Page 49 of Lethal Pursuit

“I’m gonna bandage this up tight and then I want you to sleep. You too,” he said to Maya. “I’ll take first watch, and you and I can alternate after that. Right now though, I need you to get some rest. You’ve been through hell, sweetheart, and while I wish I could give you more time to relax, we’re gonna have to keep moving once it gets light out. They’ll be coming after us, might have other cells in these hills already out looking.”

She heard everything he said but was still stuck back onsweetheart.The endearment sent a sudden rush of warmth through her. He really did care, and didn’t give a damn if Haversham knew it. “I know. I’ll be ready. But make sure you wake me so you can get some sleep before we move out.”

“Sure,” he answered, and from the offhanded way he said it, she knew he didn’t plan to wake her at all.

“Jackson—”

“I’m wide-awake, and I’m the least hurt. You don’t worry about me, all right? I’ve got lots left in me.” He finished bandaging Haversham’s leg, earning a sharp hiss from his patient, and stripped the gloves off. “That’s the best I can do for now, but I’ll do better once I can see what the hell I’m doing.”

“Looking forward to it,” the Sec Def said wryly.

Turning slightly to face her, Jackson reached out and slid a hand around the back of her neck, curling his palm around her nape in a solid grip. The heat of his touch seeped into her skin, easing some of the tension from her muscles. It felt so good she wanted to lean into his body, press her face into his neck. “Sleep now, baby. I got this.”

The added endearment and the confidence in his voice put a lump in her throat. “Okay. Thanks,” she whispered, grateful for the chance to lie down and sleep. Please, let her be able to sleep.

Crawling over beside Haversham, she lay on her right side and curled into him to share body heat. The metallic scent of his blood made her stomach roll. She swallowed hard, reminding herself they were lucky to be alive. When she was settled, he threw an arm around her waist and immediately tucked her close, making her bite the inside of her cheek to hold back a gasp at the sudden flash of pain in her ribs. Jackson moved around them, staying quiet, tucking the empty rolled-up duffel beneath their heads. She sighed, wincing at the twinge in her back, struggling to ignore the smell of warm blood in the air.

With her eyes closed, every sense was attuned to Jackson’s nearness. Shrouded in darkness, he put a hand on her forehead and smoothed her hair back, lingering for a few moments to run his fingers through the tangled waves. Maya savored every moment of it, yearning for so much more of his touch. Reaching up to squeeze his wrist in a silent thank-you, she swallowed a protest when he finally withdrew his hand. His hushed footsteps retreated out past the opening of the enclosure, and she knew he was finding a place to keep watch, armed only with a pistol.

Releasing a shallow, shaky breath, Maya thought of him standing guard and let her mind drift, knowing she was safe with him there to watch over her.

* * *

SOMEONE GRABBED HOLDof Khalid beneath the armpits and lifted him, while another man took his legs. His eyes snapped open as agony seared his upper body, blotting out everything else.

Letting out an inarticulate growl of pain, he struggled in the grip of the man holding his torso. “Put me down,” he snarled.

“But Khalid-jan, you’re hurt,” a soft voice answered.

The fiery burn of the bullet wounds in his arms made him very much aware of that. “Put me down, Mohammed,” he snapped hoarsely. The men lowered him to the ground. Someone brought a cushion for his head to rest upon. Khalid blinked up at the night sky, the thin crescent moon hanging over him and the countless stars in the vast sea of black. His mind was blurry, filled with fog, his world a haze of hellish pain.

Snatches of memory came back to him from that afternoon. Firing at the escaping prisoners. That female and the PJ shooting back. His revolver being empty. How was thatpossible? He’d personally watched Jihad remove all the bullets except one. He’d asked Jihad to do it for maximum theatrical effect, and so he could keep most of his attention on the prisoners. Now he wished he’d done it himself.

The last thing he remembered was the thud of the bullet in his upper arm, then falling into the wadi. All because he’d been chasing after them with an unloaded weapon. Blind fury threatened to choke him. “Where are the prisoners?”

Mohammed glanced at the other man beside him before replying. “No one knows yet. The men are out searching.”

Khalid closed his eyes and ground his teeth together. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“A few hours. We’re moving to the next location you told us about.”

Yes, he remembered that part now. When they’d pulled his bleeding body out of the wadi, he’d ordered them to move deeper into the hills to an alternate hideout. The American forces had to be close by now. Khalid needed to stay well ahead of them. “How many men are left?”

“Fourteen. But more are coming to reinforce us in the morning,” Mohammed added quickly.

Khalid fought back the burn from the wound and the fear clawing at him. He turned his head to check the blood-soaked bandages wrapped around his right shoulder, the stained sling someone had thought to place around it. The whole arm hung uselessly at his side, either numb or paralyzed from where the bullet had shattered his shoulder joint. The dressing was completely dark and glistening in the moonlight. Whatever they’d done to help slow the bleeding obviously wasn’t working very well. “I need more bandages.”

Mohammed cleared his throat and glanced away before responding. “There are none. The female took the medical bag. Someone from a nearby village is bringing more for us in the morning.”

He wanted to howl in frustration. “How did this happen?” he demanded angrily, pinning Mohammed with a hard glare. “You were sent to watch the prisoner! She was bound hand and foot! How could you let her best you?” The blood loss and exertion from yelling sent a fresh wave of fatigue through him. He sucked in a breath through his nostrils. He had to calm down, conserve his strength for the coming march. Even in the dimness, Khalid saw the boy swallow in nervous reflex. “I—I don’t know,” he confessed. “I don’t remember what happened. I was walking her to her cage when someone hit me from behind and when I got up, she was gone.”

“What he says is true,” the other man confirmed. “We found him lying close to the cage, and he suffered a large lump on the back of his head.”

The only part Khalid really cared about was that they had a traitor in their midst. Because if he’d believed that Mohammed had let the female prisoner go, he would have killed him here and now, shattered arm or not. “Get me up,” he snapped. His first concern was recapturing the prisoners. Then he would deal with finding out who had attacked Mohammed and helped the prisoners escape. And his sentence would be swift and merciless.

“Khalid-jan, you are not strong enough right now—”

“Get. Me.Up.” He said it with such menace that Mohammed and the other man rushed to help him to his feet. He swayed for amoment, woozy from blood loss and pain. It felt like flames were eating at his flesh where the bullets had torn through.

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