Take No Prisoners

by Gayle Wilson

  As Landon moved among them, searching for the brown and white mare he’d chosen for Grace, the horses began to mill, trying to avoid the humans in their midst. He finally captured the mare, grasping her simple rope bridle to draw her with him. He turned, looking for Grace, and realized she was attempting to help Stern catch the lead of one of the others.

  “Grace,” he hissed.

  Unable to see the guard or his cigarette because of the press of horseflesh, Landon had no idea if anyone in the camp was yet aware of what was going on. With the noise the horses were making, however, he knew it wouldn’t be long before they did.

  He dragged the mare over to where Grace was trying to control a big roan long enough to allow Stern to get his foot into the stirrup. The ineptness of the colonel’s technique was agitating the horse, making his task even more difficult.

  “Here.” Landon attempted to take Grace by the elbow to direct her toward the mare. She resisted, jerking away from him almost angrily.

  “What the hell’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Get on the damn horse.”

  “When Colonel Stern’s mounted.”

  Landon could tell by the set of her mouth that she meant what she said. He could argue with her until the camp was aroused or he could do what he should have done in the first place.

  “I’ll see to Stern,” he snapped.

  He pressed the mare’s lead into her fingers, which automatically closed around it. Then he took the roan’s bridle, pulling the horse’s head down firmly and holding it.

  “Get up,” he ordered.

  The older man made a valiant effort, eventually managing after another failed attempt to pull himself into the thin saddle. By then, Landon could hear shouts coming from the direction of the camp. Apparently the guard had finally finished his cigarette and figured out something was going on.

  Landon flung the roan’s lead up to Stern. Without waiting to see whether the colonel would take charge of his mount, he turned to find Grace already in the saddle. In contrast to the roan’s restiveness, her mare stood docilely, having already acknowledged her control.

  “You’ll have to ride through the center of the camp,” he directed, looking up into her pale face in the darkness. “No matter what happens to me or Stern, just keep riding. There are Special Forces units all over this area looking for you.”

  “Aren’t you coming?”

  “Right behind you.” As he made that assurance, he caught the stirrup of a bay that had been pushed against him by the restless herd.

  “Can Stern—”

  “I’ll take care of Stern,” he shouted, knowing by the commotion he could hear quite clearly now there was no longer any need for stealth.

  “…to get separated.”

  In the process of swinging into the saddle, Landon hadn’t caught the whole of that. It wasn’t important, he decided. All that was important now—

  Directing his mount near the rear of Grace’s, he brought the flat of his hand down on the mare’s rump. He would never have done something like that if he hadn’t had complete confidence in Grace’s abilities. A faith that was clearly justified.

  The mare surged forward, attempting to fight her way through the throng of milling animals. She approached the low rope at a dead gallop, and with Grace’s urging, easily cleared it.

  Landon turned to search for Stern. He found the colonel still trying to get the roan headed in the direction of the plateau. He dug his heels into the flanks of the bay, urging him through the mass of horses, which seemed to seethe now with a life of its own. There was only one solution to the problem presented by the colonel’s ineptitude in the saddle.

  “Hold on,” Landon yelled before he reached down and cut the rope barrier with the knife he’d taken from inside the belt he wore over his tunic.

  He kicked his mount again, sending it thundering across the plateau and toward the tribesmen who were now stumbling out of tents and caves, weapons in hand. He glanced back to see the other horses following his lead, and Stern still miraculously astride the roan.

  Ahead of them Grace had reached the center of the encampment. A dozen hands grabbed at her as she rode through the midst of her captors. Undeterred by their at tempts to stop her, she, too, was urging her horse on, seemingly indifferent to the men who tried to slow her by throwing themselves in front of the mare.

  Go on, Landon urged silently, his own mount racing across the open ground. Behind him he could hear the panicked horses pounding over the hard-packed earth of the plateau. They would provide a much-needed distraction, but he knew now there was too much distance between them and Grace.

  He should have gone first. He should have left Stern to fend for himself and taken care of the woman he’d come here to find. He should have—

  One of the reaching hands had locked around the mare’s lightweight saddle. Although the horse was still moving at a near gallop, the tribesman showed no inclination to give up his hold. He clung on the horse’s side, literally being dragged along the ground like an anchor.

  And his grim determination finally paid off. He slowed Grace’s mount enough that another man was able to grab the stirrup on the opposite side. Instead of being dragged, he ran alongside the flagging horse.

  Grace struck at him repeatedly, using the end of the lead like a whip. He refused to let go, despite several direct blows to the face.

  Of course, if they allowed their captives to get away, the consequences would undoubtedly be severe, especially for those who were supposed to be on guard tonight. Tribal justice in this setting was both swift and harsh.

  By now gunfire had been added to the shouts echoing off the towering rocks that surrounding them. Landon could only hope that the Afghans, surprised from sleep, were firing wildly rather than taking aim at the riders in their midst.

  He glanced behind him again, realizing only then how close the stampeding horses were. Stern was still clinging to the back of his, but it was obvious that’s all he was doing. The animal was out of control, running wildly with the others.

  Landon turned back toward the center of camp in time to see Grace being pulled off the mare. Although she fought desperately, she was overpowered by the three men who had surrounded her horse.

  One of them grasped her from behind, his arm encircling her waist as he attempted to drag her toward the cave where Landon had found her. Once inside, and with the camp now fully aroused, Landon knew he’d never be able to get to her again.

  Stretched low over the neck of the bay, he spurred the horse directly toward the man holding Grace. When he reached them, he pulled up, his mount rearing against the sudden sharp drag on the bit.

  With the Glock he’d taken from his belt, he took aim, blocking from his mind the reality of how close that blond head was to the dark one of her captive. He fired just as the bay’s front hooves returned to the earth.

  Without waiting for the man he’d shot to fall, Landon held out his hand, controlling his mount with his knees and thighs. Without hesitation Grace put her fingers into his.

  At the same time she put her left foot on top of his boot, which was still in the stirrup. He pulled, and, as if this were a trick they’d rehearsed a thousand times, she vaulted onto the back of the bay, settling behind him.

  As she did, the first of the panicked herd reached them, knocking down the other men who had helped stop the mare. Once more Landon dug in his heels, his mount mingling with the horses charging through the camp, flattening everything in their path. There was another wild volley of shots, but he didn’t look back, aware that because of her position behind him, Grace was exposed and highly vulnerable.

  Aware also that at the other side of the plateau was that treacherous trail, part of which he’d explored last night. Steep and rugged, it was dangerous in daylight. To traverse it in the darkness, riding a horse that was on the edge of panic, would be near suicidal.

  Near was the operative word, he decided, feeling Grace’s arms tighten around his waist. There was no limiti
ng adjective involved in what would happen if they turned back now.

  “Hold on,” he said unnecessarily, giving the bay his head as the horse began the plunge down the mountainside.

  Chapter Four

  By necessity Grace’s fingers were locked in the coarse fabric of the long vest Landon wore over his tunic. She lowered her head, pressing her cheek against his spine as she held on for dear life.

  Since Landon had shown up, a hundred emotions had bombarded her, coming at her so rapidly that she was almost overwhelmed. Right now fear was primary, of course. Concern for Colonel Stern. Rage and grief over Mitchell’s senseless and tragic death.

  She was also aware of a strange sense of self-betrayal. During the long days of their captivity, she had come to terms with the possibility that she would die.

  After her talk with Mitchell last night, she had also reconciled herself to idea that it was too late to change anything about the way she had lived her life to this point, even if she wanted to. Although she had determined she would fight to her last breath to stay alive, she had reached a necessary inner peace about whatever fate had in store for her.

  Until tonight. Until Landon James had unexpectedly taken a hand in the game. And, she admitted, until her body had once more come into intimate contact with the hard, unyielding muscles of the only man she’d ever loved.

  She had been aware that Landon was no longer employed by the Agency. She had also known—only because she had finally broken down and asked Griff—that he wasn’t working for the Phoenix. The latest information Griff had had was that he was operating as an independent security consultant, primarily for companies forced to operate in the world’s hot spots.

  Now, surprisingly, he was back in Afghanistan, trying to engineer a rescue of her and Stern. And unless the State Department was footing the bill, she couldn’t imagine why he would be.

  “Hang on,” he said again, throwing the words over his shoulder.

  As if she could do anything else, she had time to think, before she was literally forced to obey. The bay, which had been galloping at a breakneck speed down the trail, suddenly veered sharply to the left, allowing the horses behind him to sweep by on the right.

  She turned her head in time to see one of them lose its footing on the treacherous trail. Stones ricocheted down the sheer rock face of the mountain, taking the floundering animal with them. Its scream as it fell echoed off the cliffs and ridges.

  The bay, sides heaving, was slowly being forced to a stop. Tired, and its initial panic spent, the trembling animal gradually obeyed the hand on its reins. Landon guided the horse against the wall on their left at a point where the trail widened slightly, holding the exhausted animal there almost by force of will as the rest of the herd roared by.

  Although Grace tried to peer through the darkness as the horses passed, she saw no sign of a rider on any of them. As the last stragglers came down the trail, Landon began to dismount.

  Startled, she automatically tried to hold on to him, but he swung his right leg over the horse’s neck and slid out of the saddle. As soon as he was on the ground, he held up his arms to her, indicating that she should dismount, as well.

  Except this made no sense. They had had the advantage. They were on horseback, while their pursuers were on foot.

  All they had to do to be safe was ride into the valley below. Landon himself had told her there were people looking for them there, so why in the world—

  “Get down,” he urged as she hesitated.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get you out of this mess, but I swear I’m beginning to believe you like the lifestyle. Get off the damn horse, Grace, before I pull you off.”

  He took a step forward, preparing to put his hands around her waist. She knew he would do what he’d threatened, no matter how much she protested. He was ruthless enough to manhandle her if he believed it was necessary.

  In an attempt to keep him from touching her, she slipped her foot into the stirrup and swung down from the saddle. As soon as she hit the ground, he reached around her and slapped the bay on the rump, just as he had done earlier to her mare.

  As the animal skittered nervously forward, Landon hit it again, sending it down the trail with a couple of others who were bringing up the rear of the stampede. As the horses clattered away, Grace could hear shouts coming from the direction of the camp.

  A pursuit was being organized. Some of her former captors might even be mounted by now, if they’d been able to catch the stragglers from the string Landon had freed.

  He grabbed her hand, pulling her along the sheer rock wall that rose high above their heads, blocking the stars. They’d gone less than twenty feet when Landon ducked, dragging her down with him.

  Her first thought was that he’d heard someone behind them. Then she realized he was guiding her through the entrance of another of the natural caves that dotted these mountains.

  This one, in contrast to the spacious cavern where she’d been held prisoner, was small, its entrance low and narrow. Once they’d squeezed inside it, she realized how very little room there was. Landon immediately pushed her against the stone wall and then pressed his body over hers, shushing her attempted protest.

  “Listen,” he hissed into her ear.

  For several long heartbeats she obeyed, not daring to breathe as their pursuers came nearer and nearer. And she’d been right about the horses. At least some had been caught. Their riders shouted questions and directions to one another as they bolted past the narrow entrance that concealed their hiding place.

  Despite the danger of having her captors only a few feet away, Grace was conscious of Landon’s body pressed against hers. She tried to put his nearness out of her mind, thinking instead about what might have happened to Colonel Stern.

  He had probably been recaptured before he could get out of the camp. After all, if it hadn’t been for Landon’s intervention, she, too, would have been retaken once she was surrounded.

  As hard as it was for her to believe, considering the terms on which they’d parted, his principle concern had seemed to be getting her out rather than mounting a rescue operation that would include all of them. That wasn’t enough for her, however.

  “What about Stern?”

  Despite the softness of her whisper, Landon’s “Shh” was as clearly a command as any he’d given out on the trail. She obeyed, but only because she understood that if they were retaken, there would be no hope for the other American. If they managed to escape, they could eventually get help and come back for Stern.

  After several minutes without any sound from beyond the entrance to the cave, she put her hands flat on Landon’s chest and pushed. He leaned back, increasing the space between their torsos slightly, but he refused to release her, his hips still pressed intimately against hers.

  “They’re gone,” she whispered.

  “They’ll be back.”

  “Until they are…” she suggested, increasing the pressure against his chest.

  The darkness inside the cave was almost total. She couldn’t see Landon’s face, much less read his expres sion. All she knew was that he hadn’t moved away as she’d asked, other than that initial lean.

  “Whatever you think you’re doing, it isn’t welcome.” Her voice rose on the last as anger overcame her fear. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d get the hell off me.” She punctuated the final sentence with another shove against his chest.

  “You’re wearing white.”

  The words were so low that for a moment she wondered if she had misheard them. And then, in a rush of understanding, she knew what he feared.

  The sleeveless vest Landon wore over his tunic was black. With his body over hers and his back toward the entrance of the cave, he was effectively hiding the pale silk blouse and linen slacks she wore, as well as his own lighter-colored tunic.

  Now that she’d made a fool of herself again, she thought with a trace of bitterness, she should shut up and wait for him to t
ell her their next move. That would be the smart thing to do, but then she’d never done the smart thing where Landon James was concerned.

  “Since they’re gone…” she began, only to be interrupted by a noise on the trail outside.

  Landon again leaned forward, putting his forehead against hers. She didn’t dare protest, not with whoever was outside so close.

  Suddenly she was aware of the breathtakingly familiar scent of Landon’s body. Not the dusty miasma of his clothing, but the fragrance of his skin. Something she had once known as well as her own face in the mirror.

  She closed her eyes as memories washed over her in a wave of hunger so strong nothing else seemed to matter. Not the threat of the tribesmen outside. Not Stern. Not even the very good reasons for which she had destroyed what had been between them all those years ago.

  “Let’s go,” he whispered, again increasing the space between their bodies.

  She opened her eyes, surprised to find they had now adjusted to the darkness enough that she could see his face. The dark patch and the mustache distorted his features, making them alien. And exactly what she’d thought before, sinister.

  “What about them?”

  “I think that was the last.”

  “But… When they don’t find us down below, they’ll come back.”

  He didn’t bother to respond, taking her hand instead to lead her toward the lesser blackness that represented the cave’s narrow entrance. He stooped beside it for a moment, checking the trail outside. Then he slipped through, obviously expecting her to follow.

  Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cool night air, letting it clear her head as her eyes examined the trail below. Landon had apparently been right. In the distance she could hear the occasional shout and the sound of horses clattering over the rocks as her captors searched for them. They had been fooled by his trick, just as he’d anticipated.

  “Now what?”

  He turned at her question. “We go up.”