Page 34 of Lethal Pursuit

Khalid walked up until he was close enough for Jackson to see his yellow eyes and read the fury burning in them. He met that eerie gaze head on, refusing to be cowed. Khalid’s lips thinned. “Who are you?”

“Staff Sergeant Jackson Thatcher,” he responded in a flat voice and started to give his serial number when Khalid interrupted with another demand.

“What were you doing with the Secretary of Defense yesterday?”

So they’d only been captive for a day? It felt like longer. “I can’t answer that question.”

Khalid circled him, staying close enough that Jackson could smell his body odor. “You’re not his bodyguard, you’re a medic. What were you doing in that village?” His voice dropped to a sneer. “Did you think you could win the hearts and minds of my people by giving out medicine and stuffed toys?”

Beats the hell out of terrorizing them like you assholes do.

“You were on a specialized operation. You must know about others. What are they?”

“I can’t answer that question.” Even if he knew the details of other ongoing operations, he’d never sell out his SPEC OPS brothers by divulging them.

“Whatarethey?” he snapped behind him. Jackson could feel the impatience in the man, the seething anger below the surface. He could already tell this guy had serious control issues.

“Answer me!” A hand flashed out and cuffed him across the side of his head.

“Jackson Thatcher, staff sergeant,” he answered, and gave his serial number. He was ready for the blows, but even so he grunted when a fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Stars danced before his eyes for a moment until his vision cleared. Khalidwas back in front of him. He refused to meet that hostile glare, staring at the wall beyond him instead. Maya had withstood her beating. He could do no less.

Another punch to the face, this one slicing open his lower lip against his teeth. He closed his eyes and tensed, his only protection for the blows. Another to the side of the head. A vicious kick to his shins that hurt like hell, and one square in the chest that knocked the chair back with a metallic shriek against the floor. He bent over, struggling for breath.

“Where are they attacking next?”

Gritting his teeth, swallowing blood from his cut lip, he remained silent. Name, rank and serial number were all he was required to say. Talking would do him no good and he sure as hell wasn’t telling this asshole anything he wanted to know.

A hard hand gripped his hair and yanked his head back. Jackson instinctively resisted the motion, the muscles in his neck screaming with the effort. That seething, accented voice rolled over him once more. “You saw what I did to the woman. I will do far worse to you, and then I will bring her back in here and kill her, slowly, while you watch. Is that what you want?”

His mind screamed in protest at the threat. He couldn’t give in. Not even to save Maya. If he survived and she didn’t, he’d have to live with that somehow.

“Does her suffering not matter to you?” Khalid sneered. “You could save her if you wanted to. Tell me what you know, and I’ll let her live.”

The offer tempted him, though he could never trust it. He clamped his teeth together to hold back a snarl. His only comfort was knowing that Maya would understand his decision to stay silent. She would realize that he didn’t have a choice. She’d stayed strong for them. Jackson would do the same for her and Haversham. His honor and protection of his fellow POWs were all he had left to fight for.

Khalid released his hair with a rough yank. A second later his booted foot caught Jackson in the stomach, despite the way he was hunched over, driving the air from his lungs. Pain tore through his torso. When he opened his eyes, his captor was holding a knife in hishand. The wickedly sharp blade glinted in the lantern light.

Even with his training, Jackson’s insides withered at the sight of it. This was about to get ugly and he wasn’t going out quietly. If he died, it would be fighting every step of the way, bucking and struggling against his bonds. He might even get lucky and free an arm or leg to protect himself. His nostrils flared as he drew in a deep, fortifying breath, praying for strength, trying not to think of all the things that knife could do to him.

Khalid raised the blade. Jackson tensed, a guttural snarl building in his throat, his body preparing for the worst.

Shouting suddenly erupted outside the room. Khalid’s head snapped around.

The kid, Mohammed, burst through the carpet-covered doorway, breathing hard, his eyes wide. He babbled something to Khalid, who seemed to pale, his posture rigid with shock.

Khalid barked a few words at Mohammed then snapped an order at the other men in the room. The knife in his fist lowered. Before Jackson could breathe a sigh of relief, Jihad stalked across the room and yanked a hood over his head, engulfing him in darkness. Someone untied him from the chair and began shoving him forward, he assumed toward the door.

What the hell was happening?

Men raced past him, some already ahead of him. He could hear the groan and scrape of metal as they unlocked the cell doors, more angry shouts and the noise of scuffling while they hauled the Sec Def out. His yelled protests rang through the corridor. Were they getting Maya too?

He couldn’t slow his heart down. Though he resisted, whoever was pushing him kept forcing him onward. Disoriented, hampered by the bonds at his ankles, he fell to his knees. Impatient hands hauled him roughly upward and another man came over to help, the two of them picking him up and carrying him. The temperature warmed suddenly, and he knew they’d taken him outside into the sunshine. Was it morning or afternoon?

An engine started off to the right. The men carrying him rushed toward it and dumped him into the bed of what had to be a pickup. Someone else was thrown in beside him, and from the masculinegrunt he knew it was Haversham. Another body landed half on top of him a second later. Maya. She was completely limp and he hoped still unconscious. He doubted the bastards had thought to place her on her uninjured ribs or worry about her fractures.

Someone climbed into the back with them, and the tailgate slammed shut. More shouting, more running feet. Men rushed past to the cab and climbed inside, jostling the truck. The front doors shut and the driver gunned the engine, spinning the tires.

“What’s going on?” Haversham shouted above the noise.

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