Читать книгу Hit Hard - Amy J. Fetzer - Страница 7

Viva inched closer to the American, staring down at Half Ear. “Is he dead? He really really looks dead,” she said, horrified and curious.

Sam pushed her behind him and cocked his rifle with one hand. “Now would be a good time to run, lady.”

He fired a warning shot into the air, and she bolted into the jungle. At least she had the cuff, and put it on before jumping over a low stream and splashing up the other side.

Then she heard the heavy thump of footsteps, the thrashing. Oh God. Bad guys. Bad guys. She pushed faster. Her legs burned with the strain, her body weeping sweat. Anything in her path sliced at her legs, her arms, then through the trees, she saw the rise in terrain, and headed toward it.

She hadn’t taken ten steps when it hit her, the hard impact to the back of her legs. Strong arms clamped around her knees and she went down. Her chin hit the ground, her teeth clicking. The collision pushed air from her lungs and she collapsed, dizzy, gasping for air and wondering how this day had turned so bad so fast. She inhaled dirt, blew it out, then pushed up.

She twisted. Jungle guy. He was breathing hard and had lost his hat somewhere.

“You make it really hard to help you, lady.” He backed off her.

“Thank you for your assistance, but did I ask for you to butt in?” God, the sheer idiocy of that hit her and she faced him, her head ringing too much to stand yet.

“You can go back. I’m sure they’ll be interested in a little payback.”

“I won’t dignify that with a response.” She sent him a brittle smile as she brushed off leaves. “I’m quite done with adventure for the day, thank you very much.”

Sam sighed back on his haunches, then pulled the bandana from his throat and wiped his face. Shapely, red haired, and a nutcase, he decided. Anyone who’d take on the Thai mafia without a weapon was two jacks short of a full deck.

Then she eased back like a crab.

Aware of her intentions, Sam grabbed her ankle, yanking her close. “They’re still out there, along with tigers, snakes—” And whoever shot that dart.

“And you.”

“I’m not going to hurt you, for crissake.” Sam let her go and stood, dusting off his clothes.

“I appreciate your interception, really, but I have to go to Bangkok.”

He gave her a tight glance that said, We’ll just see about that.

She saw right through it. “Who made you king of the jungle? While you look real cool with that rifle and whip, I’m sure you can see the wisdom in a hasty departure. And I’m not about to join your little band.” She motioned behind him as another man walked up. Jungle guy didn’t take his gaze from her as the other handed over the hat.

“Ma’am, I’m Max Renfield.” Max held out his hand to help her up.

She didn’t budge, and glanced between the two. “Where were you when all that was going on?”

He patted the gun at his side. “Backup.”

“Effective, was it?” Viva brushed her hair back, took a deep cleansing breath, but the tension refused to leave her body. All my fault, she thought, and wondered where her sanity went to play this morning to antagonize all the wrong people. She fingered the gold cuff that hadn’t been worn in a few thousand years, and knew it was worth it. She wore history on her wrist, though she hadn’t planned to be a part of it today.

“I’m going to look for Phan,” Sam said to Max. “Stay with her.”

“I don’t need a guard.”

“No, you need a brain.”

Her smile was nothing short of acidic. “Chivalry isn’t your strong suit, I see. If it were, you’d at least be seeing to the wounds you made.” She modeled her bloody knees.

They were a mess, but considering the bandits wanted to put two bullets in her head, she shouldn’t be complaining. “Sorry, lady, no medical supplies.”

“I have something to fix that,” Max said.

“Figures.”

As Sam walked away, Max moved forward, and knelt. “Don’t mind him, he’s in a rotten mood.”

“I couldn’t tell, his effervescent personality just blew me away.” Max ripped open a packet and started to clean her knees. “Oh, it’s not that bad,” she said, taking the antiseptic towel.

He frowned.

“Well—” She flushed. “He knocked me down when a ‘hey you, wait’ would have done the trick. That man is extreme in every sense of the word.”

Max sat back, grinning. She had Sam pegged from the get-go. Interesting. She finished cleaning her knees, pulling her leg up to her face like a dancer to blow off the sting. Great legs.

“Thank you, Max.”

He frowned, glanced the way the other had gone. “Come on.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for him?” She really didn’t want to trek through the jungle. The dart had to come from somewhere.

“He’s been gone too long.”

“Well, that can’t be good.”

He helped her off the ground and she followed him as they moved into the forest. Max hacked their way through the jungle for a considerable distance when he stopped, and called out softly.

Viva peered around him and she saw his partner.

He waved Max on. “You stay there,” he said, pointing.

“Anyone ever mention you have control issues?”

His look was deadpan, and when Max approached, he dismissed her.

Max bent to look at something on the ground. “Good God.”

Curious, Viva moved forward a few steps.

“I said stay back.” Sam tried to stop her.

“You really need to work on your attitude, mister. And you can ask my father, I rarely do anything I’m told.” She moved around Max and Sam threw his hands up in resignation. “Besides, I’ve seen a lot of interesting things in my life—” She stopped short. “Oh God.”

The body of a small man lay in the underbrush, not hidden, but not in clear view. Yet it was the condition of it that stunned her. All Viva saw was blood; on his throat and his crotch, his knees, and feet.

“I take it back.” She turned away, into Sam’s chest and gripped his shirt.

Sam blinked, then closed his arms around her. Her trembling vibrated into him, clinging down to his bones. He murmured something useless, hoping to soothe and praying she didn’t cry. Women and crying wasn’t something he handled well.

“I’ll just be a minute,” she mumbled into his chest, and Sam thought, take your time, honey, enjoying all the soft curves pressed into him. Man, it’s been a while.

Viva breathed deeply, the image of the mutilated body flashing in her mind as if once wasn’t good enough. Then she felt his arms tighten, his hand cup the back of her head and massage it a little. She suddenly breathed him in, a stranger, dangerous enough that none of this seemed to affect him at all. Another stupid move, she thought.

“Are you okay?” he asked in the deepest voice on the planet.

She tipped her head back and met his dark gaze. “You were right. I should have stayed put.”

His gaze roamed her face as if trying to scrape away the layers and see deeper. She felt suddenly hemmed in, as if a drape descended over them, closing out the jungle, the danger. It made her nerves keen, sentient, her body shift into his as if that’s where she belonged. He didn’t back off, frowning down at her, and she had the urge to rub the lines between his eyebrows.

“Will you obey my orders till we get to the city?”

“Sure.” She pushed out of his arms. “Though I’d have to trust you for that, which I don’t.”

Max observed the exchange, then said, “Think Kashir did it?”

Sam lifted his gaze from her. “Don’t know.” He squatted, inspected the corpse. “The back of his knees are cut, and his toes are gone.”

“That’s just nasty.” She looked everywhere except there. “Who would do something like that?”

Sam met her gaze. “A collector.” And it was ritualistic, he thought.

“Half Ear, no toes. Bodies dropping—” Viva’s hands never found a comfortable place to be and she turned away. “I can’t be here with you two. I just can’t.”

Sam latched on to her arm. “But you can’t be out there alone, either. I won’t be responsible for your safety.”

That got her. “Who says I want you to?” She yanked free, her hands on her hips. “You know, I’ve traveled all over the world and didn’t have a bit of trouble till I met you.” Well, never the dead kind of trouble, she corrected.

“Me either. So what is so special about this?” He grabbed her wrist, studied the cuff for a second before he let her go.

“This was found in the Udon Thani Caves, where it shouldn’t be. Since cave homes and temples form a line over the border, it’s entirely possible the royal family could have originally come from Cambodia or Laos.”

“That’ll ruffle a few feathers,” Max said.

She nodded. “Makes the bloodline suspect, and the royal family here rules. What would happen to this society if it were known? What will it change? This is a very important piece.”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t be flashing it around.”

“I wasn’t. I hid it, they found it. Can I help it if they’re nosey? Oh, man.”

“What now?”

“My bag. It’s back there.”

“Next to the other body.”

“Thank you for that visual.”

Sam eyeballed her from head to toe. “Who are you, lady?”

“Xaviera Luciana Dominica Fiori.”

Sam blinked. “Jesus, you could choke on that.”

“Call me Viva.”

“Sam Wyatt, this is Max.” He tossed a thumb toward his pal.

“We’ve met.” She smiled kindly at Max.

“They couldn’t ship that?”

“Sure. But we didn’t. Not that it’s your business, and since we’re sharing, tell me why you look like Alan Quartermaine in bad need of a haircut and are dealing with those awful men.”

Max stifled a laugh.

Sam turned away. “Come on, we need to move.”

Clearly, he wasn’t being responsive. “Thank you for your help—”

He glanced at her. “You know where you are? Which direction to go?”

“South to Bangkok.” She pointed.

Sam inclined his head to his left. “That way.”

“Thank you.” She marched off, but didn’t get far. Sam caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. She struggled and he shook her, her feet dangling.

“It’s about two hundred miles,” he said close to her ear and it sent a chill down her throat. “Want to meet more like the guy with the dart in his neck?” He set her down.

The realization hit and Viva turned sharply. “They’ll be looking for me.”

“I would.”

Alone she’d be dead. “I accept the offer.” She saw the wisdom in traveling with armed men, as much as her practical side was telling her to run like hell. These guys could be gun dealers, thieves, or worse, the enemy of that bandit leader. Which meant they’d hunt her just for being with them. Circumstances were crummy, but she didn’t have any choice.

Sam took a few steps away, then said, “This time, stay put.”

“Yes, certainly. Go visit the body.” She waved him off, watching him move back to the corpse and with Max, cover it with dead leaves and logs. Don’t anger this one, she thought, forcing a pleasant smile when he glanced her way. His hands soaked up the blood as he repositioned the body, and he looked more dangerous than the bandits. Dark hair poked out from beneath an old brown cowboy hat, the five-finger pinch molded with sweat and dirt. It’s a favorite, she decided, and let her gaze slide over him. His jeans were a worn light blue, molded to his long legs, a pistol riding his hip like a gunslinger, low and loose. She almost expected it to be tied down. The man had style, she thought, his sweat-soaked T-shirt sculpting ropey muscles. Nice shoulders.

She cocked her head, watching, then, as if he could feel it, he looked up. His gaze slammed into hers, and Viva was struck again by his dark eyes and that he exposed nothing in his expression. He didn’t say much either. That was never a problem for her.

He stood, spoke to Max, and came to her.

“Why didn’t you bury him?”

“No point, it’s fresh meat, fresh blood. The animals will smell it and dig till they find it.”

Viva’s stomach rolled at the image. “Sorry I asked.”

He drew the slung rifle over his shoulder, loaded it again, and she realized it wasn’t a normal shotgun as she’d first thought. Though shaped like one, it had a high-tech look about it. And a double trigger. “I’ve never seen a gun like that.”

“Seen many, have you?”

“Today’s been a veritable festival of weaponry.”

He gave the rifle a hard shake, once, then slid it to his back, barrel down.

Sam felt something fly by his cheek and his gaze zeroed in over her head. He yanked her to the ground, shielding her. “Max, down, down!”

Max dropped without hesitation, drawing his gun. Then Viva heard the soft swish, like a soda can opening, only shorter. And rapid, one after another. Over her head in the trees were teeny spikes and it took her a second to realize they were darts.

Sam dragged his hat off and aimed. “Crap, they’re back.”

“Party crashers are so rude.”

The crack of his rifle made her flinch, the smell of it hanging in the air. Birds squawked and rose into the treetops. She peered around him and where he’d aimed, a thin tree keeled over. Whoa. Max held down the trigger, cutting the trees in rapid succession with his automatic weapon. “Show off.”

Sam went low, signaled to Max, slipped something into his ear, then drew a small, thin, bendable rod near his mouth. Max did the same.

They’re in contact now, she thought. Radios? Cool. This was all suddenly exciting.

“Cover me, buddy,” Sam said, then eased back, pushed her beyond the trees, his attention never leaving the terrain surrounding them. Max offered cover fire in spurts, Sam and Viva quickly shifting backwards.

“We can’t leave him.”

“Not happening, and be quiet.”

Sam came to his knees, his weapon sweeping to his left. He unloaded and she heard something hit the ground hard. Someone’s dead out there.

“Want to smoke them out?”

Max shook his head. “There are at least six, I think. Maybe more.”

Outgunned, and he didn’t have any explosives to make it simple. Where was Sebastian when you really needed him.

Viva heard movement over the wild beat of her heart in her ears, and tapped Sam, pointed. He swung and fired. The glow of return muzzle flash marked positions and Max opened up on the location as Sam moved, pushing her ahead. Bullets hit the trees, the ground.

Viva smothered a yelp.

Sam fell on her, flattened her to the ground. “We have to make a run for it.”

“They’ll follow.”

He rolled off her, his body nearly sandwiched to hers. “We just have to be faster.”

“And me without my Keds.”

Sam’s lips quirked. At least she wasn’t crying. “Don’t stand, crawl.” He urged her. “Go now.”

Viva obeyed, moving on her sore knees. Her palms slipped on mossy rocks and she fell, pushed up, and crawled.

Sam put a hand on her butt and pushed it down. “Drag yourself.”

Max fired, ripping up the jungle, and crouched low, he backed up. “Meet you at the stream,” he said.

“Roger that.” Sam rose slightly, and took off. “Come on, woman, put a fire under it.”

“Tyranny is so unattractive, Sam.” She ran, clawing through the forest, barely flinching as the jungle shredded her exposed skin. The ground grew soft under her feet, slowing her, and when she stumbled, Sam caught her, practically carrying her toward the water.

He jerked her back before she went into the stream, and forced her to the ground. He aimed from behind a cluster of trees, sliding the rifle barrel between the foliage.

“Drac, we’re at the rendezvous, where the hell are you?”

Viva tucked behind him, still as glass. Sam didn’t have to look; he could feel her warmth on his spine.

Max burst from the forest. “We have company!” he shouted, hurdling. “Move! Move!”

Sam took off, pushing her ahead to the river, and she shifted to the left, darting over rocks instead of through the black water, Max coming alongside. The bandits weren’t far behind, the ground squishing with wet footsteps.

Christ, at this rate, he’d get her killed.

“We need to slow them down.” Sam glanced at Max running a few yards to his left.

“I’ve got two clips,” Max said into the mike, checking his pockets.

Sam slowed. Viva noticed. “Why are you stopping?” Oddly, she suddenly recognized the look; pure macho determination. “Don’t do this!”

“This is risky, pal.”

“Is there any other way? On my mark.” Sam stopped, and in one motion with Max, turned, and fired. They emptied into the forest, and all Viva saw was blood on green, men bursting through the trees and instantly thrown back off their feet. The bodies bounced.

Viva turned away, covering her ears, wincing with each blast. Then strong hands were on her, dragging her up the stream’s bank onto higher ground.

The figure moved through the jungle, soundless, eyes bright with awareness. Above the treetops daylight shone, yet the thick Thai jungle trapped the moisture and air in a vise. Sweat trailed her temples, down between her breasts, yet she kept moving, leaping dead logs and pausing only to slip through a thin outcropping of bushes. They’d been cut, then trampled. The path had already led her to the traitor, then to the tho thahan. Her body shivered with the memory of killing the mafia soldier, a warm heat brewing low in her belly. He’d betrayed the silence.

Now, the path to her master was wiped clean, the only evidence tucked inside a skin pouch dangling at her hip. None could be trusted, and she was the only one to see it so.

She followed the sound of gunfire.

Project Silent Fire

US–UK Command Post

Major General Al Gerardo rarely showed his emotions. It’s what made him the consummate professional and well respected from the president down to the corporal who answered his phones. Gerardo never did anything halfway and for him, there was always a better solution, some tiny point that could be improved. It drove his staff crazy, but to work with him on this project, they’d learn to accept and respect it. His small idiosyncrasies had often foiled disaster.

Even in the most desperate moments of the nation’s defense, he showed unquestionable authority and control. Only those who’d known him for years could recognize his anxiety.

Lt. Colonel Mitch Callahan was one of them. Gerardo rolled a quarter over his knuckles without looking, as if it was a part of him. All while he watched the video feed, the camera mounted on a Marine’s helmet, the U.S. team backing up British Royal Marines.

“Be advised, the target is our only source right now.”

The night vision lens glowed green as the feed went smooth for a moment, then staggered as it focused. Royal Marines had been posted around the small house and though there’d been no movement for over an hour, they knew who occupied the home.

“Execute,” the general said. The team moved in, Royal and U.S. Marines covering the small house like a blanket. Gas went in first, masks down, then a Royal Marine broke through the front door, just as another team came in through the rear.

“Clear,” echoed through the head mikes and to Gerardo’s console. They watched the mission unfold. Each room was swept, floors checked for traps before the men moved to the last door, the bedroom where Hassan was hiding. All exits were covered, the second floor spotted with the red dots of laser scopes.

A U.S. Marine kicked in the door, men quickly sweeping the room. Several suddenly gasped and groaned. “Room secure, Jesus, it stinks in here.”

They turned to the source. “Mother of God.”

Gerardo leaned forward as his man got close. “Damn.” He dropped the quarter on the console.

Mitch leaned for a better look.

Hassan was strapped to a chair, every inch of his clothing stained with blood already turned black. There were so many cuts on the man’s body it was hard to tell what was a wound or a blood trail. Blood congealed on the floor beneath him. Dead for days.

A warning came, men lifted NVG goggles and the lights came on. The glare of light focused on just the victim.

The room was sparse, a bed behind the chair.

Gerardo said, “Those wounds aren’t fatal.” Each near a vein but not an artery. Enough to slowly bleed him dry.

“Yes, sir, I noticed,” a Royal Marine said. “But these are.” He tipped the helmet, the video relay showing that the man was missing his toes.

“The back of his knees are cut,” one Marine observed. “What’s the point of that? He’s strapped to the chair.”

But Gerardo knew. In many cultures, it was a final disgrace that the victim would never walk in the next life with his ancestors. Whether it meant anything to the victim was inconsequential. It meant something to his killer. But the lead, the most viable one they had, was lost.

“Secure and let MI-6 techs in there.” Gerardo pushed away from the monitor and stood. He picked up the quarter again.

“Maybe we’ll get something from the house,” Callahan suggested.

Gerardo waved that off, rolling the quarter. “Perhaps, but they’re thorough.”

Whoever had the weapons schematics was long gone by now. Gerardo looked at the surveillance printouts. Their people had gone over the photos of Hassan and any associate several times, trying to digitize the shots and pull something for identification. Hassan led a small, lonely life. A janitor with a security clearance, for the love of Mike. The man had no idea what he’d done, the danger he’d let loose when he stole the plans. Gerardo looked back at the monitor, video frozen on the victim’s tattered face.

Perhaps he did.

Hassan was betrayed by his contact, obviously, and it hadn’t been difficult to locate the man. That kept Gerardo up late. Someone knew the Standard Operating Procedure, the SOP of how reactionary forces worked. And that meant they had help—from the inside.

He looked at Mitch. “Wake everyone up.”

“Sir?”

“Get every watchdog we have out there. I want visuals on the worst.”

“Counter intelligence is already working on this, sir.” They had visuals of several known terrorists.

“Not good enough. Get them in the trenches. We need photos, movement, associates, and if we have to dig into the gutters, we will.”

“That’s usually where they are, sir.” Mitch reached for the phone, and dialed.

“Not this time. This group, they have financing, and damn good intel. Or they wouldn’t have made it past the door.” He looked back at the still video on the screen. “They’re cleaning up their trails.”

The jungle opened up, sunlight pouring down. With good reason. It ended.

Viva skidded to a sharp stop, slipped and flailed to keep from going over the cliff. Sam’s arm snapped around her waist, drawing her back.

She clung to him. “We’re trapped.”

Max rushed to a stop beside them. “We missed some.” He inclined his head the way they’d come, reloading.

“And the river is in front of us,” she said, peering over the edge. “It’s a forty-foot drop to the water and no way down.”

“I have one.” Sam pulled his whip from the lashings and cracked it. It looped around a branch extended over the water.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding.” Even as she spoke, Sam pressed the handle into her palms, then drew her far back from the edge. “Ya know, I’m as adventurous as the next woman, but do you know what’s in that water?”

“Snakes, crocs, pit vipers—and escape.” With her tucked into his body, he pointed to the small boat. “That’s our only way.”

“Oh geez,” she groaned, gripping the handle and staring at the wide open nothing. “That thing’s not seaworthy, it’s river garbage!”

“It’s floating.”

Max had his back to the river, his Uzi aimed. “ETA less than one minute, guys.”

“Go, Viva.”

“I am, I am. Can’t you see I’m preparing to die?” She took a deep breath, backed up a step, then bolted. When her feet left the edge of the ground, she thought, Life was a lot better before Thailand.

Sam shouted to let go, and she obeyed, dropping into the water like a coin. The impact stung her arms, and she refused to open her eyes until she felt the sun on her head. She broke the surface as Max hit the water.

She headed toward the boat, looking back for Sam. “Where is he? He’s not there!” The whip was gone too.

Max swam past her and climbed into the boat. “Come on, swim, swim!” From the bottom of the boat, he scooped up fallen branches and wet leaves, hurling them into the water.

Self-preservation slammed into her and she swam to the small boat. Max helped her over the side and she instantly sat up, rocking it. Max steered the rowboat away from the bank.

Viva’s attention was on the cliffs. “Why hasn’t he jumped?”

“Outlaw, you there? Outlaw, come in!” Max tapped the thread mike at his ear, then yanked it off, cursing. “It shouldn’t be out of commission, dammit.”

“Try to be upbeat, Max, really.”

The men appeared on the edge, almost falling over it. Viva grabbed the second decaying oar and dug it into the water. Bullets rained, peppering the water like jumping schools of fish. Max returned it in deadly blasts. Viva ducked low, paddling faster, harder. The boat jolted and she stilled, exchanged a glance with Max as something amphibious rolled barely below the surface before it disappeared into the dark water.

“A croc?” she asked and hated the fear in her voice.

“It’s a big one.”

Max cocked the Uzi and aimed. Viva watched the water, poised with the rotten oar like a bat. “If you surface,” she muttered to the bubbling river, “you’re luggage.”

Water fountained, the boat lurched sharply, throwing her back. She yelped, and twisted to strike.

“Whoa, darlin’, take a breather.” Sam hung on the edge of the boat, wiped his face, then threw himself in.

“I ought to hit you with this.” She still brandished the oar.

“Row for a little while first, will you?” Sam lay there, breathing hard, and Viva realized he had to have run a half mile to get this far downriver.

“You okay, pal?” Max said, paddling smoothly and watching the terrain.

Sam waved halfheartedly. Viva sank into the watery bottom, tiny minnows pecking at her knees. “God, I’m really starting to hate you two.”

Sam opened one eye to look at her. “Now there’s a surprise.”

“You owe me an explanation.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Really?” She grabbed his gun, pointed it. “Think again, Outlaw.”

Sam rose up on his elbows to look at her. Covered in muck and a brownish-green cast to her clothes, she was still a gorgeous redhead. “It’s out of ammo.”

She fired. It wasn’t.