by Gayle Wilson
“Up?”
“Back toward the plateau.”
“But…”
“Don’t worry. We’ll skirt the encampment. By the time they figure out that we aren’t down there—” he tilted his head in the direction of the valley below “—we’ll be on the other side of the mountain.”
The other side of the mountain…
She looked up, her gaze tracing the peak that seemed to reach to the sky. The tribe’s horses had struggled up the trail to where they’d set up camp, and that was less than a third of the way up the mountain.
Surely Landon didn’t intend for them to cross it on foot and without supplies. Not even water, she realized, her heart sinking.
“Let’s go,” he said once more, putting his hand under her elbow to urge her up the trail.
“You’re seriously proposing that we go over the mountain?” she asked as she automatically began to follow him.
“Not over the top. There’s a footpath that skirts around it. It won’t be easy, but…we don’t have a lot of other choices.”
As if to punctuate his words, from below came the sound of an explosion. It was clearly not the small-arms fire she’d heard the day the chopper had been brought down. This was ordinance, only she had no idea who could be firing it.
“What was that?”
“It sounds like an unexpected reception for our friends.”
Unexpected to him? Or only to the tribesmen he’d sent down the trail? Had they encountered the Special Forces operatives Landon had told her were in the area? The ones who had necessitated the expected change in location of the camp.
If so, then why were the two of them headed in the opposite direction? Why weren’t they attempting to make contact with the good guys?
“Is that—whatever’s happening down there—something you arranged?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. I wish I had that much influence.”
“You said people were looking for us.”
“They are. Somewhere. Maybe even down there. The problem is I don’t have way of knowing who that is. And until I do, I don’t intend to initiate contact. Sorry to disappoint you, Gracie, but for the time being we’re on our own.”
“Don’t call me that.”
She was already beginning to breathe more rapidly with the pace he’d set, but she thought she heard him laugh. That had always been Landon’s reaction to anything that even remotely smacked of her trying to tell him what to do. He wasn’t a man who took direction. Not about anything.
“Anna Grace Chancellor,” he said, mocking her anger over the nickname only he had ever used for her. “So who the hell did you piss off enough to end up in Afghanistan?”
“The same people you did, I imagine.”
The words were a little breathless, her voice lacking force as she struggled to keep up. It didn’t matter how loud those words had been, of course. Even if they’d been whispered, they were cruel enough to carry their own impact.
Whatever had driven Landon James from the Agency had happened here in Afghanistan. That much she knew. But there had been a conspiracy of silence—at least as far as she was concerned—about the details.
He turned, looking at her over his shoulder. “You have changed.”
“Everybody changes. It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough, it seems, that you’ve forgotten.”
Or forgiven, she thought. “Have you?”
“Only the unimportant things. This is where we go across.”
He stopped, allowing her to catch up. Despite the gunfire from the valley below, in the nighttime stillness she could hear the labored sound of her own breathing.
The moonlight illuminated the path he was indicating they should take. Even in comparison to the steepness of the trail that led up to the plateau, the ascent looked impossible. It ran straight up the rock face, hand and toe holds invisible in the darkness.
“I hope all those years of sitting behind a desk haven’t taken too great a toll.”
Without waiting for a response to his gibe, Landon began to clamber over the rocks, seeming to locate the next hold intuitively. Grace watched him for maybe ten seconds before she admitted that, no matter how she might feel about him, she had no choice about this.
She could follow Landon, or she could wait here for her captors to find her. Mike Mitchell was dead, and Stern might be, as well. Although she had not felt the affinity for the colonel that she and the pilot had quickly found, he had been another American. Someone to talk to. Someone with whom to share her concerns about whatever was going to happen next.
If she broke with Landon, then she would be on her own. And very much alone.
It had already become evident that the tribesmen who’d captured her were unwilling to negotiate an exchange. She and the others had been held for some purpose, and without knowing exactly what that purpose was…
She put her hand on the rock, pulling herself up onto the slope Landon was climbing. She could hear him above her, but she refused to look up, fiercely concentrating instead on finding the next fingerhold.
After all, there would be plenty of time after tonight’s journey was over to wonder about what would come next. And time, too, to worry about the very different kind of danger being in such close proximity to Landon James would pose for her emotions.
Chapter Five
Exhausted, Grace lay in the small shade provided by an overhanging rock. Although she hadn’t moved since she’d collapsed, she hadn’t closed her eyes because she was watching Landon. He lay on his stomach, looking over the top of the ridge they would now have to pick their way down.
She should probably join him. At least seem interested in the terrain that lay ahead.
Instead she closed her burning eyes, trying not to think of anything but the few minutes’ reprieve she’d been given. Based on experience, she knew this rest stop would be only long enough for Landon to survey what lay ahead and plan the next leg of their journey.
When they had begun to climb last night, she had underestimated his preparation. She should have known that Landon would have thought everything out before embarking on something like this.
At the first rest stop, they had picked up the supplies he’d cached there on his way down. In addition to the long loose tunic intended to cover her Western clothing, there had been two goatskins full of water. As soon as she’d pulled the garment on, he had slung one of the skins over his shoulder and handed her the other.
Thankfully, they had been drinking from the one she carried, so that as darkness had given way to dawn and the morning wore on, the container had grown increasingly lighter. If he allowed the water break she was now eagerly anticipating, they would finish the contents of this skin and she could leave it behind.
As she thought about the blessed coolness of the water against her parched lips and throat, Landon eased away from the ledge. When he was far enough from its edge to ensure that no one watching the mountain would be able to see his movements, he straightened, walking over to where she lay.
Once there, he stooped down beside her, balancing on the balls of his feet. He examined her face, quickly coming to a decision.
“We’ll stay here until the sun goes down.”
The words were like a stay of execution. She would never have asked for the concession, but now that he’d made it, relief that she didn’t have to immediately begin the next phase of their descent made her want to weep with joy.
She’d heard that expression all her life. Until this moment she hadn’t truly understood what it meant.
“Are you sure it’s safe?” As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. If he changed his mind…
“As safe as we can probably be. They don’t seem to be looking for us up here.”
He didn’t suggest that her captors weren’t still searching for them. Just that they hadn’t yet figured out Landon’s strategy of going in the opposite direction from the one they might have been
expected to take.
“Are you all right?”
He had dragged her halfway across a mountain, pushing her relentlessly through the night and the morning with very few breaks for water or rest. The physical toll of the pace he’d set, especially after the relatively inactive weeks of her captivity, was undoubtedly reflected in her eyes and face.
“I’m fine,” she lied, refusing to admit her exhaustion.
She was aware that her nose and cheeks were sunburned, despite the traditional Afghan scarf that had accompanied the tunic. Now that they were apparently settled in for the afternoon, however, she realized there was no reason to continue to wear it. She removed the headpiece, running her fingers through her damp hair.
“Water?”
She looked up to see Landon holding out the horn cup attached to the goatskin she’d carried. Perversely, some part of her wanted to refuse the offering, but her cracked lips and dry throat overrode that ridiculous rebellion.
Only when she reached for the cup did she realize that her hands were still trembling from the climb they’d just made up the particularly sheer face to this ledge. As her fingers closed around the cup, one of his—long, brown and seemingly unscathed by the mountainside—traced over an abrasion on her knuckle.
She jerked her hand away, spilling a little of the pre cious water. The long drink she allowed herself gave her an excuse to close her eyes, so she didn’t have to meet his.
When she had drunk her share—and probably more—she lowered the cup. She used the back of her hand to wipe a trace of moisture from the corner of her mouth. As she did, she looked up, catching Landon’s gaze on her face.
“Finish it,” he ordered.
“I’ve had enough.” Another lie, but they always said the second was easier than the first.
For a long moment he held her eyes without taking the vessel she held out to him. Finally his lips flattened. He reached out and took the water and then, tilting his head back, he finished what the cup had held in one smooth draft.
As he swallowed, a drop of water escaped, sliding through the ebony whiskers and along the smooth, brown skin of his throat. Mesmerized, she watched until it disappeared into the high neck of the tunic he wore.
When she raised her gaze again, his was once more focused on her face. Infuriated by her inexplicable fascination with his every move, she turned her head, deliberately looking out over the vista of rocks and sky.
The sun, now at its zenith, mercilessly burned everything beneath it, including her damaged skin. She scooted farther back into the shade of the overhang, leaning against the relative coolness of the shadowed stone behind her.
Landon reattached the cup to the mouth of the goatskin. Then he laid it to the side and eased down beside her, stretching long legs out in front of him. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest, his head against the rock at their backs.
From his posture it was obvious he intended to sleep. Considering that neither of them had gotten much rest last night and that Landon planned to continue their descent as soon as the sun went down, that appeared to be a good idea.
When she tried to follow suit, however, she realized quickly how uncomfortable the position he’d assumed really was. She shifted, trying to find one more conducive to rest.
“Here.” He reached out and grabbed the nearly empty water skin, pulling it closer. “Not down perhaps, but better than rock.”
Down as in a pillow, she realized. And he was right. The skin would be better. There might even be enough of the tepid water left inside to make it cool, as well as soft.
“I’m fine.”
“I don’t remember you being a liar, Gracie. Why start now?” He tossed the skin down, leaving it to lie between them like the accusation he’d made.
“I wasn’t a lot of things then that I am now.”
“Like persona non grata at the Agency.”
She couldn’t read his tone, something that had once been second nature to her. The comment itself seemed mocking, so she responded in kind.
“I was ordered to testify before Congress. That isn’t an invitation one can turn down.”
“Maybe not, but you told the truth. How very un-CIA of you.”
“Is that why they sent you for me?”
“The Agency? They haven’t had the ability to send me anywhere in years.”
“Then who did?”
“A mutual friend told me you were here.”
“A mutual friend?”
“It’s not as if we have that many.”
“Cabot?” she guessed, now that he had thoughtfully narrowed the field. “I thought Griff no longer had the ability to send you anywhere, either.”
“He doesn’t.”
“Then…are you saying you came here of your own accord? To find me?”
There had been a definite reaction to that thought. One that was distinctly physical.
“You didn’t think I would?”
“I didn’t think about you at all.”
That wasn’t true, of course. But she hadn’t once imagined Landon coming to Afghanistan to look for her. Not even in the nostalgic fantasies she’d engaged in after Mike’s suggestion that she should try to reconnect with the man she loved. Given his experience in this region, Landon would have been the ideal choice by either the State Department or by Cabot for such a mission, but the idea that he would agree to undertake her rescue hadn’t crossed her mind.
“You always did know how to flatter a man’s ego,” he said with a laugh.
“I never noticed yours needed flattering.”
She didn’t know why she was determined to respond to everything he said with a display of her own bitter ness. Whatever his motives in coming, Landon was here. And he had probably saved her life. Why couldn’t she manage a few simple words of gratitude?
“Would it surprise you to know that I have the same vulnerabilities as everyone else?”
“Yes,” she answered, mocking her own resolve.
He laughed again, this time seeming genuinely amused.
“So what are you going to do about Stern?”
Although her question was designed as a change of subject, the fate of the colonel was something that had bothered her throughout the night. She understood that they could do nothing for him as long as they themselves were in danger of being captured. Now, however, when even Landon admitted that no one was following them, they should be able to formulate some plan to find their fellow American.
“What do you want me to do?”
She ignored the sarcasm, plowing on with what she’d been thinking. “If they moved camp, as we believe they intended, then…we won’t have any way of knowing where he is.”
“The entire U.S. command is looking for him, Grace. Whatever they did—”
“Not here. They obviously don’t know where to look.”
“I gave him a horse, and I provided a distraction. I can’t feel too much guilt that he didn’t take advantage of it.”
“Landon, we have to try—”
“What we have to do is to get down this mountain and across the border as quickly as possible.”
“Into Pakistan?”
“It’s safer.”
“Even though it isn’t under coalition control?”
“Neither, apparently, is a great deal of Afghanistan. A hell of a way to run a railroad, Gracie.”
That had been one of Griff Cabot’s favorite sayings. Far less graphic than its military equivalent, the catch phrase had been used by the EST for any significant screw-up, especially those made by their own government.
“Other than the border regions—” she began.
“Save the PR for someone who’ll believe it. There’s still plenty of real estate here available for terrorist operations. Especially in these mountains. Only the government in Kabul has changed, not the dynamics of the country. Other than the increased production of heroin, of course,” he said, inclining his head in her direction.
Obviously a refe
rence to the impossibility of her assignment. No matter how hard she tried or how innovative her approach to the problem, she would never have been able to eradicate a trade that had been going on since the Middle Ages. Even the repressive measures of the Taliban hadn’t been able to shut down the pipelines completely.
Rather than argue that untenable position, she closed her mouth and turned her head, again looking out at the heat-hazed horizon. Despite the promised afternoon’s rest, she wondered how much longer she would be able to keep up with Landon. Of course, if the option was to admit she was physically incapable of doing that—
When hell freezes over. An event that seemed far less likely to her right now than at any other time in her life.
Since begging for more downtime wasn’t an option, she should probably make the most of the few hours he’d allowed her rather than argue about things they would never agree on. Without looking at Landon again, she pulled the goatskin he’d offered to her side of the shade. Then, still ignoring his nearness, she stretched out, using the carrier for a pillow.
And he’d been right, she realized immediately. The skin was both soft and cool. Despite the fact that the rest of her bed was still stone, she felt her tiredness and despair begin to ease in her enjoyment of the feel of the goatskin under her burning cheek.
She closed her eyes, more to relieve their dryness than with any intention of actually going to sleep. It was too hot for that. And too uncomfortable.
Besides, with Landon so close, she probably wouldn’t be able to relax enough to drift off. At least she could rest, she thought, and replenish her reserves in preparation for the time when he would tell her they had to go on.
“TIME TO WAKE UP.”
At the sound of that voice, Grace opened her eyes. She was looking up into the dark, lean face of the man kneeling beside her, his hand again on her shoulder.
She’d been dreaming of him, she realized. In the way of dreams, she couldn’t remember what had been happening, but she remembered the feel of his lips moving over hers. Then to open her eyes and find him bending above her…
Perhaps she was still caught in the net of the dream. For whatever reason, almost without her volition, her fingers lifted, touching the unfamiliar mustache that lined his upper lip. It was far softer than she’d expected.