“What?”
“
Please, just close your eyes!”
She blinked—then gave a stifled, high-pitched scream as they passed a pile of bodies slumped against a massive tree. Men and women, young and old, shot, stabbed, hanged—hacked to pieces.
She shut her eyes a moment too late, knowing the vision would be forever seared into her soul, burning in her memory whenever she closed her eyes
The girl perched awkwardly between the handlebars and Mitch’s lap sobbed; Hana’s tiny body shook all over.
All Lissa could do was hang on to Mitch’s body, using her own as some sort of comforting shield for the child, and pray that this madness would end as Mitch drove them away from the grim reality of life—and death—in a war zone.
“Maraming salamat. Ah, maraming salamat!”
The elderly couple kept bowing to him, their sweet, honest, wrinkled faces beaming as they held Hana like a treasure of gold and silver against their hearts. “Wala pong anuman,” he replied sincerely. Moments like this almost made sense of the atrocities he put himself through for the job.
The girl he’d saved—probably too late for her innocence, but at least she was alive—was standing behind the couple, taken in as a temporary member of the family until they knew whether any of her real family still lived. She gave him a sad, watery smile, too old for her young years. “Maraming salamat din,” she said softly in Tagalog. “I, too, thank you.”
“Mabuti naman at nakatulong ako.” He smiled gently. “I was glad to help you.”
The girl turned away, eyes red-rimmed and swollen, and ran into the hut behind her.
He wondered if Lissa realized yet that the bodies she’d seen belonged to the girl’s village—family and friends gone forever. Well, by now she understood exactly what it was he’d wanted to protect her from and why he’d hidden parts of his world from her. But would she ever forgive him for exposing her to his life for the sake of winning her trust, her body…and her love?
Selfish bastard—when it came to Lissa, at least.
All his young life he’d settled for close to nothing, grateful for scraps thrown at him by his latest foster family or orphanage, until he came to Breckerville. Until one blisteringly hot summer afternoon, when every other kid on summer vacation swam or played, and he was working Old Man Taggart’s field under threat of being sent back to the orphanage. He mopped the sweat from his face, wondering if the old man would bother to take him inside if he passed out.
Then he saw a dainty, honey-skinned girl crossing the field to where he worked. She wore shorts, a tank top and a simple, battered straw hat; she was carrying a glass of ice-cold water, a sandwich and another hat. “It’s so hot. I thought you might want something to drink. And…and I noticed you didn’t stop for lunch today. Mr. Taggart isn’t very nice to keep you out here so long,” the girl had said softly, a hint of sweet blush staining her cheek, her soft gray eyes looking at him in shy admiration. Her incredible, oh-so-kissable mouth smiling at him alone, awakening things he hadn’t known his fifteen-year-old body was capable of wanting. “My name’s Melissa Miller and I live next door. What’s your name?”
“M-Mitch,” he’d stuttered, feeling like a total dork. “M-Mitch McCluskey.”
“Hi, M-Mitch,” she’d replied, her smile warmer, friendlier for his stammer, as if she liked it. She ced the old straw hat on his head, a matching one for her own. “Maybe you should call me Lissa, like my mum and dad do. My name’s long enough without adding another syllable to it.”
He’d fallen then and there. Taking her hat and sandwich and water, giving his heart and soul in return.
Seventeen years, wanting her, loving her, aching for her—always wanting more. Wanting it all, with a raw intensity he’d never come close to feeling with any other girl or woman.
Now he was about to face the music over bringing her to Tumah-ra—and see the damage he’d done to her in trying to win her, in trying to make her see the man he really was. He’d brought her to Tumah-ra to show her he was nothing like Tim. That he wanted to be her husband in truth, not hiding inside a lie; that he loved her with all his heart, body and soul, not as a sister, friend or refuge from prejudice.
Damn it, he should have known the price she paid would be too high. He still paid it in regular nightmares.
But he’d made love to her once…and she’d loved him. A memory to carry with him when she kicked him out of her life.
“What do we do now?” she asked softly, making him start.
Everyone was gone, disappeared into their huts with a sudden explosion of gunfire not far off.
He turned to her. “I make a report to Anson, then we head out of here.” He spoke to his boss via the contraption that looked like a cell phone but wasn’t, sketching the situation he anticipated and requesting backup, and lots of it—fast. Then he closed it and hid it back inside his belt. “There’s a beach two miles north, with a shallow cave inside a hidden cove. We’ll sleep there tonight. If the rebels find us here—and they’ll be out in force tonight, looking for more easy cash or a ransom—they’ll destroy the whole village and kill everyone. It’s best if the villagers can honestly tell them we left before sunset.”
“We’ll have to walk,” she said, still soft. “They’ll follow the tire tracks to us.” Her eyes searched his, looking for signs of approval.
What the hell was going on? Why was she seeking his respect, instead of hating his guts for what he’d put her through?
“Mitch, we don’t have time to muck around here. Do we ride or walk to this beach?”
He started. “We’ll have to ride for a couple of miles. They’re getting too close. If they hear us getting out of here on the bike, they’ll know we’re not hiding here. That’ll save the villagers some grief. If we’re lucky we might have backup when we get to the beach. But just in case, we’ll go with your idea. We’ll ride three miles east and go uphill to wear out the rebels if we can, then we’ll cross back northwest a few miles before heading north to the beach.”
She nodded and hopped onto the bike. “Let’s go.”
She was right. The rebels were getting closer. He got on, roared the bike to life and took off, Lissa holding tight to his body, as if for comfort.
She probably needed it, even if she acted as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. As if she hadn’t seen a pile of dead bodies or gruesome, twisted things that were once people, hanging from trees like grim signposts all the way to Ka-Nin-Put. He was the only familiar thing in a time of unending shocks, and she needed the warmth and comfort of human touch. He wasn’t fool enough to take it personally.
After the three miles, mostly roaring loudly uphill to fool the rebels into following them, he stopped the bike. Lissa climbed straight off and pulled at her running shoes. “I’ve got to change my socks before we go any further. My feet feel like they’re in a sauna.”
“I wish I could say to wear sandals, but the snakes here are venomous,” he sighed. “I’m sorry.”
She glanced up at him, then returned to changing her socks. “You didn’t make the snakes, Mitch. Why are you apologizing? You’re not responsible for their being here.”
She really meant it. He gazed at her in wonder. “I’m responsible for your being here.”
She gave him a wry grin. “And who died and made you God over my life and conscience? And how do you think you’d have stopped me coming? I have no one but myself to blame for being here.”
“That’s not true. You wouldn’t be here at all if I hadn’t contacted you about the boys. If I hadn’t proposed to you and stayed in your life long enough for that jerk to threaten you.”
“No,” she agreed quietly. “I wouldn’t. I’d still be in Breckerville, where I was safe—safe from wars at least. But I’d still have been robbed and mugged. I’d still have been alone with Jenny in a security-rigged house, watching life through a TV set, scared to death of taking a risk, wishing to see the world but too afraid to leave home. Wondering i
f any man would ever want me. Hating you for never coming home to me.” She got to her feet and reached out with a gentle hand to touch his face. “If you think I blame you for today you’re nuts, McCluskey. I don’t even blame myself. I’m glad. Glad I had the guts to come—glad to know what I’m capable of. Glad you took up my challenge and didn’t try to protect me from all this. I think I’ll be a better and less selfish person when I get home.”
“If you get home,” he muttered. “God, baby, how can you be so positive about what I’ve put you through?”
“Because I trust you to help me get out of this,” she said simply. “Because you’re trusting me to help you get out, too.”
Her artless words, like a beam of sweet sunlight, warmed his dark and chilled heart. “Lissa,” he uttered raggedly, reaching for her.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “Don’t give up on me yet.”
“I thought you’d given up on me,” he confessed, trying to bury his face in her hair, feeling only her damp cap. He kissed her cheek. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve your trust.”
She smiled up at him. “You brought me here,” she said softly. “You took me into your world and made me part of it.” She nuzzled his cheek. “We don’t have much time, so I’ll say this fast. Stop blaming yourself. I knew what I was getting into. I’ve seen enough stories on war zones to know what I might see. But you’ve seen it all and brought me anyway, trusting me to handle it—and I’m doing my best.” She shuddered. “I don’t think the memories will ever go away. I don’t think I’ll become anesthetized, either. Thank you for your honesty, Mitch. It can’t have been easy to say to me, knowing I’d probably put the worst possible slant on whatever you said.”
He felt dizzy. She hadn’t just forgiven him, she’d set him free. She believed there was nothing to forgive him for. “You don’t hate me for this,” he said slowly, unable to take it in.
She put a finger to his lips. “I think we’ll have to ride to the beach and hope they don’t find us before the cavalry arrives. The rebels are too close.”
He heard the crashing sound at the base of the hill they stood on, and wanted to kick his own butt for allowing himself to be sidetracked so long. “Damn it,” he growled. If they hurt Lissa—
She hopped on the bike and started it. “Just ride, Mitch!”
He threw himself on the bike and took off fast. “Hold on tight!” he yelled, feeling Lissa’s arms grip him, her thighs straddling his from behind, her sweet breasts tight against his back through his thin shirt.
Damned if he wasn’t as horny as a kid again. He’d thought the action-filled life he led as a Nighthawk was best experienced alone. But sharing the adrenaline rush with Lissa, trusting her to work with him, depending on her as much as she was depending on him, knowing they’d probably make love again tonight in celebration—if they lived that long—was as exhilarating as it was terrifying.
He now blessed Anson for forcing him to familiarize himself with the island before the hot spot upgraded to full war. He knew this terrain well enough to head further east, soaring down the hill like the man from Snowy River on his horse, confident he’d find a fork in the path in another couple of miles. He knew the bike would make it, even if they flew down the hill like a wild roller coaster.
He felt Lissa leaning right back, pulling him with her. The compensation in the lean helped, if only psychologically—it slowed that terrified, I’m gonna die free-falling attitude. He began a mantra, chanting on and on in his head. We’ll make it. We’ll make it….
For Lissa. Because of Lissa. He hadn’t come this far with her to die now. And he sure as hell hadn’t found his family only for the kids to lose both their parents—or to go through this time after time, whenever Anson called with another job for them.
God, let this be enough for her. Let her not want to be a Nighthawk after this mission!
He lifted the front wheel and jerked up the handlebars as they neared the gully at the base of the long-dormant volcano, and the bike flew up and over, landing with a double thump on the ground as a high-pitched whining noise sounded in his ears.
Lissa jerked and screamed. The bike veered over, careening to one side—
He twisted, taking the burning impact of the bike’s landing on his leg and hip, but his arm and shoulder landheavily on her. He rolled off fast, breathing raggedly with the thump his butt had taken—but Lissa cried out again, with a pain far beyond his fall on her. He switched off the ignition, stopped the wheels’ useless spinning and pushed the bike away, flipped it over and turned to her. “Liss, are you all right?”
“My…back,” she whispered.
Shouts came from the top of the hill. Another shot came.
Nothing showed at the front of her shirt. Filled with sick dread, he turned her over. She moaned deep in her throat, a low animal keen of anguish.
A small hole burned through her shirt into her body between her spine and shoulder blade. A small hole coated in blood. A bullet was lodged inside her. Sickness shot through him. Oh, God, Lissa was hurt because of him—
“Get me on the bike,” she whispered, and slumped against him.
The yelling came closer. He picked the bike up, flicked open the stand, then lifted her in his arms like a baby. He put her on the bike, careful not to jar her, and climbed on in front. “Hold on to me, sweetheart,” he said quietly, loathing himself with all his being—but he did the only thing he could to slow the filthy, money-grubbing little bastards who’d shot her. He pulled the rest of the money from his pocket and threw it backward into the swirling wind, hearing their joyful yells in disgust—but he’d bought some time. It was all he could do for now.
He roared off as fast as he could for the beach, hoping like hell Irish was waiting with the boat.
He swiveled down the left-hand path, thanking God for the relatively bump-free ride, and only a mile and a half to go—
“Mitch…dizzy…”
He had to strain to catch the words, and he knew she couldn’t last, not even that short mile and a half. He stopped the bike. “It’s okay, baby. I’ll fix it.” He reached into his backpack and got the coil of rope she’d used to hold Hana to her. “I’ll tie you to me, Lissa. Hold on as long as you can, sweetheart. Fall over if you have to, but fall on me—and try not to fall asleep. Once we’re on the beach I can do something to ease the pain.”
As soon as they were tied together, she fell against him, her breathing rapid and shallow. And in the grip of a terror he’d never known—terror of losing the one person he loved beyond life—he took off for the cove where he begged God the boat would be. “Just keep breathing, sweetheart. Don’t give up now, do you hear me?” He kept talking, babbling constantly he didn’t know what, until he reached the cliff above the cove, harsh, stark, inaccessible to any form of transport but human feet.
He’d have to carry her from here. Jolting her every damn step of the way down a small, winding step-path while the late-afternoon monsoonal wind clawed at them with heated paws—and, judging by the heavy, swirling clouds fast closing in, the rains that pelted the coast every afternoon in what was classically called in ironic understatement “the wet.”
With shaking fingers he untied the ropes binding them. Then he pulled out a thermal blanket Anson issued as standard on every job, and threw it on the grassy verge. Tenderly he lifted Lissa off the bike and onto the blanket facedown. Quickly he did what he could, cleaning the wound with antiseptic wipes and squirting antibiotic lotion into the hole. Then he pulled his T-shirt over his head and bound it with the rope over her back, arm and shoulder to stop the sluggish flow of blood.
Then he took everything they’d need from the bike, hoisted the backpacks over his shoulders, lifted the bike up, walked to the cliff’s edge and tossed it over.
“Salvage that, you miserable bastards,” he muttered when it crashed onto the rocks and broke apart in a quick burst of fire.
He checked over the little harbor. No sign of the boat.
Damn Anson and his sacrifice-of-one-to-save-many ideals. If it cost Lissa her life—
With exquisite tenderness he cradled her in his arms, the thermal blanket wrapped around her, and started down the tortuous path to the beach below. Stepping over every rock with care, watching for every knot of grass, every lump of dirt.
Talking to her constantly.
“Almost there now, baby. We’re gonna make it. You’re gonna make it! Just hang on, okay?” Yet with every bend in the path, her breathing grew just a touch more rapid, a bit more shallow. But she had no fever, and he hung onto that single hope like a beacon shining in the night. Sweat mingling with tears down his face, he knew he would give anything if she lived through this. He’d give his job, his every ambition, sell all his planes—he’d give his life to see her safe.
His hope of gaining her love in return. Marrying her, making them all a family, baggage and all.
“Just stay alive, Lissa, you hear me? Even if you never love me back, you have to live!” he cried, unable to hold his fear inside. “I love you too much. I can’t lose you now—not like this. I’ll walk away again if I have to, but you’re not gonna die, baby. I can’t let you!”
Her lashes fluttered. “Mitch…” A threadbare sound. “Cold.”
No. The fever had begun. He tried to move a little faster, but the sun was sinking low in the sky, and one jolting step, one trip over a rock could drive the bullet in deeper and touch a vital point. “Hang in there, sweetheart. I’ll build a fire when we’re down on the beach.”
“Can’t,” she whispered, coughing. “They’ll see it.”
“I don’t give a damn. I’ll shoot the lot of ’em for hurting you,” he growled, half to himself.
“No,” she murmured, her voice fading. “Not for me.”
His eyes swimming in tears, he looked down at her. “Yes, for you,” he murmured back, his voice filled with tender love. “I’d kill them all to save you, Lissa. I’d die for you. Only for you. Don’t you know that yet?”
But her eyes had closed again, and he didn’t know if she’d heard him or not. Or if she wanted to hear.
Who Do You Trust? Page 20