He inhaled a shallow but cleansing breath of cool, pine-scented air, not sure how to reply. Most guys would’ve just said ‘good’ at this point, but Bree knew better. Kruze scraped his teeth over his bottom lip and went for broke. “Thanks for doctoring me. Guess I’m tired, mostly. Worn out, like you. My side hurts, yeah, and breathing’s tight. Moving’s a bitch.” Which was why he was still over here, and she was all the way over there.
A sad shadow flittered over Bree’s tired face. “I’ll bet it is. That screwdriver was stuck pretty good. I was afraid it might’ve lanced your intestines or kidneys, so let me know if there’s blood in your pee, you know, when you have to, umm, go. I cleaned the wound as good as I could, and I rebandaged it better once I found your first-aid supplies. But we’ll have to keep a close watch on it. Already gave you a five-hundred-milligram dose of antibiotic. You need another dose in twelve hours. The pill bottle’s in the right inner pocket of your jacket.”
Kruze cocked his head at the amazing woman sitting too far away from him. He cast a quick look over the supplies stacked beside and behind her. “You’ve been busy.”
“It has been a crazy day.”
“How’s my plane? Anything left of it?”
She shook her head. “It’s mostly gone, Kruze. I’m sorry. It pretty much melted where it crashed.” She tipped to one side, letting him see past her to the glowing rubble at the edge of the river, all that was left of an older plane that had been a helluva good buddy.
“Well, damn. Guess you win some, you lose some.”
“I kept waiting for it to blow up, like in the movies. Where were its fuel tanks anyway?”
“In the wings, but I dumped the fuel once I knew we were going down. There wasn’t much left to burn.”
She looked over her shoulder. “Wish I’d known that. I might’ve been able to salvage a few more things.”
“No. Going back into burning planes is never a good idea. It was dangerous and foolish, Bree.” He kept his tone even. “You mean more than anything you salvaged. Don’t do it again.”
“You say that now, but you needed those medical supplies, and I wasn’t going to just sit around and watch you die. What do you think happened to your plane? Why’d we crash?”
He shook his head, aggravated that someone had gotten the best of him. “Both engines flamed out. I’ve had one die on me before, but two at the same time means someone tried to kill me.”
“Or me.”
“I find that hard to believe. Nobody knew you were flying out with me today.”
“Are you sure?”
Kruze cocked a closer look at Bree. He was missing something. “Why do you say that?”
She scrubbed both palms up her arms. “That telemarketer knew my name. He specifically asked for Brianna Banks, not the lady of the house, and he knew I was a reporter.”
“He scared you,” Kruze added calmly.
Those beautiful, pale baby blues blinked at him. “You don’t believe me.”
He patted the ground beside him. “Come over here. Sit with me, Bree. I’m too damned banged up to walk over there, but I’d like you beside me while we talk.”
She did as he asked. Kruze put an arm around her and pulled her in as close as he could. Every movement hurt, but once he had Bree where he wanted her, he felt better. “Wrong. I do believe you. General Berfende is smart enough to pull off that kind of stunt, and he is in America. Let’s say he’s behind my plane going down. How did he know where I stored it? For that matter, how’d he know we were flying north today?”
“I have a theory.”
He tipped the side of her head to his lips and kissed her temple. “I’m listening. Talk to me, Bree.”
“I think he’s had someone watching my parents’ house ever since I came home.” She ducked her head into her shoulders. “He either followed us today, or he had someone else follow us. Berfende might have put some kind of tracker on my dad’s car, which would’ve led straight to your hangar. He’s behind this, Kruze. I know he is.”
Kruze smiled to himself. Television magic sure made fantastical intrigue look easy. “There’s only one flaw to your theory. True, Berfende might’ve followed us today, and anyone can buy a cheap GPS tracker. But he would’ve had to get close enough, as in hands-on close, to sabotage my plane. If he’d only just found out I owned it, there’s no way he or anyone else could’ve sabotaged both fuel tanks. Bruce and I were right there the whole time. You saw us. We ran through a very detailed pre-flight check-list before I took off. We would’ve seen him. Personally, I suspect a couple of idiot teenagers were fooling around and put sugar or something in my gas tanks, thinking they were smart. Although…”
He snapped his mouth shut and stopped making excuses for Berfende. One thing was clear, both engines on his plane had flamed out at the same time, and that coincidence was just plain wrong. If they’d died earlier in flight, within a reasonable time of each other, sugar in the tanks made sense. But there’d been no engine trouble the first part of the flight. None at all. That both failed when they did, clearly indicated sabotage. But not by something in the gas. More likely, by a controlled detonation outside the tank. Which meant someone had targeted him once he was airborne, then detonated the charge where they’d wanted him to go down. Which also meant they knew where he and Bree were.
He remembered the slight thump he’d thought was minor air turbulence. Could it have been some kind of rocket? Which sounded as far-fetched as Bree’s theory. Kruze dismissed both wild guesses. Berfende still wouldn’t’ve known where Kruze hangered his plane, and there was no sense scaring Bree. She already had an over-active imagination.
“I didn’t say I knew exactly how Berfende did it,” she said, again interrupting Kruze’s internal conversation. “Just that I think that he’s somehow behind what happened today. So is Harvey Lantz.”
And here we go again. “Your boss? You believe Lantz and General Berfende are out to get you?”
Bree nodded, staring at the fire. “I do, yes. I know it sounds paranoid, and I don’t expect you to believe me, but Harvey Lantz is powerful, Kruze. I’ve had a lot of time to think about everything that’s happened to me. He gets what he wants, and the story he wanted was supposed to have been an inside look at how women live with and survive terrorist organizations. He wanted photos and personal interviews. But out of all the capable reporters he could have gone with, he asked me to write that story. Me, an unknown, untested journalist with no overseas experience. He’s who arranged for me to cross into Turkey from Iran. He told me how to contact Mehmet, where he lived, and gave me a map of the exact route to get into the country without going through official channels. I thought it was a great opportunity. I was excited Harvey even knew my name. I wrote the best piece of my life…” Her voice trailed away.
Kruze waited. Going down this particular memory lane was hard on Bree. Was she paranoid like she’d said, or were her instincts correct?
She shifted away from him and wrapped her arms around her knees. “The day after I finished my first interview and emailed it to my editor, Josephus captured me and Mehmet. We were in the middle of nowhere, but his army drove right up to us, like he knew where we’d be. His men had guns. They had us surrounded, and he made us go with them. We were set up. That’s the only thing that makes sense. Harvey wanted the story of a lifetime, one that would make every other media giant’s by-lines insignificant. I think I was that story.”
She was trembling. Right or not, this Harvey Lantz guy scared her. Kruze put a palm to her shoulder to remind Bree she wasn’t alone. “Let’s assume you’re right.”
“I am.”
He wasn’t dumb enough to argue, just moved his hand up the back of her neck to hold her steady.
“Because one of Josephus’s women called me Brianna Banks the first time she met me,” she whispered quietly. “Right after he jerked me out of the back of his filthy jeep and shoved me to my knees, she ran up to me like she already knew me. She spit on me
. She called me Mizz Brianna Banks, only she made it sound like an insult. I heard her, Kruze. I didn’t know the language, but I didn’t have to. She said my name clearly and distinctly, in English, as if she wanted to make sure I knew I was her captive. That she could do anything she wanted to me. It turned out everyone in that camp knew I was coming. They all knew my name, even the children. They were expecting me, not just an American woman, but me. Brianna Banks.”
Kruze paused, trying to wrap his head around how Josephus could’ve known Bree was entering Turkey, not only when but where. Or how Lantz and Berfende fit together, if they did. Kruze’s gut was telling him that Bree was right, at least mostly right. Someone with money was behind her capture, and it was highly possible that person was coming after her again, maybe even using Berfende to get at her. But why?
Bree turned into Kruze then, shivering despite the blanket draped over her shoulders. She slipped both arms around his neck, and held onto him. Trembling, her breasts mashed against his injured side. Despite the pain, he circled both arms around her, needing her to know he’d keep her safe no matter what.
“The only reason I’m alive today is because someone sent you to rescue me. Who sent you, Kruze? Who’s powerful enough to get someone like me out of Turkey? Away from Berfende? I don’t believe Harvey cared enough. He hasn’t called since I’ve been home.”
Kruze hadn’t known that. “Lantz is an ass, but I honestly don’t know who initiated your rescue, sugar. I get my orders from Senator Sullivan, and I don’t ask questions. I just do what I’m told. But if this Mister X guy is so powerful, why didn’t he send someone to rescue you a helluva lot sooner? I only heard about you the day I found you. By then, you’d already been in Josephus’s camp two months.”
“Sixty-three days and nights,” she breathed against his neck. “In the middle of winter. Most of February and all of March. It was so cold in that hole. I honestly don’t know how I survived.”
That Bree had been stuck in a gawddamned hole during winter got to Kruze every time she mentioned it. Damn it, he had no defense against a woman who’d been treated so badly. Ignoring the pain in his side, he pulled her off the cold ground and settled her on his lap where she’d be warmer. “I’m sorry,” he whispered as he wrapped her up, blanket and all. “I should’ve been a helluva lot kinder to you when we met.”
“You were. The first time.”
He closed his eyes, wanting to kick his own ass for leaving her in Paris, then for minimizing her when he’d thought she was just a journalist. “Have I ever told you how big an ass I can be?”
She nodded, the top of her head bumping his chin. “We all have our blind sides, Kruze. We make hasty generalizations, and we label people for the little bit we think we know about them. And forevermore, they become invisible, just because we deem them not worth seeing.”
“You should write a book,” he teased.
A tired sigh lifted her shoulders. “I owe you and Mister X my life.”
Kruze had a feeling he owed Bree more than he could ever repay her. “Let’s get back to why you think Lantz is behind this. Surely you’ve made enemies in your line of work, but why him? You’re part of a dog-eat-dog industry and—”
Bree stiffened in his arms, then took hold of his jaw with both hands. She looked him straight in the eye. “I’m a darned good journalist, Kruze. I don’t fabricate stories, and I don’t lie to get ahead. I don’t have to. Yes, I had a scholarship to Columbia, but I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am today, and I’ve been in the industry long enough to trust my instincts. Lantz is behind my kidnapping. He, Josephus, and Berfende are connected somehow. They’re behind everything. Do you trust your gut? Isn’t that part of your Navy SEAL vernacular or something? To always trust your gut? Well, that’s what I’m doing, darn it.”
Damned if he didn’t fall in love with Bree. Right then. Right there. “Yes, and what’s more, I trust your gut, Bree. I believe you. If you say Lantz, Josephus, and Berfende are behind our crash, then they are. We’ll figure out the hows and whys as we go.”
The fierce lioness in his arms melted back under his chin and against his heart. “Thanks. I really needed to hear you say that. I... I love you, Kruze.”
His heart stuttered up his throat. She’d said that right before the plane crashed, too. Once again, he’d been given a gift he didn’t deserve, first Robin’s love, now Bree’s. But this time, the stupid guy who’d left her behind in Paris had changed. Kruze almost felt like himself again, like the cocky son of a bitch he’d been before Panama. He’d been an island since then. Maybe it was time to rejoin the Sinclair brotherhood. Seeing the trepidation in Bree’s eyes made his decision easy. “Where’s my phone, sugar?”
“Left side, inner jacket pocket. Be careful. You’re still carrying those pistols of yours, and they’re probably loaded.”
A grin cracked Kruze’s face. That Bree knew what was in his pocket was a small thing, but it was a small, intimate thing. Something Suede would’ve said to Chance. He located his satellite phone, complete with a tiny tracking chip snugged under its battery. He switched it to speaker, so Bree could hear everything.
Chance answered on the first ring. “Hey, Kruze.”
“Did you find anything on that telemarketer?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t Berfende. It was the bastard who kidnapped Ms. Banks in the first place. That—”
“Josephus?”
“Yeah. What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing, I just—”
“Nothing?” Bree mouthed, her brows lifted as she pointed to his injured side.
He shook his head, not going to out himself. Not now. Not to Chance. Until Kruze considered where he was, who was with him, and the condition he was in. All three would endanger Bree as much as the natural dangers roaming a large portion of this state. Moose, bears, and weather. Josephus and Berfende…
Kruze tamped down his compulsion to lie to his older brother. He let his head fall back to the trunk of the pine tree behind him and admitted, “Chance, something happened and I—”
“You’re hurt. I knew it. What happened?”
How Chance made that leap of logic, Kruze had no idea. “Yeah. My plane crashed. Someone sabotaged both fuel tanks. Bree’s fine, but I had a little problem when we landed.”
“How badly hurt are you?” Chance kept connecting the dots faster than Kruze came up with them.
“A screwdriver was loose in the cockpit. It punctured his left side, Chance,” Bree interrupted before Kruze could reply with something that didn’t sound so—true. “It went in about five, six inches. I gave him five hundred milligrams of antibiotic, but it’s a pretty deep puncture wound. I bandaged it the best I could, but I’m not medically trained, and he’s hurt real bad.”
“Am not,” Kruze muttered.
“You must be Bree Banks. It’s good to finally meet you, even if it’s just over the phone,” Chance said. “Sorry it had to be under these conditions. In case you two didn’t already know, you’re about twenty miles due south of Eagle Lake. I can be there in five, six hours max. As soon as Pagan hits JFK, he’ll head your way, too.”
“Aren’t you in Montana?” Disbelief shaded Bree’s question.
“Yes, ma’am, I am, but I’ve always got a pilot on priority standby.”
Kruze shook his head. Chance just kept on making her feel like family. How’d he do that?
“Woody’ll get me to the nearest airport, from there it’s a straight shot to the East Coast, then north to Maine. No worries. I’ll inform Senator Sullivan what happened, and I’ll have him pass word onto Walker and Persia, so they’ll take extra precautions with your parents and daughter, Bree. I’ll let you know when I land. Tell Kruze—”
“Kee-rist, I’m right here, you two,” Kruze bit out grumpily. Every fiber of his being wanted to correct Chance, to tell him Robin was ‘our daughter,’ not just Bree’s.
But before his mouth ran away with his brain, Chance interr
upted with, “Hang on, brother. I’m coming.” And click. The line went dead.
Aggravated for some reason Kruze didn’t want to examine too closely, he shut off his phone and stuffed it back in his pants pocket to save the battery. “Where’s my damned gear bag?”
Bree pointed to the stack of supplies. “Over there. Want me to get it for you?”
“Yes, please. I’ve got a couple cans of bear spray. We’re going to need it.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Bears? Bree gulped down her panic, but hurried to retrieve Kruze’s bag. And here she’d been walking back and forth between the wreckage and their camp, like an edible ninny all afternoon, not worried about hungry wildlife, only Berfende. What a fool she’d been. He couldn’t possibly know where she was, but Mother Nature did.
She speed-walked back to Kruze, as quickly as she could make her feet and legs go. Bears hunted at night, didn’t they? Were they Black Bears or vicious, man-eating Grizzlies? She darned well wanted to know. And what about cougars and… and moose? Wasn’t Maine known for its large, healthy moose population? Or wolves? Or… Oh, my gosh, wolverines! They were just plain nasty-tempered and vicious. Was Maine their habitat, too? Did they roam these forests? She couldn’t get back to Kruze fast enough.
He held out his hand for the bag, but it was heavy. Bree set it beside him, at his uninjured side, then knelt beside it. “Bear spray? Really? There’s such a thing?”
“You bet. It’s a mixture of capsaicin and capsaicinoids. Ninety-eight percent effective.” He already had the zipper open and was searching his bag. Instead of a can of anything, he brought up another pistol, this one twice the size of his others. Taking a box of large shells out of the bag next, he loaded the weapon with practiced ease, like it wasn’t as big as a cannon.
“You expect me to shoot that thing?”
“No, sugar. This pistol’s too large for your hands, and even if you could hold it, it’d knock you flat on your ass when you fired it. It would hurt you.” Kruze aimed the pistol into the darkness, then laid it on the ground next to him. He set the box of shells beside it, then rummaged through his bag until he came up with two spray cans. He gave one to Bree, and told her, “Most bears avoid people, but some get nosey, and every once in a while, you come across one that’s just plain mean.”
Damned (SOBs Book 4) Page 19