But he didn’t stop to ponder that for long. Debated the merits of capture versus kill and decided on the latter. Getting Olivia home was the mission—everything else would follow once she was safe.
Closer … closer … he came up behind the man, who didn’t notice a thing, so intent on checking the house and playing with the BlackBerry he held in his right hand that he made Zane’s job a hell of a lot easier.
He dropped on his knees and had the man in a headlock before he could make a move to fight back.
“Coming in second does have its benefits,” Zane growled, right before sticking the KA-BAR into the man’s carotid for a silent, fast kill.
The man’s head dropped forward and Zane left him there, to scout the area. He found the man’s car parked close. No signs that he’d brought anyone else with him, and what the hell was that all about? If he was with DMH and they wanted her back that badly, why hadn’t they sent in a team?
He went back to the dead man and rifled through his pockets. Found no ID, but several weapons, and the BlackBerry, which was high grade, an international phone with a high-powered camera. When he scrolled through, he found pictures of both Olivia and himself, taken earlier on her porch. Saw that they’d actually been sent to an encrypted e-mail address.
They were watching Olivia. Waiting for … something. But what?
Whoever this man worked for had pictures of Zane now. He was as marked as Olivia was—and if his picture leaked to DMH, he could be as good as dead.
Olivia swore she heard a soft groan wafting through the humid air and she waited by the front door, her own weapon in hand, watching the darkness where Zane had disappeared.
He might have just saved her life. Or he might not have survived, and the tension squeezed her head like a tight band.
“Come back, please come back,” she murmured, well aware of the irony of what she asked, when moments earlier all she wanted was him to be gone.
The sounds got closer. She squinted and saw a figure—Zane—coming around the back of the house.
Relief flooded through her, but it was short-lived when she noted he was dragging a man behind him up to the back door.
If Zane was part of DMH and wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. The thought was oddly comforting.
“I can’t leave him out in case he’s being followed,” he explained. “Do you recognize him?”
She stared down at the dead man. He looked to be in his early twenties, a kid. A kid with weapons strapped to him. Caucasian, red-haired. Dressed similar to Zane. “No. I’ve never seen him before. How did you know he was here?”
“The man two villages over who told me where to find you said I wasn’t the first to ask.”
The picture. She’d forgotten about it, had shoved it back into Zane’s pocket in order to pretend it didn’t exist. But no doubt he’d shown her picture and of course the locals recognized her. She was an anomaly and not all of them necessarily wanted to help her.
It hit her then, that if Zane had the picture, he might know about her past, because she’d tucked the newspaper article, written years earlier about her, in the frame. She blanched at the thought of being more exposed than she already was and wondered how far she’d get if she ran out the back door and kept running until her legs gave out.
But he was behind her now, holding her up.
She hadn’t realized her legs had sagged.
“When was the last time you ate anything?”
How long? “I’m not sure.”
“Come on, lie down, Liv.”
Liv. Normally she despised the shortening of her name like that from a stranger, but hearing it from him, it felt right. As if he’d been doing it her whole life.
She’d been without food longer than she’d thought if she was thinking like this. Ridiculous. She wasn’t sentimental. Needy. No, she was logical. Serious.
God, she was so confused. And so she listened to him, lay down on the bed while he did God knows what with the dead body and then came back in. He’d washed up from the pump at the side of the house.
With his blond hair slicked back from his face, his cheekbones appeared even more chiseled.
He strode into the kitchen area like he owned the place, came back to her with bread and chicken and soda she kept in the ancient icebox.
She ate in silence for a bit, sitting up with her legs crossed Indian style. Zane remained standing where he had a view of both front and back doors. When she finished, she walked past him to put the plate and the bottle back in the wash bin. “Are my parents okay?”
“Yeah, they are.”
“Good, that’s good.” She’d worried that they’d be in danger, whether or not she was in touch with them, but her gut had told her that no contact with them would be best, no matter how painful it might be for them.
Zane was next to her then, handing her an envelope she hadn’t found when she’d searched him earlier. It was from her parents. Written in her mother’s handwriting … and there was a picture of her parents standing with Zane. They looked fine. Not like they were under duress at all.
“I couldn’t think of any other way to get you to trust me,” he said after a few minutes. “I didn’t know if it would work, but I figured, between that and the note from Skylar …”
He trailed off and she wiped a tear away with her fingers and looked up at him. All she could do was nod.
“I hated giving them false hope, but they understood. Look, Liv, we’re leaving in a few minutes. DMH typically sends in men alone, but they’re usually much better trained than that guy. It’s tripping all the alarms in my head that he wasn’t working alone, that backup’s not far behind.”
She knew she didn’t really have a leg to stand on anymore. No, she needed him, and while she didn’t like that at all, she appreciated it. “I’ll go with you tonight, yes. But tomorrow, I’m going off on my own again, so you can call off your team.”
Zane’s expression hardened. “I’m not prepared to negotiate. And it’s just me.”
That stopped her in her tracks. This man had come here by himself. For her.
“Who sent you? Was it my parents?”
“They didn’t hire me.”
“I don’t understand … you’re doing this all by yourself?”
Zane took a step toward her, a grim pull to his mouth. When he spoke, his voice held a barely couched edge of anger. “I’ve got some help, but for now, we’re on our own. You need to follow what I say so I can get you to a safer place.”
“But you are with the military, aren’t you?”
This time, he simply nodded.
“But you’re not here in any kind of official capacity.”
He didn’t answer her question and she continued. “You said before, you’ve been looking for me from the beginning. And the picture … you found it?”
“Yes.”
“You were in my apartment, then. You took my picture from the frame all by yourself,” she heard herself whisper, and he confirmed that with a nod.
Yes, he knew. Everything. She hated that and she hated him all at once.
It was his turn to speak. “I know about the bombing of the clinic. I know you’re wanted in conjunction with that—both by law enforcement and DMH. You have to come out of hiding to explain. Talk about what you know—it’s your only chance.”
Yes, she had chances—knew things that could both help her and hurt her at the same time. What kind of odds were those?
And Zane, done answering her questions, told her, “Let’s go, Olivia,” in a tone that was at once controlled and commanding. Made her want to follow him.
She realized he would not let her win this one. He’d also brought too many links to her past for her to ignore him. But if anyone stayed with her, they would die. She would not be responsible for more innocent people’s deaths.
She stared between him and the open door just beyond him as the tension mounted between them, the air heavy with it.
“Don’t even think about it.
I’ll have you pinned before you even get close.”
His words were both a threat and a challenge. She was prepared for either extreme.
All she could think to do was run, which she did, out the front door.
She made it as far as the porch, and probably only because he’d allowed her some rope before he’d made a move. He tackled her, but somehow gently, and because she’d turned to fight him, she ended up under him, his body on hers.
God, he was so handsome—and a thrill ran through her, coiled and unfurled deep within her.
Here, it was all about saving lives. Looking for mercy.
It would be so easy to give in …
His breath was warm, her body, weighted with his, legs tangled under the night sky.
“You. Are. Coming. With. Me.”
She didn’t argue then, simply wound her hand into his hair and pulled his mouth to hers. Because it felt right. Because it was inevitable.
Because it was all she could think of to do.
He responded without hesitation and it was better than she could’ve hoped for—the best, actually, like a million sparks catching dried brush to start an unstoppable fire.
She’d thought she was dead inside. Feelings, urges, shut down.
But now all she wanted was her would-be rescuer right where he was, wanted him to pull her clothes off and take her until her cries pierced the night air.
When he pulled back, she heard herself murmur, “please.”
She had not begged once for anything in the past six months. She was begging now.
Liv’s body was warm and welcoming, pressing up into his, and Zane would be kidding himself if he said he’d never thought about this, about what kissing her might be like.
The reality was far better, and normally he wouldn’t have stopped, despite the circumstances.
Resisting her whispered invitation would kill him, especially when her hands traveled along his shoulders and then massaged the back of his neck in a way that made his body tingle with need. Except, her sleeping with him, it would be like her dismissing him. What had she called it? Absolving him.
For some odd reason, rather than comforting him, it pissed him the hell off. He propped on his elbows but remained on top of her as he spoke. “You’ve suffered through terrible things. And you’re scared, but—”
“But what? You’re going to tell me it’s okay? And if I go back, then what? DMH will magically leave me alone?” She waited patiently for his response, and damn, why did she have to be so logical?
“There’s protection. Official protection.”
“So I’ll be on the run. Looking over my shoulder. Tell me, how’s that different from what I’m doing now?”
“You’ll have running water.”
A small smile played on her lips. “It’s harder for them to find me here.”
He ran a hand through his hair in frustration, his body still keeping hers in place. His head ached and he was sleepy.
She reached up then and touched the side of his head. “I’m really sorry I hit you.”
“Makes me feel good you can protect yourself,” he admitted. “But it’s not enough.”
He debated the merits of kissing her again, when he heard a rustle in the bushes just off the porch.
It was where he’d hidden earlier, and he quickly brought up his Sig, pointed it in the general direction of the noise and prepared to pull the trigger.
“No.” She held his wrist, attempted to pull his arm down so that his gun wasn’t pointed in the direction of the bushes. “Someone’s coming to see me. A patient.”
“You never said you were expecting anyone.”
“I wasn’t expecting that man—but her, I was.” Just then, a very pregnant woman emerged, holding her belly in obvious pain and walking toward them. Zane still kept the gun out, but at his side as he let Olivia scramble out from under him.
This was not good.
And still, he let the women go into the house together while he waited outside, scanning the area.
It was all quiet, but he had a feeling that wouldn’t last long.
After about ten minutes, Olivia came back outside with a large pot in her hands, practically running.
“Are you going to hit me again?” he asked.
“It’s tempting. But I need your help more.”
Finally, she was seeing the light.
Except, she shoved the pot in his hands. “Fill this. Then heat the water—warm, not hot.” She barely glanced over her shoulder at him as she walked away. “I’ve got a baby to deliver.”
Son of a bitch. He’d been on countless missions in many hot spots, and a single woman was going to be his hardest one yet. “We’ve got to get out of here now.”
“She can’t travel—she won’t make it.”
“We don’t have the time for babies, Olivia.”
There was no answer.
“Seriously, we need to move out.”
This time, a scream answered him. Not Olivia’s. No, the mom to be’s. And it didn’t sound like a cry of happiness.
CHAPTER
3
Olivia wiped the sweat from her brow with her forearm and concentrated on the woman in front of her.
Ida was dilated to seven centimeters and the baby was breech.
She hadn’t told Zane that she wasn’t sure Ida would make it even with them staying put. The woman had waited too long, traveled too far—and maybe none of that would matter in the end, but the heaviness in the pit of Olivia’s stomach told her otherwise.
The labor was moving quickly. She’d have to turn the baby or attempt a cesarean, although that choice rarely worked, especially here. If the blood loss didn’t kill Ida, the infection that was sure to follow would.
She comforted the woman in a low voice to reassure her, just as the sounds of gunfire slashed through the night. Ida screamed.
“No,” Olivia whispered fiercely. “Not a sound.” She pushed a towel into Ida’s mouth for the woman to bite on and Ida nodded, understood, bit down hard on the cloth in fear and pain.
A hand on Olivia’s shoulder made her whirl sharply.
Zane didn’t say a word, just surveyed the scene in front of him, a heavy machine gun in his hand and another hanging from a long strap across his body. Where he’d gotten them from she had no idea, but she was grateful when he handed her one.
He held the pot of water with his other hand, and he placed it on the floor before he motioned to her to come closer.
“Tell me what the deal is with this woman,” he growled.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a small army coming this way. I’m assuming it has something to do with your guest.”
Before she could answer, there was more gunfire—this time, not as distant. She stifled her own scream and swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. “She’s the wife of a warlord. She was sold to him.”
“And he’s not happy she left him,” he finished, his brow furrowed in concern, although it seemed more directed at Ida and the baby than the soldiers that were coming toward them. “I’ll take care of it.”
“All by yourself?”
“I know, doesn’t seem fair to them, does it?” He didn’t smile when he spoke. “Take care of her.”
He was going to leave her alone in here and she fought the ridiculous urge to beg him to stay.
What had she gotten them both into? She grabbed his arm when he began to walk away.
“You can do this, Liv,” he told her, and she let go of him. But he didn’t leave then; instead, he pushed the heavy wooden table over onto its side, and then he picked up the mattress, with Ida on it, and carried it, placing it behind the cover of the table and away from the doors and windows.
“Stay low,” he told Olivia. And then he was gone.
She heard male voices—shouts in Krio, and English. And then there were screams—women from the village. Some bullets ripped through the thatched roof and she threw her body over Ida’s, who’d passed
mercifully into unconsciousness.
When the firing stopped momentarily, Olivia checked on Ida’s progress. Nine centimeters. The baby would have to be turned now, or neither mother nor child would have a chance.
As the fighting picked up again, she urged the baby to turn, her gloved hands working as if guided by some unknown force. The room had become stifling, almost unbearable, and the constant firing was impossible to block out.
Ida woke briefly, stared at her with a look Olivia knew all too well.
She wasn’t going to stay and fight.
Olivia couldn’t blame her, but the baby still had a chance. She took off the gloves, wiped her hands and waited as she took Ida’s hands in hers. “It’s okay, Ida. You can go.”
A small moan and Ida was gone. Now that the woman would feel no pain, Olivia cut and pushed and pulled, knowing what little time she had left was crucial. The smell of blood overpowered her, her ears rang and the room began to spin as she heard screams.
She was certain some of those screams came from her.
The baby was finally out and she held the boy for a moment before a cry tore from her throat. Rage and frustration boiled over, and she took a deep breath to push those emotions back before she lay the baby down on the bed next to his mother and unwrapped the cord from where it had wrapped tightly around his neck.
She reached into her bag and used the instrument she’d gotten from a local clinic last month to clear his mouth. Nothing.
She had failed. That had happened more often than not over the past months. DMH had taken something from her, more than she’d wanted to admit.
The hand was on her shoulder again but she was busy wiping the baby down with the warm water, would not leave him like that.
And then suddenly, she noted that the infant was stirring with tiny breaths.
Minutes later, he gave a healthy cry and she realized tears streamed down her face as well.
When she turned to Zane, she swore his eyes were wet too.
“I think you might be my good luck charm,” she told him, although she could barely get the words out.
His smile was small, but it was there. “We still need to leave, Liv. It’s going to be tough going for a newborn.”
Promises in the Dark Page 3
