He brought the truck to a sliding stop. “Get out and run!” he yelled and flung himself out of the truck. Once his feet hit the ground, he rounded the front of the truck, grabbed the doctor’s hand and raced for the helicopter as it lowered to the ground.
When they reached the chopper, Crusher shoved Dr. Hale in and jumped in behind her. “Go! Go! Go!” he yelled.
The pilot was already on his way straight up before the last “go” left Crusher’s mouth. He looked down in time to see the other truck stop beside the one they’d abandoned. The four armed men leaped out and aimed their weapons skyward, firing at the departing aircraft.
Crusher flung his body over Dr. Hale’s, where she lay sprawled across the floor of the fuselage, praying the bullets wouldn’t penetrate the aircraft from below.
Once they were out of range of the rifle fire, Crusher sat up, helped the woman onto the bench and strapped her into a harness. Her hair had come loose from the ponytail, and auburn curls spilled out around her face, making her look softer and more vulnerable.
He buckled his harness and took a moment to study the asset’s face, noting the bruises, not only on her chin, but one on her cheek and another on her forehead. The dark circles beneath her eyes and the tired lines at the corners spoke of long days and weeks of captivity, where they hadn’t treated her well.
“You okay?” he asked, yelling to be heard over the roar of the engine and rotors.
She nodded, rubbing a wrist where the cuff had been. “Much better than I was back there, as long as I’m not being taken to another lab where I’ll be held hostage yet again.”
Crusher shook his head. “I told you?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “Excuse me if I have trust issues. I don’t know you from those people who’ve held me prisoner for the past six weeks.”
He held out his hand. “Jack Bailey. Most folks call me Crusher.”
Her lips twisted, but she took his hand. “Call me Marta.” Her grip was firm, unflinching and strong despite having been held captive for six weeks.
He liked that in a woman. Hell, he liked that in any human.
Her brow furrowed. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
“It’s about what they made me build,” she said.
Crusher glanced out the open side of the helicopter at a truck racing along a dirt road below them. A man braced himself in the bed of the truck, balancing a rocket launcher on his shoulder. “Tell me when we’re safe,” he shouted.
“That’s just it,” Marta said. “We may never be safe.”
Crusher’s gaze swung from the man with the rocket launcher to Marta’s concerned gaze.
“Hold on!” he shouted and flung his body over hers.
A loud bang sounded. The helicopter shuddered violently. The engine chugged to a stop.
“We’ve been hit!” the pilot shouted. “Brace for landing!”
Marta reached for Crusher’s hand, her eyes wild with fear as the rotors slowed but didn’t stop completely as they plummeted toward the ground.
Crusher’s gaze shifted from the swiftly approaching ground to the pilot holding one hand to his chest while gripping the collective.
Holy shit.
The pilot had been hit. They were falling to the earth with an injured pilot, a dead engine and the enemy racing to intercept.
Crusher pulled Marta into his arms, closed his eyes, and, for the first time in years, prayed.
Chapter 2
Marta wrapped her arms around the man who’d rescued her from the laboratory, closed her eyes and held her breath as wind lifted her hair around her face and the helicopter plunged earthward. If she were to die, at least she’d die in the arms of a muscular man who, according to him, was one of the good guys.
After what she’d been forced to create, she couldn’t ask for a better end to her life. The rest of the world might still suffer for what she’d concocted, but she’d be dead in the strong arms of a stranger. Guilt gnawed at her gut. She couldn’t die. Not when the world hung in the balance of the results of her work.
