Lethal Pursuit (6 page)

“Helo’s on its way,” she told him. “Should be here within a half hour.”

Jackson met her gaze. “Can they move that up any faster?”

She shook her head. “I made it clear the situation was urgent.” She spared a glance at the boy, then the old man with him. “That his grandfather?”

“Yes. He’ll go to the hospital with him.” He grabbed a bag of fluid and something else from his supplies. An IV kit. “Can you hold the bag for me once I get it hooked up?”

“Sure.” She slung her rifle and took the fluids, hovering close by. “Need any help with that?”

“Maybe. His BP’s so low, I’m not sure I’ll be able to find a vein open enough to get this IV in.”

The grandfather stood at the head of the cot and watched, his face impassive, though there was no doubt he was anxious and wasn’t leaving the boy’s side.

It took Jackson three tries to get the needle into the boy’s vein. The child barely flinched at all the pokes, a sign of just how ill he was. Jackson got the IV locked in place and hooked the tube from the bag into the line. “Okay, we’re good to go.” He opened the valve and set the drip running, one hand resting reassuringly on the boy’s thin shoulder. “There ya go, buddy. That should help a bit.”

His bedside manner was spot-on. Calm, professional, but most of all, it was clear he cared. That kind of thing cut through language and cultural barriers. Though the boy and old man were no doubt anxious about being here surrounded by American soldiers, there was no way they could doubt that Jackson gave a damn and was doing everything he could to help the child.

“I think you’ll be an amazing doctor,” she said without thinking.

His head came up in surprise, and then he smiled. “Thanks.”

She looked away, battling the blush trying to steal into her face. Why had she just blurted that out? She sounded like she was crushing on him. Pathetic.

Cam stepped inside the opening and took in the scene with a single glance. “Need a hand?”

“No, we’re good. Gonna get this young fella outta here shortly.” Jackson put a blanket over the boy.

“Give me a shout if you need me.”

“Will do.”

Cam ducked out. Maya’s gaze landed on the open duffel in the corner and couldn’t help asking what was on her mind. “Are stuffed animals standard on a MEDCAP? Or was that your idea?” A box of Lifesavers candy lying among them solved the mystery of why he always smelled like wintergreen.

He shrugged. “We like to give stuff out to the kids. Just little things like rubber balls and crayons, pads of paper, teddy bears. They don’t have much out here and they always really appreciate the toys.”

She bet they did. And she also bet that the toys had come out of Jackson’s own paycheck and not the military’s budget.

Watching him work with the boy, she was struck again by his genuine kindness. She shook her head, part of her worrying about him. He had so much skill and compassion to give the world. Those were attributes to be cherished and protected. She hated thinking about something happening to him.

They sat in silence next to the boy on the cot, while the grandfather stroked the boy’s hair every so often. When they finally heard the steady
whump whump whump
of the rotors, she and Jackson stood.

“I got him,” he said, bending to carefully scoop the child into his arms. Protective yet gentle. The combination turned her to mush inside. He would make an amazing father. It was stupid, but she couldn’t prevent the little pang in her chest at the thought of him settling down and having a family someday. If she were a different sort of woman, she’d have fought for that kind of future with everything in her. She didn’t regret last night, only the way it had ended. Either way, she’d hurt him, or at least his pride. That hadn’t been her intention at all. She felt badly about it, but there was nothing she could do to fix it now.

Holding the bag of fluids up so it dripped properly, Maya kept pace with him to the Black Hawk. The medic on board helped load the boy onto a stretcher and handed the grandfather in after him, while Jackson shouted the particulars over the noise from the engines.

She and Jackson stood back as the pilots powered up the engines and the helo lifted off, its nose tilted downward slightly as it cruised forward and up into the cloud-studded sky. “Think they’ll operate in time?” she asked him.

“Hope so. That’s one tough little dude. Peritonitis is really damn painful.”

Maya covertly drank in his profile. To her, he was amazing. What would it feel like to be able to help save a boy’s life like that? “If his grandfather hadn’t brought him here today, he would have died. He’s lucky.”

“Yeah. Glad I was here.”

Gah. The man was so unbelievably sweet and humble it killed her. Mentally shaking her head at herself, she pulled her weapon around, holding it across her body with the muzzle pointed down. “Looks like you’ve got another patient waiting.” An old woman stood at the tent entrance. “Better get back to it before the guest of honor gets here to start the dog and pony show—”

The sound of another incoming helo broke the quiet. She gave a sardonic smile. “Speak of the devil.”

“Enjoy the show,” Jackson said with a wry grin.

“You know it.” She got on the squad radio to make sure everyone was in position, part of her concentration on Jackson as he walked away.

After last night, she hadn’t known what to expect from him today, though in hindsight it shouldn’t have surprised her that he hadn’t brought it up or been anything but the consummate professional he was. Had he lain awake after she’d gone, thinking of her? She hadn’t slept worth a damn. Leaving that bunk had been one of the hardest things she’d ever done, but also one of the smartest and most necessary. Because if things had been different—if
she
had been different—she’d have given anything to stay snuggled up in his arms. That, more than the fear of discovery or reprisal for all the regulations she’d broken, was what had driven her back to her own tent.

The incoming Black Hawk finally landed and the star of the show got out, along with the remainder of his personal security team. Glimpsing his dark skin and military bearing, Maya immediately recognized Doug Haversham, the U.S. Secretary of Defense. They’d told her to expect a high-ranking official, but it surprised her they’d send someone this high profile. As one of the men responsible for the war effort in the region, he wasn’t exactly a popular choice for these locals.

That wasn’t her concern though. With her principal on the ground and a serious duty calling, thoughts of Jackson disappeared. “All right, gentlemen, get your game faces on,” she said into her helmet mic. “It’s showtime.”

Chapter Six

Hours after the boy had been airlifted to the hospital, Maya stood talking to one of her airmen as the publicity stunt finally started to wrap up. The SF team and the PJs had all packed up their gear in anticipation of their trip back to base. By all accounts, the MEDCAP had been a huge success. That was great, but to Maya, the best thing about the whole day was when Jackson had helped save that kid’s life by diagnosing him and getting him evacuated to base.

All day long there’d been a steady trickle of patients coming by to see one of the “doctors,” Cam and Jackson. Most of them were women and children or old men, and a large percentage had come from neighboring villages, some many difficult miles away. Word traveled surprisingly fast out here among the people. Another reason why she and the others had to stay vigilant. There’d been no incidents of any kind at the security checkpoints, and keeping the Secretary of Defense’s arrival a secret to everyone but the higher-ups made the entire event that much more secure.

Haversham was far off to her right next to a cluster of mud-and-brick houses, wrapping up some photo ops with a small group of local children who were making good use of the toys the PJs had brought along. She hoped he was truly interested in them and what they were playing with, rather than just pretending to be for the cameras’ sake. She hated two-facedness in general, but especially in leaders and officials who were supposed to represent and look out for the best interests of the people they served. If someone was tasked with protecting others, then said person better damn well take it seriously. Including the Sec Def.

“Helos are inbound. ETA thirty-five minutes, Lieutenant,” an army major said over her headset.

“Roger that.” Since she hadn’t slept much last night, she was actually looking forward to getting back to Bagram and crawling into her snug little bunk between Erin’s and Honor’s. It also meant she’d get a reprieve from having to see Jackson again. All day long, part of her had been aware of him, her subconscious pinpointing exactly where he was at any given time. Right now he was back inside his tent, packing up all his gear and supplies.

It was best for both of them if they simply avoided each other, but part of her still wanted to be near him. He had a calm, confident energy that drew her in. In his presence she now felt admired, rather than annoyed. Deliciously feminine, and maybe even beautiful. She’d never felt that way before. She liked it too much for her own good.

Maya shifted her grip on her weapon and turned her attention back to what was happening around her. Everyone seemed to be relaxed, talking among themselves or watching Haversham with the kids. The Sec Def’s protective detail remained at ease but watchful near the LZ, where the inbound helos would touch down. The SF team brought in for the MEDCAP was near them, the lieutenant and team sergeant talking to a couple of village elders, and she spotted a few Afghan troops mixed in among them. They must have arrived only recently because she hadn’t noticed them before. No one seemed to be paying them much attention.

“Hey, LT, we outta here soon?” one of her airmen called out to her left, at his post beyond Jackson’s tent.

“That’s affirm,” she called back. “Our ride should be here within the next twenty-five minutes.” Looked like there was nothing more for them to do here anyhow. Haversham’s security detail had things under control, and there were only local civilians remaining.

The words were barely out of her mouth when a sudden explosion rocked the ground behind her. She crouched and whipped around in time to see the small fireball erupt into the air less than a hundred yards down the hill from the designated LZ.

“Report,” she said tersely into her mic. The civilians around her were all shouting, rushing their terrified children back into their primitive dwellings.

“Didn’t see anything, LT,” one of her airmen replied. The others reported the same.

There was nothing moving on the side of that hill and no one moving on the ridges above them that Maya could detect. That explosion was too big for an RPG strike. Someone had to have planted explosives there ahead of time.
Bastardos.

“Probably remote detonated. Do a perimeter search and report back to me.” Whoever had blown that thing up was close by, and there might be others. Maya moved closer to the edge of the steep hill. Behind her, soldiers rushed into motion, others remaining hunkered down in defensive positions around the village, scanning the hills for further threats. Jackson had come out of his tent to stand beside Cam, taking in the situation, weapon at the ready.

She glanced back at the Sec Def’s security detail, already rushing to surround him while he walked quickly toward them with a calm expression that belied the tense situation. He was halfway to them when one of the SF troops shouted something and went to one knee, bringing his weapon up. The security detail whirled to face the threat. She did the same, her gaze landing on some newly arrived ANA troops near the LZ.

They were all in the middle of pulling masks up over the lower part of their faces.

Her stomach dropped. Everything went into slo-mo. Her gaze instantly flew to their hands as they raised their weapons, and there was no doubt who their target was.

“Ambush!” She shouted the frantic warning into her mic and raised her own rifle to return fire, but it was too late. The bastards had already taken aim and fired at the Sec Def’s security detail, the sheer volume of fire dropping three of the five men before they fully realized what was happening. The remaining two had reached the Secretary and thrown themselves on top of him, acting as a living shield.

Chaos erupted. More insurgents dressed in Afghan army uniforms rushed at them, converging from different directions. The assholes had been biding their time, waiting for just the right moment to strike when everyone’s guard was relaxed.

The air was alive with screams and shouts, the crack of rifle fire. Maya took aim and squeezed the trigger in a double tap, hitting one of the insurgents in the back. He went down with a cry and rolled over, aiming his rifle in her direction despite the debilitating wounds. A bullet zinged past her shoulder, close enough for her to hear it sizzle through the air.

She took aim, applying pressure to the trigger when another larger explosion rent the air, much closer this time. Maya felt the concussion deep in her chest, her bones vibrating like a tuning fork. The powerful shock wave rippled through the ground like an earthquake, knocking her feet out from under her. Her helmet and back slammed into the hard earth with enough force to knock the breath out of her.

Struggling up on to her elbows, she blinked and shook her head to clear it, gasping for air. From the corner of her eye she saw Jackson running toward her flat out, an expression of naked fear on his face, his mouth open as he screamed a warning at her.

His weapon was gone. It took a moment for his words to register over the roar in her ears.

“Maya, run!”

Reading the urgency in his gaze, she whipped her head around. Two men were rushing straight at her, rifles aimed. They wore ANA uniforms and had masks covering the lower parts of their faces. She instinctively reached for her M4, now twisted behind her.

No time. Her hands flashed down to where her sidearm was strapped to her thigh. They were only steps away. The pistol’s weight barely registered as she grabbed it. It didn’t even clear the holster before they caught her.

One hit her in a flying tackle. He drove her back into the ground with a bone-jarring thud that rattled her teeth. His hands were locked around her wrists. He twisted the weapon out of her grip. A low snarl erupted from her. She fought him, arching her body with all her strength to throw him off. He didn’t budge, and increased the force of his grip on her wrists.

Her fingers were already going numb but she didn’t let go. She could
not
relinquish her weapon. The man straddling her was too strong to dislodge. She snapped her head forward to bash him in the face with her helmet and caught his shoulder instead. He cursed something at her and held her wrists, while the other man grabbed her web gear and flipped her over, the kicks and punches she dealt having little effect.

She lashed out blindly with her boots in an attempt to break free. One of them slammed the butt of their rifle into the right side of her back, just below her shoulder blade. The force of the impact drove right through the plate in her body armor. Something cracked.

She went down with a soundless scream, white-hot pain sweeping through her, stealing her breath. Spots danced before her eyes. For a long, frozen moment she couldn’t breathe. She fought to stay conscious. Her fingers slipped around the pistol grip. They wrenched it from her grasp.

No!
The agonized scream of denial echoed in her head.

Hard hands flipped her over roughly. Her injured ribs hit the ground, sending another searing shock of pain through her. Through the haze of agony and fear, she realized something.

They could have killed her easily a handful of times by now. Instead they’d disarmed her, were pinning her down. Because they wanted to take her prisoner.

Rage and terror sent her into pure survival mode. She would not be taken. She would not be a victim. Not ever again.

Maya screamed in rage and twisted hard, despite the bright stabs of pain in her back, managing to dislodge one of her attackers. She flipped on to her hands and knees and had almost made it to her feet when the other knocked her down. She brought her knees up and slammed her feet into his chest, knocking him back a step.

The initial wave of strength from the adrenaline rush was still driving her survival instinct, but it wouldn’t last. The pain was so bad she didn’t get to her feet in time. One man grabbed her upper arm, narrowly avoiding the elbow she threw at his throat, and caught both wrists behind her back, wrenching upward.

She caught a glimpse of Jackson through the panicked stampede of civilians racing past him. He was down, lying on his side facing away from her, rolling over with difficulty. Had they shot him?
No.
Not Jackson.
Rage and sadness pulsed through her, fueling her strength to fight.

The man struggling to subdue her didn’t let up with his grip.
¡Cabrón!
She yanked at the hands holding her prisoner, thrashed with all her might. The man gave an angry grunt and hauled her up against him, so close she could smell the cloying stench of his body odor.

Panting, blinded by sweat and dust, Maya dropped to her knees in a last-ditch effort to break free. Instead of releasing her, he followed her down, rapidly securing her arms behind her. A screech of pure fury ripped free when one of them threw a hood over her head, enveloping her in blackness. She wrenched her head from side to side, to no avail.

The dark intensified the terror slithering inside her, made it a living, breathing thing until she all but choked on it. Her heart galloped, pounding against her ribs. A wave of nausea rolled in her gut. She could not let them take her. Her best chance of escape was now. Maybe her only chance. With her strength dwindling and her body immobilized, she was left to face the terrible realization that she was powerless.

Gathering her strength for one last defiant bid for freedom, she bucked and then gasped at a hot sting in the side of her neck. A needle.

No
,
por favor
,
no!

The sedative burned as it spread through her bloodstream, paralyzing her muscles. The pain in her ribs began to recede into the background. Her head lolled, eyelids drooping, too heavy to force open. She fought it, but the drug was too strong.

Someone hauled her limp form upright and dumped her over their shoulder. The shouts and now sporadic gunfire around her faded into nothing as the blackness took her.

* * *

Maya surfaced when someone yanked her upright and hauled her into the air. Her stomach did a slow roll and her head pounded sickeningly. Her hands were secured behind her back.

Weak, fighting through the drug’s effects, she struggled to make out the sounds of men’s voices, distantly registering the bobbing motion that meant she was being carried somewhere. Air caressed her bare arms. They’d taken her jacket and body armor off, leaving her in only her T-shirt and pants. There were no more screams or shouts, no gunfire. She could feel the material of the hood pressing against her face. They’d managed to abduct her.

Focus
, she commanded herself
.
Every wasted second meant she was losing the precious opportunity to fight for her freedom and possibly her life.

Her body remained limp, uncooperative, despite her attempts to move. Her head felt fuzzy, like she was drifting through fog, but her brain was fully functional. It was like being buried alive. She could do nothing but suffer the indescribable frustration of lying draped over someone’s shoulder as they took her inside a place that was much cooler and smelled musty and damp. A building? There was a scraping noise ahead of her, a few grunts. She didn’t understand what the men were saying, but they were dragging something heavy along the ground near her. Other prisoners?

The Sec Def
, she thought with a jolt of horror. They couldn’t have gotten the Secretary and Jackson too. A lump formed in her throat, almost choking her. Was Jackson still alive? He’d been lying in the dirt, unmoving. The thought of him dying like that tore her up inside, filled her with fury.

A male voice behind her said something, and the man carrying her bent to slide her off his shoulder. She hit the hard floor and sprawled on to her back. Shards of pain radiated up from the right side of her back. Someone ripped the hood off her. Her eyelids felt like they were glued shut. She managed to force them open a bit and got a vague impression of a dirt floor, a small, black space beyond where they’d dumped her surrounded with iron slats covering the opening.

A cell.

The sour bite of terror filled her mouth. Someone prodded her sharply in the back with a boot, right against her injured ribs. Agony splintered through her, stealing her breath. She barely had time to gasp in a tortured breath before she felt someone shoving her forward into the black hole awaiting her.