Dead Reckoning (22 page)

Finally, she slumped her forehead against his chest, fingers coiling around his supple leather jacket, and she sobbed.

Spent, Shiloh eventually shuddered and drew in a ragged breath. She remained in his arms, wishing that the enclosure was some portal to a different life, a life without raw pain and shattered dreams.

Sudden awareness of what she had done embarrassed her.
You must look like a complete idiot.

Brutus released her.

Humiliated, she couldn’t bear to look at him. He moved out of view. Seconds hung like doom. Had he left? Would he leave her like Baseer had planned to? She swiped a hand under her dripping nose. Though an ache burned her neck, she dared not look up.

Then, his feet returned—large, booted feet. He stuffed another protein bar into her hand and waited as she gobbled it all and guzzled the water.

He held out his large black helmet. “We should get going.”

She couldn’t figure him out. Why didn’t he hate her back? How had he controlled his anger at her accusations? He hadn’t struck her once as she beat on him.

“Why?” Her own words snapped her from the stupor. She hauled her eyes to his. “Why aren’t you angry?”

One corner of his mouth lifted. “We have a long ride ahead.” His soft words held understanding as he lifted the helmet from her and set it on her head. He crouched closer, working with the strap and securing it. “Looks good.” He straightened and looked at her with his incredibly blue eyes. “Ready?”

Something stirred within her as she nodded. No condemnation? No order to grow up and act like an adult? Her father would’ve said that.

He straddled the motorcycle, started the engine, and then glanced back at her. “By the way, it's Reece.”

“What?”

“My name. Reece Jaxon. Not Brutus. Deal?”

Heat climbed into her cheeks. That, too, frustrated her. “Deal.”

Hand planted on his muscular shoulder for balance, Shiloh swung her right leg over the back of the bike. She plastered her body against his. It wasn’t romantic … just necessary. As
Reece
had proven last night, if she didn’t sit close and tight, she’d end up as roadkill.

The engine revved, and the bike lurched forward. Shiloh wrapped her arms around his waist and gripped her own wrists for a tight hold.

Once the motorcycle settled into high speed, she relaxed a bit. Her thoughts tumbled over what had just happened. It was
so unlike her to lose control like that. But she’d never felt so close to plummeting off a mental cliff .

Shiloh rested her head against his back so she wouldn’t end up with another crick in her neck.

The whole time she’d hit and kicked out at him, he just stood there taking it. She felt so stupid, like a three-year-old child trying to beat up a high-schooler. The thought pried a smile from her unwilling lips. She sighed. He’d had no choice with Baseer. She knew that. And yet she had accused him of murder.

Reece possessed a steely quality she didn’t have. How could he kill someone for the sake of his job? What he’d shouted at Baseer reverberated in her memory. She’d heard something in his words. Anger? Was he angry over what he’d been forced to do? Yes, but it was more than that. His voice revealed … what? Grief? Regret?

His leg bounced against hers as he downshifted. She peeked over his shoulder and spotted a road jutting off the highway. He aimed for it. At least it wasn’t a turn. She wasn’t sure she could take another screamer.

Again he upshifted. Shiloh tensed her arms, hugging him tighter as the propulsion tugged her back, the wind trying to rip her off the bike. Then just as suddenly, he downshifted again. Their speed must have been cut in half. She glanced over his shoulder at the speedometer. It read sixty but it felt like they were crawling. Then she saw the turn.

Reece looked back at her, their eyes meeting despite the shield. Oh no! She scooted closer and clung to him. Just as she felt confident she could hang on, the bike laid right. At first, she tried to pull left, but remembered and let herself ease into his back and follow his lead.
Trust. Trust. Trust him.
If he wanted her dead, he would have pumped her full of lead in Mumbai.

Within seconds he rose upright, and she followed him. Another half-hour passed before he steered onto a dirt road, slowing considerably. He eased the bike to a stop. With both legs stretched out, he balanced the Ducati as the engine idled.

Confused, she glanced around, wondering why they had stopped.

“You handled that corner beautifully,” he said.

“Thanks.”

Reece retrieved his cell, dialed, and put it to his ear. “Five miles out.” After he stuffed the phone away, he glanced at her. “The terrain is rough from here on.”

In other words, painful.

The engine sprang to life, numbing her legs with the vibration. During the next ten minutes as they bounced their brains senseless, including six terrifying seconds when they went airborne after taking a small incline too fast, Shiloh wondered if she’d ever walk again without a limp. As the road straightened, Reece picked up speed. Would this ever end?

Dark movement blurred to her right. She glanced back, her pulse spiking at the sight of another biker burning up the road behind them.

There was no way to warn Brutus. He must have noticed, too, because he upshifted, increasing speed. He bent closer to the bike. She leaned forward to stay with him and then peeked back.

Unbelievably, their pursuer had gained on them. Whoever he was, he’d have to keep both hands on the handlebars, so he couldn’t shoot. Right? The black-clad rider pulled even with them.

Reece dodged trees, downshifted, and spun the bike around, whipping Shiloh's mind into a mural of colors and chaos. They stopped. Hard. She looked for the other rider but instead saw a half-dozen men step from the woods with fully
automatic weapons trained on them. Her heart skidded into her stomach.

She loosened her hold on her bike partner, but he seemed to think it was funny. Reece actually laughed!

A man ran toward them. Shiloh stiffened, recognizing the black rider. He gripped Reece's hand and pulled him close, patting his back, both men laughing.

“I creamed you!” the man practically yelled, jabbing his finger at Reece.

“Keep telling yourself that, Miller.”

Awkwardly and on shaky legs, Shiloh pushed off the bike. Her knees almost buckled. The perimeter of men closed in.

Reece took his first breath that didn’t feel like he needed pure oxygen. He turned to Shiloh and helped her with the helmet. Wide eyes met his, uncertainty blanketing her features.

“You okay?” He held her shoulder, waiting until she nodded.

“Were you followed?”

Reece shifted toward the voice and saw something in his friend's face that made him pause. What it was, he couldn’t be sure. “Just this slow guy who thought he could beat my Ducati.” He couldn’t help but grin. It felt so good to be back among men he could trust.

Miller slapped Reece's chest. “Keep telling yourself that.” He winked. Then snatched the helmet and tossed it to another man. “Stow the bike, Stick.”

Reece shot the scrawny guy a silent thanks, then turned back to his friend. “Who's your medic?”

“Ron Hinck.” Miller glanced back at Reece. “Did you take a bullet?”

“Both of us.”

His buddy spun and started toward a building. “Come on.”

“I’m fine.” Shiloh said, her voice quiet.

“Won’t hurt to check it out.” Motioning for her to follow Miller, Reece noticed the way the men seemed dumbstruck, gawking at Shiloh as if she’d descended from heaven in a chariot of fire. He fell into step behind her and trailed her to the hut.

As they plodded up a worn path in the high brush, Miller pointed to the side. “We’ve got that hut set up for her. You’ll be right next door.” He dragged himself up over a boulder. “Hinck will be glad to have someone to play doctor with finally.”

Half an hour later, Reece emerged from Hinck's tent. Gripping his right thigh, he hoped he could knead out the fire still shooting up his leg where the wound had been cleansed. “He's mean.”

Miller nodded with a grin. “And you met him on a good day.”

Reece looked at Shiloh, who sat on a log nearby, her shoulder bandaged. “How are you?”

She shrugged. “A graze.”

“Come on.” Miller stood. “Get some rest. You both look like you need it.”

The screen door squawked as they stepped into the ten-by-twelve space.

“Gita cleaned it up.” Miller stood in the middle of the cramped hut. “It's not the Mumbai Palace, but it’ll keep you warm.” His gaze moved to Shiloh. “Glad you made it out okay.” He extended a hand. “Captain Cole Miller.”

At the gleam in Miller's expression, Reece had a sudden urge to step closer to her but resisted. Shiloh's face still wore the telltale signs of fire and battle. She glanced between him and Cole.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t trust him, either,” Reece said. “Seriously, he's a good guy. Leader of these bunch of misfits.”

“Captain?” Shiloh shook his hand then stuffed hers in the pockets of her jeans.

“Green Berets.”

Shiloh wrinkled her brow. “Green Berets? What’re you doing way up here?”

A sardonic grin pinched the corners of the man's eyes. “Besides clean lake water and no air pollution? Training the locals while their government looks the other way.”

Miller slipped between them and strode to the door. “I’ll get Gita. She can show you the showers.”

Reece tossed her pack onto the bed made from leafy trees and most likely stuffed with feathers of local birds. In a GB camp, everything was local. “You’ll be safe here, but it never hurts to stay on guard.”

She whirled toward him. “You’re leaving?” Panic streaked the edges of her eyes.

Surprised at what he heard in that simple question, Reece paused. She didn’t want him to leave. She
feared
he would leave. “I’ll never be more than fifty feet away. Clean up and get some rest. Then grab some grub.”

“Oh.” She seemed to relax. Her gaze shifted to the furnishings: the bed on one side, the chest sitting against the far wall. “Who's place is this?”

At the foot of the bed, she lifted the mosquito netting, and her fingers stroked the sheets.

“Probably one of the guys. I’m sure Gita changed the bedding,” he said, hoping she heard the humor in his words.

“I’m not tired.”

“Trust me, once you clean up, it’ll hit you.”

She turned and let out a long breath. “Maybe.”

Did she have to look so vulnerable? So frail, not in a weak sort of way, but the kind that made him want to ensure she never left his sight again. “Grab fresh clothes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

Bathed in the early warmth of the morning, Reece lowered to a stump. Miller strode toward him with a young Hindu woman. “This is Gita, our resident cook, maid, and launderer. Not that we make her. She actually enjoys it.”

Standing, Reece greeted her in Hindi, thanking her for the preparations for Shiloh. With a glance toward the hut, he wondered what was taking her so long. Just as he was about to explain her delay, she emerged with clothes tucked under one arm.

Gita smiled and half-bowed to Shiloh. “Shower?” She wrapped an arm around her and ushered her away, mumbling in broken English. Halfway across camp, Shiloh's gaze came back to him.

Impulse taunted him to sprint across the camp and escort her himself. Propriety and the dozen grunts scattered around the camp nailed his feet to the ground. He clamped his mouth shut.

“She looks shell-shocked.” Miller slapped his gut as he walked past. “Let's get some grub, and you can tell me what happened.”

Reece joined him in a small, covered kitchen area. A portable, generator-powered stove sat on a plank-top table. His friend moved to a bin, where he withdrew a small cup, poured something black from a thermos into it—could it be coffee?— then slid it across the table to Reece. “Have a sit and tell me about it.”

With care, he eased onto the bench, hoping the bruises from Shiloh's meltdown didn’t ache the way he expected them to. “Full-scale assault. RPGs, M4s, snipers—took out an entire train depot.” Cradling the warm brew in his hands, he compartmentalized the action from the emotion.

“She lost her fiancé and his father, who I had to neutralize right in front of her. She didn’t take that well.”

“No kidding. What did the father do?”

“Aligned with whoever's after her. Tried to kill her.”

Miller scooped eggs from a pan and slopped them onto a tin plate. “Most people can’t take that much, but other than the dirt and grit, she looks like she's holding together okay.”

“I hope she does.” But he knew better. Her fight was gone. She moved robotically. Her little eruption on the road gave him hope that she might come through. Maybe that was expecting too much. With Khalid and Baseer dead, he didn’t imagine she had very fond feelings toward him right now. As a matter of fact, the
I hate you. I hate you!
might be real. When she’d said it, he’d rationalized the words as remnants of her anger and pain. He wasn’t sure anymore.

“Who's on her tail?”

Scooting the eggs around the plate, he grunted. “That's liquid. At first, everything pointed to the minister of defense.”