Dead Reckoning

by Ronie Kendig

  “Captain?” Shiloh shook his hand then stuffed hers in the pockets of her jeans.

  “Green Berets.”

  Shiloh wrinkled her brow. “Green Berets? What’re you doing way up here?”

  A sardonic grin pinched the corners of the man's eyes. “Besides clean lake water and no air pollution? Training the locals while their government looks the other way.”

  Miller slipped between them and strode to the door. “I’ll get Gita. She can show you the showers.”

  Reece tossed her pack onto the bed made from leafy trees and most likely stuffed with feathers of local birds. In a GB camp, everything was local. “You’ll be safe here, but it never hurts to stay on guard.”

  She whirled toward him. “You’re leaving?” Panic streaked the edges of her eyes.

  Surprised at what he heard in that simple question, Reece paused. She didn’t want him to leave. She feared he would leave. “I’ll never be more than fifty feet away. Clean up and get some rest. Then grab some grub.”

  “Oh.” She seemed to relax. Her gaze shifted to the furnishings: the bed on one side, the chest sitting against the far wall. “Who's place is this?”

  At the foot of the bed, she lifted the mosquito netting, and her fingers stroked the sheets.

  “Probably one of the guys. I’m sure Gita changed the bedding,” he said, hoping she heard the humor in his words.

  “I’m not tired.”

  “Trust me, once you clean up, it’ll hit you.”

  She turned and let out a long breath. “Maybe.”

  Did she have to look so vulnerable? So frail, not in a weak sort of way, but the kind that made him want to ensure she never left his sight again. “Grab fresh clothes, and I’ll meet you outside.”

  Bathed in the early warmth of the morning, Reece lowered to a stump. Miller strode toward him with a young Hindu woman. “This is Gita, our resident cook, maid, and launderer. Not that we make her. She actually enjoys it.”

  Standing, Reece greeted her in Hindi, thanking her for the preparations for Shiloh. With a glance toward the hut, he wondered what was taking her so long. Just as he was about to explain her delay, she emerged with clothes tucked under one arm.

  Gita smiled and half-bowed to Shiloh. “Shower?” She wrapped an arm around her and ushered her away, mumbling in broken English. Halfway across camp, Shiloh's gaze came back to him.

  Impulse taunted him to sprint across the camp and escort her himself. Propriety and the dozen grunts scattered around the camp nailed his feet to the ground. He clamped his mouth shut.

  “She looks shell-shocked.” Miller slapped his gut as he walked past. “Let's get some grub, and you can tell me what happened.”

  Reece joined him in a small, covered kitchen area. A portable, generator-powered stove sat on a plank-top table. His friend moved to a bin, where he withdrew a small cup, poured something black from a thermos into it—could it be coffee?— then slid it across the table to Reece. “Have a sit and tell me about it.”

  With care, he eased onto the bench, hoping the bruises from Shiloh's meltdown didn’t ache the way he expected them to. “Full-scale assault. RPGs, M4s, snipers—took out an entire train depot.” Cradling the warm brew in his hands, he compartmentalized the action from the emotion.

  “She lost her fiancé and his father, who I had to neutralize right in front of her. She didn’t take that well.”

  “No kidding. What did the father do?”

  “Aligned with whoever's after her. Tried to kill her.”

  Miller scooped eggs from a pan and slopped them onto a tin plate. “Most people can’t take that much, but other than the dirt and grit, she looks like she's holding together okay.”

  “I hope she does.” But he knew better. Her fight was gone. She moved robotically. Her little eruption on the road gave him hope that she might come through. Maybe that was expecting too much. With Khalid and Baseer dead, he didn’t imagine she had very fond feelings toward him right now. As a matter of fact, the I hate you. I hate you! might be real. When she’d said it, he’d rationalized the words as remnants of her anger and pain. He wasn’t sure anymore.

  “Who's on her tail?”

  Scooting the eggs around the plate, he grunted. “That's liquid. At first, everything pointed to the minister of defense.”

  Hands tucked into the pits of his arms, Miller balked, “Abdul?” He snickered. “He doesn’t have the spine.”

  “I know, but the guy's in so deep, he can’t see his way out.”

  “Deep? How so?”

  “Sajjadi.”

  The casual smile on Miller's face vanished. “You got proof?”

  “Enough to keep pushing.” Reece scraped the plate as he finished off the eggs, grateful for the energy slowly working its way back into his limbs. He shoved the plate aside and scratched his head. “We need to lay low for a while. At least a week. Can you guys handle that?”

  “No sweat. We’re dug in pretty solid for now.”

  “Good.” His gaze drifted to the place where Shiloh had disappeared into the woods with Gita. Running his tongue along his teeth, he wondered where this little mission would go from here. What else would he have to do to keep her alive?

  “Who is she?”

  Reece looked at his buddy. “Come again?”

  “When you got off that bike and doted on her—”

  “Doted?” Laughing, Reece dragged his legs out from under the table and settled back against the wood. He sipped his coffee. “She's an underwater archeologist caught up in the dead drop I was scoping.”

  Miller's eyes narrowed in thought. “Underwater? She's a diver?”

  “Yep.”

  “Impressive. No wonder you’re so attentive.”

  With a snort, Reece let his gaze probe the woods again. Should he check on her? Surely Miller's team would be on guard. He tensed, hoping the guys kept their distance and weren’t playing peeping Tom.

  “Stop worrying. Women take forever to get ready.”

  “She's not like that.”

  That drew up one of Miller's blond eyebrows. “Wanna explain that statement, soldier?”

  “Not to you.” Reece laughed and bent forward, his elbows on his knees. “She beat the tar out of me a few hours ago.”

  “Decompressing. Good sign.”

  Nodding, Reece ordered his attention to remain on the dirt caked to his boots. I hate you. I hate you! Her words rang as gongs against his conscience. But it only made him more determined to end this chaos, solve the case, and get her on the first jumbo jet back to the States.

  “Her name's Shiloh Blake.”

  Miller shrugged.

  “Remember Jude Blake?”

  “Who doesn’t?” Miller's eyes widened. “Wait. You aren’t telling me—”

  “His daughter.”

  Miller let out a low whistle. “Which probably means you have half of Langley breathing down your neck.”

  “More like breathing fire.” Wrestling with the memory of holding her while she blew her top, Reece roughed a hand over his mouth and face. “And the killers after her always seem one step ahead of us.”

  “Insider?”

  He squinted back toward the woods. “Possibly.” A yawn sifted through him, freeing a ton of weariness and aches—and body odor. He cringed at himself.

  “You look like you need some rest.”

  “I need a shower more.”

  “Well, it's free now.”

  Reece snapped his head toward the path, automatically rising to his feet as Shiloh walked through the camp with Gita. The sight tugged a smile out of him. With the dirt and ash washed off , her face shone under the twinkling of the morning sun peeking through the branches. Her reddish-brown hair hung darkly down her back, a loose curl draping her soft face.

  Gita ushered her charge to the kitchen bench, served her a plate of food, took her dirty clothes, and then hurried away with a promise to return.

  “Gita made the grub,” Cole said, standing over her with a smir
k. “So it's edible, unlike anything else the men cook up.”

  Shiloh bounced her gaze from him to Reece.

  Miller thumped his arm. “Weren’t you going to clean up? Here we have a beautiful woman in camp, and you look like the beggar's dog.”

  Oh, Reece could have punched him for that. With a smirk, he leaned toward Shiloh. “Don’t trust anything this man says. He's been known to con princes out of their crowns.”

  “Hey,” Miller said. “Prince Albert was busy in a race. What can I say?”

  A small smile.

  “I’ll be back.” Could he leave her? If he sat here reeking and hawking over her, Miller would never let him live it down. “Get some rest. I’ll wake you for dinner.” He touched her shoulder. If his buddy weren’t here, he’d wait until she tucked in before heading down to the showers. As it was, he felt Miller's eyes boring into the back of his skull.

  With his heart still sitting on the bench across from Shiloh, Reece tromped off , grabbed his rucksack, and headed down the path. What was happening? Was he going soft? In his gut, he couldn’t stand the thought of her going through any more. Yet he knew this ordeal was far from over. He’d held her hours ago as she worked through the first layer of emotion elicited by the traumatic situation. And suddenly, he wished he could do it again and make this entire nightmare go away.

  Under the cold, drizzling shower spray, he let his mind wander to the train station. Ending Baseer Khan's life. Palms to the wall, he hung his head. God, forgive me. While he knew he’d acted out of necessity, he wondered if she could ever understand. Some people couldn’t. God hadn’t designed every person to fill the role he worked in protecting U.S. interests. A tricky but vital game. Still, the regret ran deep over everything Shiloh had witnessed. Khan knew what he was doing. Shiloh probably wouldn’t understand or forgive him.

  Worse, she believed Reece a murderer.

  16

  RUBY RED GLEAMED ON HER FINGER, A SPARK OF EARLY MORNING SUNLIGHT catching the crimson jewel in Khalid's ring. Shiloh's stomach knotted. Should she have left it in her pack? She almost had, but not wearing the ring seemed like a cruel betrayal of the man who had given it to her. Yet more than two days after the attack, the painful reminder screamed at her as she sat on the grass overlooking a placid lake.

  Focused on the body of water that spread out before her, she twisted the ring until the stone pressed into her palm. She unlaced her boots, set them aside, and rolled up her pant legs. Feet immersed in the cool liquid, she squinted at the sparkling lake. If only the sight of water didn’t remind her of the attack on Mumbai bay and the man who had died in her arms at the train station.

  It seemed like a bad dream. Holding him, screaming her declarations of love, words that rang hollow in her own ears. What kind of person withholds their words of love until after someone dies? She didn’t even care about the Pacific Rim Challenge anymore. It felt empty and worthless without Khalid. Gentle water lapped at her ankles.

  No, she couldn’t allow herself to remember. Last night she had awakened twice from her nightmares. Reece had come both times to check on her. Just his voice calling through the screen door had soothed her tremors. Even now as he talked with Captain Miller, she could hear his voice a couple dozen feet away and felt secure for it … for the sternness, the resolution.

  She felt bad for screaming at him yesterday. For hitting him and acting the fool. But he didn’t yell back at her or tell her to grow up. He just let her beat on him.

  Swallowing, she brushed a strand of hair from her face, watching as several of the men swam and played football in the lake.

  Splat! Water splashed up at her. She blinked—immediately shoving aside the fear that knifed through her—and spotted a football at her feet. It hovered on the surface, spinning.

  “Toss it back!”

  Uncertain at first, Shiloh lifted the ball and palmed the hide. In the middle of the lake, arms flailed, trying to persuade her to send it to them. She picked a guy nicknamed Map and fired the ball at him. Like a trout swimming upstream, the largest of the group dove through the air, clipping Stick and knocking him over before intercepting the ball meant for Map.

  Map gaped at her. “She's on my team!”

  Back on his feet and shaking the water from his hair, Stick groaned. “Not fair!”

  “Come on, Shiloh. You can take Stick's position.” Map waved at her. “Bronco and I will gladly take you over him.”

  “Hey!” The scrawny guy swooshed water at Map.

  Playing games. Laughing. All things Khalid would never do again. The thought wrapped around her, tightening. “Sorry, not up to it.”

  A chorus of objections and pleas pushed her from the bank. She hurried up the bank and crested the small hill. Her gaze connected with Reece's. He looked so steady and intense,

  as if he saw right through her actions to the pain drowning her. Heart heavy and aching, she hesitated. How could he be so unswerving? She felt as though she’d been knocked to the ground and would never rise. But he just stood there … waiting. Waiting for what?

  Breaking their look, she rushed to her hut and stepped inside a mural of browns. Brown bed. Brown floors. Brown chair. Brown desk. Brown tarp ceiling. Dreary, dull brown that felt constricting and choked her. Yet it was the only place she could be alone. She slumped onto the bed and sat with her legs crisscrossed. Closed in and shut off . She’d go crazy if she had to stay here. Every man in camp had tiptoed around her last night while she ate curried chicken. She hated the pretense, the awkwardness.

  The engagement ring poked her hand and conscience. Without another thought, she tugged off the ring and tucked it in the side zippered pocket of her pack. She dragged the pack to her lap and dug through the contents, searching for the small stone lamp. Where had it gone? Upending the pack, she dumped everything onto the bed and sorted through it.

  Her hand grazed the navy sweatshirt. Did it still carry his smell? She lifted it and took a whiff , and smiled. Yeah, definitely.

  A rapping at the door startled her.

  “Come in.” She tossed down the hoodie and stuffed her things back into the pack.

  Boots thudded across the floorboards and a body cut off the light from outside. “Did you bring shorts?”

  Her gaze shot up. Reece stood a few paces away. “Uh, yeah.” The sweatshirt. Please don’t notice it. How would she explain that she still had it after he said to toss it?

  “Good. Get changed, and I’ll meet you by the lake.”

  She faltered. “The lake? You mean, like to swim?”

  Arms folded over his chest, he waited. Again with the waiting. What was with him?

  “I’m sorry, I don’t want to. I can’t …” The rest of the words caught in her throat. Not without Khalid.

  “Maybe you misunderstood.” He lowered his arms, planting his hands on his hips like a drill sergeant. “I didn’t ask.”

  “Excuse me?” It would be a lot easier to get angry and indignant if he glared or yelled or reacted like a human being instead of a robot without feelings. But he didn’t. He just stood there like a pillar.

  Then again, she wasn’t the compliant type. Even Khalid knew that. Did this brute? “What if I refuse?”

  For a moment his expression was blank, and then … a smile? Did he really smile? “I’ll carry you down there and throw you in myself.”

  She froze. “You wouldn—” Shiloh gulped back the words. She knew without a doubt that he would. He absolutely would. And he’d enjoy it. She yanked the drawstring on her pack, her eyes catching sight of the sweatshirt. “Just leave me alone, okay?”

  He clomped closer and without a word, he reached down and lifted the hoodie, his hoodie.

  A blaze shot up her neck and into her cheeks. She could only pray the dim natural light didn’t give away her humiliation. Regardless, no way would she meet his gaze. Even when he handed the shirt back, she avoided his eyes and jabbed the hoodie into her pack.

  Then he reached down and lifted the coin—the one B
aseer had pressed into her hand just before he died. “Is this what Khan gave you?”

  She nodded.

  “What did he say when he gave it to you?”

  With a lazy shrug, she said, “Gerard Moore, at least, that's what it sounded like.” She forced her eyes to his. “Do you recognize the name?”

  “No.” He handed the coin back. “You have three minutes to meet me at the lake.” Some of the edge had left his voice as he walked out.

  The screen door slammed behind him. He’d left no room for argument, as if she should act like an obedient puppy. Shiloh grabbed her bag by the harness, flung around, and sent it sailing out the door after him.

  “Two minutes, fifty-five, Blake!”

  Shiloh plopped onto the bed and dug her fingers into her scalp as she stifled the scream crawling up her throat. She would not be ordered around like some recruit. The men here might be soldiers, but she wasn’t. And he wasn’t in charge of her.

  Cringing, she realized how much that sounded like you’re not the boss of me. She huffed. Well, he wasn’t. Accosted by the humiliation of being hurled into the lake in front of all those men, she dug through her pack and found her jean shorts and a black tank top. Shiloh changed quickly behind the curtain rigged for privacy.

  When her foot hit the boards of the steps outside her hut, she glanced up and spotted Reece stalking toward her. She didn’t know whether to be irritated or laugh. He looked ready to kill.

  He stopped short, surprise lighting up his expression. After a once-over, he nodded, the intensity returning to his eyes. “Let's go.” He had that military pivot down pat.

  Feeling like an insolent child, she stalked behind him. Where was the team? Had everyone moved down to the water? She wasn’t going to let him humiliate her in front of a dozen men. She slowed, her stomach weaving into knots. Go back, Shiloh. Her foot hit a rock and pitched her forward. If she didn’t pay attention, maybe she’d wrench her leg and have a legitimate excuse to head back to her hut.

  Trudging down the path, around the line of trees, she rounded the corner. Glimmering waters wreathed her with peace. She shook it off , unwilling to let anything ease her conscience. Khalid was dead. As dive partners, they’d spent so much time together in the water.