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“Nassar?” she questioned roughly. She hoped the bastard was dead.
“Rode out in the only gun jeep,” he informed her. “Gave us our chance. ”
Nassar got away. But she had the information, had what she needed to fry his and her husband’s asses, and she would do just that.
“I need a radio,” she gasped. “I have to report in before he gets away. ”
“Fuck that. ” Hard, scathing, the voice was nonetheless comforting. It was American. Southern drawl, Kentucky if she wasn’t mistaken. “Look, little girl. I’m on a short leash here and ammo is tight. I’m a Marine sniper with no backup or comm until closer to extraction, or until the extraction team comes searching for me. I wouldn’t even be here if your friend Faisal hadn’t sent out a Mayday on shortwave and connected with my only comm. We gotta boogie and boogie hard, or both our asses are grass. Those bad boys back there are sure to make fine lawn mowers, too. ”
They were running uphill. He was barking commands. Gathering his guns, his pack. Getting ready to run again.
“Where are we?” She was fighting to breathe, to keep up.
“Bum-fucked nowhere. ” He was running full out and wasn’t close to being winded. “I have a hole a mile out. You’re gonna have to hang on for the ride, sugar, ’cause we don’t get there, we’re all dead. And dead and me don’t get along. ”
“She live? She live?” Young, Iraqi, the boy’s voice was frantic as the man paused for just a second. She knew the voice. Faisal was one of her informants. The young boy’s courage was incredible.
“She lives, now boogie your ass, boy. ”
“Boogie my ass, Natchie,” the boy claimed. “Boogie boogie. ”
“Damned kid. ” But there was affection in his voice. That affection, that sense of protectiveness that seemed to surround her, dug into her, made her chest ache from more than the run.
How long had it been since she had felt protected? Had she ever? But she did now. With this stranger’s arm tight around her waist, half pulling her, half carrying her. Rescuing her. And Chaya had never been rescued in her life.
They were running full tilt. She couldn’t see, her feet were bleeding, and her bruised ribs were in agony. But she was free. Reality was, she was free, and with just a little tiny miracle, she could stay free. But she knew those arms wouldn’t always be there. That strength wouldn’t always surround her, and she spared just a moment to regret that.
Natches rushed the mile to the hole he had made the night before after Faisal’s shortwave coded message had hit his radio. He’d made the holes, prepared them, and then went after the girl the boy had seen hauled into the dump of a terrorist camp. A small enough camp, out of the way, populated by barely a dozen hard-eyed, fanatic bastards and one little American blonde.
Hell, who had been dumb enough to lose her? She was an agent, he could tell from the automatic stamina pushing her. She didn’t have the strength to crawl on her own, but her legs were moving and she was fighting to help him as much as she could.
Faisal was easily staying at his side, his dark face creased with worry at the sound of gunfire behind them. They were out of sight as they rounded the low, rolling hill, and the hole was just ahead, covered deep with stripped trees and wrapped with dead brush. A natural part of the landscape.
“Get in the hole. ” He lifted the first cover and pushed Faisal into it with the supplies he would need in a smaller pack.
He threw himself and the girl into the second hole and jerked the secured covering over them as the sound of a helicopter began to hum from the direction of the terrorist base.
Of course, there had to be a fucking helicopter, he thought as he lifted himself enough to stare through the natural break he had created to see if they were followed. Fuck, he didn’t need this.
The hole was deep enough to sit in, the upper natural covering strong enough to hold a tank, maybe. They were secure as long as the bastards didn’t have dogs. It wasn’t very long, wasn’t very wide, but it was the best he could do on short notice.
“Do you have extraction coming soon?” Chaya rasped.
He glanced back at her and winced. She was curled against the dirt wall, eyes swollen closed, her lips dry and cracked. She looked vulnerable, but the woman had a spine of steel.
“I have a tracker on me. They’ll find me when they get in close enough. When I wasn’t at the first extraction point, they’ll have followed the beacon I have on me. ”
Her lips twisted mockingly. “Are you sure? Collateral damage is the motto these days, you know. ”
Fuck wasn’t that the truth. “Every good redneck knows you always have a plan B,” he assured her. His team was all the plan A or B that he needed. Most snipers worked alone, but on this mission, he was numero uno and he knew it. They needed him too damned bad to allow him to become damaged.
She breathed out wearily as he pulled a canteen from his pack and uncapped it. “Here. Drink slow. ” He lifted the water to her lips, staring at her face as she sipped.
“I have some salve and bandages for your eyes,” he said. “Bastards always go for the eyes first, don’t they?”
She gave a small, bitter laugh. “At least second. ”
He pulled out the medical kit, smoothed the salve over her eyes, then secured bandages over them. She had the face of an angel, he thought. Fine bones, delicate cheekbones, pretty sensual lips, he bet. Right now they were bloody and swollen.
