Lethal Pursuit (16 page)

“Go,
now
,” Maya urged him, face grim and determined.

So she could stay and sacrifice herself? That was
not
how this was gonna go. “I’m not leavin’ you,” he snapped, furious that she’d even suggest he take off and leave her to fend off two armed men. “Give me your weapon and run,” he urged. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“No.” Her voice was so cold and resolute it sent a chill down his spine. It was plain she wasn’t leaving until she cleared Khalid off their tail. “If I don’t kill him, he’ll just keep hunting us.”

Without a weapon to help even the odds, Jackson held his breath and waited a few precious seconds, praying Maya was faster than the maniacal insurgent coming at them. All his muscles corded, a shout of denial rising up in his throat at the thought of her risking her life this way when he wanted to be the one holding the gun and protecting her.

The man beside Khalid suddenly broke away from him with a burst of speed. Maya shifted to the right, waiting two seconds before firing, hitting him through the lung. A pink mist puffed into the air. He fell and curled on to his side, his weapon lying forgotten in the dust.

Khalid pulled the trigger again. Maya ducked, but the bullet never fired.

A maniacal gleam entered his eyes, knowing the next chamber was loaded, intending the round for Maya. She had her pistol up and aimed, waiting for him to come into killing range. He didn’t slow. If anything, he ran faster. Lit up by whatever unholy conviction drove him, he charged straight at her while everything in Jackson screamed at him to fling himself on top of her to shield her from the shot they all knew was coming.

Maya squeezed the trigger. Her shot went wide.

“Maya, give it to me and get
out
of here,” Jackson demanded, wishing she’d just run and save herself.

Then everything went into agonizing slow motion.

With a triumphant smile flashing white in the midst of his dark beard, Khalid squeezed the trigger one last time. Jackson held his breath, praying the bullet would miss Maya.

An empty, metallic click filled the still mountain air.

It hadn’t been loaded?

The stunned surprise on his face registered only for a split second before Maya’s shot rang out. The bullet hit Khalid high up in the left shoulder, jerking his upper body backward. A spray of blood went up. He let out a roar and clapped a hand to the ruined joint, falling to his knees in the dirt. The useless revolver lay at his feet. Fifty yards behind him, two more men rushed toward him from the rear.

And still Maya stayed where she was, preparing to take another shot. Wanting to finish Khalid.

Jackson fully understood why she wanted to kill him, but the guy wasn’t coming after them for the moment, so they needed to haul ass and take every second they had if they were going to get away. He lunged over and grabbed the back of the medical duffel with one hand, hauling her upright. “
Run
, Maya!”

She didn’t. Just shook him off and took aim. She fired once more, even though Khalid was so far away the chances of hitting him again were minimal. He jerked to the right, but not in time. She nailed him high in his left arm this time. He screamed and pitched to the side. Already off balance, he tumbled over the edge of the rise and down into a wadi below.

Jackson didn’t need to see more. “Go, go!” he shouted to her, gripping Haversham’s back and legs, turning to sprint toward the trail.

Maya was already on her feet and running. Seventy-five meters up the hill, he spared a glance back to see the remaining men coming up on Khalid, still lying huddled in the wadi. The two newcomers spun and trained their AKs on them, but the shots sprayed low and wide, plowing into the ground behind them.

Jackson’s heart slammed against his breastbone. “Move it,” he growled, right on Maya’s ass. He shoved a hand against it to help propel her upward, prepared to drag her over that crest at the top if need be.

She hung in there, the strain obvious on her sweaty face and the medical duffel bumping against the back of her injured ribs. Together they scrambled to the top of the rise, keeping alert for any insurgents or booby traps ahead. Once there, the trail broke into four different ones. Jackson scanned the horizon for a breathless second. Should they head west toward the Afghan border? Or south and eventually back into the foothills in the hopes of finding a way to contact friendly forces?

Maya barely paused to catch her breath, gasping, “He told me northwest from here.”

“
Who?
”

“Dunno who he was, but I think he was American. He talked in English with no accent,” she said in a rush.

So who the hell was he, and why was he sending them farther up into the mountains? It didn’t make any sense, though Jackson was grateful for the help. But how did they know they could trust him? When Maya took a step to the right on the trail that led northwest, he reached out a hand and caught her shoulder. She glanced back at him in surprise.

He had way more training in escape and evasion tactics, not to mention combat experience, so as of now that made him the expert, despite his inferior rank. She knew it. “I’ll take point. Follow in my footsteps. We’ve gotta cover our tracks best we can so no one can follow.” Even though a blind man would be able to follow them with the spatters of blood Haversham’s wound was leaving behind. The sooner the sun went down, the better.

Her jaw tensed but she gave an almost imperceptible nod as he passed her. Jackson shifted Haversham on his shoulders. “You still with me?”

“Yeah,” he gritted out, sounding like he was ready to puke from the pain.

Guy was a solid bastard, felt like he weighed a ton. With the lack of food and water, Jackson was already feeling the exertion, even though they weren’t at a high enough altitude to make the air seem thin. They had to keep moving. Every step they took put distance between them and the men who would surely be coming after them. The approaching darkness was a blessing, to a point, but without night vision capability, they wouldn’t be able to travel far across this rocky terrain.

“I’ll take the sidearm now,” Jackson said, and it wasn’t really a request. He hated moving out here blind without a weapon. Made him feel naked and exposed.

She didn’t even look at him, her gaze sweeping the trail they’d just climbed. “I’m good. Our six is still clear.”

Fine
, he told himself. She’d accepted his expertise, and he had to carry Haversham. At least she was a good shot. Curbing the instinct to argue, he picked his way across the trail, choosing sturdy rocks as stepping stones to keep footprints and tracks to a minimum. He figured they had an hour or two tops until the sun set, and before then he had to find them shelter and water if possible.

Part of him was still struggling to grasp that they were actually free. He planned to keep them that way, no matter what it took.

If he’d been alone he would’ve gone much faster, but he didn’t want to outdistance Maya and leave her vulnerable. He trimmed his pace and kept an eye on her progress. She was done in but still going, pale and sweaty and in desperate need of rest and fluids.

“Gotta keep moving for another couple of hours,” he told her and sucked in a lungful of air, ignoring the slight tremor in his legs and the burning ache in his back and shoulders. “Few more klicks and we’ll find a place to rest for the night, but we’ve gotta be on the move before sunup.” It would be better to hole up during the day and move at night, but waiting wasn’t an option, considering the desperate shape Haversham was in. They’d just have to be damn careful whenever they moved.

“I can make it.”

“I know you can, honey.” He’d seen firsthand how much shit she could handle and had absolute faith in her. She’d risked everything to spring them from their prison—now it was his turn to lead. He’d get them safely back to friendly lines or die trying.

Chapter Sixteen

They hiked for what seemed like hours before Jackson deemed them safe enough to find a place to stop and rest. By then, Maya was moving on autopilot and had been for a long time. She walked in a kind of numb haze, her legs carrying her without any conscious thought on her part. Jackson was still going strong. He’d only taken a few short breaks during the climb, though he had to be exhausted from carrying Haversham, who was still conscious and in a shitload of pain. Would have been kinder if he’d passed out for at least some of the trip.

“We’ll camp there for a bit,” Jackson said in a low voice. He indicated a space beneath a natural overhang in the rock that he’d already gone ahead to check out. Jackson had left Haversham with her while he doubled back and conducted a listening halt to ensure they were really alone out here.

The thin crescent moon gave just enough light for her to pick out their hide in the darkness. She took the lead and once inside did a sweep for snakes and scorpions with her boots. That done, she pulled off the medical bag with a relieved groan, gingerly slipping her splinted wrist through the left strap to let it fall at her feet.

Her chest felt tight, every breath difficult. Her ribs were killing her and there was a constant throb in her wrist and left cheek, but the sheer fatigue was the worst part. She’d never been so tired. During the in-house SERE course, the instructors had told Maya’s class they’d be surprised at how much punishment the body could take, and they were right. Maya couldn’t believe she was still going, but then, freedom and survival were pretty damn incredible motivators.

Jackson eased Haversham off his shoulders with a low groan and propped the man’s back against the rock wall.

Haversham was panting and cursing under his breath as he stretched his wounded leg out in front of him. “Son of a bitch,” he snarled.

“Yeah,” Jackson whispered, reminding them to keep their voices down. Sound carried a long way at night out in the open. “Let’s hope there’s something in that kit to make you more comfortable.”

Maya unzipped the bag and pulled the canvas sides open. Everything was in shadows, so she stayed out of Jackson’s way as he rummaged inside it.

“Whoever he was, I fuckin’ love the guy who gave this to you,” Jackson muttered. “Here,” he said to her, handing over another pistol and full magazine. “There’s another one for me, but that’s the only magazine as far as I can tell. And there’s a canteen of water and some kind of jerky too,” he said, holding a bag up to see it in the moonlight.

Maya’s stomach let out a loud growl. She took the thin strips of meat Jackson handed her and Haversham and tore into them, chewing them only long enough to keep from choking before swallowing. The salty taste made her ravenous. Jackson was chewing on a mouthful of it when he passed her the canteen. She could have easily drained it in one long drink, but it had to last all three of them, and they were forced to ration it in case they didn’t find drinkable water before they made it back to friendly lines. After a few sips, she savored the feel of the cool liquid in her mouth and swallowed, her parched throat sighing in relief. She passed it back to Jackson, who brought the canteen to Haversham’s mouth.

“Blood loss is gonna make you damn thirsty,” he told him. “Take a few slow sips for now and I’ll give you more later.”

“Yeah, okay,” the Sec Def answered and swallowed the water obediently. His low moan of gratitude vibrated through the closed-in rock shelter.

Maya wiped her right forearm across her sweaty forehead. Now that they’d stopped and her body was cooling, the drying sweat made her shiver in the night air. It was bound to get much colder out here before the sun came up again. Being cold and uncomfortable was still so much better than being back in that hellhole. Still, the overwhelming sense of relief was shadowed by the knowledge that they weren’t out of danger yet.

“So tell us more about this guy who helped you,” Jackson said to her.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Not much to tell. He was behind me, and I never even saw his eyes. He told me if I wanted to live, I had to listen carefully. Then he shoved a pistol in my hand and knocked that kid out, telling me to get on the trail and head out here. Said to keep going until we hit the first village.”

“What’s at the first village?”

“No idea.” And she didn’t relish the thought of finding it, either. For all they knew, it could be a trap. But why would he release them, only to send them into an ambush? It didn’t make any sense, but anything was possible. Who knew who the guy was or where his true loyalty lay?

“And you’re sure he was American?” Haversham asked.

“American-educated, at least. Like I said, he didn’t have an accent at all. And it wasn’t Rahim. I would’ve recognized him.”

“So that was it?” Jackson prompted.

“Yeah. He told me all that and dragged the kid away, saying there were three men in the room with you guys. So I ran straight there and took them out.”

“Hell yeah, you did.” There was a smile in his voice.

“I was too out of it to really see what was happening,” Haversham murmured. “Wish I’d seen that though.”

“She was awesome,” Jackson said. “Now, let’s see what I can do for that leg.”

Maya kneeled next to Jackson, thankful to get off her feet, which were on fire from Khalid’s lashing and worse after the long hike. “What can I do to help?” All she wanted was to lie down and sleep, if her ribs would let her. She already knew they wouldn’t. Even in her sleep, the pain kept waking her, every unconscious sigh jolting her in agony. Injured ribs sucked.

“See if there’s a flashlight or anything in there.”

Feeling her way through the bag’s contents in the dark with her good hand, she found bandages, medical tape, a pair of blunt scissors, what might have been a needle and thread, and a little vial. “I think there’s some pain-killer meds here,” she said, holding up the glass vial to him.

Jackson took it, squinting at the label in the thin moonlight. “Must be the fentanyl I gave you. Any syringes?”

She felt around again. “One, and a pair of gloves—maybe latex.” And since the needle wasn’t wrapped in a sterile package, it was probably the same one Jackson had already used on her. Could he even use that on another patient now? She handed the syringe and gloves to him. “Sorry, no flashlight or matches that I can tell.”

“It’s okay. I can bandage him up now, then give him a dose of fentanyl—if that’s what it is—at first light before I stitch him up.” He snapped on the gloves, shifted around and did something she couldn’t see, but Haversham’s strangled cry of pain told him he was already working on the man’s wounded leg. “Pressure dressing’s gonna have to do for now. Can’t elevate your leg with the fracture unset like that, but the good news is, the arteries seem to be intact.”

“How can you tell?” Maya asked. It was so dark she couldn’t see anything but black wetness on Jackson’s hands where the thin moonlight reflected off his surgical gloves.

“Because otherwise he’d have been spurting blood with every heartbeat this whole time.”

Oh.
Right.

“Yeah, good news,” Haversham grunted between his set teeth.

“I’m gonna bandage this up tight and then I want you to sleep. You too,” he said to Maya. “I’ll take first watch, and you and I can alternate after that. Right now though, I need you to get some rest. You’ve been through hell, sweetheart, and while I wish I could give you more time to relax, we’re gonna have to keep moving once it gets light out. They’ll be coming after us, might have other cells in these hills already out looking.”

She heard everything he said but was still stuck back on
sweetheart.
The endearment sent a sudden rush of warmth through her. He really did care, and didn’t give a damn if Haversham knew it. “I know. I’ll be ready. But make sure you wake me so you can get some sleep before we move out.”

“Sure,” he answered, and from the offhanded way he said it, she knew he didn’t plan to wake her at all.

“Jackson—”

“I’m wide-awake, and I’m the least hurt. You don’t worry about me, all right? I’ve got lots left in me.” He finished bandaging Haversham’s leg, earning a sharp hiss from his patient, and stripped the gloves off. “That’s the best I can do for now, but I’ll do better once I can see what the hell I’m doing.”

“Looking forward to it,” the Sec Def said wryly.

Turning slightly to face her, Jackson reached out and slid a hand around the back of her neck, curling his palm around her nape in a solid grip. The heat of his touch seeped into her skin, easing some of the tension from her muscles. It felt so good she wanted to lean into his body, press her face into his neck. “Sleep now, baby. I got this.”

The added endearment and the confidence in his voice put a lump in her throat. “Okay. Thanks,” she whispered, grateful for the chance to lie down and sleep. Please, let her be able to sleep.

Crawling over beside Haversham, she lay on her right side and curled into him to share body heat. The metallic scent of his blood made her stomach roll. She swallowed hard, reminding herself they were lucky to be alive. When she was settled, he threw an arm around her waist and immediately tucked her close, making her bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a gasp at the sudden flash of pain in her ribs. Jackson moved around them, staying quiet, tucking the empty rolled-up duffel beneath their heads. She sighed, wincing at the twinge in her back, struggling to ignore the smell of warm blood in the air.

With her eyes closed, every sense was attuned to Jackson’s nearness. Shrouded in darkness, he put a hand on her forehead and smoothed her hair back, lingering for a few moments to run his fingers through the tangled waves. Maya savored every moment of it, yearning for so much more of his touch. Reaching up to squeeze his wrist in a silent thank-you, she swallowed a protest when he finally withdrew his hand. His hushed footsteps retreated out past the opening of the enclosure, and she knew he was finding a place to keep watch, armed only with a pistol.

Releasing a shallow, shaky breath, Maya thought of him standing guard and let her mind drift, knowing she was safe with him there to watch over her.

* * *

Someone grabbed hold of Khalid beneath the armpits and lifted him, while another man took his legs. His eyes snapped open as agony seared his upper body, blotting out everything else.

Letting out an inarticulate growl of pain, he struggled in the grip of the man holding his torso. “Put me down,” he snarled.

“But Khalid-jan, you’re hurt,” a soft voice answered.

The fiery burn of the bullet wounds in his arms made him very much aware of that. “Put me down, Mohammed,” he snapped hoarsely. The men lowered him to the ground. Someone brought a cushion for his head to rest upon. Khalid blinked up at the night sky, the thin crescent moon hanging over him and the countless stars in the vast sea of black. His mind was blurry, filled with fog, his world a haze of hellish pain.

Snatches of memory came back to him from that afternoon. Firing at the escaping prisoners. That female and the PJ shooting back. His revolver being empty. How was that
possible?
He’d personally watched Jihad remove all the bullets except one. He’d asked Jihad to do it for maximum theatrical effect, and so he could keep most of his attention on the prisoners. Now he wished he’d done it himself.

The last thing he remembered was the thud of the bullet in his upper arm, then falling into the wadi. All because he’d been chasing after them with an unloaded weapon. Blind fury threatened to choke him. “Where are the prisoners?”

Mohammed glanced at the other man beside him before replying. “No one knows yet. The men are out searching.”

Khalid closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“A few hours. We’re moving to the next location you told us about.”

Yes, he remembered that part now. When they’d pulled his bleeding body out of the wadi, he’d ordered them to move deeper into the hills to an alternate hideout. The American forces had to be close by now. Khalid needed to stay well ahead of them. “How many men are left?”

“Fourteen. But more are coming to reinforce us in the morning,” Mohammed added quickly.

Khalid fought back the burn from the wound and the fear clawing at him. He turned his head to check the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his right shoulder, the stained sling someone had thought to place around it. The whole arm hung uselessly at his side, either numb or paralyzed from where the bullet had shattered his shoulder joint. The dressing was completely dark and glistening in the moonlight. Whatever they’d done to help slow the bleeding obviously wasn’t working very well. “I need more bandages.”

Mohammed cleared his throat and glanced away before responding. “There are none. The female took the medical bag. Someone from a nearby village is bringing more for us in the morning.”

He wanted to howl in frustration. “How did this happen?” he demanded angrily, pinning Mohammed with a hard glare. “You were sent to watch the prisoner! She was bound hand and foot! How could you let her best you?” The blood loss and exertion from yelling sent a fresh wave of fatigue through him. He sucked in a breath through his nostrils. He had to calm down, conserve his strength for the coming march. Even in the dimness, Khalid saw the boy swallow in nervous reflex. “I-I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t remember what happened. I was walking her to her cage when someone hit me from behind and when I got up, she was gone.”

“What he says is true,” the other man confirmed. “We found him lying close to the cage, and he suffered a large lump on the back of his head.”

The only part Khalid really cared about was that they had a traitor in their midst. Because if he’d believed that Mohammed had let the female prisoner go, he would have killed him here and now, shattered arm or not. “Get me up,” he snapped. His first concern was recapturing the prisoners. Then he would deal with finding out who had attacked Mohammed and helped the prisoners escape. And his sentence would be swift and merciless.

“Khalid-jan, you are not strong enough right now—”