Rules of Revenge

by AJ Quinn

  “But she’s hurt,” Elle added quietly, staring at the blood on the helmet. She glanced at Jessie with a measure of sympathy on her face.

  Jessie nodded. Damn it, Darien. Where are you?

  She pushed back unwelcome images and knelt where Darien’s body had most recently been. Trying to see what she might have seen. Trying to concentrate on picking up any signs she’d left behind.

  “Whoa. Hold on,” Elle said suddenly. “I’ve got something.”

  “What?”

  “We’re no longer being jammed. The terrain’s causing a bit of interference, but I’m picking up Darien’s signal.” Elle studied the electronic device she was holding in one hand before pointing with the other. “She’s moving, somewhere in that direction.”

  Jessie jumped to her feet, looking in the direction Elle had indicated. Her vision narrowed and almost immediately she picked up the trail Darien had created through the uneven terrain. Not stopping to think, she set off at a rapid pace, leaving Ben and Elle to follow in her wake.

  *

  Ignoring the branches that slapped at her as she ran past, Darien scampered over gnarled roots and rocks, going down hard on a couple of occasions, adding bruises and losing precious time. Shaking, she got up and kept moving, ducking under low branches. Expecting any second would be her last.

  A few minutes later, she was forced to stop. After the last fall, she’d gotten turned around and she was no longer certain what direction she was going in. Was she still moving away from her pursuers or toward them? Her shoulders sagged, and she tried to remain still but could do nothing about the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  She tried to listen for any sounds that would indicate she was being followed. But the woods had settled into an eerie silence, and the only sound she could hear was her own heartbeat—faster and harder than she would have liked. She swore softly and tried to make as little noise as possible.

  She was becoming increasingly light-headed. Loss of blood, she thought dispassionately, aware that the damage to her arm was bleeding steadily. Another concussion coming on the heels of the last one was also a possibility, as another wave of dizziness threatened to bring her down.

  But every fiber in her body told her she’d be killed if she stayed where she was. Inhaling as deeply as she dared, she pushed off and started moving once again. Zigzagging and using trees and shadows as cover.

  She was just starting to think she might actually make it when someone reached out and grabbed her, dropping her hard to the ground. She could feel stones digging into her back as she fought to breathe past the bare hand covering her mouth.

  Whoever had her was in for a surprise. She wasn’t going to be taken out without a fight. If she was going to die today, she wasn’t doing it lying on the ground. And she had no intention of dying today.

  She struggled violently to dislodge the body on top of her and kicked out hard. She heard a grunt followed by a muttered curse and then, “Stop. Damn it, Darien, stop fighting. It’s me.”

  Darien froze. Her vision cleared and she saw Jessie Coltrane’s beautiful features inches from her own. With her gaze absorbing her face, she blinked, as if Jessie might not be real. But she was still there when Darien opened her eyes once again.

  Reassurance flooded through her. Her adrenaline rush calmed and she stopped struggling, sending Jessie a faint smile as she released a soft breath. She waited, felt Jessie shift as she settled next to her on the ground. And in that moment, she knew she would live to see another day.

  “Don’t move,” Jessie mouthed.

  “Not moving,” Darien mumbled in response and kept still. Not that she had a lot of choice. Dizziness swept over her and she braced against the surge of nausea she knew would follow in its wake.

  Settling back, she closed her eyes.

  *

  “Darien?”

  There was no answer. Deathly pale, damp hair clinging to her face, Darien lay completely still on the ground, and in the darkest part of her very existence, Jessie suddenly feared she was dead.

  Ah, hell. Don’t do this. She’d been alive and ready to kick her ass only seconds before. She couldn’t just—

  But as adrenaline flooded her senses and her vision narrowed, Jessie stared at the blood matting Darien’s hair and the streak staining her face. She reached for Darien’s hand. Found it cold as ice, lifeless, and she couldn’t feel a pulse when she placed her fingers on her inner wrist. Couldn’t feel anything.

  God, no. Darien was so still Jessie couldn’t tell if she was breathing, and as she moved her hand slowly toward her neck, she realized she was afraid to touch her. Afraid that when she pressed her fingers against her pale, smooth throat, she would find no pulse. There would simply be nothing and Darien would be gone.

  Praying she was wrong, she quashed the rising sense of panic and forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Forced herself to act as she slipped one arm around Darien’s shoulders. She felt her head fall listlessly over her arm while her fingers hovered. Swallowing, she reached for her throat and searched for a pulse.

  An instant later she breathed a sigh of profound relief. She could feel Darien’s pulse, beating strong and steady beneath her shaking fingers.

  With her eyes not straying from Darien’s face, she spoke quickly into her PRR. “This is Tango two. I’ve got her.”

  Almost immediately, she heard Ben’s voice. “Is she okay?”

  “I—I don’t know. She’s not responding.” She couldn’t find any more words. But that was okay. What she’d said was enough and she could hear the others drawing near.

  Shifting and settling Darien’s limp body against her own, she gently called to her. “Darien? Come on, Dare, open your eyes and look at me. Quit scaring me.”

  Nothing.

  As she waited for some kind of response, Jessie leaned closer, her eyes fixed on Darien’s face. Looking for a sign. Anything. She knew it was the excess adrenaline coursing through her own body that was making her shake and her voice sound rough—it sounded almost like a stranger’s—but she kept talking to Darien. Holding her. Encouraging her. Willing her to come back. Never looking away from her face

  It probably took less than a minute. She wasn’t sure. Slowly Darien roused and Jessie felt a wave of relief. Darien’s breathing was still shallow and her gaze was unfocused, her eyes clouded and hazy beneath a layer of long, thick black lashes. But when recognition followed, Jessie knew she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life.

  “Welcome back,” she said and released the remnants of panic. “You’re going to be all right. But, Jesus, don’t ever scare me like that again.”

  Darien looked up, blinked, and licked her lips. “Sorry. Bad time to take a nap, but it’s been that kind of day. Who knew motorcycling was a full-contact sport.” Her voice caught but the corners of her mouth twitched weakly before she released a soft groan and closed her eyes.

  Jessie couldn’t help but smile as she watched her. Bone, muscle, skin. Alive.

  “Jesslyn?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think Petrov tried to kill me.”

  Her voice was slurred. Jessie frowned and stared once again at the blood trickling down her forehead. Her concern deepened as she remembered the dented motorcycle helmet and worried about another head injury.

  “And it looks like she came pretty close to succeeding.” She gently wiped the blood on Darien’s face with her shirt sleeve. “We were about to call you in when the helicopter showed up. I tried to warn you, but we weren’t sure whether you heard anything before they jammed us. After that we couldn’t raise you.”

  “I heard you…at least I remember hearing something. I’m pretty sure I heard you telling me to head south.”

  “I did.” Jessie offered a smile. “And I’ll be eternally grateful to whoever trained you to respond without question.”

  Darien laughed, the sound reassuring Jessie more than anything else had up to that moment. “Then you can thank Ben. Any idea what happene
d with Petrov? I seem to have lost track of where she went…or what direction I was going in.”

  “I understand falling off a motorcycle will do that. For now, all I can tell you is her helicopter has left the area, and they didn’t get a chance to put anyone on the ground. We’ve got team two picking up what’s left of your motorcycle, and then they’ll sanitize the area. In the meantime, we need to get you out of here and get you checked out.”

  “That sounds good to me. But please, Jesslyn, promise me—no hospital. I hate hospitals.”

  Jessie smiled as she heard the faintly pleading note. She reached for her hand and was about to respond when she caught herself staring at the blood seeping through a tear in Darien’s jacket sleeve. “Your arm looks like it’s bleeding pretty badly.”

  Darien nodded and winced, hissing in obvious pain. “I got tagged a couple of times just before I went down. It’s not bad, I don’t think, although it stings like the devil.” She swallowed and her hand tightened briefly around Jessie’s fingers. “Honestly, I’m all right. Do you think we can get out of here now?”

  But Jessie wasn’t about to be put off. “You got shot? What do you mean a couple of times? Where else, Darien?” she asked. “Where else did you get hit? Where else do you hurt?”

  “My chest. At least they missed my head…but they caught me almost dead center. It knocked the breath out of me, that’s all. If it wasn’t for the titanium in the vest…” She closed her eyes, took a hitching breath and tried to straighten up.

  “If you hadn’t been wearing the vest, you’d be dead.” Jessie felt her chest vibrate with rage.

  “I know—oh, damn.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s nothing. It just hurts. Everything hurts. I’d really like to get out of here. Please, can we just do that?”

  The soft pain-filled voice nearly broke her, but it was also what got through. “Shit. I’m sorry. Ben says there’s a safe house somewhere near here, but that means you’re going to need to move so we can get you out of here, and it’s probably going to hurt like hell.”

  A quick nod of her head was almost all Darien seemed capable of managing. “I already hurt like hell, so I don’t think it’ll make much difference. Trust me, if it gets me out of here, I can do it.”

  “Are you certain?”

  When she nodded again, Jessie reached out and grasped her chilled, unsteady hand tighter. “All right. Focus on me, take a breath, then let it out really slow,” she said and eased Darien up as she exhaled. She was aware Ben and Elle were standing nearby and had been following the conversation, but her eyes never left Darien’s face.

  Darien was clearly determined to tough it out and her expression never changed. But by the time she was on her feet she looked decidedly paler.

  Ben seemed unusually quiet as he watched their progress before expressing his concern. “Are you going to be okay to walk,” he asked, “or should I have someone go get a litter?”

  The comment earned him a scowl. “Ben Takahashi, the day I need to be carried out—” Darien never finished. Her knees gave way and she started to go down, with only enough time to whisper, “Oh, shit.”

  Jessie and Ben caught her and held on before she hit the ground.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Outside the eighteenth-century timber-framed farmhouse, the air remained cool even as the sun struggled to break through a cloud-filled sky. The weak sunlight was bright enough to fill the second-floor bedroom, filtered only by the sheer white curtains. It was also warm enough for Jessie to feel its heat as she stood by the window, gazing at a panoramic view of verdant meadows and valleys surrounded by forest.

  The safe house was set back from the main road and was all but invisible behind a thick wall of spruce, fir, and pine trees that stood guard on either side of an unremarkable wooden gate. The gate itself looked as if it hadn’t been used in years, but it had opened smoothly upon their arrival and was connected electronically to the extensive security system protecting the property.

  Beyond the trees, the house was surrounded by a gently rolling field. Not all that different from the neighboring farms, except for the small circular asphalt landing pad located behind the house. It was currently occupied by the sleek Agusta helicopter that had brought the doctor Ben had called—a retired British intelligence officer with a shock of white hair and sharp blue eyes.

  Moving restlessly away from the window, Jessie sank onto the wing chair Ben had positioned near the side of the bed and leaned back. It provided her with an unobstructed view of Darien, sitting on top of the bed wearing only a snug-fitting tank top and silk boxers. Ordinarily, that might be an enjoyable sight. But at the moment, all she saw was a woman who looked much too pale. Pushed beyond fatigue and into exhaustion. Vulnerable. And all too human.

  Darien needed food and probably wanted a bath, or at least a shower. She had pushed her hair back behind her ears, and it framed a face that was marred with scratches and still held traces of dried mud and blood. There was a nasty bruise and a scrape on her forehead still seeping blood. She was holding her right arm gingerly against her chest, and Jessie could see the temporary bandage they’d wrapped around her forearm was soaked through with blood.

  But the line of her jaw was rigid and the hard set of her mouth dared anyone to challenge her. She was clearly not happy, a point emphasized by the single word she hissed as she narrowed her eyes against the light being shined into them by the doctor. The word had been uttered in a language Jessie didn’t know, but she didn’t have to understand it to recognize its meaning.

  The doctor gave no indication he’d either heard or understood, and Jessie caught herself staring when he lifted Darien’s T-shirt. She’d never considered herself squeamish, but the bruises covering Darien’s chest had her throat tightening, and she momentarily looked away.

  Denial came hot and hard and fast, pounding in Jessie’s blood. It had been close. Too damn close. If the shot had been just a little higher, it would have caught her vulnerable throat where no Kevlar provided protection. That’s what had made the difference between having Darien here, glassy eyed but gamely glaring at the doctor and—

  Her stomach roiled at the thought and she sat still for a long moment, trying to banish the unwelcome images from her mind. And when that didn’t work, she found herself wondering if this was what Dorothy had felt like just before she was pulled into the tornado.

  While the doctor frowned, poked, and prodded, muttering things only his patient could hear and respond to, the wait felt interminable and the tension in the room vibrated. But after checking Darien out thoroughly, he looked up and stated he could see nothing to cause undue alarm. Nothing life threatening.

  “I can guarantee she’ll be sore for a few days,” he said. “But I didn’t feel any cracked ribs and I can’t see anything to prevent a full recovery, as long as she doesn’t do anything else to put herself in harm’s way.”

  Darien looked up at that moment, and for an instant Jessie thought she read uncertainty mixed with the pain evident in her eyes. But before she could be sure, the doctor stepped into her line of sight, and by the time he moved, Darien’s expression was carefully blank once again, her eyes clearly trying to focus on the doctor.

  *

  “Can you tell me your name?”

  “Darien Arianna Troy.”

  “Well, Ms. Troy, my name is Aaron Price. I’m a doctor and your friend Ben here has asked me to take a look at you, to see what damage you’ve managed to do to yourself.”

  “Darien.” Her voice was barely above a whisper and she paused to clear her throat. “Please call me Darien.”

  “All right. Darien, do you know where you are?”

  “Not exactly, no. I’m guessing it’s a safe house and that I’m still somewhere in Germany.” Although unhappy that her voice sounded raspy and weak, Darien took a small measure of satisfaction that she could manage a coherent response.

  “Do you remember how you got here?”

  S
he paused and realized she had no immediate answer for that one. She felt bone tired. All that running for your life will do it. But as she tried to remember more, she found herself slamming into a thick wall, her thoughts foggy and colliding. Flickering like an old movie.

  She could remember standing on the side of the road, teasing Jessie over the communications link about local folklore while waiting for Nadia Petrov to arrive. She remembered the helicopter arriving, sending a deadly hail of bullets raining down on her, and the blinding flash of pain when she was hit. She could remember flying off her bike and tumbling down the slope toward the sound of running water, before running for her life.

  But then—nothing. At least nothing tangible. No matter how hard she tried.

  Giving up, she shook her head, licked her lips, and watched with mild interest while the doctor—Price—held her wrist and checked her pulse. She could have told him he would find it to be a little faster than normal, but he didn’t ask, and she saw no reason to volunteer the information. He didn’t seem to mind as he continued checking her vital signs.

  “Your temperature’s up a bit and your pressure’s a little low. But it’s nothing we can’t handle,” he said. “Now I want you to follow my finger.”

  Her lips twitched. “Why? Is it going somewhere?”

  “You must be feeling all right if you’re up to giving me sass, young lady.” But he sounded pleased and he was smiling as he held his finger up and waited for her eyes to follow while he moved it. Behind him, she thought she heard both Jessie and Ben laugh.

  As she finished doing what the doctor asked, she told him of her recent concussion. She watched his smile fade, but he refrained from making any comment. A moment later, he cocked his head and looked at her. “This next bit’s going to be more difficult for you, Darien.”

  “Oh? How so?”

  “I need to remove the bandages on your arm so I can assess the damage, and it’s most likely going to hurt. So if it’s okay with you, I’d like to give you a shot of something. I can’t give you too much with that head injury, but I can at least try to take the edge off before I proceed. Any known allergies?”