Running on Empty (22 page)

Because she could and Declan would never know, Sabrina stretched out on the ground beside her husband and placed her head on his uninjured shoulder. Many nights she had gone to sleep exactly like this, but with one marked difference. Declan had been holding her. Would she ever feel his arms around her again? 

She fell asleep with an ache in her heart.

“You stupid son of a bitch. You think anyone’s going to save you? Hell, your so-called brothers-in-arms are the ones who sold you out. You’ve been abandoned. No one’s looking for you. No one cares about you.” 

Meat-Face loomed over him—so close Declan could see the large pores in his florid face, smell the onions he’d had with his breakfast.
“Your ass is mine, Steele, and I’m going to smash it into the dirt.”

Declan kept his gaze steady, his face expressionless. They couldn’t break him. He had been tortured by the best for months on end. The training he had endured had put him through almost every imaginable scenario. No matter what they did to him, they would never break him.

Agony erupted in his head. His entire body felt as though they were burning him alive.
Breathe through the pain, inhale, exhale, inhale. You’re bigger than what they can do to you. Float out of your body, away…far away. See her beautiful face…know she’s waiting on you. You can survive anything knowing Sabrina loves you.

Peace enveloped him. He was floating. There was pain, but it was distant, inconsequential. Then he heard her voice, soft, rich, thick with emotion, “Tell them, Declan. Tell them what they want to know and you can come back to me. Tell them and we’ll be with each other again. Tell them, tell them…”

Declan shook his head. No, couldn’t be Sabrina. She would never want him to give in. She would tell him to fight. It was a trick. They were using his one weakness to try to break him. They would never succeed.

Pain sliced through him again. Sabrina’s voice followed. Then more pain, Sabrina’s voice again. Over and over.
Stop, stop, stop. Stop!

Sabrina mopped Declan’s brow again. His fever had risen. Aidan had left just after dawn to go get help. Waiting around for Declan to be able to travel could take days or might not happen at all. The bullet wound in his arm was just a flesh wound and was healing quickly. It was the deep gash in his thigh that was worrisome and most likely the cause of the fever raging inside his body.

He had been in and out of consciousness since he’d passed out two days ago. When he was conscious, he was lucid, asking direct questions and responding to her queries with clear, concise answers. His attitude was unfailingly polite, cool, letting her know he still believed she was the enemy.

And when he was unconscious, he slept like the dead, never moving. She checked his pulse repeatedly just to reassure herself. The strong, solid rhythm never failed to give her immeasurable relief.

But in between consciousness and sleep, there were moments of sheer terror for her. He screamed, shouted, and muttered, and she knew he was reliving what those bastards had done to him. She despised hearing it, but at least she had some idea of why he believed she had betrayed him. They had used her against him. They may not have succeeded in getting the information they wanted—whatever it had been—but they had succeeded in one thing—convincing Declan of her guilt.

A normal man would have broken, even an extraordinarily strong man might have broken. But Declan hadn’t, at least not in the way his captors had wanted. But they had broken the bond between husband and wife, destroying trust.

She wished knowing the truth made it easier. She had thought it would. It didn’t. She didn’t know how to reach the core of his distrust and destroy it. How do you defend when there’s nothing to defend?

“Look very serious.”

Declan’s slurred, gruff voice broke into her thoughts. She took in his eyes, saw the clarity and reason, and was relieved.

“With good reason. You have two bullet wounds and a raging fever.”

His eyes roamed the perimeter. “Where’s your other half?”

The words slashed at her. Her other half was lying on the ground before her, distrust back in his eyes. Refusing to address his remark, drawing them into an argument neither of them would win, she said, “Aidan left this morning for—”

“Deserted you, huh?”

“He went to get help, supplies.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go with him.” Before she could respond with a furious answer, he added, “Oh, wait, you wouldn’t abandon me, though, would you? You still don’t have the answers you seek.”

“May I remind you that you’re the one who came after me? I had no idea you were even alive.”

“Yeah. Right.”

Sabrina stood up and stretched. Damned if she would sit and tend him like some kind of hapless victim while he hurled insults.

“Believe what you want. It’s obvious you will anyway. I need some privacy.” Without waiting for what she was sure would be another hurtful or sarcastic remark, she walked away.

He told himself the hurt in her eyes was fake. Sabrina was an excellent liar—he had trained her himself. Even so, every time she flinched or those green eyes darkened with hurt, something like guilt sliced through him. 

He lifted his head, realized he couldn’t and eased it back to the ground. Hell, he hadn’t felt this weak since he’d been in prison. Jaw clenched tight, he tried again. Sweating, nausea roiling in his stomach, he managed to sit up on the third try. Damn. His head whirled like somebody had loosened his eyeballs. He could barely focus.

Closing his eyes, he concentrated on breathing, in, then out. Slow and easy. Long minutes later, he opened his eyes. Still felt like shit, but at least he could think more clearly and see halfway straight. 

He remembered almost nothing of the last two days, other than voices from time to time, Sabrina’s and he supposed Thorne’s. Something else he remembered were soft hands that soothed his brow and, though he was sure he dreamed it, soft lips that kissed his forehead, his mouth. Yeah, he’d definitely been hallucinating.

But what he did remember—what he knew to be factual—was the death of the bastard who’d tortured him for months. The one man who could have told him who’d hired him. Why hadn’t he tried to taunt the man and get answers? Stupidly, he had thought he had more time. Beat the asshole to a pulp—getting some of his own back—and then he’d make him talk. He hadn’t counted on Sabrina stepping in and taking the man down.

She had said she did it to save his life. He supposed there was some validity to that. Meat-Face had been holding a knife in his giant paw of a hand. Declan hadn’t seen it, and the man would have no doubt used it. And why hadn’t he seen it? Because he’d been distracted by something in the bushes. Aidan Thorne, Sabrina’s partner. Had they set that up to make it appear as if Sabrina was saving Declan’s life while also getting rid of the only man who could give him answers? Just how damn convenient was that?

He pressed his fingers to his forehead, where an anvil-pounding pain threatened to rip his brain apart. Hell, he wasn’t thinking straight. Had he had a rational, coherent thought since his capture? Wearily, he admitted that he didn’t know.

The snap of a twig brought his head up. Sabrina was coming toward him, holding the bottom of her T-shirt out. He saw that she had gathered a variety of exotic-looking fruits. “Okay, I’ve got some kind of berries, I’m fairly sure they’re edible. Here’re a couple of banana-looking things. And I’m almost positive this is some kind of grape.”

Everything within Declan froze. For the first time since his return, he looked at Sabrina without suspicion and hate coloring his perception. Her brilliant auburn hair hung in a long braid down her back, her face, though naturally creamy, looked almost translucent, as if she were exhausted. Heavy shadows circled her eyes. Her generous mouth had lines on each side of it, as if she hadn’t smiled for years. Her camouflage pants were covered in mud and muck, and her tan, sleeveless T-shirt was spotted with his blood. 

He remembered so much in those long seconds of staring. Her laughter, delightful sense of humor, the implacable belief she’d had in him. He remembered her heart, her soul, and her humanity. Her love.

Oh God.

And he remembered other, more recent things. Things he had denied before. Soft, cool hands working to lower his fever, a voice, thick with tears, telling him he was going to be all right. A warm, womanly body lying beside him, kissing his cheek, whispering soothing words of love. Why would she do those things when—

In that moment, he saw her clearly, the woman he had loved and lost. And he knew the truth.

“You really had nothing to do with it, did you?”

She jerked as if he’d slapped her. The gleaming relief in her eyes couldn’t be mistaken. He heard her swallow hard and then in a shaky voice, she said, “No, Declan. I swear on my life, I didn’t.”

He wanted to be angry all over again. Wanted to howl at the injustice of what had been done to him. To them. Instead, he pushed all of that aside and said, “I’m so damn sorry, Sabrina.”

She wanted to throw herself into his arms. For the first time since learning he was alive, there was no distrust or hatred in his eyes. What she did see stopped her cold and tore her heart to shreds. Yes, there was remorse and sadness, bitterness at what had been done to them. The one thing she didn’t see, and needed with unrivaled desperation, was love. Not even affection or even the slightest degree of warmth was revealed in his expression.

 She told herself the lack of hatred was a start. He’d been through too much to expect a complete reversal. But deep within him was the core of Declan Steele—the man who had loved her, adored her. Dammit, that love couldn’t be destroyed. No matter what he’d been through, those feelings still existed. She knew they did.

With a tentative smile, she dropped the food she’d collected onto her backpack. “How are you feeling?”

“Like a fool.”

“Declan, don’t. What happened to you wasn’t your fault.” She handed him the last bottle of water. “Take a few swigs and eat something. Aidan probably won’t be back until tomorrow.”

He took several sips and then handed it back to her. “That’s enough for now.” Reaching forward gingerly, he snagged one of the bananas and peeled it. 

“Can you talk about it yet or are you still processing?”

“There’s not much to say.”

Not much to say? Like hell. “Why were you taken? What did they want from you? Who do you think is responsible?”

“Just because I no longer believe you were involved doesn’t mean I’m going to share those things with you.”

“You know it wasn’t just you they hurt, Declan Steele.”

The expressions of contrition, remorse were gone. In their place was the flat, hard look of an EDJE agent. One who would show no weakness or mercy. When they’d worked ops together, she’d seen that look many times and had been reassured by it. But that’s because it had never been directed toward her.

“You still don’t trust me, do you?”

“Trust isn’t the issue. This is an Agency matter. One I’ll have to handle on my own.”

“You can’t expect me to just sit back like some kind of—”

“You’re not even involved in this kind of life anymore. You’re—”

“I know what the hell I am, Declan. I also know my life was turned upside down. I thought I lost you.” She didn’t add what she knew in her heart—that in a way, she had still lost him. “Don’t for a minute think you’re going to do this on your own. We—”

“There is no we. Get that out of your head.”

Knocking some sense into his stubborn head was tempting, but since she’d just spent two days trying to make him better, it would have been self-defeating. She was good at blocking unpleasant things out to get the job done. This would be one more. She would ignore his ridiculous statement and do what needed to be done.

“Eat what you can of the fruit. It’s good for you.”

He eyed her warily but didn’t argue. Exhaustion and pain shadowed his eyes, and the mouth she loved so much drooped with fatigue. There would be plenty of time for him to argue with her when he was feeling better. 

She was relieved to see him consume the banana and some berries. After he drank more water, she said softly, “You’re safe here, Declan. Get some sleep.”

Surprising them both—and showing her just how unwell he was—he lay down again and in seconds was asleep.

As he slept, Sabrina made her plans. Someone had sold them out. There was no other answer for it. Delving into the Agency’s secrets would be difficult, if not impossible. But perhaps an enterprising and talented LCR Elite operative who also happened to be a research expert might be able to do just that? 

She might not be in the game any longer, as Declan had said, but she had an offer of assistance from one of the savviest leaders of undercover operations in the business. One she would gladly accept.

Chapter Eighteen

Virginia

“When are you going to tell me where we’re going?” Declan asked.

A small smile tilted at her mouth, her eyes brimming with excitement, Sabrina shook her head. “Stop badgering me. I’ll tell you when we get there. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the scenery.”

Scenery? Well, he supposed there was a certain kind of peacefulness to the landscape. For almost an hour, they’d been driving toward an unknown destination. Unknown to him, but Sabrina knew exactly where she was going. 

They’d returned to Virginia five days ago. LCR and, yes, Aidan Thorne had come through. Rescue had occurred just a day after Thorne had left them. 

Since Declan had refused to go to the hospital, he’d been treated at the LCR clinic and then released. Had been told to rest, recuperate. He had done what he’d been ordered to do. Surprising Sabrina and himself, he had slept, taken his meds, and eaten nutritious food.

Sabrina had told him that the two men they’d rescued were being treated in a private hospital in Germany and were expected to survive. She’d said that Barry Tyndall had been easy enough to identify, but the other man was still unconscious and so far had no name.