Deadly Descent (28 page)

“Will you do me a favor?”

She stopped.
“Depends what it is, but go ahead.”

“When you see Dev, don’t tell her yet.
I want to find out the latest intel before I go back to the hospital.
I’ll tell her myself about Cam if he’s not back by then.”

He had a better chance of finding out what was going on than she did.
“Okay.” She didn’t envy him that task, but she respected him for wanting to deliver the news in person.
He seemed exhausted standing there.
He had to be worried sick, though he’d still found the energy to mask it long enough to flirt with her.
She’d probably regret being nice to him later on, but…

“Do you need anything?”

His head came up.
Those penetrating mahogany eyes touched hers.
“Sorry?”

She folded her arms and shrugged.
“You must be tired.
I could get you something to eat, or at least a cup of coffee.
If you want.”

He seemed surprised by the offer.
“I’d love some hot coffee.”

“How do you take it?”

“Just black.”

She went to fetch it, berating herself with every step down the linoleum hallway.
What the hell was she
doing
?

When she got back to the glass door Ryan was slumped in a chair with one elbow propped on the table, his head in his hand.
Her heart turned over.
He looked up as she entered, and the grateful smile he offered set off a tingling of warmth in her belly.

Oh no you don’t
, she scolded her body.
He’s trouble and we’re staying the hell away from him
.

“Thanks.” He took the cup from her.

She was careful not to touch his fingers during the transfer.
“You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for being so nice to me.”

She shrugged.
“Sure.
Just try to remember my good deed the next time you’re tempted to be rude to me, Sergeant.”

His grin flashed before he swallowed a sip of the coffee.
“Yes ma’am.”

The nurse took the thermometer out from beneath Devon’s tongue and stepped away from the bed.
“Slightly elevated.”

Yeah, because she was freaking out and her body was going haywire.
She
should
have a damn temperature.

“We’ll get you down to x-ray when we can.”

Devon nodded impatiently at the nurse, not bothering to open her eyes.
It was all she could do to stay above the pain, and not just in her knee.
A steel vise was locked around her chest, slowly crushing her.
She couldn’t find anyone who knew anything about Cam, but someone had confirmed another bird had been dispatched to extract them.
Had he gotten on the last chopper?
She felt like screaming.
Instead she pressed her lips together and focused on breathing in and out.
He’s fine.
He’s on his way back
, she kept repeating.
She had to believe it.
Wouldn’t accept the possibility of anything else.

The edges of Ty’s lucky quarter dug into her damp palm.
Whatever happened, she wouldn’t lose hope.
That’s all she had left.

“Captain Crawford?”

She opened her swollen eyes at the quiet greeting.
The translator, Saiid, stood in the doorway looking at her with a sympathetic expression.
“Yes?” She really didn’t feel like talking right now.

“I understand if this isn’t a good time, but the elder you spoke to the other day insisted I come to you.
He says he has something important to tell you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment.
Did she really have the strength to talk to him right now?
All she wanted was to know Cam was all right and then to be left alone for a while.
An unfamiliar voice spoke from beyond the doorway, but she couldn’t make out what the speaker said.

Saiid cleared his throat and she faced him with a sigh.

“How important is it?” If it was gratitude for her flying him and his grandson to the base, she didn’t need a thank you.

“He’s quite insistent.”

Devon scrubbed a hand over her face.
“Fine, tell him it’s okay.” One quick conversation wouldn’t kill her.
And there was always a chance it would provide a distraction for a few minutes.
Please God, let it distract her from the terrible fear gnawing at her.

Saiid beckoned with his hand and a moment later the old man tottered in, pausing in the doorway to say something to Saiid.
“He wishes to know if you will be all right,” the interpreter said.

“Yes, it’s just my knee.” She resisted the urge to wave them both away.
“What can I do for you, sir?”

The man straightened after Saiid translated, and began to speak.
Saiid glanced at him sharply, his brows lifting, and he listened for a few more moments, spellbound.

Devon frowned at him.
“What?
What’s the matter?”

“I…He says he has a confession to make.”

A confession?
Devon pushed up on her elbows to sit more upright as she met the old man’s black stare.
His voice was low and calm.
Almost soothing.
And he never once looked away from her eyes.

“He says he recognized you when you came to see him in the hospital.”

I knew it
.
Her hands gripped the edge of her blanket.
“How is that possible?”

The old man continued for some time, and Saiid’s expression made her belly draw tighter with every breath.
Finally, he translated.
“He has seen you before.
In a photograph.”

“What?” she whispered.
“No way.” That was impossible.

The old man nodded vigorously, and Saiid continued.
“The photo was of you and your husband, standing in front of a helicopter like the one you flew.”

The air locked in her lungs.
“My husband?” Did he mean Ty?

The old man glanced at Saiid for clarification, but then scowled and gestured impatiently with his hand.

“Your husband,” Saiid repeated, watching him.
“He was standing with his arm around you.”

Devon lifted a shaky hand to her mouth.
Dear God, she knew the picture he meant.
Cam had snapped it a few days before he and Ty deployed to Afghanistan.
Ty had carried it with him in his uniform.
“But how…?” The only way the old man could have seen it was if he’d known Ty.
She swallowed the painful lump in her throat.
“Did you know him?
The man in the photograph?”

The weathered face was solemn, the eyes sincere and direct.

“No.
But he was there the night he died,” Saiid responded.

Hot tears blinded her.
She blinked hard, focusing intently on the old man.
“You saw him?
Did you see how it happened?”

Saiid’s voice was lost beneath the pounding of her heart as he translated.
Then that white turbaned head bobbed emphatically.

“Yes.”

Tears slipped down her cheeks too fast for her to wipe them away, but she didn’t care.
“Tell me what happened,” she begged.
“We were told he bled out, all alone.”

The man watched Saiid as he relayed the message, but then turned his keen gaze on her and emphatically shook his head.

“He says no.”

“No what?” she demanded.
No he wasn’t going to explain?
No, Ty hadn’t bled out?

“No, he was not alone,” Saiid clarified.

“You mean the Taliban had him?” She almost couldn’t get the words out.

Another shake of his head.
“No Taliban,” he said firmly in a heavy accent, pointing to himself.

“Who had him, then?”

The man kept pointing at himself, watching her.
She bit back a sob.
Oh God, she wanted to think Ty had been with someone.
She wanted to believe someone had been there to offer what little kindness they could when he drew his last breath.

The old man repeatedly stabbed a gnarled finger into his chest and said something else.
Saiid swallowed and met her eyes.
“He…he says
he
was with him when he died.”

She sat up higher, grabbing the bedrail for support.
Her other hand dashed at the tears on her face.
“
You
stayed with him?”

He nodded.
She clapped one hand over her mouth to stifle a whimper, then covered her eyes instead.
Every hair on her nape stood on end.
The chances of meeting were so small.
How could this be?
She was losing it, and she wanted to be left alone to cry in private.

Before she could summon the control to ask him anything else, the old man broke from his position in the doorway and crossed to her bedside.
The soles of his sandals scuffed the floor.
He sought her free hand and pried her curled fingers off the cold metal rail.
He pressed her hand tightly between his.
The skin of his palms was rough and leathery, and felt warm.
He spoke, his voice soft and soothing.
Though Saiid had to translate them, the words were directed at her.

“He was a very brave man, and he was not alone when he died.
If you like, I will tell you what happened.”

Blinking at him through her tears, she managed a nod.

The soldiers were close now.
Close enough for him to see their shadowed faces.
They were fanned out, stopping to look at the dead.
He fought back the anxiety eating at him as they drew nearer.
They rolled the bodies over with their feet.
Checking for Nasrallah?
Sadiq’s lips curved in a satisfied smile.
They would never find him.
The general was long gone by now, sheltered in some secret location in one of the nearby villages.
The people would never give him up.

In the faint moonlight, he stared at the spot where the block letters were stenciled on the soldier’s sleeve.
Coiled and ready, his mind swept back to that terrible night when he had lost everything that mattered to him.
He called up his brother’s face, remembering every beloved line of it as they ate dinner in their uncle’s house.

“I hear something,” his brother, Hassan said.

Sadiq turned his head toward the door of their uncle’s mud brick house.
He heard it too.
Distant voices floating on the night air.

“Taliban.”

They both shoved to their feet and grabbed their old Russian-made weapons from near the door.
Their uncle emerged from the back room, his face a mask of concern.
“We have to keep them away.
The Americans are still in the area.”

Sadiq glanced to the doorway beyond his uncle’s shoulder.
“Are the children—”

“My wife and children will stay hidden until they leave.
Hurry.” He waved a hand at them and together they stepped outside.
To the east, the twilit sky was an ocean of indigo and purple, with the first few stars winking to life.
To the west and south, a great bank of fog was closing in, slowly swallowing everything in its path.
Already it curled around their feet with ghostly tendrils.

“We don’t want any trouble here,” his uncle said firmly.
“Don’t antagonize them.
We have nothing to offer them here, and soon they’ll be on their way to another village.”

The distant voices lost in the fog grew louder.
Within minutes, the first man wearing a black turban materialized through the smoky veil.
He was tall, with a thick black beard and eyes that glittered in the light from the oil lamps some of the men held.
Sadiq stayed next to Hassan while his uncle went out to speak to him.
More Taliban appeared, coming out of the mist like ghosts.
He suppressed a shiver of unease, his fingers tightening around the old rifle.

Apparently satisfied, the Taliban leader stepped away and motioned with his hand for his followers to join him.
Sadiq’s stomach tightened.
They were going to check the houses, to make sure no Americans were hidden there.
He thought of the many books in his uncle’s house, and the ones he’d brought with him for his little cousins.
The Taliban forbade girls to attend school or receive formal educations.
He took an involuntary step back toward the house when one of the men started toward it.
Hassan laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

“But the children…”

“I know,” his brother whispered.
“We’ll stay close by until he leaves.”

The man re-emerged a few minutes later, and Sadiq let out the breath he’d been holding.
He’d been so afraid of—

Shouts came from down the hillside.
The Taliban instantly gripped their weapons and gathered at the edge of the dirt road.
More shouts.
Then sharp popping noises.
The reports echoed up the valley.

He went cold.
“Who are they shooting at?” he said to Hassan.

All hell broke loose.

“Get down!”

He dove to the ground as a spray of bullets hit the house in front of him.
Men were running, yelling.
Women and children were screaming in fright inside the houses.

“Sadiq!”

He opened his eyes.
Hassan rushed toward him, his expression full of fear.
“Get up!
We have to draw them down the hill away from the village.”

He started to shake his head no, but Hassan grabbed him by the front of his shirt and hauled him to his feet.
His brother dragged him out behind cover and they ran for the line of small trees bordering the village.
Tracers arced overhead, glowing bright red in the darkness.
His feet slipped and skidded over the loose shale.
He followed his brother to shelter behind the ruins of some older houses that had been wiped out by heavy rains in the spring.
Gulping in air, he made out the shadowy forms of the Taliban moving farther down the hill into the valley.
Hassan pushed to his feet and then dropped into a crouch as if he was going to follow.
Sadiq threw an arm across his brother’s chest.
“Don’t.”

“We have to protect the village.”

“Then we should go back up the hill, not into the valley.
It’s the Taliban’s fight, not ours.
Let their fighters worry about the Americans.”