Page 30 of Lethal Pursuit

The leader stopped directly in front of Jackson’s cell and handed the flashlight to the man next to him. Whoever he was, he was taller and broader than the leader. The man passed by to pause at the Sec Def’s cell, raising the beam of light and taking his time perusing their most valuable captive. He said something in Pashto to the leader, who answered him with a clipped response. The new man spoke again, and there was no need for Jackson to understand the words to recognize the smile in his voice. He was well pleased with what he saw in that cell.

The beam hit him next. Jackson squinted and focused on a spot on the floor between his bound boots, while the man looked him over for what seemed like an inordinate amount of time. He asked another question and received a response from Mohammed this time. Jackson knew they were talking about letting him check Maya. His heart leaped in relief when the light slid away from him, but he held his breath as it swung toward Maya.

From the corner of his eye he watched as it slid over her body,lying still on the cold floor. There was dried blood smeared on the left side of her face, and she had one arm curled over her waist protectively. The light beam froze on her like a spotlight, and all at once a deathly stillness stole through the chamber. Jackson’s nape prickled in warning.

The man holding the flashlight said something sharp and curt. No one answered. He shifted and faced the leader, saying something in a deceptively quiet voice that was no less lethal for its lack of volume. The leader answered in a clipped tone and fell silent. The tension in the room was palpable.

It seemed like hours before the light at last slid away from Maya and pointed toward the floor at the man’s large boots. Military-style boots. Then he squatted down in front of Jackson’s cell door. “You’re a PJ?”

The flawless English shocked him so much that his head snapped up before he could stop himself. When he saw the face reflected in the beam of the flashlight, he went cold all over in sudden recognition.

A copper-tinted beard glinted in the light, covering most of what were definitely Western features. Below the fiery eyebrows, a pair of brilliant blue eyes gazed back at him. “I’m called Rahim.”

That name exploded in his brain like a claymore. Holy fuck. The man who’d beaten Maya wasn’t the leader at all. They’d been abducted at the command of this man, who every intelligence agency allied with the U.S. had been searching for over the past three years. And here he was, safe and sound.

Shock reverberated through Jackson, holding him paralyzed for a few seconds until the man spoke again, this time with less patience. “I’ll ask you one last time. You’re a PJ, correct?”

Jackson gave a tight nod.

“Lieutenant Lopez does need medical attention. I understand you asked to provide it?”

He wanted to say yes. But he was worried now that Rahim and the others had figured out the truth between him and Maya. He prayed he was wrong. He had to hold on to whatever hope he could find.

“Well?”

He gave a hesitant nod, daring to meet those pale eyes. He almostwelcomed his turn with the beatings. It would be better than being forced to sit idly by and watch Maya suffer for a single moment longer than necessary.

Rahim assessed him for a moment with those intense eyes before nodding once to himself. Then he rose. “I’ll be back with some medical supplies in a little while. Mohammed will stay here and watch you.” With that, he strode away, the others following him except the kid, who slid down to sit against the far wall of the corridor.

Jackson let his head drop back against the wall and closed his eyes, struggling to understand the enormity of what was happening. Rahim’s words rang in his head, bringing mingled relief and shock. That unmistakable Midwestern accent told him without a doubt that the impossible was true.

The United States’s number-one high-value target was a fucking American.

TEN

KHALID STEPPED INTOthe room he’d used to interrogate the female prisoner with an uncomfortable stiffness in his muscles. He was not looking forward to the reprimand he sensed was coming.

Rahim entered next, followed by his most trusted man, Jihad, who dropped the heavy carpet back into place behind them. The small windowless room was immediately plunged into darkness, save the beam of the flashlight Rahim held. He swept it around the tiny space, lingering on the metal chair and the blood spatters marking the hard-packed floor.

Jihad stood back near the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, observing Rahim’s inspection. Reaching back, Rahim placed the flashlight on the small metal table with a quiet clang that seemed to echo in the stillness. The light washed across his face, and the livid expression in his eyes made Kahlid’s hands turn clammy.

“What were you thinking?” The low words sliced through the tense silence. He spoke in Pashto, no doubt so that Jihad would understand. That added humiliation only increased his resentment.

Khalid fought the urge to shift his stance under the power of that angry stare. “She is the weakest and the one with the least training,” he said defensively. “I can use her to make the others talk.”

“You can’t use her if she’s dead, can you?” Rahim snapped, his tone dripping with disgust. “As it is, she may be too badly injured to be of any further use to us.”

He bristled at the rebuke, especially in front of an audience. Jihad’s black stare was every bit as disgusted as Rahim’s. “I have to show them what I’m capable of.”

If possible, Rahim’s eyes turned even colder. “It’s only day one. You went too far.”

Kahlid’s immediate reaction was to argue, but the logical part ofhim knew it wouldn’t do any good. And he was walking a very perilous path now. Months before, he’d tricked an American soldier on the battlefield into calling in the airstrike that had killed Khalid’s former leader General Nasrallah, whom he had regarded with irritation and disdain. Not so with Rahim. He was a powerful and charismatic leader, battle tested, and he had a true vision of how this war needed to be waged.

Khalid had fought long and hard to have the freedom and opportunity to lead his own men in this fight. The last thing he wanted was to lose everything he’d finally won.

And if there was one man he feared crossing, it was Rahim.

Khalid cleared his throat and lowered his gaze in deference, forcing back the tide of anger rising inside him. “Shall I finish it then?”

---