Page 33 of Lethal Pursuit

“I know. Sorry. But it should be better after this.” He secured the last pieces and pulled her T-shirt down before moving on to her wrist. That too he wrapped up, using a piece of stiff cardboard from something in the bag as a splint. She bore the pain the best she could, swallowing back the nausea that welled up. Man, she was thirsty, and starving. Were they ever going to be fed? Or was this part of the plan—to beat and starve them into submission?

She opened her eyes to peer up at Jackson, trying to memorize every detail of his face. He leaned over her and set a hand behind her neck once more, checking her lip, which had started bleeding again from all the talking. He put a small butterfly bandage on it to help seal the edges. “Could probably use a stitch or two there, but itshould heal as is if you keep your lips still.”

As in, keep her mouth shut? She might have laughed if she hadn’t been freezing and in a shitload of pain.

Something wet touched the corner of her mouth and she glanced down to see him cleaning her face with a moistened pad. She swallowed automatically, the touch of that cool, wet cloth triggering a powerful thirst.

“Want some water?”

She nodded. Mohammed handed the canteen to him, and she allowed Jackson to support her head while she took a tentative sip, almost moaning at the feel of the cool liquid sliding over her parched tongue. Jackson held her steady while she took several slow sips and held her good hand up to signal she’d had enough. He handed it back, and she shot him a pleading look. Wouldn’t he take any?

She shivered again, and this time Jihad said something to Mohammed, who left. Jackson gave her nape another covert caress as he finished checking his work, and she fought the sudden sting of tears. Right now she’d give anything for him to lie down beside her and hold her in his arms. Any pain it caused would be worth it to have him up close against her, feel his steady heartbeat beneath her cheek.

A minute later, Mohammed returned with a blanket and set her socks and boots next to Jackson. Jihad released her and positioned her on her left side with surprising care before stepping back and holding the flashlight so Jackson could see. He eased her socks on, then her boots, and she was grateful for the immediate increase in warmth they brought. The soles of her feet felt swollen and bruised, throbbing inside her boots.

Rummaging through the bag, Jackson came up with a syringe and two small vials. He squinted at them for a second before looking down at her. “You allergic to fentanyl?”

“No.”

He inserted the needle into the bottle, filled the syringe. “I’m going to give you enough to take the worst of the pain away, and some ketamine to knock you out for a bit. Your body could use the rest.”

He wasn’t telling her the whole truth. She’d heard what that American-turned-terrorist bastard had saidabout them having a “visit” with Khalid, the man who’d beaten her. Jackson might want to ease her pain, but she knew what he really wanted was to shield her from seeing whatever they did to him.

Her heart constricted in fear. She flung her good hand up toward him, grasping his wrist tight. “Don’t. I don’t need it.”

Regret and apology flashed through his eyes but he went back to preparing the syringe, adding the ketamine. “I’m putting you out, Maya.”

She tightened her grip. “Please don’t.”

He didn’t answer, his face an implacable mask as he pushed the plunger up to rid the syringe of air. He wasn’t going to listen. A single tear escaped, rolling down her temple.

Jackson stilled for a moment, then murmured, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Please, she begged with her one functioning eye,please don’t.She couldn’t bear the thought of him enduring what she had, or worse. It made her want to throw up.

Something cool and wet swabbed over the side of her hip, and then the brief sting of the needle registered. He covered her with the blanket and tucked it around her, watching her face. She shook her head, afraid to let go, her fingers digging into his arm like talons.

Reading her distress, he took her hand in his and set his other against her unhurt cheek, gazing straight into her eyes. “Don’t fight it. It’s okay, I’m right here.”

A sob built in her throat. Already she could feel the drug stealing through her veins, weighing her eyelid down and making her limbs heavy. The pain receded and she began to float away on a warm sea. She struggled to keep her eye open, afraid she’d never see him again.

The last thing she heard was his low voice washing over her. “I’m here.”

But she knew that the next time she opened her eyes, he wouldn’t be.

ELEVEN

JACKSON KNEW THEmoment Maya checked out. Her head lolled to the side and her breathing evened out. Deepened. The ketamine would black out everything that happened between now and when it wore off.

The guard, Jihad, said something to him. Jackson braced himself, knowing what was coming even though he didn’t understand the words. He was thankful Maya wouldn’t remember what happened next. For a second he almost fought when his arms were roughly yanked behind his back and another zip tie tightened around his wrists. His muscles corded, ready to spring. He had to consciously relax them as Jihad jerked him to his feet and shoved him through the cell door.

He stumbled, barely catching his balance before he fell. The dark corridor yawned before him. He might not have a choice in going down there, but he sure as hell wasn’t going easily. Jihad propelled him forward with one hand wrapped around his upper arm and the other shoved between his shoulder blades. Jackson resisted, forcing the man to muscle him with every shuffling step.

At the end of the corridor, someone pulled away a rug covering a doorway. Jihad shoved him through the opening. The tiny space was lit only by a single lantern on a low table opposite a metal chair. It was something right out of a SERE school scenario, but there were no built-in safety nets here.

He dug his feet in, refusing to move another step. The militant kicked the back of Jackson’s knees, making them buckle. He fell into the chair with a jarring thud. They were on him instantly, binding his feet and hands to the chair frame. Jackson’s heart slammed. He could see the spatters of blood on the floor and knew they were Maya’s. The sight of them, combined with the foreign feeling of beingpowerless, filled him with a dizzying rage.

He stared straight ahead as Khalid stepped forward from where he’d been standing against the far wall. Jihad and the other man who’d tied him to the chair retreated into the shadows, where they remained, watching. Jackson was more than ready for a fight. He’d gladly take them all on if the cowardly bastards would untie him and let him defend himself.

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