Double Cross (Hard Target Book 1)

by James, Silver

“It’s your real name?

  “Yup. I was named for John Wayne.”

  “Wait…but…” Cory knitted her brows and pursed her lips, still not following. “If you are named for John Wayne, then why—”

  Duke glared—or thought he did. He wondered what her expression showed.

  “Oh. I…All right. Duke.” She tasted the name on her tongue and tried to piece together the reason for his nickname. Not that Duke didn’t fit him perfectly. Strong. Arrogant. But she had far more serious things to worry about than his broad shoulders, square jaw, and— She jerked her thoughts back to the situation at hand.

  “We have about twenty-five, maybe thirty feet of sandbar and then about eight feet of shallow water to wade before we hit the bank. It’s not smooth like a beach or anything. We’ll have to scramble up a little ways to get into the wadi.”

  “Lead on, McDuff.”

  “Actually, the quote is ‘Lay on, McDuff.’ The phrase has been misquoted often during the four hundred years since it was written.” Cory babbled on, relating the history of the phrase, quoting from the scene in Shakespeare’s “MacBeth” until Duke squeezed her shoulder.

  “Damn, princess, don’t you ever shut up?”

  “Oh. Oh! I apologize. I…when I’m nervous, I—”

  “Are you nervous?”

  She stumbled to a stop and turned her head to stare at him. “Are you serious? Of course I’m nervous. I’ve been kidnapped, rescued, shot at, bombed, and now I’m God knows where in the middle of bloody Africa with a man I don’t know who’s blind—”

  He squeezed her shoulder so hard she winced.

  “I may be blind, princess—”

  “Don’t call me that.”

  “I’m still a fucking Navy SEAL, princess. I’ll get your pampered ass back to the States.”

  Cory opened and closed her mouth a dozen times, but no words came out, only angry sputters. She considered marching off and leaving the big oaf standing there. Then he’d see. Oh yes, he’d be the one lost and alone because wasn’t that lovely irony? He couldn’t see. She twisted away from his grip on her shoulder and backed a few steps away, prepared to do just that. She was ready to flee until she saw the bright, red splash against his shirt. He was bleeding again.

  “Oh, dear. I…You’re bleeding. We have to get into the wadi and get out of sight so I can tend to your injuries. I don’t like that the wound opened up again. Come with me.”

  And just like that her temper settled. She had a job—a patient. His life depended on her. Fine. She would handle this situation just like she had every other obstacle life tossed in her path. To do otherwise was not an option.

  They struggled up the crumbling ground at the edge of the river. His pack and gun bag and her medical kit made it that much tougher. They slogged along the bottom of the wadi until Cory found a scooped out area behind a large boulder. They could get out of the sun, covered from the sky, and mostly out of sight between the rock and a bend in the gully.

  Once the big SEAL was settled on the ground with his back against the inside wall of the half cave, Cory went to work. The wound in his side, probably caused by shrapnel, was jagged, but not as serious as she feared. She cleaned it then packed it with antibiotic and hemostatic powder to stop the bleeding, and bandaged it. Her next chore involved his face and eyes. The wounds across his forehead and cheeks were deep and mixed with second and third degree burns. Using a tiny penlight and her manual opthalmoscope, she got a look at the interiors of his eyes. She wasn’t an ophthalmologist, knew only enough about eyes to diagnose common childhood ailments, but what she saw concerned her.

  Duke’s pupils didn’t dilate or contract when she flicked the light in his eyes. That was troubling and didn’t bode well for a quick recovery. All he could see was darkness. And there wasn’t a thing she could do to help. Cory suspected he’d received a corneal flash burn from the explosion and resultant retinopathy, but she wasn’t proficient enough to diagnose Traumatic Optic Neuropathy. He needed a real hospital and specialists in TON.

  “Are you done?” His voice startled her.

  “Ah…uh…no. I need to bandage your head.”

  “Why? I can’t see. Bandages won’t make a difference.”

  Cory inhaled and fought for patience. “Don’t argue, please. You have wounds in addition to the situation with your eyes.”

  He snorted. “The situation with my eyes? Babe, I’m fucking blind.”

  The sarcasm in his voice was obvious even to her. Yes, maybe she had stated the obvious, but she was scared out of her mind. She’d held it together since those bastards raided her clinic. She’d been marched, starved, forced to do things she couldn’t think about without losing the food sitting in hard lumps in her stomach. The men—SEALs—were supposed to rescue her, not the other way around.

  Yes, but. So many buts in her life these days. The SEALs didn’t come to rescue her, but they had come. Even though her presence compromised their mission, they freed her. And now, most of them were likely dead, blown to bits up river. She glanced at the man beside her. He looked big and tough and capable. Except he was blind.

  She huffed and Duke felt her breath ghost across his skin. His other senses were already compensating for his lack of vision. He heard the catch in her breathing, the brush of skin against skin as she wiped a hand across her cheeks. Tears. The princess was crying. He should care but he didn’t. His men were dead. He was blind. The mission was FUBARed, and the only thing the damn woman could do was cry.

  “You need to eat. Do you have food in your pack?”

  Her voice sounded steady. Mostly. But she was right. They both needed food. “Yeah. MREs.” The sounds of skin scrabbling against nylon, then plastic tearing. She pressed the box of food into his hands, along with a spork. He didn’t ask what was in the package, he just shoveled it into his mouth and swallowed around his grimace. As he finished each portion, she took the empty away and pressed the next course into his hand. He ate mechanically, forcing needed calories into his exhausted body. Injured as badly as he was, he’d need even more fuel to heal.

  They ate in silence and when finished, he heard her scratching in the dirt, burying the trash. Duke gave her reluctant acknowledgment for the action. They’d need to hide their trail. Whoever attacked probably thought everyone had died. Unless they counted up the body parts. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he gritted his teeth.

  “Master chief?”

  “Duke, princess. My name is Duke.”

  She huffed in exasperation. “And my name is Cory. I am not a princess.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. That said, I need to return to the river.”

  “No.”

  “Yes. We need water. I have a LifeStraw in my kit.”

  “So do I, but you still aren’t going back to the river.”

  “I’ll wait until almost dark.”

  “Oh, right. When the lions, jaguars, and other predators are there shopping for dinner.”

  “I’ll take your gun.”

  “My gun.” Duke managed to keep all inflection out of his voice.

  “Yes.”

  “You mean one of my weapons? Because I don’t carry guns. Maybe my SCAR assault rifle? Or my MK15 long-range sniper rifle. Naw. It’s got too much kick. You ever shot a semi-automatic pistol before? My Sig Sauer 9mm sidearm bites too.”

  “Fine. I’ll find a big stick. We still need water because you don’t have any in your magic pack, and all I have is sterilized. Fine for drinking, but I need it more for dealing with your injuries.”

  “My injuries don’t need you to deal with them.”

  “Stubborn man.”

  “Spoiled princess.”

  Cory opened her mouth to speak, but snapped it shut. Muttering and resisting the urge to throw something at his hard head, she stood up and crept toward the open air of the wadi instead. The man couldn’t see. There was no way he could prevent her from leaving.

  “Princess.” Duke growled in warning.
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br />   “I’ll be back.” She turned on her heel and fled back down the wadi to the accompaniment of his curses.

  She eased along the sandy bottom of the gully, working her way back to the river. Terrified Duke was right about the animals, she found a sturdy branch to use as both walking stick and club. She had two water bladders she’d found in his pack plus the two empty sterilized water bottles she’d used to treat the master chief’s wounds.

  When Cory arrived on the riverbank, the white birds still strutted in the shallows. Air bubbles and eyes stared at her from the middle of the water. Hippopotamus. She could deal with that. Squatting beside the river, she filled all her containers. Rising, she turned to make her way back when something bobbing in the current caught her eye.

  Was that a body? One of Duke’s men? She dropped the containers and waded out into the water, a wary eye on the hippo. The bottom dropped away and she had to swim. The man floated face up. Maybe he was still alive. Cory stroked faster. She snagged a pack strap on the man’s shoulder and headed toward the sandbar, towing him behind her. When her feet touched bottom again, she dragged him until he has half-beached.

  “Hello! Can you hear me?”

  Her hand shook as she attempted to find his carotid pulse. Was that a faint beat? She jerked him higher onto the sand so she could start CPR. Only then did she look at him fully. Only then did she realize his thighs were bloody stumps. Unheeded tears streaked her dirty cheeks. Would her nightmare never end?

  Chapter 4

  DUKE STEWED. No, scratch that. He got royally pissed off. He’d counted off the minutes since the princess ducked out on him. Far too much time had passed, and he was convinced she’d run into trouble. Dammit, he should have gone with her. If he’d followed her out, her soft heart would have made her turn back. And once he had his hands on her— He cut off the thought. Strangling her wasn’t the only thing he wanted to do to the doctor, as evidenced by how hard his dick got every time he thought about touching her. But if she didn’t come back, he couldn’t get his hands on her.

  Tilting his head, he listened. Surely she would have screamed if an animal had attacked—not that he could do anything. The same if she’d been taken captive again. No sound had winnowed up the gully. No screams. No gunshots. Minutes ticked away in the back of his mind.

  He bolted up, listening. There it was again, the scrape of nylon on dirt. Panting. His nostrils flared, drawing in scents. Cory. His pistol appeared in his hand, seemingly of its own volition. He pressed back against the dirt wall, hoping the shadows would disguise him if she wasn’t alone.

  “Duke?”

  He held his breath.”

  “Master Chief?” She sounded crushed and completely exhausted.

  “What the hell, princess?” He sounded gruff and more than a little pissed off. Well, too fucking bad. That’s the way he felt. He’d been helpless—unable to protect her if something went wrong, his inability a slap to his pride.

  “I…” She slid to the ground. “I found some…one.”

  All senses now attuned to her, Duke leaned forward, his hand tightening around the butt of his pistol. “Who?” He tilted his head as something jingled—metal on metal.

  “Uhm…Petty Officer Wright.” She touched his empty hand, cupping his palm, and dropped something into it. Dog tags.

  “Wilco?”

  Cory cleared her throat. “Yes. He…I found him in the river. He…I thought I could…He…” Her voice broke and Duke reached for her. He snagged her arm, realized she was soaking wet and shivering despite the African heat.

  “Talk to me, princess.”

  “He…his legs…just gone. I…there was nothing I could do. He…I don’t know how long he’d been dead.” A shudder racked her body, and he drew her close without considering his actions. She buried her face in his chest and sobbed.

  Duke didn’t know what to do so he simply held her. She needed something hot to drink, but they couldn’t afford a fire—not until he knew who’d attacked them. He didn’t think about Wilco. Couldn’t. Later. He’d mourn his men later. Dropping the dog tags into a pocket, he wrapped both arms around the crying woman. Each one of her sobs ripped a hole in his heart.

  She didn’t fall apart for long. Five, maybe ten minutes later, by his guesstimate, she pushed away from him. From the sounds, he figured she was wiping her face with her sleeve. After several attempts, her voice tripped over the rest of her news.

  “I brought his pack. I think maybe the radio or something is in it. It’s very heavy. And I concluded we could use h-his…rations.”

  “Yeah, he won’t be needing them.”

  She sucked in an outraged breath. “That’s…you’re—”

  “A realist, princess. Yeah, I’m pissed Wilco is dead. He was a friend. A teammate. All of them were. But as long as you and I are alive, they’d want me to fight to get us out of here.” He gently squeezed her arm. “Dr. Prince…Cory, what did you do? With Wilco.”

  The tremor shooting through her shook his hand. “I pushed him back into the water. Out into the current. After I got his tags and his pack. I…I should have buried him. Or something. So his family could have his body.”

  “No. You did just right. If he’s found downstream, that’s better. We’ll head upstream.”

  “But…won’t Cudjo and his men be there?”

  “Cudjo is dead.”

  “Then who bombed us?”

  He’d wondered about that himself. He was positive they’d been hit with Griffin missiles, fired from Predator drones. There was only one problem with that scenario—no one in this area of Africa should have access to that hardware. Nobody but US personnel.

  “Don’t know. Don’t really care at the moment. We need to get out of here.”

  A few minutes later, with Cory’s help, things were packed up. She shouldered Wilco’s much lighter pack while he shrugged into his own. Checking placement of his weapons, he nodded to her. “We’ll go on up the wadi. Follow the river back, but not along the riverbank.”

  Ten minutes later, Cory found a place where they could climb out of the gulley. With his hand on her shoulder, they started walking. She’d finally stopped shivering as the relentless sun tracked them. Duke estimated the passage of time by the number of steps and the glide of heat from one cheek to the other. When he felt her stumble, he called a halt.

  “We need food. You need rest.”

  He heard what sounded like snapping fingers and decided it was the vertebrae in her neck as she rolled her head.

  “Very well. Yes. Here. Sit. I’ll get you some water and then I’ll prepare two of the MREs.”

  Again, they shared the meal in virtual silence. She asked to borrow his Ka-Bar combat knife to bury their trash. After more water, a change of his bandages, and “turned-back” time so each could deal with nature’s call—as if he could see her, but she asked nervously so he complied—they set out again. The air felt cooler on his skin so Duke figured the sun had gone down. Shortly thereafter, Cory halted and pulled him down to the ground.

  “Lights. There’s a village up ahead. We can get help there.”

  “No.”

  “No? What do you mean no? You’re hurt. You require far more medical attention than I can give you. They’ll have a phone or a radio.”

  “No. We need to skirt the village and get as far away from it as we can.”

  “But—”

  “No buts, princess. That’s the way it’s gonna be. We can’t trust anyone here. Do you understand that? You aren’t some honored foreign doctor looking after their kids now. The whole countryside will know you were there when Cudjo died.”

  “But he was a tyrant. They’ll be ha—”

  “Don’t argue. We gotta go. Now.”

  “But it’s dark…”

  “Moon’s still mostly full. There’ll be enough light. Skirt the village, find the road and parallel it but keep us out of sight.”

  She could have refused him, or led him straight into the village, but she didn’t
. They kept moving, long after the night air chilled. Duke could feel Cory’s ebbing energy through the droop of the shoulder he gripped.

  “Time to make camp, princess.”

  She set about arranging solar blankets then served two more MREs. Cory attempted to make conversation while they ate.

  “How long have you been a SEAL?”

  “Too long.”

  “I’m…I’m sorry about the others.” Her voice hitched.

  “Part of the deal, princess.”

  She hissed at him, reminding him of a feral kitten he’d once found in Afghanistan. “I’m not a princess, and I truly wish you would stop calling me that. My name is Cory. Or, if you insist on a title, you may call me doctor.”

  “Fine. So tell me, doctor, why are you here?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just what I asked. Why are you out here in Bumfuck, Africa? Especially with a madman like Cudjo.”

  “I wasn’t with Cudjo. His men attacked the clinic where I worked. I came here to vaccinate the children and to triage some of the more seriously ill. DICA planned to take some of them back to the States for surgery and other more intensive treatment. I…there’s so much poverty here. So much need. My family didn’t—doesn’t—understand why I joined DICA. They’d rather throw money at charities than actually get their hands dirty.”

  Duke couldn’t help but agree with her family. She should never have been out here. He could picture her despite his damaged vision. Blue eyes. Delicate skin. He still thought her hair might be brown, but it had been so dirty and stringy, he couldn’t put a color to it.

  “Cudjo’s son was injured in a fight with the Sudanese military. His men kidnapped me to provide care for him and their injured.”

  “What happened to the clinic’s guards?”

  “They ran away. Cudjo’s men…they took some of the children. Boys and some of the girls.”

  “And you.”

  “Yes.” She didn’t speak for a long time. “And me.”

  Those last two words whispered across the space between them. Duke didn’t want her talking about her captivity. Hell, he didn’t want her talking at all but being a female, he figured she’d never shut up. He shifted, taking pressure off his injured side.