Take No Prisoners

by Gayle Wilson

  “What else would they tell you?”

  “To keep looking for Stern, perhaps. I don’t know who this mysterious friend is that you work for, Mr. Sloan, but…the people I work for expect me to follow orders. And whether you like it or not, that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

  Chapter Eight

  Like so many people who had lived in these mountains through the centuries, Reynolds and his men used a system of caves for everything from storage to sleeping quarters. It was obvious to Landon that the caves where they’d been brought three days ago were, as the American had told them, their permanent base of operations.

  Grace was sitting on one of the two bunks in the area they’d been moved into yesterday. They had been afforded a modicum of privacy by a curtain hung across the opening, but they were both aware that one of the tribesmen was stationed just beyond it twenty-four hours a day.

  Landon could only suppose that putting them together, something that hadn’t happened the first night they’d spent here, made it easier for Reynolds, with his limited number of men, to keep a close eye on them. Or maybe the American was astute enough to realize that separating him from Grace in the current situation would have been the breaking point.

  The sunburn she’d gotten the morning they’d spent crossing the mountain had changed from pink to bronze, giving her cheeks a healthy glow. The shirt and trousers she’d washed and laid out to dry the day after they’d arrived, however, hung loosely on her slender frame.

  The weight loss she’d suffered during the weeks of her captivity and the last few days on the run was made painfully obvious by the fit of the garments she’d been wearing the day of the chopper crash. He wondered what reserves of stamina she could have left in that seemingly fragile body.

  “If Reynolds has notified Kabul, they don’t seem too eager to send someone out to pick us up.”

  Landon said nothing, knowing she would have to work her own way toward the conclusion he’d reached sometime yesterday.

  “Which probably means he hasn’t notified anyone, doesn’t it?”

  “Grace—”

  “And they aren’t out trying to find Stern, either, are they?”

  That was the excuse Reynolds had made for his departure yesterday, which had precipitated their move. Something about his attitude when he’d told them where he was going had made Landon uneasy then. Just like the incident with the knife. And a half dozen other insignificant things that had added to his growing distrust of the American.

  When they’d met up with him, Reynolds had represented the lesser of two evils. Landon wasn’t sure that was the case any longer.

  “I don’t think that’s high on their list of priorities.”

  “What is? Finding a buyer for us?”

  A buyer for Grace, perhaps. Although there was at least one person in Afghanistan who, he had no doubt, would pay handsomely to have him back in his power, hopefully Reynolds didn’t have a clue about him or about his background here. Another very good reason for using the alias by which he had identified himself.

  “That’s always a possibility,” he admitted.

  “Al-Qaeda?”

  There was no need to answer that. She knew as well as he did who the primary bidders would be.

  If that was Reynolds’s plan, Landon couldn’t figure out why it had taken more than seventy-two hours to seal the deal. With as many people as there were looking for Grace Chancellor, it seemed that the American would want to get her off his hands as quickly as possible. Of course, the same thing could have been said about her original captors.

  Nothing about the delay in selling Grace to one of the terrorist groups made sense. And that was the one thing Landon had come to expect after working intel in this country.

  Other than the religious fanatics, the people here were basically pragmatists. If you had a product to sell, especially one vulnerable to loss or death, you got it off your hands as quickly as possible.

  “If that is what he intends,” Grace went on, “I don’t understand why he hasn’t separated us. Or why he allowed you to keep the knife.”

  “Because he knows that, as outnumbered as we are, I don’t represent much of a threat to whatever he’s planning.”

  “He doesn’t know you as well as I do.”

  It was almost the first personal thing she’d said to him since he’d found her. And it was hard to fathom that she could still believe that after the fiasco with the truck. He didn’t bother to deny that it meant something to him that she apparently did believe it.

  “Did you really not know you’d lost it?”

  “I remember cutting the rope across the corral. After that…” He shrugged.

  He couldn’t believe Reynolds and his men would have examined that remote area carefully enough to discover the knife lying in the darkness. Maybe it had fallen out of his belt when he’d pulled the Glock to dispatch the men surrounding Grace’s horse. That had taken place in the center of the encampment. Still, given that their search must have been carried out by torch or flashlight, he was surprised they’d found the weapon at all.

  “So do you have a plan to get us out of here?” Grace asked, abandoning speculation over the returned knife.

  Another question that cut to the heart of their situation. Grace had always had a knack for asking those. That’s what had made her such a valuable analyst. Until she’d told Congress the truth about the Agency’s intelligence failures in the Middle East.

  “I’m working on it.”

  As much of a nonanswer as he was willing to give. There was no reason to admit that it was far easier to get into a guarded encampment than to find a way to get the two of them out of one.

  “Promise me something, Landon.”

  Her voice had changed. Her blue eyes were filled with an earnestness that made him know that whatever her request was, he didn’t want to hear it. Unlike her apparent relationship with Mitchell, theirs had never been about last wishes and deathbed promises. And he didn’t intend for it to become that now.

  He’d held her sated body in his arms through too many pleasure-filled nights to allow the thought that he might not do that again into his brain. It would only weaken him.

  “Don’t start that crap, Grace.”

  “I’ve been preparing to die since the day they shot down the Kiowa. But I don’t want to do it in some propaganda film that’s shown over and over on their television so the jackals can enjoy the spectacle.”

  “You aren’t going to die. Not publicly. Not otherwise.”

  “Don’t treat me like a child.”

  “Then stop acting like one. When Cabot doesn’t hear from me, he’ll send someone else to find you. And the damned State Department has already got half the forces in this country out looking for you.”

  “I hesitate to mention it, but none of them have found me.”

  “Unless you count Reynolds. Maybe that’s what the delay is all about.” He didn’t believe that, of course, but if it would keep her from imagining the same images of beheadings that had haunted his sleep last night, then he was willing to lie. “Maybe it’s just taking a little longer to make the arrangements to hand you over to the coalition than any of us anticipated.”

  “Because he doesn’t have a clue about where to find people willing to come get us, right?” Her sarcasm was obvious. “Look, I’ll be the optimistic little heroine you want if you’ll make me one promise.”

  “I’m not going to promise you anything. Except that, just as I promised Griff, I’m going to get you out of this.”

  And if that isn’t being the optimistic little hero she’d just made fun of…

  “If it comes down to that—” she hesitated, her eyes holding his before she finished “—then I want you to be the one to do it.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  The chill in his gut mocked his angry question. He knew exactly what she was asking him to promise.

  “I thought you EST guys all knew dozen of ways to kill someone. Eve
n without a weapon. And you’ve still got one.”

  “You think I’m going to slit your throat, Grace? Or break your neck with my bare hands?”

  His fury with his failure to get her out of here made those questions even harsher than his earlier one. They shouldn’t be having this conversation. She shouldn’t be in a position where she had to think about the possibility of a public execution, which would, just as she feared, be milked for every ounce of humiliation the fanatics could derive from it. And that she was having to worry about that was his fault.

  “If it comes down to it, I hope you will,” she said calmly, refusing to react to his anger.

  “Damn you,” he said softly.

  He took the three steps that separated them, grabbing her by the shoulders and lifting her off the bed. She flinched at the strength of his grip, but he held her against his body, looking down into her eyes. After a moment they filled with moisture.

  “Don’t cry,” he ordered. “Don’t you ever let me see you cry.”

  By some monumental force of will, she blinked the tears away, looking up at him defiantly.

  “You’re not going to die. Not by my hand or by anyone else’s. Do you hear me, Gracie?”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I’ll call you anything I goddam well please when you’re talking this crap.”

  “It isn’t crap to admit the possibility—”

  “Shut up, Grace. Just shut the hell up.”

  “You admitted that you don’t know—”

  To stop whatever stupid admission he might have made from being thrown back into his face, he lowered his head, fitting his mouth over hers. For a long heartbeat there was no response. And then, like a flower opening to the warmth of the sun, her lips parted.

  Her tongue met his, melding to it with a long familiarity that allowed her to match its movements perfectly. It was as if the years between their last kiss and this one didn’t exist.

  As the kiss deepened, she put her arms around his neck, her body moving into closer alignment with his. His erection was instantaneous. And full-blown.

  Nothing about the way he felt had changed, he realized. Nothing except that he was now aware of the pain of losing her. A pain he’d been too stupid or too callow to admit before.

  His hands, no longer needed to hold her against him, moved down the slender back, his fingers cupping under her hips to lift them into a closer intimacy. His mouth devoured hers, her response making it obvious that she had wanted this as much as he did. And maybe for as long.

  Perhaps fear or stress played some part in what was happening between them, but right now he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to question her motives. He was simply going to relish the feel of her body pressed against his once more.

  She broke the kiss abruptly, leaning back to look up into his face. Her eyes were slightly glazed, exactly as they had always been after he made love to her.

  He could see the gleam of the moisture his mouth had left on her bottom lip. He wanted to collect it by running his tongue across it. He settled instead for wiping it away with his thumb.

  “This is insane,” she said, her gaze moving over his face as if she’d never seen it before.

  “It’s the sanest thing I’ve done in a long time.”

  It was. Letting Grace walk away from him all those years ago had been his insanity. He’d known it at the time, but he’d had too much pride to beg her not to leave.

  But then, that had always been his downfall. His stupid, stiff-necked pride. Especially in situations when he believed he had nothing left but that.

  “This is just the result of what’s happening,” she said.

  Maybe it was for her. But he would have reacted exactly like this to touching her again, no matter where they were or what the situation. And he had never felt this way about another woman in his life.

  During the months after she’d ended their relation ship, he’d been on the verge of calling and telling her exactly that dozens of times. Maybe it wouldn’t have made any difference, but maybe…

  He had known what she wanted. At the time, because of the nature of what he’d been doing with the EST, he couldn’t give it to her.

  None of Griff’s team had been married. It had been an unspoken rule. The missions they undertook were too dangerous and far too covert. It would have taken a special woman to be willing to put up with both the secrecy and the long separations.

  A special woman…

  There was no denying that Grace Chancellor had been exactly that to him. More special than he had ever let her know. Pride again. Or maybe fear. Especially after his last mission.

  “Maybe it is,” he said. “But…I think you should know that nothing has changed about the way I feel.”

  Some emotion, quickly masked by the fall of her lashes before he’d had time to identify it, was briefly reflected in those wide blue eyes. Before he could even try to figure out what he’d seen—

  “Ms. Chancellor?”

  Startled, they both turned toward the sound of that voice. Steven Reynolds was holding open the curtain that provided the small privacy they had. Before Landon could react to his intrusion, Grace took a step back, freeing herself from his embrace.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.” Reynolds’s tone indicated his amusement at finding them so closely intertwined.

  Screw you, you bastard, Landon thought.

  He didn’t regret that Reynolds had seen Grace in his arms. Maybe the American needed a demonstration of what their relationship really was.

  Landon’s only regret was that they hadn’t had a chance to finish what they’d started. At least now he knew that eventually they would. Considering the way Grace had responded to his touch, it was only a matter of time. Something he prayed they would have.

  “What is it?”

  At Landon’s question, Reynolds pulled his eyes away from Grace’s face, making his reluctance to do so obvious. He was taking pleasure in her embarrassment, Landon realized, fighting the urge to walk across and jerk the curtain out of the bastard’s hand.

  “I need to talk to Ms. Chancellor. In private, if you don’t mind.” Reynolds smiled at her as he added the last, deliberately not looking at Landon.

  “Whatever you have to say to me, Mr. Sloan should hear it, too, don’t you think? After all, we are all in this together, aren’t we?”

  Grace sounded perfectly composed, despite the flush of color in her cheeks. She was too proud to back down from their captor.

  As the word formed in his mind, he realized that he now had no doubt that that was exactly what Reynolds was. Their captor.

  “Actually,” Reynolds said, “that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Grace shook her head slightly.

  Reynolds’s smile faded. He met Landon’s eyes again, but he didn’t answer. Instead his lips pursed before he turned back to Grace.

  “Ms. Chancellor? Outside, please.” Holding the curtain with one hand, he gestured with the other toward the area beyond it.

  “I don’t think she wants to go with you,” Landon said, his voice very soft.

  “I really don’t want to play the heavy, but…in actuality, Ms. Chancellor doesn’t have a choice. Neither do you, Sloan. I think you’ve figured that out by now. So, we can do this politely…”

  Reynolds turned, using his free hand to motion one of the men standing behind him into the opening. The rifle the tribesman carried was quickly pointed at Landon, making the threat clear.

  “Or we can do it less politely.” Reynolds’s voice was as soft as Landon’s had been. “The choice is up to you.”

  Choice? If he were dead, they could do whatever they wanted with Grace. Even if Reynolds were about to take her away from camp, as long as Landon was alive, there was a chance he could get free and go after her.

  “If it will help you to reach the right decision, Mr. Sloan, I give you my word that Ms. Chancellor will be back here with you
within the hour. I really do just want to talk to her.”

  “It’s all right, John,” Grace said as she started toward the opening. “We are enjoying Mr. Reynolds’s hospitality, after all. I don’t mind having to sing for my supper.”

  “And I’m sure you’d do that very well, too,” Reynolds said, smiling at her.

  The emphasis on the last word had been an obvious reference to the kiss he’d interrupted. Again Landon resisted the urge to make a stand. If he did, it would be at Grace’s expense. Leaving her alone in the hands of a man he didn’t trust was as bad an option as letting her walk out of his sight.

  “I’ll be back,” Grace said, glancing over her shoulder at him, a warning in her eyes. “An hour, I believe you said?”

  The last was directed at Reynolds, who was smiling again. This time it didn’t seem to be in amusement. And Landon found he liked the mockery of the other better than the lust he read in this one.

  “No more than that, I promise you. Relax, Mr. Sloan. You really do have nothing to worry about. You’ll be well guarded, I assure you.”

  Reynolds nodded to the tribesman with the rifle before he stepped through the open curtain with Grace. He allowed the cloth to fall, leaving the guard, his weapon still trained on Landon, inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Reynolds waited until they reached what appeared to be the command center of the complex before he spoke to her again. He pulled out one of the chairs around a table covered with maps and papers, indicating that she should sit down in it.

  There was no point in refusing. This was his show and, for all Grace knew, it might prove to be a lengthy one.

  “So the story about a friend sending Sloan here to find you was bogus.” That had obviously been a comment rather than a question.

  “Not at all,” Grace said. “That’s exactly what happened.”

  “And you two went from strangers to…whatever it was I just walked in on in a few days? Nice work if you can get it, I guess.”

  Grace had never discussed her relationship with Landon with anyone. She wasn’t about to start now. Particularly not with someone she didn’t trust.