Lethal Pursuit (11 page)

The shivers that stole through her sent searing shocks of pain out from her damaged ribs. She hated that the other men were here, that the one named Jihad was touching her. He made her skin crawl. All of those bastards did. Since there was nothing she could do but endure, she allowed herself to drink in the sight of Jackson’s stubble-covered face as he bent over her. She wanted to reach out to him so badly, tell him how she regretted using him that night in Kandahar.

Hell, if she wasn’t going to make it out of here alive, she even wanted him to know she was falling for him. With his every touch, he made the ache in her heart grow worse until she had to close her eyes, lest she give herself away. She lay quietly while Jackson worked, gathering supplies from the bag they’d brought him.

“I’m gonna tape your ribs now. I can’t wrap right around your chest because the compression could cause positional asphyxiation, but the tape should help with the pain a bit.”

“Okay.” She trusted him and was grateful for his help. His manner was so calm and sure, it was a comfort in itself. In her mind she imagined the others leaving, and Jackson gently lifting her into his arms to hold her in the cradle of his body.

Large, gentle hands lifted her shirt higher, easing the bottom band of her sports bra up to expose her sternum. With practiced care, he began ripping lengths of tape and applied them from her sternum outward along the right side of her rib cage. Gasping when he reached the fracture site, she bit back a growl of pain.

“I know. Sorry. But it should be better after this.” He secured the last pieces and pulled her T-shirt down before moving on to her wrist. That too he wrapped up, using a piece of stiff cardboard from something in the bag as a splint. She bore the pain the best she could, swallowing back the nausea that welled up. Man, she was thirsty, and starving. Were they ever going to be fed? Or was this part of the plan—to beat and starve them into submission?

She opened her eyes to peer up at Jackson, trying to memorize every detail of his face. He leaned over her and set a hand behind her neck once more, checking her lip, which had started bleeding again from all the talking. He put a small butterfly bandage on it to help seal the edges. “Could probably use a stitch or two there, but it should heal as is if you keep your lips still.”

As in, keep her mouth shut? She might have laughed if she hadn’t been freezing and in a shitload of pain.

Something wet touched the corner of her mouth and she glanced down to see him cleaning her face with a moistened pad. She swallowed automatically, the touch of that cool, wet cloth triggering a powerful thirst.

“Want some water?”

She nodded. Mohammed handed the canteen to him, and she allowed Jackson to support her head while she took a tentative sip, almost moaning at the feel of the cool liquid sliding over her parched tongue. Jackson held her steady while she took several slow sips and held her good hand up to signal she’d had enough. He handed it back, and she shot him a pleading look. Wouldn’t he take any?

She shivered again, and this time Jihad said something to Mohammed, who left. Jackson gave her nape another covert caress as he finished checking his work, and she fought the sudden sting of tears. Right now she’d give anything for him to lie down beside her and hold her in his arms. Any pain it caused would be worth it to have him up close against her, feel his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

A minute later, Mohammed returned with a blanket and set her socks and boots next to Jackson. Jihad released her and positioned her on her left side with surprising care before stepping back and holding the flashlight so Jackson could see. He eased her socks on, then her boots, and she was grateful for the immediate increase in warmth they brought. The soles of her feet felt swollen and bruised, throbbing inside her boots.

Rummaging through the bag, Jackson came up with a syringe and two small vials. He squinted at them for a second before looking down at her. “You allergic to fentanyl?”

“No.”

He inserted the needle into the bottle, filled the syringe. “I’m going to give you enough to take the worst of the pain away, and some ketamine to knock you out for a bit. Your body could use the rest.”

He wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She’d heard what that American-turned-terrorist bastard had said about them having a “visit” with Khalid, the man who’d beaten her. Jackson might want to ease her pain, but she knew what he really wanted was to shield her from seeing whatever they did to him.

Her heart constricted in fear. She flung her good hand up toward him, grasping his wrist tight. “Don’t. I don’t need it.”

Regret and apology flashed through his eyes but he went back to preparing the syringe, adding the ketamine. “I’m putting you out, Maya.”

She tightened her grip. “Please don’t.”

He didn’t answer, his face an implacable mask as he pushed the plunger up to rid the syringe of air. He wasn’t going to listen. A single tear escaped, rolling down her temple.

Jackson stilled for a moment, then murmured, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Please
, she begged with her one functioning eye,
please don’t.
She couldn’t bear the thought of him enduring what she had, or worse. It made her want to throw up.

Something cool and wet swabbed over the side of her hip, and then the brief sting of the needle registered. He covered her with the blanket and tucked it around her, watching her face. She shook her head, afraid to let go, her fingers digging into his arm like talons.

Reading her distress, he took her hand in his and set his other against her unhurt cheek, gazing straight into her eyes. “Don’t fight it. It’s okay, I’m right here.”

A sob built in her throat. Already she could feel the drug stealing through her veins, weighing her eyelid down and making her limbs heavy. The pain receded and she began to float away on a warm sea. She struggled to keep her eye open, afraid she’d never see him again.

The last thing she heard was his low voice washing over her. “I’m here.”

But she knew that the next time she opened her eyes, he wouldn’t be.

Chapter Eleven

Jackson knew the moment Maya checked out. Her head lolled to the side and her breathing evened out. Deepened. The ketamine would black out everything that happened between now and when it wore off.

The guard, Jihad, said something to him. Jackson braced himself, knowing what was coming even though he didn’t understand the words. He was thankful Maya wouldn’t remember what happened next. For a second he almost fought when his arms were roughly yanked behind his back and another zip tie tightened around his wrists. His muscles corded, ready to spring. He had to consciously relax them as Jihad jerked him to his feet and shoved him through the cell door.

He stumbled, barely catching his balance before he fell. The dark corridor yawned before him. He might not have a choice in going down there, but he sure as hell wasn’t going easily. Jihad propelled him forward with one hand wrapped around his upper arm and the other shoved between his shoulder blades. Jackson resisted, forcing the man to muscle him with every shuffling step.

At the end of the corridor, someone pulled away a rug covering a doorway. Jihad shoved him through the opening. The tiny space was lit only by a single lantern on a low table opposite a metal chair. It was something right out of a SERE school scenario, but there were no built-in safety nets here.

He dug his feet in, refusing to move another step. The militant kicked the back of Jackson’s knees, making them buckle. He fell into the chair with a jarring thud. They were on him instantly, binding his feet and hands to the chair frame. Jackson’s heart slammed. He could see the spatters of blood on the floor and knew they were Maya’s. The sight of them, combined with the foreign feeling of being powerless, filled him with a dizzying rage.

He stared straight ahead as Khalid stepped forward from where he’d been standing against the far wall. Jihad and the other man who’d tied him to the chair retreated into the shadows, where they remained, watching. Jackson was more than ready for a fight. He’d gladly take them all on if the cowardly bastards would untie him and let him defend himself.

Khalid walked up until he was close enough for Jackson to see his yellow eyes and read the fury burning in them. He met that eerie gaze head on, refusing to be cowed. Khalid’s lips thinned. “Who are you?”

“Staff Sergeant Jackson Thatcher,” he responded in a flat voice and started to give his serial number when Khalid interrupted with another demand.

“What were you doing with the Secretary of Defense yesterday?”

So they’d only been captive for a day? It felt like longer. “I can’t answer that question.”

Khalid circled him, staying close enough that Jackson could smell his body odor. “You’re not his bodyguard, you’re a medic. What were you doing in that village?” His voice dropped to a sneer. “Did you think you could win the hearts and minds of my people by giving out medicine and stuffed toys?”

Beats the hell out of terrorizing them like you assholes do.

“You were on a specialized operation. You must know about others. What are they?”

“I can’t answer that question.” Even if he knew the details of other ongoing operations, he’d never sell out his SPEC OPS brothers by divulging them.

“What
are
they?” he snapped behind him. Jackson could feel the impatience in the man, the seething anger below the surface. He could already tell this guy had serious control issues.

“Answer me!” A hand flashed out and cuffed him across the side of his head.

“Jackson Thatcher, staff sergeant,” he answered, and gave his serial number. He was ready for the blows, but even so he grunted when a fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Stars danced before his eyes for a moment until his vision cleared. Khalid was back in front of him. He refused to meet that hostile glare, staring at the wall beyond him instead. Maya had withstood her beating. He could do no less.

Another punch to the face, this one slicing open his lower lip against his teeth. He closed his eyes and tensed, his only protection for the blows. Another to the side of the head. A vicious kick to his shins that hurt like hell, and one square in the chest that knocked the chair back with a metallic shriek against the floor. He bent over, struggling for breath.

“Where are they attacking next?”

Gritting his teeth, swallowing blood from his cut lip, he remained silent. Name, rank and serial number were all he was required to say. Talking would do him no good and he sure as hell wasn’t telling this asshole anything he wanted to know.

A hard hand gripped his hair and yanked his head back. Jackson instinctively resisted the motion, the muscles in his neck screaming with the effort. That seething, accented voice rolled over him once more. “You saw what I did to the woman. I will do far worse to you, and then I will bring her back in here and kill her, slowly, while you watch. Is that what you want?”

His mind screamed in protest at the threat. He couldn’t give in. Not even to save Maya. If he survived and she didn’t, he’d have to live with that somehow.

“Does her suffering not matter to you?” Khalid sneered. “You could save her if you wanted to. Tell me what you know, and I’ll let her live.”

The offer tempted him, though he could never trust it. He clamped his teeth together to hold back a snarl. His only comfort was knowing that Maya would understand his decision to stay silent. She would realize that he didn’t have a choice. She’d stayed strong for them. Jackson would do the same for her and Haversham. His honor and protection of his fellow POWs were all he had left to fight for.

Khalid released his hair with a rough yank. A second later his booted foot caught Jackson in the stomach, despite the way he was hunched over, driving the air from his lungs. Pain tore through his torso. When he opened his eyes, his captor was holding a knife in his hand. The wickedly sharp blade glinted in the lantern light.

Even with his training, Jackson’s insides withered at the sight of it. This was about to get ugly and he wasn’t going out quietly. If he died, it would be fighting every step of the way, bucking and struggling against his bonds. He might even get lucky and free an arm or leg to protect himself. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, fortifying breath, praying for strength, trying not to think of all the things that knife could do to him.

Khalid raised the blade. Jackson tensed, a guttural snarl building in his throat, his body preparing for the worst.

Shouting suddenly erupted outside the room. Khalid’s head snapped around.

The kid, Mohammed, burst through the carpet-covered doorway, breathing hard, his eyes wide. He babbled something to Khalid, who seemed to pale, his posture rigid with shock.

Khalid barked a few words at Mohammed then snapped an order at the other men in the room. The knife in his fist lowered. Before Jackson could breathe a sigh of relief, Jihad stalked across the room and yanked a hood over his head, engulfing him in darkness. Someone untied him from the chair and began shoving him forward, he assumed toward the door.

What the hell was happening?

Men raced past him, some already ahead of him. He could hear the groan and scrape of metal as they unlocked the cell doors, more angry shouts and the noise of scuffling while they hauled the Sec Def out. His yelled protests rang through the corridor. Were they getting Maya too?

He couldn’t slow his heart down. Though he resisted, whoever was pushing him kept forcing him onward. Disoriented, hampered by the bonds at his ankles, he fell to his knees. Impatient hands hauled him roughly upward and another man came over to help, the two of them picking him up and carrying him. The temperature warmed suddenly, and he knew they’d taken him outside into the sunshine. Was it morning or afternoon?

An engine started off to the right. The men carrying him rushed toward it and dumped him into the bed of what had to be a pickup. Someone else was thrown in beside him, and from the masculine grunt he knew it was Haversham. Another body landed half on top of him a second later. Maya. She was completely limp and he hoped still unconscious. He doubted the bastards had thought to place her on her uninjured ribs or worry about her fractures.

Someone climbed into the back with them, and the tailgate slammed shut. More shouting, more running feet. Men rushed past to the cab and climbed inside, jostling the truck. The front doors shut and the driver gunned the engine, spinning the tires.

“What’s going on?” Haversham shouted above the noise.

“Dunno, but I’m hoping it’s because one of ours had a lock on our position.” It was the only thing that made sense. They bumped and bounced along the road, tossing Jackson and the others around the truck bed. Cursing, he shouted to Haversham. “Help me brace Maya. She’s unconscious.”
And she’s got enough broken bones already.

The hood blocked out all the light and made him feel claustrophobic. He battled with the feeling of suffocation, focused on slowing his breathing. Feeling their way to Maya, together he and Haversham wiggled toward her and pinned her between them, doing what they could to keep her from slamming into the metal bed every time the truck bounced. She was out cold, her face pressed against his chest as best he could tell. She seemed so small and fragile up against him like this, unable to defend herself.

They drove for a long time, well over an hour, the steep upward pitch of the truck and the cooling temperature telling him they were going uphill. They had to be in the mountains somewhere. The hood was too opaque for him to see even a glimmer of light, so he had no way to tell where the sun was or what direction they were traveling in. Were they still in Afghanistan? The MEDCAP had been in a village only a few hours’ drive from the Pakistani border. They could’ve crossed over while they were still out from whatever they’d been injected with.

“Can you see anything?” Haversham asked.

“Nothing through this hood.”

“Me neither. Any idea where they’re taking us?”

“No.”

The guard in the truck bed with them kicked Jackson’s thigh in an order for silence.

He and Haversham did their best to cushion Maya’s body for the duration of the journey. His arms, hips and back were bruised all to hell by the time they arrived at their destination. They had only a few seconds to rest before the tailgate dropped and men started dragging them out.

Shouting and shoving, the captors herded them into someplace cold and quiet. A rattling of keys, the squeak of metal hinges and rough hands shoved Jackson forward into his new home. He pitched forward and landed flat on his face on some metal wiring. When he rolled to his side, he came up against more metal. Struggling on to his hip, he tried to get to his feet but his head hit more metal. The hood was snatched off him, and he got his first look around as his cell door slammed shut.

He was in a fucking cage now. He couldn’t see Maya—it was too dark to see any farther than beyond the perimeter of his cage. Curses and struggles came to the left in the darkness, and he recognized Haversham’s voice as they hauled him away, presumably for his turn in the hot seat.

Jackson scurried backward until his shoulders hit the back of the small enclosure, straining to see in the darkness. He was alone. Nobody was guarding him now, and he still didn’t know what they’d done with Maya.

Giving vent to the adrenaline racing through him, he lashed out with his bound feet, slamming the soles of his boots into the lock mechanism. The captors had moved them because they’d feared the U.S. military had found their location. Soldiers had to be in the vicinity. The men holding them captive would be twitchy, anxious and prone to acting without thinking. That made them ten times as dangerous.

Focused on his goal, he kicked repeatedly at the lock, not caring about the amount of noise he was making. He was determined to get out of this fucking cage and fight for their freedom.

* * *

Khalid waited impatiently for Jihad to finish tying the Secretary to the wooden chair someone had dragged in for that purpose. Fear was a living thing inside him, writhing in his veins. He hadn’t taken a full breath from the moment Mohammed had burst in, saying that Rahim had been alerted and their hideout’s location had been leaked.

The mole Rahim had spoken of aiding the Americans was real. Khalid was suspicious by nature and had mentally reviewed each of his men during the drive to this new location. He’d come up blank. None of his men had the education or contacts necessary to pull off such a thing. They were all ignorant villagers and farmers. That left only Rahim’s men, but the three he’d left behind with Khalid had been present the entire time and there was no way they’d have been able to alert the Americans without one of his men overhearing.

Jihad removed the Secretary’s hood and stepped back to observe the interrogation. Khalid hated that he had someone monitoring his work, but there was nothing to be done about it. And if the Americans truly were in the area, Khalid was running out of time to get the information he needed. He might have only hours left before the Americans found them and staged a hostage rescue attempt. And Khalid would never be taken alive.

“No one knows where you are now,” he taunted his prisoner, towering over him. “I am growing short of both patience and time.” It was possible they might have to move the captives again soon. Urgency gnawed at him. “You have many things to tell us, but you will give us that recorded statement before the rest of it. You will tell your people that this war is unjust, and why. You will tell them that you and your military have no right to be in our country and that they should put pressure on their politicians to withdraw from the area. If you do not, you will suffer for your defiance.”

Khalid stepped aside enough to allow the man to see the sharpened knife on the table, as well as the electrical box waiting there. “Whether you say it of your own free will or because you merely want the pain to stop is irrelevant to me. I only care that I get what I need.”

He paused for effect, not expecting a response, and he didn’t get one. The dark-skinned man’s deep brown eyes glittered with hatred as he stared back at Khalid.