Hoyt clenched his teeth hard and sped up. The Honda reappeared on the road in front of them. “Seems as if they don’t feel like talking to us.”
The lights behind them disappeared. Hoyt glanced up to see the Hummer turn off down a side street. He loosened his crushing grip on the steering wheel and gave a shaky laugh. “I thought that bastard was about to flatten us.”
“Shit, me too. Let’s just follow this guy and see where he’s headed. I have a feeling there are more of Zafar’s men around than we know about.”
The Honda kept going straight. The buildings grew scarcer and had the look of abandonment.
Suddenly blinding lights flashed through the driver’s side door. A loud roar ripped the air as the Hummer unleashed the full power of its 316-horse power V-8 engine. Hoyt closed his eyes and thought about…
Hayden.
A thunderous blast filled the air as the Jeep flew left and crashed into a light pole. Hoyt’s head cracked the side window and white lights exploded across his vision.
He heard the loud ringing first and then the sound of a door slamming shut. Hoyt realized he’d blacked out. Could only have been for a second, or he’d be full of lead and greeting the devil with a hand shake.
Merc groaned but didn’t wake, a dark trail of red oozed from his head wound.
Footsteps sounded outside, then voices speaking in Arabic. Hoyt kept his head down, pretending he was still unconscious, and peeked up through barely cracked eyelids.
The Honda had backed up close, trapping the Jeep in a vortex of vehicles. A man got out of the sedan and started gesturing wildly to someone off to the side. Someone Hoyt couldn’t see due to the new hood ornament jammed into his Jeep. The Hummer reversed, metal shrieked.
Hoyt gripped his Beretta in both hands. They were sitting ducks. Fucking pop up targets at the fair. His only hope was that the guys would want to do a little interrogation before killing them.
Then the back door of the Jeep was yanked open, and Hoyt breathed out a short puff of relief. It would be awkward for the men to pull them out from behind, which tilted luck in Hoyt’s favor. The man went for Merc first, grabbed his shoulder and tugged.
Hoyt lifted his gun over his left shoulder. Fired. The retort of gunfire deafened him temporarily. The man fell flat in the back seat.
The other bogey, standing outside Hoyt’s door, started shouting. Hoyt turned, calm and efficient, and fired. His spider-webbed window shattered.
Fuck, he’d missed. He’d have to get out of the car if either he or Merc wanted to survive.
He palmed the weapon in his right hand and yanked the recline handle to his bottom left. As soon as the seat fell back, he lifted his feet and shoved against the steering wheel, angling his body to the left and out the door, and rolled up to his feet.
He crouched behind the open door and grabbed the handle as a wave of dizziness swept over him. The door rocked back once…twice.
Hoyt realized that while he wasn’t hearing the sound of gunfire over the roaring in his ears, he was feeling the bullets ping into the door. He crouched and sprung back behind the vehicle, using it as a shield. A few more pings. He chanced a glance over the trunk just in time to see the terrorist holster his pistol and reach into the Honda.
Fuck.
He emerged with something a hell of a lot larger and deadlier than a 9mm.
The AK-15 was big, bad and capable of piercing a steel door.
And the man was taking aim with it.
Hoyt didn’t think, didn’t process. He two-handed his Beretta, broke cover and hammered out three rounds, timing the slight recoil with each step. Closer, closer. The terrorist dropped.
Hoyt ran forward, holding his gun ready. He pulled level with the man. His wide sightless eyes stared up at the sky. One in the head, two in the chest. Done.
Hoyt holstered his gun and squatted. The loud roaring in his head started to fade and he could hear the Hummer’s engine still running behind him. Sirens were approaching from a distance.
He did a quick check of the man on the ground. He had three things on him. His pistol, his Koran, and his student visa.
Something warm dripped into Hoyt’s eye, and he reached up wiping his face. When he brought his hand back down, dark red blood shone in the headlights. More ran down his face.
His peripheral vision flashed white. He felt the rough asphalt beneath his palms and his ass as he realized he was about to black out again. Then another, much subtler sound, registered. Dripping.
Like the sound of gas dripping out of a wrecked car.
Dammit.
He closed his eyes and took a slow, measured breath. His training from the Special Forces and SERE— Survival, Escape, Resistance and Evasion—had taught him how to control his body in survival situations. Even if his every instinct was screaming to slide into oblivion, he couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.
Hoyt concentrated on getting to his feet first. Start small. He took a breath, pulled one foot under him and pushed up. When he was sure he wouldn’t pass out, he got the other foot down and stood, keeping his knees slightly bent. The world tilted around him before righting itself.
He took a step, then another. He looked up and stopped. The Jeep was crushed into a nasty figure eight, the result of a Hummer and light-pole sandwich.
He’d have to pull Merc out of the back seat.
Not an easy task with a possible concussion, particularly since Merc was so much bigger than him.
Hoyt made it to the passenger side of the car. The front half of the back door was folded in from the side of the light pole. Hoyt grabbed the handle and yanked. Nothing.
He cursed the VA again. His weight loss was turning into a real non-asset. He yanked again, and this time there was a little creak. Hoyt inhaled deep and pulled as hard as he could. The door groaned about halfway open and stopped.
That was as far as it was moving. He got into the back seat, reached around the side to the seat lever and pulled. Merc fell back into Hoyt’s lap, his head lolling around, slinging fresh blood on the material of his headrest. He shoved his hands underneath Merc’s arms and leaned back, dragging the six-foot-five soldier out of the Jeep one excruciating inch at a time. By the time Hoyt had them both a safe distance from the car, he was close to a black out again. The roaring in his ears was back, and it hit a crescendo. He held onto his consciousness long enough to roll over and check Merc, make sure he was still breathing. He got the brief flash of blue, the sound of car breaks skidding across pavement.
“Two down! Two down! Need an ambulance, stat.” That voice was oddly familiar, but Hoyt couldn’t pull his thoughts together long enough to connect the audio with a visual.
“Sheriff, I got two more over here. Damn, look at that Jeep, I’ve never seen anything like that.” Feet scuffing the ground and a pair of black shoes in his side vision.
“These two are dead.”
“Mine aren’t.”
Another pair of black boots, this time cowboy boots. “Hoyt? Shit man, what happened?” Sheriff Lawson. It was his voice. The Sheriff had helped TF-S on a couple of local missions in the past. Lawson’s head seemed to float above him, blocking out his nice view of the stars. “You hear me?”
Hoyt tried to focus on the sheriff. What had he said?
“Hoyt, can you talk?”
He concentrated. He opened his mouth, and groaned out one word. “Wreck.”
Lawson gave his deputy a measured look and then turned his attention back to Hoyt. “And the AKs on the ground over there?”
Classified information. Hoyt didn’t know if the sheriff was privy to their mission or not. But he wasn’t about to be the one to leak intel and get his ass busted by the Colonel. Only one thing to do. Hoyt pushed off the ground, sitting up fast. The blood leached from his head, depleting his brain of oxygen. The crescendo came back in a hot roar. Hoyt smiled as he finally let himself give in to the impulse to pass out.
Chapter 6
Hayden locked the door to the Java S
hop, gave her clothes a last straightening and marched across the full parking lot. The sound of loud music filled the air as she neared the Sigma Pi house, and the ball of nerves in her belly grew and grew. Was she really ready for this? Hayden stalled a little over halfway, between a shiny new beamer and a dark blue Mercedes.
She'd promised the professor. No more hiding and no more pining over Hoyt. But she hadn't quite envisioned the crush of college kids crowding the backyard of the frat house. Maybe she should re-think her journey and save it for another day.
Really? Hayden James, former life of the party, wanted to tuck tail and run?
Yes. Yes, she did. But if she didn't press on, what would that make her?
Chicken.
Hayden took one hesitant step forward, then another. Forcing herself to ignore the tight feeling in her chest, she lifted her chin. Just a few more rows of cars to go. When she passed the last of the vehicles, her friend Mandy spotted her from the back of the crowd and waved.
Hayden expelled a breath, now there was no choice. Mandy was always bugging her to get out, and she’d never let her back down now. Hayden made her way to the entrance gate, and the pledge standing guard gave her a once over then flagged her to enter. Scrunching against a white picket fence in the backyard of the frat house, she made a beeline for Mandy. The crowd of toga-wearing college kids swelled outward from the three-story brick building.
“This is crazy,” she said to her friend. “I can't believe there are so many people here.”
Mandy tucked her short straight brown hair behind her ears, yanked a compact mirror from her clutch and eased closer to the crowd. “It's great, isn't it? I had no idea their annual Greek Goes Greek bash was this much fun.”
More like oppressive. Hayden wanted to hop over the low fence and take off through the parking lot. The Java Shop stood sentry on the other side. She could slide into the sanctuary of the closed coffee house. She could regain her peace and reclaim her solitude.
And think about Hoyt.
Jesus, she was screwed.
“This is not what I'd call a small gathering.”
Mandy shrugged, but her smile said she’d known all along. “How was I supposed to know he’d invited us to the party of the year?”
“Oh, I don't know, maybe since you've gone for the last two years in a row.”
A stoner stumbled and shoved her into the fence. “Ow.”
“Slorry.” The guy didn’t budge an inch and his overpowering smell of smoke gagged her.
“Move it, freak.” Mandy shoved the guy away. “Did you see how red his eyes were?”
Hayden brushed her shirt and attempted to straighten up. “Up close and personal. Gross.”
The backyard of the frat house was usually all neatly trimmed lawn and landscaped sidewalks. But tonight brain-dead boozers trampled the grass. Mandy elbowed Hayden in the side and nodded toward the crowd in front of them. “Forget him. Look at all these toga-wearing frat boys. Now, what could possibly be better than getting to look at all these half-naked hotties on a Friday night?”
Going to a movie with a certain brooding military man.
Hayden took a deep breath, silently forcing that thought down into the deep dark hole where it belonged. “I can't think of a single thing.”
Too bad ALANON didn't accept ex-girlfriends of PTSD survivors. She'd probably learn some useful stress-fighting tips. But for now she would settle for the good ole James family denial.
“Did you see Chance? He is smoking hot tonight. I swear that guy is a direct descendant of Apollo himself.”
“No, I haven't seen him.” And she was thankful for that, as her nerves were raw, edgy.
Before her life-altering screw-up, she'd been on the fast track to beating her mother's record and becoming the star of every party in Mercy. Then a married man had demolished her self-confidence, self-worth, and self-esteem in one fell swoop.
To say the ensuing scandal had been momentous would be an understatement.
Without Hoyt, without his resilient smile and confidence, she wasn’t sure she would have made it.
The back of her neck tingled and Hayden whipped around, studying the parking lot. For a second she was certain she’d see Hoyt standing right behind her. But the only thing she saw was row upon row of BMW’s and Mercedes. A few older vehicles dotted the back. No Hoyt.
“Too bad,” Mandy said. “Chance and his buddies haven't been to the shop to get coffee all week. And I’ve been stuck with an overabundance of man bag carrying hipsters with scraggly wannabe beards and skinny jeans. I swear, if I have to fix another nonfat soy latte with organic wheat toast for a side, I’ll scream.”
Hayden didn't have to fake the sympathetic glance to her friend. Most people assumed frat boys would make cringe-worthy customers, but the frat boys were actually a welcome reprieve from the coffee shop’s usual clientele. “I'm sorry. The test in Rhoden's class this week was a killer. I swear I wrote for three hours straight. I couldn't move my hand for a day.” She couldn’t help but think about the date Professor Latham and Professor Rhoden were on tonight.
Mandy snorted and adjusted the strap of the dark one-shoulder shirt that perfectly showcased her graceful neck and pixie-perfect face. Paired with her smoky eye shadow, she could give Megan Fox a run for her money. “Nice try, but you'll get no sympathy from me. My week was way worse. Besides, the only reason Chance hasn’t come in is because he knew you weren't working.”
“Whatever.”
Mandy jabbed her in the shoulder. “Hey, would you get out of your head for long enough to find that hunk of goodness before some ho snatches him?”
Hayden pressed back against the fence, letting the rounded wood pickets dig into her skin. The physical pain was preferable to the risk of testing her self-confidence. She’d have to socialize and make small talk and actively pursue another man. Three things that she'd purposely avoided for the past few months. And she’d already stepped out of her shell and invited Malik. But wasn't that the whole reason she was here? To not think about Hoyt? To move on?
“I didn't think it would be this difficult,” she admitted.
“It's not. You just have to take that first step, the rest is cake.”
“Easy for you to say, you date a new guy every week.”
“How else am I going to find out what I like?” Mandy gave her a wink.
“Well, guys flock to you. They run the other way from me.” Of course, that could be credited to her resting bitch face.
“Don't be stupid. The hottest guy on this campus has been actively pursuing you for months. He buys coffee at least three times a week, and the guy doesn't even drink coffee.”
“That's ridiculous. I've served him hundreds of cups of coffee.”
“Yeah, and as soon as you turn your back, he pours it out.” Mandy crossed her arms and arched a dark brow, daring Hayden to argue.
A new kind of awareness gut-punched Hayden, knocking another misconception down. If Chance liked her enough to do that, surely she could give him a chance. Apparently she’d missed the memo on both Chance and Malik. Hayden slapped a hand to her forehead. “I've been an idiot.”
Mandy shrugged. “You said it, not me.”
Hadn’t Professor Latham said to be aware of your own limits? How long was she willing to play the wounded ex-girlfriend?
A sharp pain in her ribs pulled Hayden back to the present moment. “Stop elbowing me,” she grumbled.
“Who is that dark Arabian Prince staring at you like you are the freaking answer to his prayers?
Chapter 7
Hayden followed Mandy's pointed stare and locked eyes with Malik. Her stomach punched up into her throat. Her foray into living sported a perfectly pressed button-up that showed just a little bit of smooth golden chest and approached on polished Italian loafers with a cat-like predatory grace.
A grace she'd never noticed before tonight.
“Hello.” His one word staked her feet to the ground.
Was she ready
to consider going out with someone new?
Mandy must have sensed her hesitation, because she thrust her hand past Hayden. “I'm Mandy. Hayden and I work together at the Java shop.” Mandy tilted her head back, indicating the small building across the parking lot.
“I'm Malik.” He shook Mandy's hand. “I've had several classes with Hayden. It's nice to meet you.”
Even his name was foreign, sultry. He was so different from Hoyt; he might actually have a shot with her.
Hayden cleared her throat, “Actually, Malik is about to graduate with his doctorate in psychology. I believe he only has one semester of student teaching left, right?”
Malik flashed a brilliant smile at her, bright white against his tan skin. His chocolate brown eyes radiated appreciation and awareness. “I didn't realize you paid that much attention, but yes, just one semester left before the torture is over.”
“Oh, so you're smart and handsome.” Mandy nudged Hayden. Her obvious attempt to point out Malik's attributes sent a rush of heat straight to Hayden's cheeks.
Malik's rich laughter filled the space around them. “I can't argue with the lady.”
But then his gaze fell on Hayden and she fidgeted with the edge of her shirt, suddenly nervous. He was looking at her as if she were some puzzle he was trying to figure out…An experiment.
“Are you going back to England when you graduate?” Hayden asked, desperate to break that intense gaze.
“Actually, Cambridge has already contacted me and offered me an assistant professor position.” His eyes met hers again. “But lately America is becoming more and more appealing.”
Suddenly hot, she fanned herself and looked away. What could she say to that? Yes, please stay, I'd love the opportunity to get to know you better. Base your entire life decision on me, the girl who’s in love with another man.
She forced a laugh, and then winced at the shrill-pitched sound.
Holy moly. Get your crap together. “I'm sure you'll make the right decision.”
“I'm sure I will.” Malik gently lifted her hand and kissed the back.
Men of Mercy: The Complete Story Page 79