Trinity: Military War Dog (47 page)

Shouts outside pushed her gaze to the door.

Footsteps rushed toward them.

“Down,” Darci ordered Trinity, praying the dog wouldn’t be noticed at first, if at all.

The door flung inward.

        Thirty-Four          

W
ith a wintry blast, Major Wang lurched into the hut.

Darci yanked her arms behind her back and faked being tied up as he loomed closer. The war dance of flames against his face painted him with a wicked malice that sent alarm spiraling through her veins.

“Stay.” Maybe Wang thought she was making an innocuous comment about him.

“Ha!” he said, gloating. “You did not think you would escape?” He produced another needle. “More juice?”

When he knelt at her side and reached for her right arm, Darci rolled, her mind darting over the vibration in the ground—
what is that from?
—and the breathy grunt of Wang coming again.

She flipped over. Out of reach. A scream climbed up her throat. Outmatched.

Air and dirt shifted to her right. In the space of a blink, Trinity flew over her shoulder and nailed Wang in the chest.

He stumbled backward and dropped. Tripped by his own feet.

Trinity caught his arm, growling through clenched teeth.

Darci thrashed against the ropes on her feet, locked on the duel between the beast and the dog. Wang struck Trinity, but she held.

Fumbling, twisting, Darci was unable to loosen the ropes. She searched for a weapon while she dug her fingers in the hemp. Only the logs, half consumed in flames, would work.

She tossed herself in that direction.
Thud
. Her chest slammed into the dirt, spitting the breath from her lungs. She squeezed off the pain that exploded in her abdomen and strained for the log. Dragged it free.

Sparks hissed and popped in protest of being yanked from the fire.

Holding the center tent support, Darci dragged herself upright as Trinity and Wang went at it. The dog proved unyielding, even when Wang rammed the butt of his weapon at her. She yelped but maintained her lock.

Anger tightened Darci’s chest. “Hey!” With everything in her, she swung the four-inch-thick log at Wang. It connected with a resounding crack. He staggered, then went down.

Darci thumped him on the back of the head again, hard enough to make sure he was out, but not enough to kill him, even though he’d wanted her dead. He’d helped Jianyu and took pleasure in her torture.

The log began to slide in her hands, the warmed bark raking the pads of her fingers. Darci slumped to the ground on one knee, breath shallow. Trinity nosed her cheek, and she leaned into the dog’s warmth. Buried her face in Trinity’s neck where dense fur met the stiff nylon vest. Darci’s eyes traced the high-tech outfit. She didn’t have this on at the base. Where had it come from? She wasn’t a certified MWD anymore. And this was a pricey vest. Had someone recruited or borrowed Trinity?

Using the log to hold her up, Darci planted a kiss on Trinity’s neck. “Thanks, girl.” She rubbed Trinity’s ear with the back of her hand. “Couldn’t have made it without you.”

Her amber gaze flicked to Darci as if to say, “Yeah, I get that a lot.” She panted.

“I bet you do,” Darci muttered.

“But you should see my handler.”

“Oh, I have. He’s almost as good-looking as you.” Darci smirked at herself. Half dead and having an imaginary conversation with a war dog could get her wrung up for a psych eval.

Time to find out what’s going on.

Darci struggled to her feet, the log slipping in her bloodied hands. It was too heavy to carry, and Wang had just donated a fully automatic to her once-empty arsenal.
Ditch the log, try the gun
. It seemed logical. But could she even hold the AK-47?

She bent to release the log.

Movement rustled outside, stilling her.

Adrenaline sped through her veins and tightened her grip on the log. She shot a glance to Trinity, who stood with her ears trained on the door. Ready to attack. Ready to defend…
me
. The thought proved a heady tonic to her wounded soul.

Darci took a step back. What would Jianyu do to her if he found her free with his officer out cold?
Nothing good, that’s for sure
. Wobbling on her feet, Darci held the log with both hands. Prepped herself. She was not going down. She would not die at the hands of Jianyu or any enemy. Trinity had come for her, and that meant Heath had, too. Staying alive was the best way to thank him for coming after her, putting his life—and partner, Trinity’s—at risk.

Again, she looked to Trinity, who spared her a glance, then everything in the beautiful creature realigned on the door.

Darci braced herself.

With another blast of the winter storm, the door swung inward. Light blinded her but not enough to blot out the silhouette of a man with a fully automatic weapon. Sweat dripped into Darci’s right eye as she brought the log to bear with a loud grunt.

“Hey!”

Ignoring the spike of pain in her side, Darci raised it over her head.

“Jia, stop!” The silhouette shifted to the left.

Darci’s mind tripped on her name as she lost her balance.
Heath?

Heath braced for impact as the thick weapon in her hand registered. The log wobbled in the air over her head, then toppled from her grasp. Eyes hooded with exhaustion and pain, Jia heaved forward—straight at him.

Heath stepped forward and hooked an arm around her shoulders as she tumbled into his chest. In a dead faint, she was heavy yet … light. There wasn’t much in terms of weight to this enigmatic woman.

As he lowered Jia to the ground, Trinity trotted to his side and relief swept him. “Hey, girl.” He petted her as he keyed his mic. “Primary objective located.”

“Retrieve and return,” came Watterboy’s quick response.

Gaze tracking over the unconscious operative, Heath nodded. Right. Sure. How was he supposed to get her back up the side of the mountain he’d just scaled down when she was unconscious?

“Jia?”

Trinity nudged him, then sniffed his face—then sneezed.

He chuckled. “Good to see you, too.” She always hated the smell of tactical paint. He leaned his head toward her, but he scanned Jia for injuries, his heart regaining a normal pattern after thinking Trinity had bit a bullet. “Don’t scare me like that again.” That fried his brain like nothing else. He couldn’t stand the thought of losing her.

Trinity lowered her snout to Jia’s cheek.

“Jia, hey. You there?” Man, seeing her like this, pale and unconscious, hurt as much as thinking Trinity had bit one, and that was plain weird. How could he feel that way about a woman he’d met a week ago? Wasn’t something he could articulate to himself, let alone anyone else. Whatever it was that had snagged his attention, she had it. And she couldn’t die on him. He wouldn’t let her.

Heath visually traced the lines of her face. A fat shiner puffed her left eye and blood dribbled down her temple. Dried and cracked, her lips proved her dehydration and the split on the left side matched the one on her temple. Whoever had assaulted her must have been right-handed. He searched for injuries or wounds that would incapacitate her. No head knots or gaping wounds there. He tried to sort out why it was so important to him that she survive. Dark hair spilled toward the dwindling fire, its shadows stroking her black strands.

How could a woman look beautiful even when battered and unconscious?

Because she’s a fighter. She doesn’t take bull
.

“Jia,” Heath whispered her name as he smoothed his hands down her shoulders, strong biceps, and forearms, and his mind flipped back to the night at the base MWD training field when she’d thrown Trin’s ball with a perfect arc. Athletic, intelligent, but those things seemed so minor. The lunch date when he’d held her close, feeling her unsteady breathing, he wanted to seal their attraction with a kiss.

Stow it, Ghost
. He shoved his jagged thoughts aside.

“Ghost, report. What’s the holdup?”

“Jia, c’mon.” He noted movement behind her eyelids as his hands ran across the stiff binding around her waist. Had she been shot? Cut? What was this?

He hit his mic again. “Target is injured and unconscious.” He traced a gloved finger along the red welts on her wrists. Not exactly gentle on her, were they?

“Roger. Candyman—get in there. Grab the package and go,” Watterboy ordered.

Crossing her arms over her chest to lift her—

Her fist shot up. No time to deflect it. She nailed his jaw.

Heath tumbled backward. As he did, a swirl of cold air rushed him, snapping his attention to the open door. He sucked in a breath as a form filled it, and he pushed himself upright again.

Candyman stepped inside and pulled the door to, holding the catch with one hand and gripping his weapon with the other. “Inside.”

A scream rent the air. Another fist.

Heath hauled himself forward and landed hard on his knees as he gripped her arms. “Jia!” Holding her arms was like wrestling an octopus. She writhed, broke free, but he caught her again. “Jia—it’s me, Heath, Ghost!” Like she would remember him, coming up out of it. “American. We’re American.”

She struggled, then went still. Wild eyes locked on him. A whimper. “Heath?” Her taut limbs went limp, her brow smoothing as the fight drained from her expression.