Secret Soldier Read online

  ABIGAIL WOKE TO the touch of his hand on her shoulder, sore but feeling much better after finally having gotten enough sleep.

  “Time to go,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  She looked at him, outlined against the sky, larger than life. Right now, at this moment, he was the only thing standing between her and certain death. And maybe he was the only thing standing between a lot of other people and death, too. She hated his methods, but at the same time understood him. The stakes were enormous. He had to do whatever it took.

  The sun was low in the sky, preparing to dip below the horizon. She stood, her limbs stiff from having slept on the hard wood. “How do you feel?’

  He flashed a grin. “Like hell. But I’ve been worse.”

  The left side of his face had turned a sickening shade of purple. He jumped off the truck, and she took the hand he offered her.

  “Water?” He lifted off one of the cans. “We can wash, too. There’s no way to take all this with us.”

  She held out her palms and drank deeply, used to drinking warm water by now. When she had enough, she threw some into her face. It felt like heaven.

  “How would you like a shower?”

  She glanced at him. Was he serious? Wasting so much water seemed like sacrilege. And then it hit her. They were lost in the middle of the desert. On foot. It seemed impossible that they’d just be able to walk out. If they stayed with the truck-shelter and water-the terrorists would find them. In any case, the water wouldn’t last forever. If they walked, they could only take a few cans with them. And of course, she remembered suddenly, they had no food. He was just trying to give her some relief before the end came.

  He climbed back on the truck and lifted the can over her head. She untied the rope, pulled off the abayah, threw it in the back of the truck then hesitated.

  “Go ahead. I won’t look.”

  She had nothing on but her panties under the flimsy, ripped nightgown. Oh, what the hell. They were going to die anyway. With her back to him, she grabbed the hem and pulled the thing off.

  The gentle trickle of water felt like heaven on her skin. He circled with the can above her head to make sure he got all of her. Too soon, the water was gone.

  “Thank you.” She tried to reach for her clothes without turning.

  “One more.” He dumped another can of water just on her hair, rinsing it completely.

  She could have kissed him.

  “Your turn,” she said instead, and quickly dressed, putting the abayah on backward to cover her front.

  He helped her up into the truck bed, her fingers and palm tingling where they touched. She let go of him at once. When their eyes met, the heat in his took her breath away. Then he turned her around and tied the abayah in the back so it would stay in place. When he was done, he jumped onto the sand with easy grace, despite his injuries. She squatted to twist the cap off a can, had a little trouble, but managed without his help. She lifted the can and turned, then stopped, rooted to the spot.

  He’d taken off everything but the bandages.

  He stood facing away from her, probably for her sake more than out of modesty, his wide shoulders tapering to narrow hips, below which the most magnificent male ass that ever existed demanded her attention.

  “Whenever you’re ready,” he said in a suggestive tone, and she nearly fell off the truck.

  She lifted the can and tilted it. The water hit the sand so she adjusted, following its way with her eyes as it poured over his body. He had a beautiful physique, despite the two old bullet wounds-one on his left shoulder, the other above the right hip. If she were a better woman, she would have looked away instead of ogling for all she was worth.

  “One more?” She croaked the words past her suddenly dry throat when the water ran out.

  “That would be nice.”

  She poured the second can faster, embarrassed by her lack of control and turned when the water ran out, to give him privacy to dress. He helped her off the truck when he was done, then pulled his knife and began to cut the thick canvas of the truck.

  “What’s that for?”

  “You’re going to need something more substantial for your feet.”

  What was the point? They had about as much chance as a snowman of walking out of the desert alive… But she appreciated his efforts to boost their spirits and how he wouldn’t let on that they were doomed, no matter what they did.

  Chapter Eight

  Tsernyakov was a cunning man. He had not been there at the delivery. He’d sent only a half dozen men with the valuable cargo, all disposable. El Jafar rubbed his mustache. He hoped they were all disposable. If Tsemyakov was smart enough not to come himself, then he was probably smart enough to know not to send anyone important from his staff. The delivery crew had been taken care of. Which left Tsernyakov as the only outstanding issue.

  Take him out before he became a liability or keep him in case his services were needed in the future? He grunted in impatience when one of his servants came in, bowing, interrupting his thoughts.

  “What do you want’”

  “There’s a man at the door. He says he has a message from his sheik. Wouldn’t say which one.”

  “Bring him in.”

  He poured himself a drink and drained it, then lit a cigar. He hadn’t expected a messenger. Something had gone wrong. Allah willing, it was something minor. He’d forbidden all phone communication at this stage, not daring to risk detection. He was too close to victory to let anything or anyone get in his way now.

  The servant brought a man in, then left, closing the door behind him.

  The man, dressed in Bedouin clothes, bowed, his nervous fingers playing with his belt.

  “You brought news?” El Jafar recognized him as one of the men from camp.

  “The Americans escaped.”

  Hot fury flooded him as he reached into the drawer, his fingers finding the gun at once. incompetent, worthless bastards, undisciplined ignorant bunch of idiots. Didn’t they understand what was at stake? He pulled the gun, watched the man go pale and fall to his knees.

  His men needed a lesson.

  But not this lesson.

  He set the gun on the table. There could be no gunshots heard from his house. He’d had a hard enough time explaining away the explosion. There should be nothing to draw attention now. After the attack, after he was a hero, more recruits would come, better ones, and plenty of funding to train them well. “They must be found”

  “We have. nearly every man out.”

  “I’ll be there tonight. Go.”

  The man got on his feet, bowed deeply and left, no doubt thanking Allah for his merciful ways.

  El Jafar picked up the gun and put it away. There had been too many mistakes. He would go to the camp tonight and tell them they were moving up the schedule.

  ABIGAIL CARRIED TWO rifles; Spike had the third, plus a five-gallon can of water. It was all they needed, he’d said, and she hoped he was right. In any case, trying to carry more would have slowed them down too much.

  They walked side by side under the cloudless starry sky, the desert like a vast blanket spreading before them… The going was not easy. They were in the dead lands now, which were nothing like the semiarid stretch between Tukatar and Rahmara. Here the loose sand was hard to walk in, and there wasn’t a blade of grass or any other living thing in sight. They kept on all night, stopping briefly from time to time, resting no more than they absolutely had to. To her disappointment, the first ray of light revealed nothing but more sand on the horizon. The only thing interrupting the desert was a dark strip to their right, too small to be the city they were looking for.

  Still, hope surged through her. “Do you think it’s an oasis?”

  “Can’t tell yet,” he said, but he changed direction slightly so that they would walk close enough by it to see. By midmorning, they could identify the oddity, a rock ridge about twenty feet high and a half mile long, snaking in t
he sand. She hoped they would reach it within the hour and could spend the worst heat of the day in its shade. Having that goal, a visible destination in front of her, made walking easier. Unfortunately, an hour of exhausting effort later, the rocks seemed no closer.

  “We need to rest.” Spike stopped and dropped the water can on the sand.

  “I’m not too bad. I can walk on until we reach the shade.” She wanted that more than anything-to get away from the blazing sun for a little while.

  “Not close enough. We need to conserve our energy.” He drew a circle in the sand, stuck one of the rifle barrels down in the middle and examined its shadow as it fell on the circle.

  Maybe he was getting loopy from the heat. “We could reach the rocks in an hour and rest in the shade. Can’t be more than two miles, she said.

  He glanced at her. “Try six or seven. Distances are about three times longer in the desert than what they seem to the naked eye. The flat sand and the way the sun reflects off it make judging tricky.”

  “Oh.” She shrugged off the guns from her shoulder and propped them against the can. “Aren’t we going to fry out here?” The temperature had to be above a hundred already and would easily reach one-twenty before the worst was over.

  He stepped out of his sandals and handed one to her. “We better start digging.”

  She watched as he marked an area of six feet by three.

  “We need to get down to about two or three feet. Pile the sand on the long sides. It’ll give us some extra protection from the sun.”

  They were going to make their own shade. It gave her hope, as well as something to do other than think about dying. She lowered herself to her knees and dug in. The loose sand was easy to scoop, but had the tendency of flowing back into place like water. She watched Spike’s efficient, broad movements and tried to copy him, digging until her arms were sore, stopping only to drink then getting back to work again. The heat was nearly unbearable by the time they were done.

  “Hop in and sit down,” he said, then placed the water can and the rifles in the hole next to her.

  He unwrapped his kaffiyeh. “Hang on to this end.” He stretched the headdress over as much of the hole as it would cover, and anchored the edges with sand. He took off his shirt and did the same with that. About a third of the opening remained uncovered still.

  She pulled the abayah over her head and handed it to him. He nodded, anchored one end, hopped into the hole and sat, pulling the material over his head and anchoring the other end to the side, scooping sand around the comers.

  “As long as the wind doesn’t pick up we should be fine. Lie down.”

  She did, surprised how much cooler the sand felt on the bottom, giving her much-needed relief from the heat. “It’s nice,” she said then fell silent as he stretched out next to her.

  “Two or three feet can make a thirty-degree difference. You dig in a north-south direction, and the sand piled on the side gives some shade over the opening.’ He nodded to the assortment of garments above his head. “A cover helps, too.”

  Plenty of sunlight filtered through the clothes and gaps, but it was still much better than out there, where she could barely keep her eyes open, blinded from the sun as it reflected off the white sand. She appreciated the break. “How long are we staying?”

  “Until late afternoon. Try to get some sleep.” His face was too close, his gaze intent on her face.

  She closedd her eyes, so she wouldn’t have to look into his. The narrow ditch didn’t give them much room. Her hips and, shoulders were touching him. “Do you think they’re still looking for us?”

  “We know their leader and saw the camp.”

  “Right.” They weren’t going to give up until she and Spike were dead. “Do you think they’ll find us?”

  “It’s a big desert. They’d have to drive right over us to see us.”

  “Maybe once they find the truck, they’ll think we’ll die in the desert, anyway, so they won’t bother looking. “

  “Maybe,” he said. “But very unlikely.”

  She sighed and opened her eyes, finding him still looking at her. She appreciated that he treated her as an equal and for once told her the truth, as bad as it was.

  “Can’t afford to get lulled into some false sense of security. We will both have to be on guard every minute to make it out alive,” he said.

  She looked away, up to the black abayah directly over her head, and all of a sudden she felt as if they were already in the grave. A shiver ran across her skin, fear filling her heart. All her old nightmares returned and rushed her with force, bringing with them forgotten terrors. She sat up, gasping for air.

  “What is it?” Spike came up next to her.

  “Nothing.” Her heart beat out of control, pounding in her chest. “I think I’m having a panic attack.” God, she hadn’t had one in ages.

  He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. After a while, she laid her head on his chest. “Want to talk about it?”

  She could hear his voice vibrate inside him, under her ear. “I’ll be fine in a minute.” She had no intention of sharing something so personal with him, but the words seemed to tumble out on their own. “When I was younger, I used to have nightmares about lying on the bottom of a grave. My sister died when I was eight.”

  He hugged her tighter.

  “She was two years older than me. And it was like… I got so used to doing everything Kate did, only a little later. She lost her first tooth; two years later, I lost my first tooth. She went to kindergarten; two years later, I went to kindergarten. We had the same teachers, the same problems, only two years apart. Then when she got sick and died, I kept waiting for it to happen to me.’

  “It must have been terrible.”

  “I used to have these nightmares about my own funeral. Being on the bottom of the grave. Only I wasn’t really dead, but for some reason I couldn’t open my eyes or speak. And when I was awake I’d have panic attacks. Then a little after I passed the age when she died, they stopped.”

  His heart beat strong and steady under her cheek. She felt some of the tension ease from her body. “It’s weird. I haven’t thought about this in years.”

  “You’ve been under tremendous stress in the last couple of days. It’s catching up with you, that’s all. Stress and exhaustion.”

  “It’s just that sometimes I still feel like I’m living on borrowed time.”

  He rested his chin on the top of her head and leaned back, taking her with him. They ended up lying together, his arm around her, her head resting on his shoulder. “Try to relax.”

  Unlikely. When she was a child, it used to take her hours to calm down after a panic attack. But then the, next thing she knew, her eyes were closing and her worries floating away.

  By the time she woke, the sun had passed its zenith. They must have slept a couple of hours. She didn’t stir, not wanting to wake Spike, not ready to give up the comfort of his strong body just yet.

  “Feeling better?” he asked.

  “Can’t believe I fell asleep again.”

  “Your body needs rest for healing.”

  He was right about that. Constantly blocking out the pain enough to go on took a lot of energy. And she had barely slept at the camp. First, she was too scared; then, they were waking her up all hours of the night to question her.

  She glanced at him. He didn’t look as if he had slept any. Come to think of it, the only time she had ever seen the man sleep was right after he had arrived in Tukatar. And boy, did that get her into trouble.

  “We should start out,” he said.

  She moved away from him and sat up, a little embarrassed over what had happened earlier, grateful for the way he had handled it. “Thanks.”

  His blue eyes mesmerized her. She felt as if she were falling into his gaze, surrounded by it, embraced. He could have asked anything of her when he was looking at her like that and she would have done it. Thank God, he didn�
�t know his own power.

  “We should drink before we leave.” He pulled the water can between them, breaking the connection.

  She watched as he twisted off the cap and pushed the can toward her. She lifted it as she drank, the half-empty can lighter now. The lukewarm water felt good. She handed the can over to him and wiped her mouth, swallowing as he put his lips to the exact spot where hers had been a minute ago. He drank with his eyes closed, the strong muscles of his neck working with every swallow.

  She began to stand, but he put a hand on her knee and pushed her back down.

  “Let me take a look first.” He twisted the cap back on, picked up one of the rifles, pulled the edge of his headdress from the sand and looked out. “We’re fine.” He stood, yanked the rest of the cloth free and helped her up.

  She freed her abayah and pulled it over her head, covering her hair with the veil. He dressed, too, shrugging into his shirt, twisting the headdress around his head. The sun was low on the horizon, the air a good twenty degrees cooler than when they had stopped to rest.

  “Are we still going to check out the rocks?” With the sun going down, they no longer needed their shade.

  “Might as well. We might come upon a nest of scorpions. I could use some food. I was counting on having the truck and turning on the headlights once it got dark to catch the bugs it drew. Since we can’t do that we’ll have to find something else to eat.”

  If she wasn’t sure he was only kidding, she would have gagged.

  He picked up their water and his rifle. She slipped the other two guns over her shoulder. Amazing how much easier walking was without the sun beating down on them. It was a huge difference for her eyes, too. She didn’t have to constantly squint.

  They had nearly reached the shelter of the rocks when a strange sound seeped into the air from the east and began to grow.

  “Trucks?” She looked at him, panicked.

  The somber expression on his face did nothing to allay her fears. What little remained of the sunlight seemed to dim.