Relentless (17 page)

The last time she'd seen Rhys's tattoo had been at Walter Reed when she'd helped turn him and changed the dressings on the burns. Now, he was truly all healed. A spectacular anatomical specimen.

When he came back out a few moments later, her eyes devoured the front view of him. Wearing nothing but a smile, he crawled in next to her and rolled her into the cradle of his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin. She hugged him close and cuddled up to savor his warmth and strength, more content than she'd ever been in her life. Yawning, she closed her eyes, knowing she was perfectly safe with him watching over her.

Was it any wonder why she was falling in love with him? Tonight, for the first time in months, she was going to sleep like a baby.

Peshawar, Pakistan

Saturday

Tehrazzi hobbled into the stables at the edge of the property, bent over like an old man from the pain burning in his gut. His breathing was ragged— it was too soon for him to be up— but he refused to lie in bed any longer. He was not dying, and so he must continue to carry out Allah's will. His purpose had not yet been fulfilled.

With every breath he wished he could be in Vancouver to carry out the operation. But he could not. As much as he loathed having someone else take care of it, he had no other choice at present.

Carried on the hot, dry breeze, the earthy scents of dust and horses mixed, transporting him back to when he was a boy and he used to race his father's horses across the Syrian desert. The familiar smell always did that, just as it always brought the memory of the smell of blood and his beloved mare's shrill cries of pain when she lay dying. Her large, gentle eyes had stared into his as he'd cut her throat to end her suffering.

She had died because of his teacher and the SEAL now with Bryn McAllister-Daoud.

He shook his head to clear the horrific memories and entered the dark building, soothing himself with the knowledge they would receive their punishment tonight.

The moment he stepped over the threshold a blessed wave of cool air rushed over his sweaty skin. Down the row of stalls, a horse stomped its hoof and another snorted. Despite the awful ripping sensation in his belly where the surgeon had reopened his incision to drain away the pus the night before, he forced himself to straighten. Moving slowly, Tehrazzi crossed the well-tended paddock to the stall at the end of the row. Whistling softly, his heart gave a leap of joy when the animal put its head over the sliding door and pricked its ears toward him.

The coal black Arabian stallion was a beautiful creature. Its large brown eyes regarded him with curiosity as he approached, lowering its ebony muzzle to sniff and whuffle over his palm when he extended it.

Something eased inside him, yet at the same time the ache of his loss intensified. He had not allowed himself time to grieve the loss of his beloved horse, but now in this quiet, shaded stable he gave into a moment's need to remember her.

His hand trembled with a weakness he despised when he stroked the stallion's sleek forehead, down the white blaze that traveled the length of his nose to the black-as-night muzzle. In response, the animal heaved a groan of contentment and let its lids droop, leaning into his touch. A sharp twinge of yearning lit in Tehrazzi's soul.

This was his weakness. The one earthly thing his soul craved. A bond of trust with an animal whose loyalty matched his own, and the connection it provided. He stroked the stallion in silence for a long while.

At the sound of shuffling footsteps, he dropped his hand and stepped away from the stall. Carefully concealing his disappointment at being interrupted, he turned to the blinding rectangle of light that marked the open doorway. The black outline of a man's silhouette filled it.

“Sir?”

One of the servants. “What is it?”

“The master wishes to know if you would like to join him for tea in the garden.”

The muscles in his upper lip began to curl and he stopped them before the sneer could form. He had no interest in spending time with a man who was loyal to the US-backed Pakistani government, let alone taking tea with him like they were old friends. They were not. Tehrazzi had no friends now. He'd learned that hard lesson over the past few months, and had made sure to repay his betrayers with death.

Just as he knew he'd betrayed the man he'd once loved like a brother. Like the father he'd never known.

The man he'd betrayed was now hunting him, half a world away. Sometimes between sleep and waking, he could hear his teacher's deep voice, promising he was coming for him.

Tehrazzi wasn't a fool. He knew how his teacher's mind worked. He would not stop until Tehrazzi was captured or dead. Death was vastly more preferable to captivity. That's why he'd made his peace with Allah some time ago. If He demanded Tehrazzi's life, he was prepared to give it.

Tehrazzi exhaled slowly and maintained his straight posture as he regarded the young aide before him. “I regret I must decline my host's generous offer,” he told him in Urdu, almost choking on the words. “I will return to my room shortly to rest.” And to plan his next move. He must leave soon.

The young man bowed and left. In the sudden silence, Tehrazzi battled the rush of exhaustion stealing through his ravaged body. With a last longing glance at the stallion watching from its stall, he, too, left the stable.

Outside, the force of the sun hit him like a blow, sucking precious strength from his muscles. By the time he entered the relative cool of the mansion where he was staying, he had to grip the door frame to stay upright. He forced his leaden legs to carry him to his bedroom at the far end of the polished parquet hallway in the guest quarters. Turning into it, he stopped so suddenly he swayed on his tired feet.

Mahmoud looked up from his chair with a smile of greeting, the captured laptop open in his lap. The computer whirred softly in the quiet room.

Tehrazzi's heart thundered in his ears. The blood drained from his flushed face, and his fingers curled around the jamb like claws. “What have you done?” The words came out a dry whisper.

Mahmoud's smile evaporated. A frown creased his forehead, as though he was confused by Tehrazzi's reaction. “I was checking for more information about— ”

“I told you not to
touch
it.” His icy voice sliced through the air like a blade.

The younger man's throat bobbed as he swallowed. “But I thought— ”

Tehrazzi pressed a hand over his wound, fighting back a wave of nausea. His instincts urged him to flee, but he couldn't move. Fear all but paralyzed him. “They know where I am now.”

Mahmoud blanched and flipped the lid shut, shaking his head as he set the computer aside. “Not possible. I made sure I disabled the security and tracking devices I found.”

“You stupid fool!” He was trembling now, with anger and trepidation. “You know
nothing
!” Without a word, Tehrazzi stumbled over to the dresser and lifted the satchel he'd already packed, then retrieved the SIG Sauer from the top drawer along with the clips of ammunition he'd stored.

Mahmoud sucked in a breath and cringed in his seat. Tehrazzi had half a mind to shoot him then and there. He deserved it.

Ignoring Mahmoud's protests, he slung the heavy pack over his shoulder and hurried into the hallway, intent on getting to the door. The pain tore at his belly, but he ruthlessly ignored it. He should have gotten rid of the laptop. Why had he thought he could keep anyone from activating it?

He had to escape, now, before the CIA or other paramilitary teams his teacher had in place moved in. Gaining the exit, he burst into the midday sun, his skin chilled despite the scorching heat. The hair on his arms stood on end.

That one mistake could cost him everything. His teacher had found him yet again. Even from the other side of the world he was moving, setting into motion a chain of events Tehrazzi could not possibly hope to stop. The best he could hope for now was to escape and buy more time.

“Wait! I'm sorry, wait!”

He paid little attention to Mahmoud's entreaty, slipping unmolested out the guarded gate and into the streets of Peshawar. Fighting to control the panic eating at him, he climbed into a cab and told the driver to take him to a village near the Afghan border. The rage continued to build. To be found now, on the cusp of achieving his goal... He glanced at his watch. Only a few more hours until the operation Mahmoud's uncle had planned.

Tehrazzi sincerely hoped Ahmed was more reliable than his nephew. He'd been warned of the consequences if he failed.

For now, Tehrazzi had to flee. The border was close. He had followers throughout the tribal region who would take him in, hide him until he could get back across the border and disappear into the mountains that had swallowed foreign armies for generations.

Including the Russians, whom his teacher had trained him to fight, and thus turned him into the threat he represented.

The vehicle hit a deep pot hole, and the sharp jolt jarred his wound. He hissed out a breath, squeezing his eyes shut while black spots swam behind his closed lids. More sweat broke out on his face. When he got his breath back and opened his eyes, the taxi was stopped. The driver was swiveled in his seat, staring at him with a concerned frown.

“Shall I pull over?” he asked.

“No,” Tehrazzi growled. The driver turned away and turned up his radio.

Caught in the crush of midday traffic, the cab idled in the middle of the city. Tehrazzi glanced in the side mirrors and caught sight of another cab weaving through traffic toward them. As it came closer, he recognized Mahmoud's anxious face peering through the windshield at him.

Let him follow. If they reached the next safe house, Tehrazzi would have time enough to ensure there were no more mistakes made.

The hour of the operation was drawing nearer, and if something went wrong... Mahmoud may yet prove himself useful.

Vancouver

Cold. Damp. The earthen floor beneath her was clammy with condensation as the temperature dropped. Splattered on the floor and overflowing the metal bucket in the opposite corner, the stench of diarrhea nearly gagged her. Flies swarmed around the filth, filling the still air with a low buzz. She shivered against the mud brick and stone wall, staring into the darkness. No blankets to warm them. No light. Just eerie silence disturbed only by the shallow breathing of the other two men left in the room with her.

They all knew what was coming. Fear was a bitter tang on her tongue, filling her throat, so thick she could choke on it.

He
would come for one of them soon. The tall one with the light brown eyes and the scar bisecting his chin. His malevolence would drop the air temperature further when he approached the crude wooden door separating them from their captors.

She twisted her fingers together and kept staring at the door, and the pale sliver of light escaping beneath it. Was she next? Her empty stomach rolled as she thought of how Gary had died the night before. Hacked to death, worse than an animal being slaughtered. She bit down hard on her lips to hold back a sob. She couldn't die like that, screaming and thrashing and fighting. How was she ever going to be able to withstand it? How long would it take?

Mike stirred a few feet from her, groaning as he shifted, miserable with the debilitating abdominal cramps they'd all come down with. Perhaps a parasite in the water they'd been given. Not that it mattered. They were all going to die here anyway, either from dehydration or by the tall man's knife. Every twenty-four hours he would kill another of them. Cool, sticky sweat beaded across her back and face, under her arms.

Then footsteps. Outside the door. She froze and held her breath. Waiting.
Please God, no more. Let us live...

They stopped at the door.

Every muscle in her body tightened.

Her heart sank when the door opened. She blinked in the beam of the flashlight, raising an arm to shield her eyes as the tall man stood silhouetted in the hellish outline. Walking past her, he hauled the orthopedic surgeon out, ignoring his pleas and struggles.

Unable to meet her colleague's terrified gaze as the man dragged him away, she turned her head and squeezed her eyes shut, nails biting into her palms hard enough to draw blood. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped animal while she waited for the murder to begin. And it did.

Those bloodcurdling, inhuman screams of unimaginable agony started as the knife sliced through the tissues in his nape. She clapped her hands over her ears to try and block them out, her feral cries of rage and despair echoing inside her head. They went on and on, shattering her sanity until she wanted to rush out and have him kill her too, just so it would be over.

And then they stopped. Instantly. Because the knife had finally hit the spinal cord.

Her claw-like hands speared deep into her greasy, matted hair and squeezed hard enough to bring forth the tears that had been locked too deep inside. The hot rivulets trickled down her filthy face and over her trembling lips in salty streams.

Then the footsteps came back.

No! No more. No more...

The tall man pushed open the door once again and aimed his flashlight at her face. She flinched and ducked her head, refusing to look at him. The warm, meaty smell of blood hung so thick in the air the bile rose up her throat.

"Look what I have,” the psychotic murderer purred in flawless English.

The flesh on the back of her neck prickled. She didn't want to see what he'd brought, but her eyes were already swinging his way. Blinking in the harsh beam of light, she tried to focus on what he held in his fist. Something round. The size of a melon.

A hand flew up to her mouth to stop the cry of horror and outrage. The blood drained out of her face.

The tall man held his victim's severed head by the hair, swinging it back and forth like a pendulum.