Prisoner (Werewolf Marines) (8 page)

“I know.” In between small sips, he said, “I
went through boot camp in San Diego. Then I deployed to
Afghanistan. I’ve seen a lot of heat exhaustion. So, what’s it like
being a platypus?”

Deadpan, she said, “
Awesome
.”

“I thought so.”

He went on drinking, while Echo tried to
figure out how the hell she’d gone from punching out the prisoner
to bantering with him. The entire day had been bizarre. She didn’t
get knocked out. She didn’t lose fights. She didn’t save people’s
lives, or administer first aid, or claim to be a platypus. She
didn’t have conversations with strangers— She didn’t feel sorry for
strangers— She didn’t
banter!

“What’s your name?” Torres asked.

“Echo.”

“That’s pretty. Got a last name?”

“No.”

He paused with the bottle halfway to his
lips. “You don’t?”

“No.”

“Are you famous?”

“Well, there aren’t many platypus
shifters.”

Torres laughed. The cuts on his lips cracked
open and bled. He dabbed at them with the back of his hand.

“Sorry about that,” Echo said, though she’d
only been doing her job.

“Fair’s fair. I stomped on your ankle. What
an introduction, huh? Let’s try again. Hi, I’m DJ Torres.”

He held out his hand. Just as she realized
that he intended her to shake it, he yanked it back, wiped off the
blood on his pants, and offered it again. Echo didn’t understand
why he cared about getting a little blood on her, especially when
she was already covered with dust and sand and his sweat and her
sweat. But she couldn’t think of any good reason not to shake his
hand, other than that prisoners didn’t normally do formal
introductions with their captors, so she gingerly took it. He was
getting some strength back, squeezing her hand in a firm grip,

“What’s the J stand for?” Echo asked.

“Jockey.” DJ laughed again at her expression,
sending another trickle of blood down his chin. He wiped it away.
“The D is for disc, not Dale. I DJ at clubs. I mean, when I’m not
fighting in Afghanistan. What do you do when you’re not rescuing
people from Death Valley?”

The question hit her like a blow. She didn’t
feel herself move, but something about her must have changed,
because all the cheer fell from DJ’s face.

“Whoa, wrong question,” he said. “Sorry. I’m
like one of those fucking clueless civilians who says, ‘Oh, you’re
a Marine. Have you ever killed anyone?’ What are you supposed to
say to that? ‘No, I’m a fucking lousy shot, every one of my bullets
probably missed?’”

“Mine don’t miss,” Echo said.

DJ grabbed her hand, resisting her effort to
flinch away. She could have broken his grip, but she didn’t. The
burning heat was gone, leaving only ordinary warmth. “Listen, I
don’t know what’s going on here or who you’re working for, but you
know this is wrong, don’t you? I’m a US Marine. I haven’t committed
any crimes. I have a family that loves me. I have a buddy in deep,
deep trouble who needs my help. Not to mention that I’m supposed to
be in Afghanistan. I have a life and I need to get back to it.”

“It isn’t up to me.” Echo wished she’d
interrupted him earlier. She didn’t want to know about his family.
It made her feel guilty for keeping him from it, sorry that he’d
never see them again, resentful that he
had
a family, and
angry at him for making her feel guilty and sorry and
resentful.

All those feelings. What was wrong with her?
Charlie was the one who was forever
feeling
things. That was
fine for Charlie, but for Echo, emotions were a liability. A
weakness. Possibly a lethal one. And if they didn’t kill you, they
still hurt like hell.

Echo imagined the feelings as scurrying bugs,
and stomped on them.
Squish.
Gone.

“Drive me to where I can walk to a town, and
let me go. No one will ever have to know.” DJ spoke so persuasively
that Echo wanted to agree.

“I can’t.”

“Just say you never found me. People die in
Death Valley every year. Half the time they never find the
bodies.”

Echo jerked her hand from his grasp. “I
can’t.”

“Why not?”

“None of your business.”

His black eyebrows rose. “It couldn’t be more
my business, if it’s the reason you’re kidnapping me and stopping
me from saving my buddy and breaking my mother’s heart and—”

“Hey!
I
didn’t kidnap you.”

“That’s right. And—” He was interrupted by a
coughing fit. Echo watched, uncomfortable, as it went on and on,
his muscular chest heaving in painful-looking spasms. When it
finally ended, he wiped his watering eyes, took a sip from the
bottle, and went on as if nothing had happened, “And you don’t have
to. If you won’t drive me to town, give me some water and point me
to it.”

“You’re crazy. It’s fifty miles from here.
You’d never—” Echo broke off, realizing that he’d tricked her into
revealing exactly how far he was from help. “You think you’re so
smart.”

He shook his head. As the animation faded
from his face, she could see how exhausted and sick he still was.
“No. Just desperate. Come on, Echo. Please. This isn’t just for
me.”

“
I can’t
.”

With equal intensity, DJ demanded, “
Why
not?
”

“Because they’ll hurt my sister!” Echo
shouted.

“Oh.” DJ looked at her with sympathy, which
was more than she’d have felt for someone who’d kidnapped her and
punched her in the mouth. “So that’s it. Is she a hostage?”

Echo pressed the heels of her hands into her
forehead. She never talked about this, and didn’t intend to start
now. But without intention, she found herself replying, “Sort of.
It’s complicated. But if I let you go, they’d take it out on
Charlie.”

“So, let me make sure I’ve got this straight.
You’ve got nothing against me and you’re not actually on board with
kidnapping innocent people, but there’s absolutely no way you’ll
help me if it means risking your sister.”

“That’s right.” She resisted the urge to
apologize. Facts were facts. Sorry didn’t change reality.

“I get it. I have a sister too.” There was
that sympathetic look again, making Echo feel guilty. Again. Then
DJ’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, Echo and Charlie? Are Alpha, Bravo, and
Delta back at the lab?”

“Althea, Brava, and Della,” Echo said. In for
a penny, in for a pound. She flung her next words at DJ, hoping to
make
him
feel guilty for a change. “They died. Charlie and I
are the only ones left.”

DJ did look guilty. But Echo didn’t find it
satisfying. Instead, she felt as uncomfortable as she had when
she’d watched him coughing on the floor.

“I’m sorry, Echo,” DJ said. “Really, I
am.”

Then he threw the remaining water in her
face, snatched the stunner from its holster on the wall, jammed it
into her ribs, and pressed the button.

Nothing happened. His look of surprise and
indignation was almost funny. Then he dropped the stunner and dove
for the back door.

Echo grabbed him, dragged him to the
passenger seat, shoved him into it, and handcuffed his left wrist
to the armrest. He fought, but with little strength. Once she
cuffed him, he slumped in the seat, breathing hard.

She started up the Humvee and pulled out,
furious with him for tricking her and with herself for being
fooled. How could she have told him about Charlie? How could she
have told her about her other sisters? That was what happened when
you let
feelings
sucker you into telling people things about
yourself— whatever you revealed was used against you.

“I
am
sorry.” DJ sounded sincere.

Echo ignored him.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I love my family
too. I get it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Okay, maybe I don’t get everything. But I
know what it’s like to have people you’d do anything to protect. I
know what it’s like to do things that go against everything you
believe in, because you were trying to save someone’s life.” His
voice was wearing out, but he cleared his throat and went on, “I
know—”

“Be quiet,” Echo said. “Doesn’t it hurt to
talk?”

“What does it sound like?”

“Then don’t.”

“You take a turn,” he suggested. “Tell me
about Charlie. She’s older, right? How many years?”

“You don’t care about her. You were just
trying to distract me.”

“I was trying to figure out if you’d cut me
loose. Once I knew you wouldn’t, I had to go for it. You guys
pulled me off a battlefield. As far as I’m concerned, I’m a
prisoner of war. It’s my duty to resist by all means available and
make every effort to escape. It’s in our code of conduct. How come
the stun gun didn’t work? Out of juice?”

He’d switched topics so unexpectedly that she
answered without thinking. “They’re keyed to authorized personnel.
You needed a microchip implanted in your hand.”

“Oh.”

He leaned his head against the window,
watching the desert go by. Echo waited for him to start talking
again, but he was silent. It seemed like his energy had finally run
low.

As they passed a huge rock formation, DJ said
suddenly, “I feel sick. Pull over.”

He did look sick and he was in no shape to
run or fight, but Echo had already underestimated him twice. She
wouldn’t do it again.

She stopped the Humvee and unlocked the
doors. “I’m not uncuffing you. Lean out if you have to throw
up.”

DJ opened the door and leaned out. Then he
jerked his left arm, snapping the handcuff chain. Echo was so
startled that he was already bolting across the sand by the time
she vaulted across the seat and after him. He was headed for the
rock formation, which would be full of hiding spaces.

She didn’t know what surprised her more, his
strength or that she’d
again
missed his intention after he’d
flat-out told it to her. How did he think he’d survive, even if he
escaped? And how was he managing to run? He shouldn’t even be able
to stand up.

Echo put on a burst of speed, determined to
catch him before he got into the formation. Ahead of her, DJ
slowed, then staggered. Fifty yards from the rocks, he dropped like
he’d been shot.

Wondering if it was yet another trick, Echo
approached cautiously. As she came closer, he struggled in the
sand, trying to get up. Then, apparently exhausted, he laid his
head back down. Blood trickled over the shiny cuff and broken chain
around his left wrist.

“That was stupid,” she said.

“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered.

He sounded so defeated that she wished she
hadn’t rubbed it in. “Are you going to fight me once I’m close
enough?”

DJ shook his head wearily. “I’m done. I
couldn’t fight a pup.”

“What did you mean to do?” She was certain
he’d had some plan.

“Get in there.” He moved his head, indicating
the rock formation. “Ambush you and knock you out, get your keys.
Put you in the back and tie you up. Drive off.”

Echo hadn’t expected the last part. Uneasily,
she asked, “What were you planning to do with me?”

“Drop you off at the nearest town, of course.
I couldn’t ditch you in
Death Valley
.” His straightforward
explanation had the unmistakable ring of truth.

“Oh.” She’d imagined all sorts of things he
might have intended in the few seconds before he’d explained, from
kidnapping to rape to taking her to a more convenient location to
dispose of her body, but his actual reason hadn’t occurred to her.
Now that she knew his intent had been to
save
her life, she
felt doubly guilty.

Echo picked him up. He didn’t resist as she
carried him back to the Humvee, laid him down in the passenger
seat, and locked the doors. She half-expected him to make another
break for it as she fetched the first aid kit from the back. But he
stayed where she’d left him.

DJ barely flinched when she took off the cuff
and poured antiseptic over the torn flesh of his wrist. But he was
silent as she bandaged it, which she was starting to realize meant
he was either plotting something or was too sick to talk. Or
both.

“Can I lie down?” DJ asked. His voice was
raspy and weak.

Echo wasn’t letting him out of her sight for
the ride to the base. He’d undoubtedly jump out the back. But she
tilted the seat until he could lie nearly flat.

“Thanks.” He curled up on his side,
shivering. Beneath the brutal sunburn, his face had taken on a
grayish tinge.

“Are you cold?”

He nodded.

Echo took his pulse. It had sped up again,
and his skin felt clammy. She turned down the air conditioning, got
a blanket from the back, and put it over him.

“You don’t have to do this,” DJ said,
startling her. She’d thought he was done talking.

“Yes, I do. You’re going into shock.”

“I mean, you don’t have to take me back.
They’re holding your sister. They’re holding my buddy too. We
should partner up. Drive me home, we’ll get allies and weapons, and
we’ll come back and rescue them both. You saw what I could do with
nothing but a dart gun. Now imagine me with an M-16.”

With that prompt, Echo couldn’t help
imagining DJ and an M-16, and herself at his side. They probably
could tear the place down. She’d grab Charlie and carry her away.
They’d find the base DJ’s buddy was held at, and get him too. And
then DJ and his friend would go back to Afghanistan, and she and
Charlie would go into hiding.

And a week or a month or two months later,
Charlie would lie ashen in a hospital bed, like DJ lay in the
passenger seat now. But unlike him, she’d never get up again.

“You were imagining it, right?” DJ asked.
“Now try again, but give it a happy ending.”

“There isn’t one.”

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Run away with me,
Echo. We’re only about five hours from my parents’ home. I don’t
invite every girl to come meet my family, so you should feel
special.”