Comeback

by Doranna Durgin

  Something she'd unwittingly learned she had in common with him.

  A scuff of sound scraped the night and Selena broke stride, drawing in a sharp breath as the skin across her shoulders tightened. They were only a block away from Agabaji's, a literal hole-in-the-ground establishment that drew trouble simply because it also drew those who lived on the edge. Mercenaries of all nationalities, Berzhaani men who lived on the edge of the law, sometimes even a terrorist or two—at least until that unlucky man realized that terrorists were no more welcome in Agabaji's than child abusers were welcome in prison.

  Dobry hesitated as he realized Selena had fallen back. He turned and, in the darkness, she thought he reached for her arm and then thought better of it. "Don't make something of nothing," he said. "We don't want to linger—"

  The faint whiff of body odor, of alcohol…of gun oil.

  Selena was the one who grabbed Dobry's arm, hauling him to the building at the edge of the narrow street, pushing him up against the cut stone.

  "What the hell—" His protest cut off in a grunt of surprise as something hit him, followed by the clatter of metal against cobblestone streets. A blade.

  Selena crouched and scooped up the fallen knife, then dragged Dobry down after her. "Down," she muttered as he resisted. "They don't expect us to be low." No need to ask if he was okay; the man hadn't been able to compensate fast enough for their changed distance and the knife had bounced off hilt first.

  And now Selena had it.

  In a moment, she'd have the man who threw it.

  Chapter 9

  He ran. Hard soles smacked the cobblestones with heavy steps and Selena smiled a hard little smile as she took off after him, slipping out of her long coat on the run and leaving it collapsed on the stones behind her like an empty person suit in the moonlight. Dobry shouted something behind her but she didn't heed him; she knew from Farm experience that his fierce sprint couldn't hold up to her sustained effort. The man ahead of her ran so heavily that she suspected the same.

  If nothing else, she wanted a good look. A mug-shot kind of look, a memory she could take to Station Chief TRAMMEL and his identification resources.

  For this was no random attack. No mugger profited by starting the screaming early, and most women watching a companion knifed in the dark would certainly commence to make noise. No, this was someone who didn't want them here—them, as in she and Dobry. Who'd even had the time or opportunity to learn they were in the country?

  Her prey turned a corner, breathing harshly now; his steps took on an uneven, leaden quality, his feet thudding dully instead of smartly slapping the cobblestones. Selena pulled her tunic up far enough to reach the gun snugged against her side, ripping the material along the way.

  Ahead of her, he grunted loudly, snarling a barely intelligible curse right before a dog yelped—and right before he fell. A weapon clattered off the stones to spin away—with luck, right out of reach.

  Selena didn't slow her pace. She spotted him, a dark form against moonlight cobbles, and she turned him into her own personal launching pad. The back of his thigh, his ass, between his shoulder blades and then a special effort to thrust off his head, spinning in midair so her other foot could snap his head back on the way down. She landed in a crouch and no fool he, he heaved himself up with such purpose he could only be hunting for his weapon.

  She bared her teeth and leaped in front of him—and this time she had her gun out, the big solid semiautomatic reflecting modest moonlight, close enough to his face to get his complete attention, far enough away so he couldn't reach her. She rapped out, "Who sent you?"

  "Gijdyllah!" She gave him a moment to absorb that rudeness. "Don't even try to convince me you just had a whim." She fished out her little LED flashlight and shone it on his face, directly into his eyes. Let his night vision adjust after that. And she had a perfect impression of his features, a heavy face over that barrel-chested body, starkly painted in the harsh, narrow beam of light. His shirt caught her eye, an olive fatigue shirt, and her already pounding heart did a triple beat, a trill of recognition. She flicked the light down to his pants and quickly back again. "Kemeni," she said. She didn't mean for her voice to come out in a harsh whisper, but it happened anyway. "Who leads you, Kemeni? You've got a brain somewhere—it's damn sure not in this body."

  He drew back, enough to shield his eyes with his hand, squinting at her dry words in rebellious bafflement. And then the night exploded and he stiffened, his eyes losing focus as his hand fell and his head followed, hitting the cobbles hard enough to break a nose he no longer breathed through.

  "Selena!" The voice sounded a little tinny in the aftermath of the gunshot.

  "Goff?" she looked into the darkness, feeling entirely exposed. She could just as well have been the one dead on the cobbles. "What the hell—? I was—"

  Closer now, close enough so her eyes fastened on the two approaching figures and she lifted her Cougar without thinking, wary of such fast approach.

  "Whoa," said Betzer's voice, sardonic as it had been in the bar. "Thought you'd be grateful, with him about to go off on you and all." But he stopped short, holding both hands out from his side in a wide, unmistakable message.

  Go off on me? She'd been talking to the man. She'd also temporarily night-blinded him. She'd been standing out of reach, and she'd had a big pistol to keep things that way.

  But Betzer was saying, "Just thought I'd keep an eye on you—for Cole's sake. I wasn't far behind when this guy popped out of the woodwork. Or stonework, in this place. Just as glad for it. I'd hate to have to explain to Cole that I let his wife get killed on my turf."

  "It's my turf, too," Selena said tightly, but closed her mouth on more. The man may have acted like a jerk in the bar, but she could believe he'd watch her back just to avoid Cole's wrath. Slowly, she lowered her weapon. But she didn't holster it, and she moved into the shadow of the nearest building.

  "Looks like someone's not happy about your search for Cole," Betzer commented. He'd come closer—not so close as to alarm her, but close enough to talk more quietly.

  Not that his shot hadn't gathered enough attention—lights were going on, and soon enough the local law would arrive.

  And not that she really thought this attack had anything to do with Cole. A man in Kemeni colors, on her tail already? When she'd only moments earlier tipped her hand that she was looking for Cole in the first place? If there was a leak, it had dribbled down from on high.

  And that, she didn't even want to contemplate.

  "Lighten up, Selena," Dobry offered in his Goff voice. He'd cleaned up after her; when he gestured, her coat flopped in his grip. "We didn't get off to the best start, but the guy just saved your life."

  She took only an instant to decide her course. "I guess he did at that," she said, being good. Not making waves.

  Keeping her thoughts to herself.

  She added, "Thanks, Betzer. And I hate to live and run, but I don't think we'll be alone here much longer." She returned to the body long enough to pat it down one-handed, hauling it over to check the front pockets and avoiding the spreading stain at the crotch. Nothing. No surprise.

  Betzer said, "I'm guessing this isn't going to put you off your hunt, but be careful." He gave a brief, sudden grin, a Cheshire cat gleam of tooth in the darkness. "We may be a little prickly on the surface, but Cole's one of us, and we take care of our own."

  But she was none of theirs, regardless of what he thought. And he'd killed a man she'd meant to question, had been questioning, and now wanted to paint himself the benevolent hero.

  She couldn't think of Betzer as a benevolent anything.

  "Thanks," she said again, and tipped her head at the distant sound of sirens. "I'll let you know if I hear from Cole. I hope you'll do the same."

  And they parted ways with Dobry's additional thanks hanging in the air, as Selena mulled the fact that where Betzer and Dobry saw straight lines, she saw curlicues.

  This situation had just gotten muc
h, much more complicated, and she was the only one who seemed to know it.

  DANGER.

  Selena's eyes flew open, her heart already pounding, her mind instantly reviewing the location of her Beretta—the nightstand directly next to her head—and her nearest knife, the short tanto blade she liked for its precision. Its sheath straps were snug and comforting above her ankle, right there under the sheets with her.

  Her tension ratcheted a notch as the sound came again, unidentifiable, and her pulse surged so loudly in her ears that she wouldn't hear it again if it came. Stupid, she told herself. Breathe.

  The soft grunt from the twin bed on the other side of the room let her know that Dobry was doing just that. Thank God, the man didn't snore, but the little grunt came regularly enough that waiting for it as she'd tried to fall asleep had turned into a bizarre form of Chinese water torture. She'd finally stuffed tissue in her ears, but it had fallen out as she slept.

  Klink. Soft, and just outside the hotel room. Selena eased out from beneath the covers, scooping up the pistol—it slipped into her hand, comfortable and heavy, her fingers curving around the big grip to welcome it home.

  It shocked her to realize those fingers were trembling. She thought she'd handled the evening's encounters with aplomb, that she'd found a piece of her old self. The part of her that didn't overreact, didn't fight internal battles over threat levels, but simply knew. Instead she discovered adrenaline overload, lurking in wait. Her knees had gone loose, and she struggled with a moment of doubt, still unable to identify the noise and not at all sure she wasn't just plain overreacting.

  Well. She wouldn't know until she tracked it down. She eased to the door and put her ear to the crack; after a moment she opened it and after another she stuck her head out into the hall.

  There she discovered a Berzhaani maintenance man halfway up a ladder, fiddling with one of the fancy wall sconces. Her sudden appearance caused him to startle, drop his screwdriver, and clutch at the ladder, staring.

  She realized that her pj's set of loose T-shirt and low-slung boxers covered with tan and green dinosaurs probably wasn't considered modest by Berzhaani standards. And that the gun up her shoulder, ready to come to bear, was likewise not a common sight.

  Selena found a handful of curses from as many different languages, but none seemed quite right for the moment. So she brought her free hand up to waggle her fingers at the horrified man, and retreated back into the room.

  "Smooth move," Dobry said in the darkness, and then the light by his bed clicked on.

  Be casual. It's the only way out of this one. "The room arrangement can be changed if you'd like," she told him, and returned—casually, of course—the pistol to her bedside table. "Probably even tonight."

  Propped on his elbow, Dobry regarded her in silence, one dyed eyebrow lifting over heavy features. In response to what, Selena wasn't sure. Her midnight prowling, her trendy chick pajamas—ones she wouldn't have packed had she been doing the packing—or maybe even the residual tremor of her hands. But if he had something to say, he'd have to say it out loud—she wasn't going to give him a freebie opening.

  Too damned bad they'd both agreed, when they couldn't get adjoining rooms, that it would be best to stick together.

  Selena slid back into bed; he courteously waited until she'd done so before turning off the light, offering no further comment. Checking is better than not checking, she told herself. Knowing is better than wondering. Overreacting is better than dying. The sick feeling in her stomach washed in anyway.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the reason she was here, the reason she'd been thrust into the field when everyone knew she'd found herself a permanent edge to live on since her days in Tafiq Ashurbeyli's hands. Aymal, with intel that would save lives. And Cole. Cole, with that sloppy grin and that devil-may-care attitude that often hid how much he truly did care. But she'd figured him out. She'd finally figured him out.

  And she wasn't about to lose him now. If that meant holding it together, then so be it. She'd hold it together.

  COLE'S EYES FLEW OPEN, already narrowing with intent, his hand closing around the checkered black grip of his Browning Hi-Power, solid 9 mm readiness. He held his breath, listening…trying to filter out the various snorts and heavy breathing of his nighttime companions—the humped Zebu cattle who lived on this small family farm and who sheltered under this three-quarter pole barn at night.

  Breathe, he thought at Aymal, fully aware that the man had slept only fitfully and now had stopped breathing—not, as with Cole, listening for a repetition of what had woken him, but simply because he'd forgotten to breathe in his fear.

  The cattle shifted below the half-width storage loft Cole had appropriated—three of them, warming this small space and perfectly content to share it.

  Scuffle…

  There it was again. Not far from here. Cole pushed away the dirty blanket he'd taken from the bus, no doubt from someone who hadn't deserved to lose it. His side burned; he bit down on a hiss of annoyance and stood anyway, slowly so as not to spook the cattle. When Aymal shifted beside him, Cole used his free hand to press down on the man's shoulder, a silent command to stay still.

  A man less prepared to face the trials of defecting through troubled territory, he couldn't imagine. Then again, he still couldn't imagine Aymal as a terrorist at all, though he supposed someone had to balance the checkbook—a highly trained mathematician turned accountant by circumstances.

  Aymal had assured him that the accounts with which he'd worked would be closed by now, the money shifted to uncompromised banks. But he was equally certain that no one realized how much information he'd picked up simply by being there.

  Cole wasn't quite so certain. Someone had disrupted the initial exfiltration…someone had turned Cole's own ex-buddies on to the attempted recovery and paid them to intercept. Someone, it seemed, knew something.

  So he wouldn't assume that they didn't also know he and Aymal had hidden out on the very western edges of Suwan, just along the long slog of arid nothingness between here and the nearest village. He eased out to the edge of the loft and flipped over it, lowering himself in a gymnast's move to touch down between two sets of long, lyre-shaped horns. This time he was prepared to set his teeth against the stretch of torn flesh, and possibly even to admit that the tentative first aid and disinfectant Aymal had applied hadn't been quite enough.

  Later. He patted a bony bovine hip and the animal didn't even bother to shift away from him. He squeezed by, keeping the gun well away from her, and hesitated at the edge of the small structure, staring into a night lit by a gibbous but waning moon, the pistol loaded, cocked and ready to go. The thrumming in his side distracted him; his eyes seemed too gritty to focus in the limited light.

  Scuffle…

  Hell. Just another cow, dark shape against dark background. Cole snorted softly to himself and eased the thumb safety back into place. Smooth move, Jox, he told himself, and grinned into the darkness with relief. Yeah, smooth moo-ve. But he was no less careful in returning to the loft, and he settled himself into place with doubts surfacing in his thoughts. This was their second night on the run, and he'd just interrupted his first few hours of sleep since it all started. Aymal was no better off—worse even, worn-out from days of intense spy games before Cole had found him, and riding the ragged edge of nerves that had come pre-frayed.

  As if to emphasize that last, Aymal's hand closed on Cole's arm, a contact with just a little too much clutch in it. "Are we safe?" he whispered, if a voice that loud could ever truly be called a whisper.

  "As safe as we've been since this started," Cole told him, his own voice perfectly normal if a little roughened by circumstances. "Just one of the cows…must have gone walkabout while we weren't paying attention."

  "You're sure?" Aymal asked, still clutching. "Because I didn't sleep. I would have heard if one of the cows moved away."

  Gently, Cole peeled away Aymal's fingers. "That's my gun arm, Aymal…you really don't ev
er want to get in its way." Before he'd finished speaking, Aymal had snatched his hand away entirely. One of the cows offered an editorial comment, the kind that came with its own unique odor, and Cole sighed. "Definitely a cow." And when Aymal offered nothing but a muffled sound of dismay in response, Cole said, "Hey, could be worse. Lots worse. We could have found ourselves hiding in a silkworm farm."

  Aymal chose not to respond. Probably wise.

  And Cole…

  Cole closed his eyes and determined to get some sleep. They'd bumped around watching their tails long enough. He'd head for Oguzka to stash Aymal, and then he'd feel his way around, determine who he'd trust this time…and hope he wasn't wrong again. For now…sleep. He deliberately fed a slow smile with thoughts of Selena, of those blue-green eyes that always spoke deeply and truly to him even when she could hide her feelings from so many.

  And now they trusted him, those eyes. They hadn't always, but things had changed during the hostage incident. They were partners, now…partners trying to become a family.

  Never mind Aymal…it was Selena he wouldn't let down.

  Chapter 10

  Selena dozed her way through the rest of the night and woke early. She spent a few moments breathing deeply to reset her body's mood for the day. Not strung tight as a wire, thank you. Dobry looked to be a slow and grumpy riser, so she headed for the gym to get some endorphins kicked into gear. Just a light workout—some stretches and warm-ups, a mile's jogging on the treadmill, a few reps of toning weights. As much as she'd like to throw herself into the exercise and banish the night's demons, she needed to leave plenty of herself in reserve.

  No telling what the day would bring.

  She returned to the room for a quick shower and found a message from Allori. Clean, her hair still tousled and wet, she sat on the bed in the oversize hotel bathrobe and dialed Allori's number as Dobry spread the contents of his metal goodies case on the otherwise cleared work desk, his expression as gleeful as she'd ever seen it. Bonita put her through without comment, and Selena greeted Allori with just a little too much cheer. "Hi," she said. "This hotel is great—thanks for recommending it!"