think we’re looking at an elite force.” She assessed the enemy.
“My team is just minutes out,” he reiterated with confidence. “Keep your head down.”
She sent him one dark look of pure reprimand. She’d already given away too many secrets, but then—so had he. She respected him for that. He’d taken his job of protecting her quite seriously, even when he saw she could handle herself. And he hadn’t tried to relegate her to the background as so many other men would have. He treated her as an equal. He hadn’t fought the Z
enith patches and he knew the first generation eventually killed its host if one wasn’t administered the antidote within the prescribed time frame. That told her he was very seasoned and completely confident in his abilities. She may have underestimated him just a little.
Sam grinned at her, that quick, cocky smile sending shock waves through her. She’d never reacted to a man in the way she was reacting to him. One flash of his white teeth, those dark eyes warming with a teasing light, and her body overheated, her blood rushing through her veins with more exhilaration than she’d ever felt. Sam Johnson made her feel alive.
She’d been in countless perilous situations—it was the very nature of her business—and she’d never encountered such a physical and emotional reaction to anyone. “You’re a dangerous man, Sam,” she accused.
His grin widened into a mischievous smirk. “You have no idea just how dangerous, Ms. Yoshiie.”
That grin promised all sorts of things that had nothing to do with enemy warfare and everything to do with male versus female. Why would that softly whispered taunt turn her into pure melted heat? There was something turbulent and stormy and so seductive in his eyes, so appealing to a woman with her nature.
They were surrounded by an unknown enemy force, and yet the man beside her seemed to turn the experience into an exhilarating roller coaster of emotions. She’d never felt so feminine as she did now, there with her guns and knives and bow and arrows, lying beside Sam in the rotting vegetation and brush. And damn it all, she loved that he was dangerous.
They began moving in unison, as if dancing, using elbows and toes to take them over the uneven terrain, two lizards propelling themselves forward soundlessly. Not even the whisper of clothing gave them away as they crab-walked their way closer to the enemy. On the right the sound of the Jeep’s engine suddenly died and a voice called out in Spanish. Another answered in the same language. As if pulled by strings, they looked at one another, both puzzled. Thorn couldn’t believe how in tune they were. Why would mercenaries be in one Jeep and Mexicans in a second along with obviously military-trained Iranian soldiers hunting them?
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