Safe Passage (16 page)

“Who else could have sent those men?”

Scott blew out a long stream of breath. The sun was sinking behind distant mountains. Cold shadows crawled out from under crevices, crept toward them.

The haunting cry of a loon echoed.

He felt smacked in the gut, couldn’t breathe. He didn’t know if he should believe her. He had to tell her about Jalil. But he had to be sure she wasn’t playing him.

“Scott, I’m…I’m sorry.”

He nodded. That’s all he could do. And he searched her eyes, tried to see. Was she lying again? Playing the victim when in fact she still might be working with La Sombra, with Nakiskas. She could still be responsible for the RVF outbreak in the States. She could be telling him this now in a desperate attempt to keep him on side, until she no longer needed him. She was brilliant. He’d seen that from the information in her dossier. He’d be a fool to think she wasn’t capable. He’d been a fool once already.

She laid her hand on his arm. “Can you find it in yourself to try to understand?” A forlorn desperation snaked through her voice.

He tore his eyes from hers. Stared instead at the livid orange strips of cloud streaking the evening sky, catching the last rays of sun as the day died. “You have to turn yourself in, Skye. You have to come forward.”

“I know. Can you help me? You said you’d be there for me. Can you, now that you know? Can you go all the way?”

He forced himself to look at her. And his gut clenched. His heart, his instincts, screamed at him. Deafened him. She wasn’t Skye Van Rijn. She was Zeva, a Greek warrior. But still—Skye or Zeva or Sword of Anubis, whatever name she bore—deep down he believed he knew this woman. He’d felt a connection.

Skye. Zeva. They were just names. It was the woman inside that he’d glimpsed, touched. Who’d touched him. It was the person inside he cared about. That strong fighter. That vulnerable woman. That inner beauty.

His brain may be trying to tell him different. But his heart told him she was true. He struggled to suck in air.

Right here, right now, he stood at a cusp. Like the Janus Creek. And he was Janus himself, with two faces. He could see one road one way and another leading the other way. He lurched to his feet, bit back the pain that exploded into his knee, clenched his teeth. His nails dug into his palms. He could no longer stand in the middle of nowhere. No longer teeter on the cusp. No longer wear a mask of two faces. Screw Janus. He had to pick a road. He couldn’t hide anymore.

“I will.”

Her gasp of relief was audible.

“I’ll be there for you.” He reached a hand down, pulled her gently to her feet, held her at arm’s length. “But, Skye, we have to talk.” Because he had to tell her, too. Everything. Like her, he had to come clean before they could move forward and face the world. Before they could fight La Sombra. Together. But it was getting dark. And he’d heard the helicopter land somewhere in the forest. It would be safer to move inside, to talk in the cabin.

“It’s getting cold out here. Come. We’ll go back to the cabin, make a fire. We can talk there.”

“Thank you, Scott,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Thank you. Oh, God, thank you.”

Her words twisted like a dagger in him. Telling her he was not McIntyre was going to be a killer. So would telling her about Nakiskas, about Charly…about Jalil.

He whistled for Honey, turned, leaned heavily on his cane, started up the trail. It led steeply uphill from the lake. He felt drained. Going down hadn’t been too much of a problem for his knee. Going up felt like hell. He slipped, caught himself, doubled over his cane as he swallowed the pain.

“Here, lean on me. Put your arm around me. Let me help you.”

He bit back pride, put his arm around her slender, strong shoulders. And something slipped in his stomach. Not in nine years had he had someone to lean on.

“You have to rest that knee or you’ll never mend.”

“I know.”

But as they neared the cabin, Honey froze in her tracks, the hackles on her neck rising. A low growl emanated from her throat. Scott felt the fine hairs on his own neck rise. He could smell it.

Danger.

He laid a hand on Skye’s arm, stilled her as they listened. It was dark under the trees, but silent. Only the roar of the nearby river could be heard.

Still, it didn’t feel right. The road was closed because of the bridge. But they’d heard the chopper land in the distance. And he knew the stakes now. La Sombra would stop at nothing.

“Come,” he whispered. “Let’s get into the cabin. I’ll get backup.”

“
Backup?
How?”

“I have a phone.”

“There’s no cell reception here.”

“It’s satellite.”

She halted. “Who would give you backup? Why do you have a sat phone?” A wary edge crept into her voice.

“I’ll explain in the cabin. Move. Quick.” He felt in his pack, withdrew his gun.

She stared at the weapon, her eyes huge.

“Move, Skye. Come on.”

She peered up at his face in the dark shadows, but she didn’t move.

“Now.”

That’s when he heard the crack. He whirled around. Scott saw the dim shape in the trees the same time Honey did. The dog snarled, exploded into a charge. Metal glinted as a man in the shadows whirled, raised a gun. Honey lunged for his arm, tore flesh. Scott aimed, yelled at Skye to get in the cabin.

He fired. The man reeled under the impact, pulling the trigger as he went down.

The slug tore through Scott’s upper left arm. He wheeled back from the force.

An utterly eerie shriek sliced the air behind him. The battle cry of a warrior. Scott clutched his arm, staggered around.
Skye.
Through a haze of pain he saw a second man lurch out of the cabin toward her. He wielded a knife low, aimed straight at her belly. But she braced, swiveled the instant he slashed at her. The knife swiped air. He flailed forward with the momentum. Before he could regain balance, Skye unleashed another scream, a kick. Her heel caught him under his throat. The man’s head cracked back.

For an instant he was still.

A grotesque frieze in the dusk air.

Then he slid slowly into a limp pile on the porch. Skye lunged for the knife.

Scott felt the wet warmth of his own blood seeping through his fingers, his legs giving out under him. He heard Honey snarl. Another shadow. Behind the canoe stacked up on the far side of the porch. Going for Skye.

Scott opened his mouth to scream a warning. But Honey had already alerted her.

Skye whirled, flexed. Before Scott could blink, the knife left her hand, flew true. The man bellowed as metal sunk deep into his jugular. His hands flew to his throat, clutched. Blood pumped through his fingers. He slumped back against the canoe, leaving a fat trail of gleaming black ooze as he went down.

Scott stumbled toward the deck, toward her. He’d been right. From the instant he’d first laid eyes on Skye, he knew she’d been trained to kill. “Skye—”

“Look out! Behind you!” Skye yelled, diving for cover on the porch.

Scott whirled just in time to catch another glint of metal. In a last-ditch attempt, the man he’d left for dead under the trees raised his arm and fired.

Scott flung himself sideways, tearing his knee. But the bullet slammed the sat phone in his chest pocket and glanced to the side. He sank to the ground.

“Scott. Oh, God, are you all right?” Skye was at his side. “Your arm, you’ve been shot.”

“Flesh wound,” he gasped, coughed.

“Your chest?”

“Phone…saved my life.”

“Can you get your arm around me?”

He struggled into a sitting position. He couldn’t breathe. A vortex of nausea swallowed him. He felt as if his knee joint had been ripped apart, as if a mallet had smashed his ribs. He wheezed, trying to suck in air. She grabbed his arm, pulled him up, shifted her shoulder into his armpit.

“Steady,” she said. “We can do this.”

He held tight on to her. “This…isn’t…right.” The words rasped from his lungs. “I’m…supposed to be the hero…saving you…”

“Shh. You have saved me,” she whispered. “In more ways than you’ll ever know.” She edged him slowly into the dark cabin, helped him across the room, eased him onto the bed. He slumped back, vision narrowing into a dark tunnel of pain. He fought it, holding on to the pinpricks of light.

Skye lit a lantern, fingers moving fast. She had to stop the bleeding. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

“My pack…dropped it outside.”

Skye wadded a small towel and pressed it firmly to Scott’s arm. “Hold that tight. Keep the pressure. I’ll be right back.” She could see he was wobbling on the edge of consciousness. She grabbed the flashlight and ducked back out into the dark.

A quick check told her two men were dead. The third was unconscious. Black blood dribbled from his ear. She held back his lids, shone light into his eyes. They were filling with blood. Signs of brain damage. And his neck was broken. He wasn’t going to make it.

She retrieved the Smith and Wesson that Scott had dropped, took the Glock from the man under the trees, slipped it into the back of her jeans. She felt in his pockets. They must have had some form of communication. Then she found it. A stubby satellite phone. Damaged, of no use. She held it in her hand, stared at it under the gleam of the flashlight.

Her hand begin to tremble.

He’d found her.

Malik’s men had found her.

And between her and Scott, with the help of Honey, they’d wiped out three of his assassins. Just snuffed out their lives.

A wave of anguish crashed in her chest.

Malik had done this to her.

He’d trained her to kill. And he’d sent the men. He’d forced her. He’d made her into something she despised.

She detested him. More than anything on this earth.

And now the person she cared most about in the world was bleeding in the cabin. And she’d brought him here. He’d gotten himself hurt for her.

Her fault.

She dropped the phone to the forest floor, grabbed the backpack and ducked back into the cabin.

She lit a second lantern, set it on the table, fumbled in the pack. The first-aid kit was at the bottom. She felt it with her fingers, yanked at it. It was stuck. Hooked on a piece of nylon or something. She turned the pack upside down, shook out the contents. It was still stuck. She reached in, groped around, found the strap that was holding it, pulled.

The bottom of the pack came loose, releasing the first-aid kit. She turned it upside down again, shook it free.

The kit fell with a clunk onto the table.

His wallet thudded after it, bounced open, spilling contents.

A slip of paper wafted after it, settled like a feather on top.

A credit card slip.

For a meal at Mumbai airport. Only a week ago.

Skye stared at the strange name on the bottom. Scott
Armstrong.

She felt her jaw drop and turned her head slowly to look at her companion.

He lay on the bed, eyes closed, pain etched into his features. He clutched the wound on his arm, pale as death. Blood seeped through the cracks between his fingers.

She turned, rummaged quickly through his wallet, found two credit cards. One for Scott McIntyre. One for Scott Armstrong.

Her hand began to tremble. Her eyes flicked to the bed.

Backup.

He was going to call for backup.

With a sat phone.

He had a gun.

No ordinary civilian in Canada carried a handgun.

The tremor spread to her limbs. She forced herself to her feet.

Tiny beads of perspiration broke out above her lip. She wiped them away with trembling fingers, stared at the man on the bed. He was no innocent writer.

Then who the hell is he?

Chapter 15

T
he bitter bile of betrayal leached acid into Skye’s stomach. Her brain spun in a dizzying kaleidoscope. Maybe the name on the slip meant nothing. Maybe McIntyre was his writer’s alias. He said he’d been traveling.

Who was she kidding? He had to be working for someone. His moving in next door must have been orchestrated.

Oh, God. Her hand flew to her forehead. He’d befriended her. Seduced her. Made love to her. Deceived her. He had stolen into her heart… For her secrets? Had everything been a lie?

No. She couldn’t believe it. Panic danced through her blood, skittered through her gut.

Who is he?

All those things, those little hints that should have alerted her, they crashed now like a tsunami through her brain. The knife at his ankle. His wary moves. The professional way he’d escaped their tail. The way he’d disguised her with that wig. The way he’d picked up on her Greek connections. She should’ve seen it coming.

No. She
had
seen it coming. Only she’d refused to acknowledge it. Refused to act on it. Because he had made her feel.

But it was all a lie.

Terror clawed through her stomach. She’d told him everything. Oh, God. And he’d just sat there. Listening. Had he known all along? Her eyes shot to the door.

She could run. Her eyes flicked back to the pile of contents on the table. The car keys lay among them. She glanced at the man on the bed. He needed help. He was bleeding badly. Honey whimpered at his side.

The sight of those pleading doggy eyes tugged at her soul. She couldn’t just leave Scott to die like that. A maelstrom of confusion crashed through her. Whoever he was, this man had gotten hurt trying to save her life. She had to fix him up, stop the bleeding.

Then she’d run.

“It’s okay, girl,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of him.”

She lugged the heavy wood table over to the bedside. Steadying her hands, she took the scissors from the first-aid kit and cut into his sleeve. She tore it open and set about cleaning away blood so she could get a good look at the wound. He groaned softly at her touch, winced as disinfectant stung. His lids fluttered open and he looked up at her with those hauntingly beautiful bottle-green eyes. Those eyes that had lied to her. She halted, caught by what she saw there.

She forced her attention back to his injury, willed herself to focus on his injury.

He’d been right—it was a surface wound. The bullet had ripped through his flesh. It was a mess but it wasn’t life-threatening. Not if she stopped the blood. She worked quickly, efficiently, as she’d been trained to do. She taped the edges of the wound tightly with the adhesive butterfly sutures she found in the kit. They would serve until he could get it sewn up properly. She found analgesics and antibiotics in the first-aid bag. It was a comprehensive backcountry kit he carried. But she wasn’t surprised at his survival skills.

Not now.

He was someone sent to spy on her. Someone trained to betray her. She could no longer control the tremor in her limbs. With unsteady hands she unscrewed the cap of a water bottle, gave him the pain relievers. “Here, drink.”

He did. “Thanks, nurse.” He motioned with his chin to the neatly bandaged wound on his arm. “You learn to do that in the camp?”

“Yes. Let me look at your chest.”

She peeled off the remainder of his shirt, found the smashed wreckage of his phone in his pocket, set it on the table. The impact of the bullet glancing off the phone had caused the myriad of blood vessels under his skin to rupture. The blood was spreading, pooling into what was going to be a devil of a bruise. She pressed tentatively with her fingers. He gasped in pain.

“I don’t think your ribs are cracked.” She was concerned, however, about other internal bleeding. “How does it feel? You got a sense there’s any serious damage in there?”

He shook his head. “Nah. I think I got lucky.”

She helped prop him up. He groaned in pain.

“Knee?”

“Blown it. Probably for good now.”

She said nothing, started to remove his pants. He helped by lifting his butt as she edged the jeans carefully down his legs. His knee was a balloon of wobbly mass. She swallowed her shock, averted her eyes. “It needs ice, but I haven’t got any. Maybe these anti-inflammatories will help. I’ll splint it, bandage it.” She set the pills on the table and got to work splinting his knee with two pieces of wood from the woodpile. Job complete, she stood back, stared down at him.

He frowned. “I look that bad?”

“You’ll live.” But he sure as hell wasn’t going to be able to follow her.

She shut her eyes, tried to marshal her thoughts. She should go. Now. But she couldn’t just leave him like this. She spun on her heels, marched out the door and stepped once again into the dark. She scanned the ground with the flashlight, located his wooden cane.

She propped it against the wall beside the bed where he could reach it, then filled his water bottle, set it next to the pills. She filled Honey’s water bowl, poured dog biscuits into another. And she placed his gun carefully on the table within his reach. The Glock she tucked into the back of her jeans. Grabbing the car keys, she started throwing her things into her pack.

He watched in silence.

“You going somewhere?”

Her eyes snapped to his. “I am.”

“Where?” He struggled to pull himself up into a sitting position.

“I’m taking your vehicle.”

“What’re you talking about?”

She held up the sales slip, credit card. “These. They say your name is Scott Armstrong.”

He blanched.

“Who
are
you?”

“Skye—”

“Nothing about us was true, was it? You slept with me, made me care for you.” She fought the quavering edge in her voice, grasping for a tone of confidence, authority. “Dammit, you made me care. You didn’t have to go that far.”

“Skye, sit down. I can explain.”

“Lie to me some more?” Her whole body shook uncontrollably now. “I don’t think so.” A deep ache swelled in her chest as she looked into his eyes, his face, saw his hurt. It threatened to suck her up, drown her. Obliterate her.

“Sit. I’ll tell you everything. I was going to before we were attacked.”

“Right.” She remained standing.

He pushed himself into a full sitting position, grimacing as he moved, eyes flashing in spite of his pain. Or because of it.

“Sit.”

She backed closer to the door. “You said nothing, down at the lake, while I spilled my guts. You knew all along, didn’t you? And you didn’t say a goddamn thing. You watched me bleed. You’re no better than a filthy, scheming jackal.”

“Skye, hear me out.” His voice was laced with pain but he spoke with urgent force. “I
needed
you to tell me. You have to understand that. It
had
to come from you.”

Uncertain, unsteady, she lowered herself onto the chair nearest the door, well across the room from him, still clutching the keys. “Why?”

“Because in my heart I believe in you.”

Her heart gave a sickening lurch. She swayed momentarily from dizziness.

“I wanted to know you were a victim in this. I had to be certain. I couldn’t turn you in without giving you a chance to tell me…everything.” He coughed. Agony twisted his features as the spasm racked his injured chest. He caught his breath. “I had to be sure. I
need
you to be innocent, Skye. Goddammit, I need
you.
”

He slumped back, face bloodless.

Lord, she wanted to believe him. More than life, she wanted to believe him. Her chest ached. She half rose to go to him. Held back. “Who are you? Who do you work for?”

“My name is Scott Armstrong. I’m an agent with the Bellona Channel.”

She felt her mouth drop open. “You…you were sent to spy on me,” she whispered. “Why?”

“I’m going to give it to you straight. I may live to eat my words, but I believe in you, Skye. Remember that.”

“Tell me,” she said quietly. The yellow light of the lanterns flickered and shadows shivered as she spoke.

“Bellona thought you might be connected to the Rift Valley Fever outbreak in the States.”

Her mind reeled. “Why?”

“You were there at the right time. You’d come via Africa. You have the expertise.”

“And
that’s
what you were going on?”

“You are also on record as having expressed the opinion that an ecological attack would be an ideal anti-imperialist ploy to undermine the American economy.”

“It’s true.”

“It’s
that
kind of sentiment that alerted authorities. Our intelligence indicated you’d expressed revolutionary views. It was my mission to sound you out.”

“And that included making love to me?”

“Skye—”

She gave a soft, wry laugh. “Don’t even try to explain. I know of these things. That’s what Malik trained me to do.”

“This was different, Skye.”

She ignored the hurt in his eyes. “Since when do you put people under surveillance for a theory,
Agent
Armstrong? Is that what the world has come to?”

“It’s what men like Malik Leandros have reduced the world to. And checking you out was Bellona mandate. We keep an eye on things government sometimes overlooks. If it proves serious, we involve various law-enforcement agencies where necessary.”

Skye rubbed one hand over her face. She felt tired. Very, very tired. But she had to know. “How long have I been watched?”

Scott’s head flopped back on the pillow. Drained, he stared up at the ceiling, took a deep, shaky breath, blew it out slowly. “You weren’t exactly a high priority until the
invalid
rolled into town.”

Skye leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“Bellona was looking to keep me busy and out of their hair while I recuperated.” He gave a dry little laugh, coughed, winced. “I think my boss thought once I laid eyes on you, you’d help keep my mind off other things.”

“Like your wife and child, like your injury,” she said softly.

“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, gathered his thoughts, opened them. “I figure Rex thought you’d help dig me out of my morose pit. He even threw in the dog for good measure.”

Confusion spiraled through her brain, clashed with anger, empathy, pain. The whirling force of mixed emotions held her immobile in its vortex. She could only stare at the powerful, injured male that lay on the pine bed.

He struggled to sit again. “Rex was right. You did distract me, in more ways than one. But he was wrong about one thing, Skye. This was no lame mission. This is a major coup. This could net us La Sombra, the world’s most wanted man.”

Reality smacked her sharply up the back of the head.

The injured Bellona agent thought netting Malik would redeem him, show his organization he was still strong. She could see it all now, how he was using her. She tasted bitterness. “So I played right into your hands when I asked for your help.”

Scott nodded.

“You fed off my need. You fed off my fear of Malik’s men.”

“Skye, those guys in the brown car, they weren’t La Sombra’s. They were feds.”

“What…what feds?”

“Come here, closer, sit on the bed. What I’m going to tell you isn’t going to be easy.”

She clamped her teeth together. “I’ll stay here,
Agent.
” She was afraid to go near him. Terrified he’d capture her in another elegant web of lies, hold her heart prisoner with false words, render her immobile with a warm, caring touch. “Just spit it out. All of it.”

He hesitated.

“All of it,” she demanded.

“The feds were after a guy who is now known to be Balto Nakiskas. An Anubis operative.”

“What has that got to do with me?”

“Skye…Jozsef Danko
is
Balto Nakiskas.”

The world tilted under her chair. Her head swam. She felt sick. Couldn’t breathe. She pulled at her shirt, tried to loosen its grip on her neck, tried to harness her thoughts. But the blood was draining from her brain, leaving her numb, stupid. “Jozsef?” The word came out a soft croak.

“Please, come sit here.”

“No,” she snapped. She didn’t know where to turn. She had to keep her distance from him. “I don’t believe you.” But she did. She was just having trouble computing it. “He…he was going to marry me.”

“Yes.”

She shook her head. “W-why?”

“We’re not sure.”

“If Jozsef works for Malik, that means Malik has known where I am for more than a year. Why…why didn’t he just kill me?”

“He must have a purpose for you.”

“But
how
did he find me?”

“Jalil.”

“Jalil? You know about Jalil?”

“He’s dead, Skye. Has been for over a year.”

Blood drained instantly from her head. “Oh my God,” she said softly.

“A system from northern Greece has been tapping into Jalil’s computer.”

“Northern Greece?
Malik?
”

“That’s our guess. Except we thought it was just another cell. Authorities are closing in on it as we speak.”

“But Jalil was e-mailing me.”

“They set it up so you thought you were still corresponding with him. They got into your computer through Jalil’s system. My guess is they got to know you that way. They learned what buttons “Jozsef” needed to press in order to insinuate himself into your life, in order to woo you.”

She tried to swallow. Her mouth was like sawdust. Tears welled hot, spilled silently down her face. She jerked up from her chair, spun to face the window, clutched arms tight to her stomach. “How…how could I let this happen?”

“Don’t blame yourself, Skye. I’ve seen this kind of thing done before. A hacker who gets into a personal computer can learn a lot about that person. He can make you think you are his soul mate. Like you told me, you thought he was almost too perfect.”

“No…how could I let this happen to Jalil.”

“It was beyond your control—”

“No!” She jerked around to face him. “He died because of
me!
”

“That’s the assumption.”

“Did they torture him?” She glared at him, defying him to tell the truth.