Page 29 of Lethal Pursuit

The lantern light gave just enough illumination for Jackson to get a good look at the boy’s face. Mohammed had to be under twenty. His black beard was thin and scraggly, his upper cheeks soft and smooth, no wrinkles around the eyes. He offered him a drink from the canteen, frowning when Jackson didn’t acknowledge him. He said something in Pashto that Jackson didn’t understand and poured a little of the water into his hand to drink it, showing it wasn’t poisoned or tainted in any way. Jackson ignored the offer, despite how dry his mouth was. He was so thirsty he craved even a mouthful, but he would never let his captors know it. He could go another day or two without water if he had to.

Mohammed offered the canteen again, making a reassuring sound in his throat as though saying, “Come on, it’s okay.”

Maya stirred.

Jackson tensed as she moaned and gingerly shifted on to her back. In the lantern light he could see she’d squeezed her eyes shut, her lips pressed together to stifle sounds of pain. She had to be even thirstier than him and Doug after what she’d gone through last night. If she had internal injuries to her GI tract or internal bleeding, drinking could cause even more damage. He licked his dry lips and got to his knees close to the bars separating their cells.

“She’s hurt,” he said to Mohammed, who stared at him in surprise. The language barrier was a problem, but there was no way he could misunderstand what Jackson was saying. “I’m a medic.” He raised his shoulder a few inches and looked pointedly at thereflective patch on his upper arm. “I can help her. Let me check her, see if there’s anything I can do.”

No response, though the kid glanced between him and Maya, frowning in uncertainty. Looking at Jackson for confirmation, he held the canteen up and gestured toward her with a questioning look on his face.

“She’s hurt,” he repeated, looking in her direction then shaking his head. “No water yet. I need to see if it’s safe for her to drink.”

Mohammed lowered the canteen and stared back at him with a worried frown, and Jackson realized what was going on.

It wasn’t the language barrier. He didn’t have the authority to allow Jackson to enter Maya’s cell, let alone free his wrists. Probably because the kid knew Jackson could kill him with his bare hands if given the chance. Mohammed might be brainwashed and fighting for the wrong side in this war, but he wasn’t stupid. And right now he was Jackson’s best hope of helping Maya.

“Let me help her.” Urgency thrummed through him. If he could just convince Mohammed to let him in there, make himself seem nonthreatening, maybe Jackson could earn his trust enough to get him to remove the flex cuffs around his wrists.

A sudden image of breaking the kid’s neck appeared in his head. He dismissed it with a silent growl of frustration.

Fuck.

Even if he convinced Mohammed to let him into Maya’s cell with his hands free, moving her without knowing the extent of her injuries might prove fatal for her. And he couldn’t kill the kid, grab her and make a run for it while leaving the Sec Def still locked up. Even if he got them out of here, the chances of them surviving the attempt were slim at best.

But the innate urge to escape was powerful.

He glanced over at Maya’s pinched face, his mind whirling with different options. The entire countryside had to be crawling with soldiers out looking for them, along with every technological advantage the U.S. had over the enemy. He had to consciously slow his heart rate to calm himself. His paramount concern right now was Maya. She was the most at risk and the one in immediate need of care. He tried again to plead his case. “Let me help her. I need to seehow badly she’s hurt.” He kept his expression neutral, trying like hell not to give away how much she mattered to him. If Mohammed picked up on that, he’d tell his superiors.

Mohammed seemed to hesitate a few seconds before meeting Jackson’s gaze, and stared at him for a long moment. He pointed at Jackson then to Maya, his eyebrows raised in silent question.

Jackson nodded emphatically. “Yes. I need to see her.” If he found the serious injuries he feared he would, he’d make a lot more noise until they gave him some medical supplies to work with, or at least something he could give her for the pain. Bastards had to have access to some opium.

Mohammed eased back on to his haunches and chewed his lip as if he didn’t know what to do. The fact that he hadn’t up and left the moment Jackson had issued the first request gave him hope. Maybe there was some decency left in this kid after all. If so, Jackson had to capitalize on it before one of the others came back.

As though he’d come to a decision, Mohammed leaned the canteen against the cell bars and met Jackson’s gaze, holding up a finger in the universal sign for “just a sec” then rose, leaving the lantern where it was. Jackson bit back the shout of denial on his tongue.

“Where’s he going?” Doug whispered from beside him, his voice full of anxiety.

“Either to ask permission for me to look at her, or to get the others,” Jackson answered, a new dread churning in his gut. His turn in the interrogation seat was coming. He knew that. Had he just guaranteed being next? With renewed urgency, he focused on Maya’s inert form. “Maya? Can you hear me?” He’d gladly take the coming beating if it saved her from another.

Her eyes opened, one nearly swollen shut. He could see the light reflecting in the other one. “Yes.” The answer was so soft he barely heard her, and it made his heart squeeze.

He didn’t have much time. “When they come back, just stay quiet and still. Don’t do anything that might draw attention to you, okay? Try not to react, no matter what they do.” Whatever happened next, he wanted her out of the line of fire. If—when—they came to take him away, he didn’t want her reaction to make her a target again.

“Okay.” Her eyes slid closed as if the effort of keeping them open was too exhausting.

They lapsed into a tense silence until Doug spoke at last. “They’ll come for me next.”

Jackson swiveled his head around to look at him.

“It’s me they want answers from. I’m the reason we’re all here.”

“They’re going to use us against you,” Jackson corrected, stating the obvious. “The reasons behind all this don’t matter. We’re all in this together now.”

Voices floated from the far end of the corridor, where Mohammed had disappeared. Then footsteps. The strong beam of a flashlight lit their way, and Jackson’s stomach sank when he recognized the bastard who’d beaten Maya walking in the lead. Mohammed trailed behind at the end of the group, with two more big men following behind the leader.

Jackson quickly dropped back to the wall of his cell and drew his knees up. Maya didn’t move from her position on the floor, but her breathing had turned shallow with fear. With every step the men took, his muscles drew tighter and tighter, his body suspended in a hellish flight-or-fight mode. Only he could do neither.

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