by D. L. Roan
She lowered her gaze to her lap and shook her head at her own clumsiness and naivety. For the last year and a half she’d known what it was like to be hunted and stalked by Jauhar and Hamisi. Even compared to the leopard they were amateurs. When measured against Grant, they were more like schoolyard bullies. If she’d ever had a doubt, it was now buried with what was left of her long lost pride. Whatever target Grant set his sights on wouldn’t stand a chance, not even her.
When he opened the driver’s side door and slid into the tattered seat beside her, she turned her face back to the window. She could feel the heat bloom in her cheeks when the still vivid memory of the night before skittered into her thoughts. Had she really admitted to being in love with him? What did that even mean for her… for them? They had barely spoken at all since that moment. He’d been too focused on getting them to safety, and all of her concentration had been on not screwing up and attracting another carnivorous beast. Now that they were crammed inside a small tin can together with no radio or any other distractions, she could feel the awkwardness of it all creeping between them.
She didn’t know the first thing about being in love. The only thing she knew for sure was that if she lived beyond killing Jauhar, she would never be the same without Grant. Is that what it meant to him? She’d thought that was what she had seen in his eyes, what had sent her running, yet he hadn’t said it back. What if he had been expecting something different than what she had confessed? Was his silence something more than simple determination to get them to safety? Dammit! This kind of confusion was exactly why she needed to push him away. She simply couldn’t find the will to do it any longer.
“Drink up.”
Grant’s commanding voice snapped her out of her thoughts, giving her a temporary reprieve from her emerging doubts. Greedily she reached for the canteen in his hand as her long forgotten thirst came roaring back to life. They had exhausted their meager supplies earlier that morning. She’d successfully pushed the need for more to the back of her mind, ignoring the scratchy itch at the back of her throat and the raw, chapped skin along the edges of her lips. It did no good to complain about what they didn’t have. Now her mouth was suddenly on fire.
“It’s not bottled water, but it’s clean.” She was so thirsty she wouldn’t have cared if it had been filtered through a rotten sock. Tilting her head back, she slowly poured the clear, cool contents over her face. Her dusty, parched skin tingled back to life as it drizzled down her neck, beneath the shirt Grant had given her, and trickled between her breasts. She opened her mouth to quench her fiery thirst as she reached up and lifted her hair off her shoulders, clearing a path for the water to run down her back.
Far too soon the canteen ran empty. She lowered it to her lap as she licked the remaining drops from her lips, savoring every one as if it were her last. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she paused. Feeling the sudden weight of Grant’s silence, she opened her eyes and turned to see him staring at her, his fists clenched in a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel, his eyes languid pools of heated…something. Was he still angry with her?
“What?” She shrugged. When he glanced at the canteen in her hand, then back to her, she cringed. “Oh, crap. Sorry. Did you want some?”
Did he want some? Holy hell, he wanted it all! The water, her, all of it. Just like that. Forget the canteen. He’d lick what he needed right off her skin…and…and…fuck! He shifted in his seat to relieve the building pressure in his pants. Jesus! His dick had been hard for what felt like an eternity. It was certainly on board with the idea of fucking her right there in the front seat. Hell, he could almost hear it screaming in protest as common sense flooded his veins and worked its way to his brain. Right question, shit timing, fossa. He wavered for a moment between his carnal need for her and his instincts demanding he get her hidden away from the two parasites who were hunting her. He had to get them to that goddamn thumb drive, then on a plane to Chennai to meet Daniel. They were going to be a day late as it was.
He shook his head and turned the key, surprised when the hunk of junk turned over on the first crank. “There are a few packs of crackers and another canteen in my pack if you want them. I’m sure the crackers are a few years past their expiration date, but it was either that or a rusted can of sardines.”
He’d garnered enough information from the roadside merchant, if you could truly call the pile of shit he was pedaling merchandise, to know they had surfaced near the A-5 about five kilometers south of Kadoma. He couldn’t take the chance of being seen in the larger cities like Harare. They would have to stick to the secondary roads which would add several hours to the otherwise twenty hour drive to Mozambique to retrieve the thumb drive.
They were both exhausted and in dire need of a shower and food, but he needed to get at least twelve hours of the drive behind them before he could even think about stopping. He would call Daniel from wherever they crashed and fill him in on the delay. Hopefully somewhere between here and there he’d find a way to talk to her about her father. He took one more wistful glance in her direction before pulling onto the empty road. Damn, he wished like hell they’d had one more day at the compound.
Nearly twenty-four hours later, the last five or six of them spent in blissful sleep, Thalia stood at the open window of their musty hotel room. Dressed only in a bath robe, she looked down onto the overcrowded street below and ran her fingers through her wet hair as she breathed in the smells of the food being offered up by the street venders. It seemed the locals were holding some sort of week-long celebration. This particular evening’s festivities began with a parade that slowly wound down the narrow road they’d followed into the small town. Her empty stomach rumbled with the expectation that Grant would return soon with something that smelled as good as what was wafting on the gentle breeze flowing through the window.
Leaning against the battered window frame, she watched as natives in full tribal dress filed by. She couldn’t help but be mesmerized by the colorful peacock feathers adorning their head dresses. Towering several feet above their heads, the teal and gold hues reflected beautifully off the setting sun in the distance and the bright flashes of fire that streamed through the air as they waved the heavy torches they carried in a rhythmic, synchronized dance the men were performing. It was a wonder the feathers didn’t catch fire, coming precariously close to the flames of the other marchers as they dipped and swayed in unison.
When the loud cracking sound of a whip echoed through the night air, she startled and took a step back, her eyes drawn to the next set of men marching toward her. Barefoot, they were dressed only in bright yellow loin cloths and wore black hooded masks that concealed their faces from the unruly crowd of onlookers. Against the darkness that surrounded them, she could barely make out the slits cut into the fabric for them to see through, transforming them into soulless demons as they wielded their long, leathery whips toward the crowd around them. Another crack filled the air, then another. Her hand lifted from her side to pull the curtain closed, but paused when one of the hooded men turned his face up from the crowd. His black, soulless eyes stared straight at her as he marched slowly by her window, another loud crack snapping at her nerves with an effortless yet purposeful flick of his wrist. She couldn’t contain the involuntary shudder that ran through her body and she jumped away from the window, pulling the curtain closed. Caressing the sudden unexpected chill from her arms, she stared blankly at the billowing curtain. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
Mutare wasn’t the small village Grant had been hoping for. He certainly hadn’t been keen on the idea of staying in the middle of town where so many people had gathered, but after thirteen hours of muddy dirt roads riddled with pot holes, they simply couldn’t go any further. The clerk at the front desk had been distracted by the mid-morning festivities and hadn’t asked for any identification. Paying with a wad of cash he pulled from his backpack, Grant scribbled an X on the piece of paper and quickly shuttled them to the room, locking the
door behind them and shoving a chair beneath the door handle.
Despite their wariness, hunger, and the cramped space, they’d made love in the shower before they collapsed into the dilapidated bed and slept tangled together until the noise from the street party below had roused them. She glanced at the bedside clock, wondering what was taking Grant so long, an uneasy feeling tingling its way up her spine.
He’d pulled on his clothes, shouldered his backpack, and dashed out the door for food, telling her to keep her gun ready and not to open the door for anyone but him as if she was the airhead in a B-rated slasher flick. In a way she felt like she was exactly that. Since she’d met Grant, she had become completely dependent upon him. Not only did her body melt every time he looked at her, it seemed as if her IQ had dropped a few points as well. She’d had a plan, dammit! How could she have let things get this far out of her control?
Both hungry and exhausted, she slumped down onto the bed and pulled her knees into her chest. Think, Thalia. What would Issa tell you to do? As if in a paranormal answer, a knock at the door had her reaching for her gun. She stood, barely daring to breathe as she waited for Grant to let her know it was safe to open the door. Nothing came but another set of forceful taps on the frail thin door. Shit! She’d forgotten to put the chair under the doorknob after Grant had left. Just as she glanced at the chair, considering if she had time to move it back into place, the knob rattled with force as a heavy wave of pounding began.
“It’s Gregory! Open this damn door! Is she in there?”
Gregory? Who the hell is Gregory? Thalia threw open her bath robe. Gun in hand, she silently poured herself back into her crusty shirt and pants, pulling her wet hair back into a pony tail. Whoever he was, he was after her. She needed to get the hell out of there. Now!
Sitting in the window sill, she tucked the gun into her pants and studied the side of the building. The distance to the street from the third floor window was too far to jump from, but to her left was a ledge barely wide enough to grab on to. Just beyond that was a second floor balcony. If she could reach it, she could hang from the bottom and drop the shorter distance to the street below. The noise from the crowd on the street drowned out the banging on the door but, just as she leaned out to test the distance to the ledge, she heard a woman’s voice calling from inside the room behind her.
“Natalie, don’t jump!”
Hanging on by her fingertips, she clawed her way across the side of the building to the railing surrounding the balcony. Her knees and bare feet scraped along the wall as she dropped to the balcony platform, the cut on her thigh pulling against the stitches as she landed in a heap. A familiar burning sensation washed over her leg as a dark red splotch bloomed on her pant leg, confirming she had reopened the wound on her thigh. Without a look back, she flung herself over the railing, the rusty bars cutting into her palms as she looked over her shoulder to the ground below. The fall wasn’t going to do her leg any favors, but she didn’t have a choice. Before she could talk herself out of it, she relaxed her grip and fell the rest of the way to the street. Shards of splintering pain exploded in her left ankle, barely cushioning the blow to her already butchered right leg as she crumbled against the broken pavement.
The crowd swirled around her, laughing and shouting as the parade finale floated by, oblivious to her awkward arrival or any attempts she made to stand. She could barely hear her own screams of pain as her hand was crushed beneath the heel of someone’s shoe. She pushed against a prison of legs and limbs surrounding her. Her efforts to free her hand were meaningless against the crushing crowd as they stumbled over her, drunk and ignorant of her pain until her entire body had been kicked or crushed beneath the throng of partygoers.
Three loud gunshots rang out in the distance, the laughs and shouts turning into screams as the crowd around her peeled away and a pair of meaty hands wrenched her from the jagged gravel street. What little breath she had left was punched from her lungs as she was thrown over someone’s shoulder, her ribs caving in against each jarring blow as she was hauled away from the crowd. The last thing she saw before her blood rushed to her head and a deep blackness overtook her vision was the soles of the stranger’s worn and tattered boots as they beat against the pavement at a frantic pace.
Chapter Eighteen
“Sonofabitch!” Grant held back a knowing grin and concentrated on Thalia as Daniel rubbed the ache from his jaw. His girl was a survivor and he was damn proud of it, even if she had busted herself up pretty badly and unknowingly slugged her own father. Repeatedly.
“She has one hell of a right hook.” His cheek still bore the remains of her last unconscious battle with him. He couldn’t believe just under two weeks had passed since he lifted her lifeless body from his beach. Capturing her wrists in his hands to keep her from striking out at him again when she finally came to, he carefully caressed the raw scuff marks marring her knuckles. “I would have warned you if I knew you were coming.” He turned his head to glare at his friend. “What the hell are you doing here, Daniel? I left clear orders to meet us in Chennai.”
He could barely hold back the growl of frustration that clawed at his chest. By not following those simple instructions they had not only nearly gotten Thalia killed, but now the local rag-tag guerilla security forces were chasing them. God only knew what kind of bullshit he’d have to wade through if they didn’t get this damn plane off the ground before they caught up to them. “How the hell did you find us?”
Daniel cupped the back of his neck and paced the length of the otherwise empty cabin. Empty except for his female friend Grant had yet to be introduced to. He’d quickly dismissed the leggy redhead as a non-threat. Considering her conservative business suit and dry no-nonsense attitude, she was definitely another department lackey he’d just as soon not know. Probably a Fed. What the hell had Daniel been thinking bringing someone else into this nightmare? The last thing Thalia needed was a damn audience as her life was ripped to shreds…again.
“I don’t give two shits what your orders were!” Daniel shouted over the jet engines as they fired to life. “That’s my goddamn daughter!”
Grant’s patience was wearing fatally thin. With the determined vipers they were hiding from still out for Thalia’s blood, he couldn’t afford any leaks. He needed to know who compromised their position, and he needed to know right fucking now! “Who the hell told you where to find us?”
“I had your man on the ground redirect the flight through DC instead of Newark to pick up Rebecca. He was rattled enough to give you up. Hell, I had to threaten to tie his ass to his shiny new sports car to keep him from boarding the damn plane. He was more than willing to update the flight plan to intercept you here.” Daniel stopped pacing and came to stand in front of him, a crimson flush firing beneath the aged skin on his face and creeping beneath the collar of his casual button-up. He looked anything but casual. “I’ve fought too damn hard to find her, Grant. I wasn’t about to let her slip through my fingers again, and I don’t give a damn if that pisses you off.”
Grant’s teeth popped as he ground them together to keep his temper in check. He didn’t blame Daniel. Diver had given up their position after one frantic fucking phone call. Sure, he’d been a little crazed when he’d called him, but everyone is entitled to at least one meltdown in their life. Right?
His gaze drifted back to Thalia as she stirred in his arms. He would deal with Diver and the rest of this bullshit later. Right now his hands were literally full of the woman he loved, and he needed to tend to her injuries in private. The last thing she needed was to wake up inside a plane full of strangers before he could stop her bleeding and clear this clusterfuck up for her. He should have told her everything the minute they found their way back to civilization. He simply couldn’t find the words.
His attention focused on the unconscious woman in his arms, he waved Daniel and his guest away. “Take a hike to the back while I wake her up and get her injuries taken care of.”
“She’s my
daughter, Grant. I’m not—”
“I told you, she doesn’t fucking remember you!” Grant held tight to the last vestiges of his control, trying to remember that Daniel held more of a claim to her than he did. That fact hadn’t escaped him. Maybe he was making decisions based on emotion just like Daniel had been, but his friend would have to kill him before he’d let anyone else get near her. Not now. Not until he knew she was okay.
Daniel held his stare, his silence speaking volumes as he quietly assessed Grant’s protective posture. He watched as a kaleidoscope of emotions colored his friend’s face. Hurt and confusion sparked to life in his eyes, and Grant could see him fighting to deny it. Finally understanding filtered its way in, and Grant could feel the man’s disbelief as it rolled off him in an electrifying wave. Yeah, I’m in love with your daughter. Shocks the hell out me too.
Thank fuck they were spared the impending conversational disaster by the pilot’s announcement to secure the cabin and buckle up for departure. Daniel’s friend took him by the arm and dragged him toward the back of the plane while Grant laid Thalia across the front row of leather seats and began the task of tending to her injuries. The sedative he’d raked into the bag along with her antibiotics at Salina’s clinic had come in handy when she had regained consciousness on the way to Daniel’s vehicle and began kicking the living shit out of everything within reach. The last thing he wanted was to knock her out again, but she had been completely lost in her rage and fear, causing a scene and attracting the kind of attention they were running from.
“Wake up, fossa.” He cupped the top of her head in his palm, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her forehead, waiting for her ghostly gray eyes to appear from behind her twitching eyelids as she fought her way back to consciousness. She was going to be in one hell of a mood waking up in mid-air again. A secret smile pulled at his heart from somewhere deep inside him at that thought. He really did love this woman, even when she was spitting mad. Especially when she was spitting mad.