Her Own Best Enemy (The Remnants, Book 1) (11 page)

What he wouldn’t give for a pair of those night vision goggles right about now. His pistol pressed against his back as he shifted his weight, partially sandwiching Grace between him and the rocks. His MP5 was safely secured in his pack, making it of no use to him, but he needed his hands free. He shifted his left foot, his boot scraping rocky terrain.

“Do you see the creek?” He spoke directly into Grace’s ear, her hair brushing his mouth at her nod. “Good. We’re going to crawl to it. Stay on the inside of me and do not try to crawl ahead. Got that?”

“Yes.”

“When we get to the creek, we’re going to wait until we see all four of their lights on the bridge and then we’re going to haul ass across the river.”

He started to crawl, the rocks cutting into his palms and knees, alternating between making sure Grace was following and keeping the lights in view. They made their way around trees, underbrush and rock, until they were on the other side of Phantom Ranch.

Here, several trees provided temporary coverage for them to wait. He hated to wait. There were times when he’d sat in a bunker for hours—days—just killing time. It caused him to nearly jump out of his skin. Give him a deadly takedown mission any day. At least he was doing something.

Beside him, Grace’s breath hitched and to his surprise concern trickled through him.

“You okay?” The words came out gruffer than he intended.

She nodded stiffly, clearly lying through her teeth. He itched to take her hand in his. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t want to examine it, and couldn’t stop himself from following through with the action.

Oh, yeah, he’d probably regret it. But, damn if he didn’t regret ever saying yes to her crazy scheme to find her son in the first place.

He peered through the scraggly branches of a juniper tree and watched four lights bob across the black suspension bridge.

Pushing all other thoughts aside, he squeezed Grace’s hand. “We’re up. Come on. Time to cross the creek. Don’t stand, okay? Crawl through the water.”

Her only response was a tense nod.

“I know. It sucks. But it’s the best way. Crawl slow. Try not to make any noise. Blend into the terrain as much as possible.”

He released her hand, and took a slight lead, still shielding her with his body in case they were spotted. They reached the edge of the creek and, in tandem, slid a hand into the chilly water. Their other hand followed, along with both their knees, silently, slowly, crawling through the cold water without making a sound.

They reached the other side without incident. His neck and shoulders ached. His hands were cold, but he crawled to a nearby boulder and sandwiched him and Grace behind it.

He peered over the top of the boulder, looked toward the bridge where he found the lights, and counted. One. Two. Three. Damn. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted again. One. Two. Three.

One of the lights was missing.

He resisted the urge to smash his fist into the rock. “One of the mercs separated from the group.”

Her teeth chattered. “What?”

“He may have spotted us. Hell, maybe he stopped to take a leak. Who knows?” He jerked a hand through his hair. “We’re going to have to make a run for Bright Angel and hope he’s looking in the wrong direction.”

“And if he’s not?” Her question was issued in a reedy whisper.

“You still have the gun I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“Get it out.”

She hesitated a second too long. He jerked her around, dug the gun out of her pack and shoved it in the waistband of her jeans.

“Keep it there. You may need it.” He grabbed her hand. “Don’t fall behind.”

They made a break for the entrance to the trail, darting around the small scrub trees and boulders as best they could by the glow of the moon. They couldn’t afford to use a flashlight and it would be pointless anyhow. Grace kept up with him, despite the few stumbles, and his admiration for her kicked up a notch.

Their feet touched the metal of the silvery suspension bridge that crossed the Colorado and marked the entrance to the Bright Angel Trail. He squelched a spurt of relief. They weren’t home free by any means.

He forced their pace into a quick trot. Their feet struck the metal and created a low rumble as they covered the bridge’s distance. The muscles in his legs constricted. A spurt of lactic acid burned through them as he ascended the first ridge. Grace pulled away from him, her fingers slipping through his. He tightened his grip, determined not to let her fall behind.

His pack felt like a load of rocks. He flexed his shoulders, shifting the straps higher. Even though a crisp, night breeze washed over him, beads of perspiration formed on his brow and across his upper lip.

“I can’t.” Grace gasped and her knees buckled. “I can’t run anymore.”

He wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her up. “You have to.”

“Then give me a minute.”

“Not here.”

He forced her to travel another mile or so up a rough incline until they reached a small alcove of rocks and a makeshift shelter. She plopped down on a rustic wooden bench and hung her head.

“How can they know our every move?”

Keith studied the darkness surrounding them, shifting on the balls of his feet, prepared to grab Grace and make another break for the rim if the need warranted it.

“Money buys anything. And he’s got a deep pocketbook.”

“Who?”

He shook his head. “Don’t know. But he’s doing a damn good job of leading a double life.”

Grace shot him a troubled frown that was magnified by the shaft of moonlight that speared its way through the mouth of the canyon. He couldn’t let her thoughts wander to her son right now. Wondering what was happening to him, whether he was safe with his dad, or in the clutches of some ruthless bastard served no purpose. Not now.

“Time to keep moving.” He pulled her to her feet.

She, readjusted her backpack on her shoulders, and joined him along the trail. This time as they started over the rocky terrain he didn’t take her hand. He didn’t want the warmth of her skin against his ramping up his anxiety. He needed a cool head to get them to the rim.

Payback was a bitch. The Keeper was going to get his. The sooner the better.

They’d gone thirty, maybe forty, feet before the hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Something wasn’t right.

He tried to shake the feeling, but he knew better than to ignore his instincts. He halted Grace with a touch of his hand on her arm. She gave him a puzzled frown and he tapped two fingers to his lips.

The trail looked deceptively empty, but he didn’t have to wait long. A flicker of infrared light moved on the terrain below them.

Looks like they’d found the missing merc.

“Damn.” The drawn out whisper hissed through his lips.

Beside him, Grace tensed. “What?”

He pushed her over to a crevice in the canyon wall.

“Stay here.”

She shook her head. “But—”

“Wait. Here.” He punctuated the command with a short squeeze of her hands and then turned away without waiting to see if she obeyed.

He pulled his pistol from his waistband and retraced their steps. Grace had evidently heeded his order. For once. He took a deep steady breath, pushing thoughts of her out of his mind as he crept stealthily over the darkened earth.

Unease slithered through his belly. He hated to leave her alone. What if...? No, She’d be okay. No one could slip past him.

What about someone coming down from the rim? He bit down on his lip, tasting bitter copper. Damn it. He didn’t need these useless thoughts messing with him. What he needed was to spot this son of a bitch so he—

Something slammed into Keith’s side. The breath left his throat. His boots skidded across the pebbled ground searching for traction. As luck would have it, he found it, mere inches from the edge of the cliff. He twisted his body, and threw his weight into his attacker, bringing up his pistol with his left arm, which shuddered, suddenly numb and uncooperative.

He grappled with the man twice his size, sweat he couldn’t take time to wipe away pouring into his eyes. The man gripped Keith’s left bicep, digging his fingers into his skin and sending a shaft of white-hot pain straight through him.

What the hell?

He gasped, realization breaking the fuzzy edges of his vision. The asshole had cut him. A growl emerged from the pit of his stomach. He let rage provide him with a renewed burst of energy. His left arm burned but he forced it to bend, slamming the barrel of his pistol into the man’s throat and dragging him to the edge of the drop-off.

“I’d question you, but I have a feeling you wouldn’t have much to say.”

The man’s lips twisted. “Go to hell.”

“Just as I suspected,” Keith rasped.

Moonlight glinted off metal as the man struggled to bring his knife to Keith’s heart. He didn’t have the chance. Keith slammed the butt of his pistol into the man’s temple and shoved him over the edge. He’d be dead long before he hit the bottom.

Keith closed his eyes and dropped to the hard, unforgiving ground. He dragged the butt of the pistol across his forehead and forced several large breaths through his trachea.

Damn. This was the second time he’d let himself get caught unawares tonight. Where was that staunch focus his team members had needled him about on more than one occasion? Was Grace making him lose his edge?

No. Not possible. He was as razor sharp as ever.

And to prove it, he pushed himself to his feet, snagging his backpack off the ground where it had fallen during the earlier scuffle. His left arm burned when he shoved it through the strap. Wincing, he shook off the searing pain.

He went back for Grace and found her much sooner than anticipated.

“I told you to stay put,” he barked when he took the first curve in the trail and she almost ran him down.

“You were taking so long, I didn’t know what was happening—”

He pushed her aside. “All the more reason to stay away.”

Her eyes widened on his left arm. “Omigod, you’re hurt.”

He grunted. “It’s nothing. Let’s go.”

Given her penchant for taking charge, he expected her to demand to check him over, but instead she hesitated, her gaze transfixed on his arm.

After a moment, her gaze lifted to meet his glare. Whatever she saw stopped her from arguing. “Fine. Let’s go.”

They hiked the rest of the way out of the canyon in silence. The longer they labored on, the more difficult it became to catch his breath, let alone speak.

By the time they reached the Jeep, the pain and loss of blood had caught up with him. He swayed, gripping the driver’s side door. Grace met his eyes over the top of the Jeep.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He grimaced. “Maybe you’d better drive.” He wrestled the keys out of his pocket with his good hand and lobbed them over the hood.

She caught them, eyebrows raised. “You didn’t answer my question.”

They switched places. She stopped him in front of the hood by grabbing his hand. Rivulets of blood had run down his arm, making his hand appear pink. She followed the Pepto-Bismol colored trail to the bleeding slash across his bicep.

“You’re not, are you?” She looked at him. Her eyes were over bright, forcing him to swallow his gruff retort.

“I’ll be fine.”

She dropped her hold on him without another word and strode to the opposite side of the Jeep. He waited until she had climbed behind the wheel and popped the lock before he slid beside her. His backpack slipped from his shoulders. He swung it into his lap, his arms shaking too badly to toss it into the backseat.

Grace started the car and curled her fingers over the steering wheel, staring straight ahead at the sky streaked with the first rays of sunshine. “The cardkey is for a storage unit. SecurStor. I tried to tell you earlier. Mean anything to you?”

“Yeah.” He pushed the rest of the words past the dryness in his throat. “Lake Powell Marina.”

She leveled him with a suspicious glare. “How did you—?”

He swallowed. His tongue felt thick and he blinked to clear the fuzzy fingers at the edges of his vision. It didn’t help. He fumbled for the zipper on his pack and somehow managed to grab hold and slide it to the other side.

Dark spots multiplied in front of his eyes. He stabbed his hand inside his pack, pulled out the first thing his fingers closed over and tossed it to Grace. It hit the seat between them with a thwap and suddenly he found he could no longer keep his head up. He let it fall against the seat, dizziness swirling around him, making his ears ring and his vision go dark.

“Ranger Rick?” Grace’s incredulous voice seemed miles away.

He tried to explain, but he couldn’t form the words. “Open it. Page Eleven.” His stomach lurched, he felt removed from his body, like those free fall dreams he’d experienced as a child.

He just hoped he’d wake up before he hit bottom.