by Dianna Love
When she reached Logan’s door, her hand shook as she struggled to ease the board up from where it had been cupped to lock in Dragan. She laid it gently on the ground, lifted Lurch’s possessions and moved inside silently.
“Where are you?” she whispered.
“Holy shit ... you ... did it.” His voice was full of pain.
She followed the sound and dropped down beside him. “I brought clothes and boots from the big guard.”
Dragan’s hand fumbled against her until his fingers wrapped her forearm. “You won’t make it ... with me. Go, but call ... someone for me.” He took a labored breath. “When you get back.”
Margaux didn’t have the strength to physically drag someone his size from here and she wouldn’t walk away.
CHAPTER 11
Logan fought past the pain clawing his body to think of a way to make Violet—like hell that was her real name—leave the hut, escape while she could. But if she didn’t get moving, she wasn’t going to make it out of here.
Might not survive anyhow if she didn’t know anything about the jungle.
Her voice was close to him and shook when she said, “Fuck. That. Don’t make me waste my breath arguing. Get up and get dressed. You’re leaving if I have to drag you.”
What woman wouldn’t take the opening he’d given her? His admiration flared even though he growled. If he had the strength, he’d toss her over his shoulder and get the hell out of here.
He’d fall on his face in two steps.
Sounding like a wounded beast caught in a trap, he muttered, “So we both die here?”
Her fingers touched his face. She might be just as hardheaded, but her words were softer this time. “I’m not leaving alone no matter what you say. Whatever we have to face, we do it together.”
Where had she come from?
Women in the covert business were normally cutthroat and came with a natural survival defense mechanism. They weren’t selfless when it came to a choice of walking away alive or not. The last woman he’d known who had skills even close to this one had been his first introduction to this business. Babette had seduced him when he’d been twenty, then handed him over to the gun runner she worked for, who’d taught Logan the mistake of trusting any female he didn’t have a full dossier on.
Even then, he hadn’t handed over trust easily.
He gave in. “Okay, help me up.”
Violet moved her hand down and reached around him, lifting. The pain that shot through his chest, back and head almost sent him to the ground again. Bile rushed up his throat, but he’d be damned if he was going to hurl on her while she was trying to save his ass. She had to be hurting, too, but all he heard were grunts of effort. Between the two of them, Logan managed a sitting position against the wall.
She got busy first putting a shirt on him, then she worked the pants on one leg at a time. He was doing nothing and panting hard. How she was managing was beyond him.
When she’d gone as far as she could with the pants, she straddled him, squatting over his thighs. He kept forcing his thoughts away from the pain. Like why couldn’t they be in a plush hotel room with her straddling him for round one hundred of amazing sex?
And he bet it would be. A woman like this would be unforgettable.
He could feel her lean forward in the darkness. She had to be propping her hands against the wall behind him.
She rasped, “Hook your arms around me and we’ll stand together.”
He outweighed her by at least eighty pounds, but she walked her hands up the wall and he pushed his bruised, aching muscles until he was standing.
They were both panting and struggling not to cough.
Whatever she’d done next door had kept the other guards content, but for how long? It seemed to take forever to get him to this point, but in truth the guards had only come for her ten to fifteen minutes ago.
Dragan leaned his shoulder against the wall while she finished dressing him and hooked a belt around his waist, but it couldn’t be the one the big guard had worn. Too light. “Where’s the machete and pistol?”
“I’ve got them. I just want you to stay upright as long as you can.” She slipped under his arm. “Ready?”
Shutting his mind against the agony, he locked out all doubt. “Let’s go.”
He sagged into her as soon as he moved away from the wall, but by the time they were out of the hut his legs functioned enough for him to keep moving forward.
There was something about drawing a breath of free air that rejuvenated a person. Hard to explain to someone who had never been at the mercy of others, but that first deep breath gave him a fresh push of energy.
He’d been beaten, burned and cut. He hadn’t slept in days and he needed water more than food, but damn it felt good to be on the move.
Even a slow move.
The half moon offered specks of light from time to time. Violet didn’t say anything as they used streaks of moonlight to pick their way through a trodden path. They had to get off this route soon. It would be the easiest place to get caught, but she couldn’t swing a machete and hold him up, too.
Time stretched from one breath to the next, seeming like hours when he was sure only a few minutes had passed since they’d left the camp. That’s when he heard voices shouting in the distance back where they’d come from. He was getting sluggish, barely putting one foot in front of the other. If they had to fight, he would be more liability than help, but arguing with her about leaving him somewhere hidden would be fruitless.
He whispered, “We have to find water and hide.”
She stopped. “Where?”
If they weren’t in dire straits he’d tease Superwoman about not having this figured out. “The terrain drops off to our right. Head that way and see if we find a river.”
“I hate fucking snakes,” she muttered and angled them off the trail, moving more carefully.
“If we’re in South America, this is the dry season. They don’t move around as much.”
“Really?” She sounded like a kid who just heard that spinach tasted like chocolate ice cream.
No, not really, but she had enough to worry about. If they walked up on a snake, they’d deal with it then. “Really.”
The voices had died down back at the camp. They might be waiting on daylight or they could be mobilizing to look for him and Violet.
A palm branch swatted him in the face. He cursed.
“My bad. Missed that one.”
Logan started reaching ahead to feel for branches before they hit her. They bumbled along for a while having to stop when the underbrush got too thick and alter their course to find an easy path. The vegetation finally thinned and they entered an open area. He could hear the water rushing.
She croaked out, “I’d say I’m salivating, but I couldn’t call up enough spit to wet a stamp. Come on, I want that.”
“We can’t drink it.”
“What?”
He limped along with her, careful not to slip when the land turned rocky and dropped off steeply for three feet. “Are you trained for the jungle?”
“I’m more of an urban jungle survivor.”
“You can’t drink this water unless it’s treated or boiled.” But he was licking his lips at the sound, too.
She sighed. “Dammit. Parasites.”
“Right. So you do have some training.”
“Oh, yeah, I’m certified by National-fucking-Geographic.”
He smiled. She’d left her Violet-of-the-Trophy-Room voice back in San Francisco at the hotel.
This was the real woman. Now if he could just weasel a name out of her and find out what she was doing at the Trophy Room. Had she been trying to sign on with the Banker, too?
He hoped not.
When they reached the river, the moonlight offered more help in making out the terrain. “Let’s go to that boulder at ten o’clock.”
She guided him there and eased him down. No recliner had ever felt so good. “Check your belt for tablets
. I’ll check mine.”
“We don’t have a canteen.” But she was hunting through the pouches on her belt. “Bingo.”
“The tablets?”
“No.” She waved something in her hand. “A Ziploc bag full of his tobacco. I’ll dump that—”
“Hell, no. Keep the tobacco in case we need it for a spider bite.”
“Gotcha, Tarzan.” She dumped the tobacco into one of her pouches and kept digging around then paused. “Oh, thank God.”
“What? Tablets?”
“No-o.” She opened a small tin the size of his thumb. “Lip balm. Another gift from Lurch and Tattoo.” She reached over and smeared some on his lips then covered hers.
“Lurch and Tattoo?” He opened another pouch on his belt.
“I named them. Did you notice how Tattoo kept his icky lips moist?”
“Not really. Guy creeped me out.” Logan’s fingers touched a bottle that rattled. Could they be that lucky? “I found something.”
“The tablets?”
He was tempted to say no just to tease her. “Maybe.”
She turned toward him and flicked a lighter close enough for him to read the label, but she kept the flame cupped behind her hand.
He grunted. “That’s it.”
She cut the lighter off. “Sit tight and I’ll get water.”
Good thing. He’d hate to collapse on his face at this point, and water would go a long way toward reviving them both. She returned with the quart bag plump with river water. He dumped the tablet in.
“Now?” she asked and licked her lips.
“Need about a half hour.”
“Fuck!”
“You’ve really never camped or did any survival training?”
“No, screw that shit. I’m thirsty now.”
He smiled, wishing he could do something about her thirst. “We’ve made it to this point. Thirty minutes isn’t that long.” He was enjoying the real her and wanted to hear what she’d say if he poked at her. “Patience is a virtue.”
She glared at him. “Why can’t hurry-the-fuck-up be a virtue?”
He chuckled. It hurt, but it felt good, too. If he was going to be stuck in the middle of jungle-nowhere with a woman, he was glad as hell it was this one. She had more grit than came with most pairs of balls and was a fighter all the way. But who was she? Now that they weren’t around their captors, he should try to pull some details out of her.
But this one wouldn’t drop her shields easily. It would take time to chisel away one layer at a time. He said, “Give me the bag and sit down. Save your energy every chance you get.”
“You’re right.” She climbed up on the rock and leaned back, but didn’t settle down. She squirmed and wiggled.
Logan offered, “Want to lean against me?”
“No.”
Blunt, but honest. Strangely refreshing even if it did bruise his ego that she wouldn’t lean on him for comfort. “We can’t stay here. Try to relax until we can drink the water then we’re moving again.”
Her sigh ended in a groan. “You sleep. I’ll keep watch.”
Damn stubborn woman. “Look, you got us out of there. Think you could give up control long enough to rest? We need each other right now, so just relax.”
“Fine. You keep watch.”
Relax must have been the magic word.
Damn if she didn’t soften enough to slump against his shoulder, murmuring about how they both needed a bath. Just that little bit of trust lifted his spirits.
Now that they were still, he could swear he smelled fresh blood.
Was she injured? He’d ask her when she woke up, because her breathing was slowing down, and she needed the rest.
Once her breathing evened out with deep sleep, he eased his arm away from her head and adjusted her until she slept against his chest, held close by his arm.
Argue now, woman-who-is-not-Violet.
He propped the water on top of his thigh and listened to the sounds of the night. The terrain had pretty much funneled them down to this spot at the river. That meant animals probably traveled the same path. If the monkeys he’d heard were indeed howlers then they were in Central or South America, which meant the potential danger of meeting more threats besides their captors who had to be regrouping right now.
If it was daylight, the kidnappers would have gone to the river first to hike in two directions, figuring on their prisoners heading to water. That’s what he’d have his men do, but it was dangerous to split up in the jungle at night, even when there were eight men left.
Logan spoke the language and had discerned that they’d started with a team of ten and had a time frame of five days once he and Violet were in the base camp.
Whose base camp, who had set that deadline and what did the person in charge want? What happened in five days?
His mind was wandering.
Back to the most immediate problem.
He had to find a place to hide the both of them, somewhere to rest while they were being hunted. One down day and plenty of water should revive them enough to start hiking, and to fight if need be.
Decent plan if not for one snag—what if whoever was behind the kidnapping sent in reinforcements with night vision gear and heavy artillery?
CHAPTER 12
Near Mainz, Germany. 9:00 am
Chatton leaned back against the aging stone wall of a castle built into the cliffs overhanging the Rhine River.
She had no cellular service here, but Wayan would not miss this meeting. He was arrogant. Not stupid.
She turned her face to the early morning sun that was trying its best to warm the frigid air still whipping through Germany in April. She preferred the cold for wearing her Burberry trench coat as a cover garment to conceal the HK USP Compact in her shoulder holster.
Not that she felt the need for a weapon when confronting Wayan, but they both had enemies.
Thus the reason for choosing this tower perched two-thousand feet above the river. Built in early 1100 CE, it offered an unhindered view for miles in every direction. Even with all the safeguards in place for this meeting, one could never be too careful.
Two men emerged from the stairwell, both in suits, but with distinct differences in size. The tall one carved of muscle wore no overcoat and moved with the powerful stride of a man who expected danger and faced it without hesitation.
The bodyguard.
Then there was the diminutive Wayan.
For a man who held a position of influence within the coveted circle of China’s party chief and whose opinion carried weight with the president of China, Wayan was disappointing physically. He had the easy mannerisms of a powerful businessman, sure of his place in life, but at only five feet tall and slender, he gave the impression of being too young for his position. He was forty-five.
Not very impressive overall until the first time you gazed into his predatory eyes. That was the moment an adversary realized Wayan was far more dangerous than his bodyguard, because Wayan could kill one—or a thousand—with a whispered word.
“I hope you have not wasted my time, Chatton,” Wayan warned in his soft voice as he reached her. The bodyguard hung back at a discreet distance. Close enough to react quickly to a threat, but far enough to prevent hearing sensitive information.
She quoted, “An inch of time is worth an inch of gold, but you cannot buy that inch of time with an inch of gold.”
“Exactly.”
“If you thought I was wasting your time you wouldn’t be here right now, Wayan.”
“Keep in mind, I have not agreed to keep knowledge of this meeting from the General.”
“Telling him won’t be a problem for me, Wayan.”
The General was the third player in their secret, three-member club called Czarion. He was not a general, but he held a high position in the United States Pentagon. He influenced decision making in the US just as Wayan did in his country.
Neither of the two liked having Chatton in the mix, because she’d manipulated
her way into the Czarion by possessing a rare artifact they both wanted. Wayan was convinced that once five specific artifacts were located and brought together, those rare pieces would reveal the bloody destiny laid out in Orion’s Legacy, a foretelling of the Final Conflict, the throw down of all throw downs by international superpowers.
Yeah, right. Chatton had stumbled across a lead on these two men while hunting for whoever was trying to wipe out her family line.
The General acted as though he believed in Orion’s Legacy, but, in her opinion, his eyes never backed his words. Maybe he’d tossed his Kool-Aid aside when Wayan wasn’t looking.
As for her? She didn’t go for mumbo jumbo, but the potential for world conflict instigated by men with skewed beliefs had kept her invested in remaining a Czarion while she hunted for answers on her family’s killers.
“I will decide what to tell the General once I hear what you have to say,” Wayan told her. He angled his chin with the arrogance of a man accustomed to all but his president bowing down to him.
The only time she’d bow to a man would be if she thought the position would give her an advantage in slamming him with a head butt. “The General is going after the Amber Room panel without your knowledge. The artifact that holds the majority of the message, if my research on Orion’s Legacy is accurate.”
He maintained an unconcerned expression, his words unhurried. “It is accurate. And you have learned about this how?”
Because my father taught me all he knew about being an MI6 agent and I surpassed his highest expectations. She lifted away from the wall, rising to her full height of five-feet-eight when you included two inches of boot heel.
Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, she mentally cracked her knuckles, preparing to sell this. “One of the General’s families is trying to obtain the panel that slipped through our fingers last year. Or, I should say, slipped through the General’s fingers.”
Wait for it.
Wayan was not a man who liked to be surprised. His hesitation meant he either didn’t know about the General’s association with a specific group of notable families, or he didn’t know that one of them was after a specific panel from the Amber Room, considered the eighth wonder of the world that was believed lost during World War II.