Cover of Darkness (8 page)

Her wide eyes gazed into his. "What—?"

"Do not move, under any circumstances. We'll come back for you once we've cleared the area. Understand?"

So she was supposed to stay alone in a pitch-black cave with snakes and scorpions and God knows what else until they could come get her? Her heart pounded. "But what if—"

"But nothing," he said sharply. "You stay here. Period. Got it?"

"Y-yes." Something clicked beside her, a sharp metallic sound. She flinched when he grabbed her hand, shoved a pistol into it.

"But I don't know how to shoot!"

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He frowned. Probably wondering why the hell Jamul Daoud's daughter didn't know how to handle a weapon. Well, if she lived through this, she would rectify that real quick.

"Simple. Just point and pull the trigger. I've already taken the safety off and there's a round in the chamber. It's only a precaution, Bryn, to make you feel better. You're not going to need it, but I thought you'd feel safer having it. Just make sure you don't shoot us by accident when we come back in."

She held the thing gingerly, as though it was a coiled rattlesnake.

He held her gaze. "Lie low and stay quiet. Won't be long."

And with that he hustled out of the cave, leaving her kneeling there with the grip of the pistol ice cold in her shaking hand.

In his absence, the minutes crawled by, her shallow breathing echoing in the emptiness while the remaining daylight faded. Her heartbeat reverberated in her chest, a film of sticky sweat trickling down her back. The sky outside turned to indigo, leaving her in almost complete blackness.

Muscles cramped from being locked in position for so long. A dull tension headache throbbed in her temples.

Claustrophobia intensified as the darkness enveloped her. She closed her eyes to help stave off the panic. Focusing on breathing slowly, Bryn tried to imagine she was at home, in a room where the power had gone off. Nothing to be scared of, it was only the dark. She hadn't been scared of the dark since she was a toddler. But she'd never dreamed of being in a place like this...

No. Don't go there. Focus.

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Her ears strained for any sound that might tell her what was going on.

A muffled crack broke the stillness. Her eyes flew open.

She held her breath, pulse spiking.

Three cracks, louder this time and in rapid succession.

Gunshots. Friend or foe? Her chilly fingers tightened around the pistol grip. Shouts came, faint in the desert air. She couldn't tell whether the words were English or Arabic. What if Dec and Spencer were hurt or killed and no one came back for her? The panic she'd held at bay took hold. Her breath came in and out in quick pants.

More gunfire rattled. Were Dec and Spencer all right? Dec had ordered her to stay put, and she would, because she didn't want to put them in any more danger by distracting them. But they were used to operating with the entire team, and now they were out there by themselves. Would they be okay? Yeah, they were SEALs, but they were mortal. Her eyes fell on Spence's medical pack near the cave entrance. She crept over and picked it up, waiting there in case they needed her. Her eyes scanned through the darkness, every sense on alert.

A flash of movement in the distance grabbed her attention.

There. Moonlight glinting on his blond hair, Spencer darted out into the open, sprinting toward her and the cave. Muscles tensed, she prepared to run, waiting for his signal. All of a sudden he arched backward and threw his arms up, crying out as he fell.

No!

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Bryn watched, numb with horror as he tried to drag himself toward her. Even from where she stood she could hear him cursing, his grunts of pain. He rose up on an elbow and lifted his rifle, swinging around to fire off a few rounds, then fell back down and dragged himself a few more feet. He collapsed, breathing in sharp, quick pants.

Where the hell was Dec? Spencer needed help, fast. He was a sitting duck lying out there all alone.

Agonizing seconds ticked by. His primitive growls made the hair on her arms stand up, feral and muffled, like he was doing everything possible to keep from screaming. And still no sign of Dec or any of the other SEALs.

It was up to her to help him. No one else was around. She gathered her courage and her strength, eyes riveted on Spencer's helpless form just a few yards away. Drawing a deep breath, she dropped her pistol and took off as fast as she could, intent only on getting Spencer out of harm's way.

He twisted up when he heard her, his rifle aimed right at her heart, then froze, his pained grimace giving way to shock and fury. "No!" he shouted. "Get back, Bryn!"

She ignored him and kept coming, falling to her knees when more gunshots shattered the air. The bullets pinged off the rocks behind her, where she'd been standing a second before. She scrambled to his side, saw the dark jets of blood pumping between his fingers from his thigh in rhythmic spurts, pooling on the sand around him.

"God," she breathed, falling on her knees. "Tell me what to do," she demanded, ripping off her jacket to shove it against the wound. He cried out in agony, body arching up. "Sorry,"

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she quavered, hands unsteady as she applied pressure using her body weight. The jagged end of his broken thighbone met her fingers. Her stomach rolled.

"Get back," he gasped. "Dec's coming. I'm okay."

"Shut up and tell me!" She was terrified someone had a bead on them right now. They needed to slow the bleeding and find cover before they had more bullet wounds to deal with.

"Shit. Fuckers got my femoral artery," he panted, looking down at himself. "Christ."

Her mind raced to remember what little first aid training she had. Stop the bleeding. Elevate the limb. What could she use to tie around his leg? She didn't even have a hair elastic.

Her jacket. Blood kept pumping out of him as she fumbled to get the sleeves tied together above the wound, twisting it as tight as she could with her slippery fingers. The warm, coppery smell of it sickened her, fed the panic welling inside.

Suddenly, Spencer shoved her flat with one arm and reared up to fire another couple of rounds. He dropped down again with a deep growl of agony. In the fading light he looked washed out. He was losing so much blood.

Bryn grabbed him under the armpits, determined to drag him to safety. She had to get him under cover somewhere and get that bleeding under control, and she had to do it
now
.

He tried to slap her hands away. "Leave me. Run.

I'll...be...okay."

"Shut up," she snapped again, beyond the ability to stay calm. He probably had a good eighty pounds on her, and in 76

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her weakened state she wasn't sure if she could do it. But she was sure as hell going to try.

Lunging to her feet she hauled him, every muscle in her body straining with the effort. He howled, body arching upward again. She fell backwards, crawled forward and grabbed him a second time. More bullets whizzed past, spraying up sand around them. Somehow, Spencer shot off more rounds and she stumbled onward, an animalistic growl of fear and fury and determination tearing from her throat.

She shifted him a couple of feet, then a few more, picking up momentum as she worked her way to the relative safety of the boulders at the mouth of the cave. The muscles in her legs, back and shoulders screamed, but she moved him.

As soon as they were behind the screen of rock she fell flat on her back, shaking and gasping. Spencer lay still for a moment too, their mingled shallow breaths the only sound.

She rolled over and crawled to his side with the medical kit they'd left hidden inside the cave. He rummaged through it and grabbed the tourniquet, wrapped it around himself and she helped tighten it, both of them covered with his blood.

His lungs were heaving now, his hands shaking like leaves in a windstorm. In the thin moonlight he was a sickening shade of gray. He was going into shock.

She gingerly moved his leg and stuffed the first aid kit underneath his knee, blanching when he screamed. Afraid to move him again or jostle the leg in case she made the bleeding worse, she stared down at the tourniquet and pressed a wad of sterile bandages across it. Was it working?

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The bleeding seemed to have lessened. Unless he'd already lost most of his blood.

"What can I do?" she asked helplessly, stroking the blond hair away from his face. Hot tears stung her eyes. "Can I give you some pain meds?"

"N-no," he snapped, his voice hoarse. "T-too late."

Too late? She wanted to ask him why a little morphine would hurt, under the circumstances, but knew he must have a good reason. "Water, then?"

"Noth-nothing—" he bit out, teeth chattering. "N-need blood."

He did, and fast. And they were certainly not in a position to give him a transfusion out here in the middle of nowhere, even if they'd had units of blood on hand. She had to keep him calm, try to get his heart rate to slow before he bled out.

"I know it's small comfort, but I'm here. I promise I won't leave you. Just breathe slowly."

He made a growl of acknowledgement, lips clamped together in a mutinous effort to keep from crying out in pain.

"My...wife," he rasped a few moments later, quaking.

She kept firm pressure over the wound, the blood seeping through her fingers. Was she pressing hard enough? Her hands were numb, her own heartbeat throbbing in her palms.

"What about your wife, Spence?"

"N-need to...tell her..."

He thought he was going to die. Her teeth sunk into her lower lip.
You will not break down, Bryn
. She owed him that much. "Tell her what?" she whispered.

"L-love...her..."

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"Yes, of course you do." He was still agitated, but he didn't have much strength left and she didn't want him using it up talking. It was obvious what he wanted, anyway. He wanted reassurance someone would get the message to his wife if he died. Not if, she reflected bleakly. He knew he was dying.

"I swear to you I will make sure she's told," Bryn vowed.

Spencer's eyes closed in relief, lips compressed, his handsome face contorted with pain. She maintained physical contact with him, speaking softly to keep him with her. At least if he died, he wouldn't die alone. Her fingers stroked his hair. "Dec," she whispered into the darkness. "Where are you?"

Seconds later came the pounding of feet over the sand, more gunshots, and then Dec came flying around the corner.

His eyes took in the scene with a single glance. Larger than life he towered over her, panting, his eyes glittering with rage. He grabbed her by the front of her shirt with one fist and lifted her off her knees, shook her.

Shocked speechless, she stared up at him.

"What the
fuck
did you think you were doing?" he snarled.

Her eyes widened in fear, and her mouth fell open but no sound came out.

"I told you to stay put!" He whirled around to Spencer, efficiently tightened the tourniquet and ignoring the roar of agony, elevated the wounded leg above his heart to help slow the bleeding.

"Hang in there, buddy. Chopper's on its way." Then his golden eyes cut back to her, slicing through her like a blade.

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"You ever pull a stunt like that again I'll kick your ass, do you understand me?"

"Sir," Spencer protested weakly.

"Save it." He pushed her away and tended to the wound again. "I heard it all over the radio."

His icy tone was the absolute last straw on her stripped nerves. Irrational though it was, his anger cut her deeply.

Helpless to stop them, tears flooded her eyes.

"I'm sorry!" she yelled. "I didn't know where the hell you were, and I was scared he'd bleed to death if I didn't do something." She gave his chest an angry shove with the heel of her hand, managed to knock him back a bit. "So you can stop yelling at me, Lieutenant! I was only trying to help." She dashed away the tears spilling down her cheeks, tried to stop shaking.

A great expulsion of air spoke volumes about his struggle to control his temper. "Bryn."

"What?"

Dec surprised her by hauling her into his lap and wrapping his steely arms around her. He squeezed her tight, absorbing the tremor that wracked her. When he released her as fast as he'd grabbed her, she had no idea how she was supposed to interpret his actions. "I know what you did for him."

She shuddered, confused by the quicksilver change in him.

"I appreciate what you did for Spence, but you almost got yourself killed out there. Then I'd have two casualties to take out instead of one. It was my job to take care of him, not yours, and I was coming for him. The first rule in a SEAL

team is to never leave your man."

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"Yes, but—"

"Don't talk. Chopper's going to set down in six minutes, and when it does, you're going to run like hell straight toward it. I'll lay down covering fire for you, and then I'll bring Spence out. We'll be right behind you." He pushed her back, took her chin in a warm, bloodstained hand and gazed earnestly into her eyes. Hard fingers gripped her jaw. "No matter what happens, you cannot stop. Do you understand me, Bryn? You can't stop, and you can't look back. Got it?"

Meaning, even if he and Spencer were both cut down, she had to keep going. She swallowed hard. "Got it," she answered shakily. Her hands grasped his shoulders, hard, as if loath to let go of him. "But if, um...if we don't make it—"

"We're not going to die, Bryn."

Sure. Whatever. She tried a small smile, felt as though her face would crack with the strain. A tension-filled silence stretched between them in the darkness. She settled beside Spencer and held tight to his cold hand. Calm. That's what he needed. She needed to present the illusion of calm to keep him grounded. Striving for a steady voice, she attempted a stab at normalcy, even though it was nuts.