Bullseye

by Jessica Andersen

  The ground shifted beneath his feet and then righted, and he forced himself to release her and step back.

  Without another word, though the tension snapped tight between them like an invisible silken cord, he said out loud, “You rest that arm. I’m going to have a look around.”

  He walked boldly into the trees, leaving Isabella to perch near the fire with her bandaged arm held close to her side.

  He cursed the seconds that ticked by as he worked away from the campfire, then doubled back on it. This was the tricky part, the most dangerous part. She would be out of his sight for no more than a minute or two, and she held the 9 mm in the crook of her arm—which wasn’t as badly injured as they wanted the hunter to believe.

  It was stupid simple, but it was a plan. Make her appear weaker than she was. Make her seem isolated and vulnerable.

  Use her as bait to draw the predator near.

  Jacob heard a noise in the middle distance and cursed the heavy brush that obscured his view of Isabella, but they hadn’t been able to find a better spot. Hadn’t been willing to let this drag on another day when time was running out on their deadline.

  Now he wondered whether this had been a good plan, after all.

  Moments later he pushed through to a place where the brush opened up, and he saw Isabella. She sat near the smoky fire, arm in her lap, a worried frown on her face as she scanned the nearby woods and carefully didn’t linger on the place where they had agreed he would hide.

  Jacob let out a breath and a small measure of tension left him. Thank God. The bastard hadn’t arrived yet.

  Then a small noise came from behind him.

  A cool gun muzzle pressed into the skin beneath his ear.

  And a heavily accented voice said, “Nice try. But not good enough.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Bodies crashed in the brush nearby and Isabella’s heart froze when Jacob’s voice shouted, “Isabella, run!”

  She bolted to her feet, weapon at the ready, but all she could see was a pair of struggling figures, one dressed in denim, the other in black. She couldn’t get a clean shot through the scrub.

  Jacob had yelled for her to escape, but there was no way she was leaving without him, so she plunged into brush, cursing when it tore at her skin and clothing, slowing her down.

  She burst into a small clearing and skidded to a halt. Tried for a clear shot.

  The men grappled, feet slipping on leaves and dead branches as they wrestled for control of the black-clad man’s gun.

  Isabella’s heart seized at the sight, then began to beat again in the heavy, deliberate rhythm she’d learned during her training.

  There was no place for emotion here. This was her duty. The job she was trained for. Protection. Action and reaction. She had to block Jacob’s face from her mind, block the strong line of his body and the memory of the conversations they’d shared over the past four days. The mind-blowing passion. The intimacy.

  There was only the enemy. The target.

  She squared her feet, lifted the 9 mm, and sighted. Jacob’s face swung into view, and she froze.

  This wasn’t duty. This was Jacob.

  He looked over and saw her, and his face twisted with irritation that she’d disobeyed his command, or maybe with disappointment that she was simply standing there, unable to move. Unable to fire.

  What if she hit him? What then?

  Insecurity, unusual and unacceptable, swamped her out of nowhere, paralyzing her finger on the trigger. Suddenly she was back in the Golf Resort, frozen by the blast of the stun grenade, unable to help her protectees.

  Suddenly she was powerless.

  The hunter, a dark-clad man with mid-brown hair, weathered skin and the cool eyes of a killer, followed Jacob’s gaze and locked onto Isabella. A faintly satisfied smile touched his lips. He held Jacob off, turned and leveled his weapon directly at her.

  Run! Isabella’s brain screamed. Duck! But for all her training, she couldn’t move, couldn’t react.

  “No!” Jacob chopped at the other man’s arm, fouling his aim. As though it made no real difference to him which one of them died first, the killer fended off the attack and turned his weapon in a new direction.

  Directly at Jacob.

  Isabella saw the barrel align, saw the bastard’s finger tighten on the trigger.

  And her paralysis broke. She screamed, “No!” and fired convulsively.

  Her shot caught the dark-clothed man high in the shoulder and spun him away from Jacob. Blood showed on his arm, a gleaming slick against the black cloth, but he didn’t reach for the wound, didn’t try to run.

  Instead he kicked Jacob in the stomach, and when his opponent folded and dropped to his knees, the man in black turned on Isabella and fired.

  And missed.

  With a roar, Jacob lunged up and caught his enemy around the waist, sending them both tumbling to the forest floor. Not thinking now, only reacting, Isabella charged toward the struggling men, looking for an opening, for a gap to put a bullet, or maybe a well-placed kick.

  The killer landed a heavy blow to Jacob’s jaw and the combatants parted slightly, Jacob lurching away and the other man falling back to the ground.

  Isabella’s pulse pounded when she saw her chance. She stepped forward, set her foot on the man’s injured shoulder, and bore down on the wound. When he groaned, stiffened and looked up at her, she pointed the 9 mm at his left eye. “Freeze.”

  But he didn’t. He grabbed her ankle and yanked, bringing her down into the fight.

  Even worse, when she hit the ground, she lost her grip on the 9 mm.

  “Jacob!” she shouted, wincing when the enemy landed a blow on her injured arm. “Get his gun!”

  Then the fight swept her up and Isabella was only conscious of sensory snippets. A fist flying past her nose to connect with Jacob’s jaw. A blow to her midsection and an arm across her throat. The smell of blood and the punishing pain of violence.

  Then she was thrown away as though she weighed nothing. She hit the dirt hard, then spun back, searching for a weapon, for an opportunity to jump back into the fight.

  But Jacob stood over their foe, holding the black-clad man’s gun, keeping the bastard pinned to the ground.

  The man spat something in a foreign tongue, his body tensed for action, for renewed battle.

  “I said freeze,” Jacob commanded in a low, cold voice. “Or I’ll put another hole in you.”

  The man finally froze. He looked from Jacob to Isabella and back again. The tension drained from his body and a look of resignation crossed his weathered features.

  He said something low and vicious, a curse maybe, or a prayer. Then he moved his jaws in a scissoring motion, and swallowed. Moments later his body jerked, bowed upward and he let out a strangled cry.

  And died.

  Damn! He must have had a suicide capsule! Isabella lurched forward, brain jammed with horror that he’d taken his own life rather than be questioned. Anger for the same reason. Disgust at the cowardice, frustration at what it meant to their quest to save Cooper’s family.

  And over it all, basic human distress that she’d watched a man die.

  But when she reached down, hands shaking slightly, Jacob’s arms caught her and held her fast. “It’s no use. He’s gone.” Then he held her away from him and scanned her from head to toe. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine.” She nodded automatically, without bothering to check. “You?”

  “Fine.” But he didn’t look away, didn’t let her go. His eyes were dark pools of tension and his fingers brought a fine tremor of electricity to her skin. “Why didn’t you run when I told you?”

  “Because I wasn’t going to leave you behind.” The words arrowed through her even as she spoke them, taking on a life beyond the immediate situation.

  He looked as though he wanted to argue, as though he wanted to yell at her, to shake her for being who she was. Or maybe that was something else she saw in his eyes, something wild and wicked and
hot, close to anger but not quite. She wasn’t sure of her own emotions anymore, how could she possibly interpret his?

  But instead of shouting, or shaking her, or even turning on his heel and walking away for a moment alone to marshal his temper, he surprised her by grimacing and nodding. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”

  Then he surprised her again by pulling her into his arms and kissing her. Hard.

  This was no halfway meeting of give-and-take as their earlier kisses had been. This was all him. All heat and lightning and power.

  Then she stepped into his embrace and opened her mouth to join him, and it wasn’t about him anymore.

  It was them.

  The heat they generated together was flash and flame, friction and chafe, hotter than she remembered from before, but somehow less frightening for the intensity. It was as though time and experience had given her perspective, or maybe she’d grown into herself.

  This wasn’t about her being needy, wasn’t about her being her mother. It was about her being herself.

  It was about her wanting Jacob. Being wanted in return.

  They strained together, flesh pressing against flesh through ragged clothing and the bumps and bruises of the past few days. They twined together, tasting and claiming, with no thought of a nip or a tease. There was only heat.

  And want.

  And adrenaline.

  On the last thought, Isabella stiffened and pulled away just as Jacob did the same. Their eyes dropped synchronously to the forest floor. To the corpse of the man in black.

  The mutual message was clear. This was neither the time nor the place.

  But even as she acknowledged it, defeat echoed hollowly within Isabella, beating back the heat. Disappointment thumped alongside her heart.

  There would never be a time and place for Jacob and her. Or maybe there had been, for a few months during their senior year of college.

  “Hey.” His soft word brought her head up. He touched a finger to her cheek, traced a long, gentle stroke down the side of her face. “We’ll talk, after. I promise.”

  He looked as though he wanted to say more, wanted to let her down gently this time instead of simply disappearing. But instead he let his hand fall away and turned his attention to the body.

  Isabella forced herself to do the same. She knelt and tried not to remember the agony etched in the man’s face as he died. Tried not to think that she’d seen him take his own life rather than be questioned or dishonored.

  What sort of loyalty could demand such a sacrifice?

  Knowing the answer even before she asked, Isabella said, “This isn’t one of your militiamen, is it?”

  Jacob shook his head. Then he bent, retrieved the weapons from the forest floor and checked them over before handing her the 9 mm. “No. He’s not one of the escaped fugitives, and I’d bet money he’s not a member of the MMFAFA.”

  “Because he spoke a foreign language, and the militiamen are known xenophobes,” she said.

  “Yeah.” He turned away and headed back toward the clearing where their fire continued to produce fitful smoke. “And because he was too well supplied. Boone loads his people with weapons and explosives, but not the high-tech stuff. Not night vision, gas masks and choppers. At least, he never did before.”

  Someone else was in charge. But who?

  Isabella followed Jacob to the clearing and helped him repack their diminished emergency kit. The medical supplies were low and the canteens were nearly empty. They had enough ration bars to last them some time, but she’d kill for a cheeseburger.

  Jacob zipped the pack and hefted it. “Let’s cover the body with a quick cairn and leave a marker, so there’s something left for the authorities to find when we send them back.”

  It took them nearly a backbreaking hour to cover the body with rocks large enough to foil all but the most determined scavengers. It took another half hour for them to work their way free of the forest and out to the long, rocky incline that led to a low range of hills they would have to cross to pick up the road.

  Isabella’s legs ached at the thought. The grade was shallow, but it was a long way up.

  “Come on.” Jacob held out a hand. “The sooner we start, the sooner it’s over.”

  “Good point.” She took his hand and let him tug her up onto the rocky slope. He didn’t let go immediately, but kept the contact and the gentle pressure that pulled her onward.

  And instead of pushing away, she curled her fingers into his.

  For now, she’d take the strength where she could find it.

  JACOB LED ISABELLA through the day and into the evening, pausing for only brief breaks and to fill the canteens at a cold river they then slogged across.

  He called a halt as the purple of dusk crept to midnight-blue. Isabella would never admit it, but he knew she was all done. Though she still walked with long, sure strides, her body had tightened in on itself, and her lips were pressed together as though holding moans inside, or maybe curses.

  Jacob held back the same curses as he waved her to a low rocky outcropping that would provide them some small shelter. He hated to push her, hated to see her push herself, but there was no better option.

  They had to get to civilization as quickly as possible. Time was running out. And though the corpse had yielded few clues and there had been no sign of the dark helicopter, he felt the danger closing in.

  Though he didn’t yet understand how the enemy had learned of his and Isabella’s plans, they had to know the ultimate destination. Hangman’s cabin.

  All they needed to do was to set a trap.

  Or had they already done so? Was this entire cross country chase one big setup?

  Hell, he didn’t know anymore. He didn’t know anything anymore.

  Isabella collapsed to the ground and leaned back against the rocky backdrop. “I’ll take a watch. You need to rest.” Her words were slurred with fatigue, but her eyes dared him to mention it, dared him to treat her as weak.

  Hell, she was anything but. She was an incredibly strong woman who’d reached the end of her endurance.

  Knowing it, and feeling an odd punch of pride, Jacob dropped down beside her, so they touched at hip and shoulder, both facing back the way they had come.

  “We both need to rest,” he said after a moment. “We’ll take turns.”

  She nodded and he felt her shiver against him. Suddenly conscious of the cold, wet material of his pants against his legs, he pushed to his feet. “I’ll get a fire going.” When she protested, he held up a hand. “We can’t afford not to. We’re higher up—the night’s going to get chilly.”

  It did. It got cool, then downright cold. It got lonely, once Jacob’s only company was Isabella pressed against him, dead to the world, and the fitful crackle of the fire that provided more light than warmth as the night wore on.

  Just after dawn, when his body finally gave out and dropped him toward oblivion, Jacob felt Isabella turn in his arms and nestle up against him.

  And then he heard the helicopter.

  Approaching fast.

  “IZ! WAKE UP! We’ve gotta move!”

  Jacob’s urgent voice pierced her dreams and brought her up through the foggy layers to consciousness.

  Then she heard the rotors, and the last dregs of sleep vanished. She bolted to her feet and fought the dizziness of quick movement as she joined Jacob in stomping out the last of the fire.

  He cursed. “If they’ve got infrared, they’ll see the embers.” He held out a hand. “Come on, let’s get out of here!”

  Her heart thundered in dread, but she didn’t bother to tell him that they could never outrun a helicopter, that they would be better off hiding, hoping a thicket of trees or a rock niche would obscure their body heat.

  She didn’t bother, because the sluggish dawn light showed what she’d been too tired to notice the night before. They were on the ridge apex. There were few trees and the only rocks nearby were the ones that had formed their scant overnight shelter.

&n
bsp; There was nothing big enough to shield them from visual detection, never mind more sensitive scans. So she checked that the 9 mm was secure in her pocket, and grabbed his hand. “Let’s go.”

  But he remained still, head cocked, as the helicopter came near.

  Fear screamed through her and she tugged at him. “Jacob? Let’s go!”

  “No, wait.” He held up his free hand. “I recognize that engine.”

  Every cell of her body screamed for flight, for hiding, as the sound grew ever louder. But she trusted Jacob, she told herself. He was a pilot. He knew his engines.

  She hoped.

  Then it was too late for hope, too late for flight. Lights crested the ridge and speared down toward them.

  Jacob lifted a hand at the aircraft and in the fitful light of dawn, Isabella could just make out the lettering on the side of the red and white chopper.

  BSBH. Big Sky Bounty Hunters.

  It wasn’t until the helicopter touched down, the door opened and Cameron Murphy swung out, relief written plainly on his handsome features, that she let herself believe.

  They’d been rescued. Even better, it was Sunday morning.

  Next stop, Devil Mountain.

  Chapter Thirteen

  In reality, between fuel stops, a quick E.R. visit to get Isabella some antibiotics for her arm, and debriefing, it took them most of the day to get to Devil Mountain. More specifically, to a small motel in the next town over, which the bounty hunters had rented for use as a command post as they planned the next day’s raid.

  But Isabella would think about that later. At the moment her priority was a shower. A long, hot one. The sort of shower that would blast away the past few days, that could ease the aches and pains, wash away the memory of a stranger killing himself with one crunch on a drug-filled, hollowed-out tooth, like something out of a Cold-War-era spy movie.

  She shivered, the memory seeming somehow more terrifying now that they had been rescued by the bounty hunters, who had refused to believe the FAA’s report of “no survivors.” Once the bloodhounds had picked up a trail leading away from the downed jet, Cameron had made an educated guess of Jacob’s track, and the men had started working a search grid with binoculars during the day and infrared scanners at night.