Deadly Valentine

by Davis, Justine; Davis, Justine

  He resumed moving within her, barely containing the beast within. He ground out from between clenched teeth, “And then there was the question of the stamina of a U.S. army man.”

  Her eyes went wide and delighted as he stroked the fires within her to a higher pitch, yet. A need to explode began to build within him, but he held it in ferociously. To hell with the army. He wanted this to be epic for Layla.

  She climaxed again, shattering around him so sweetly he almost lost it then and there. But he reached deep for all the reserved of self-discipline he’d learned in his sojourn through hell. He drove her to a third release. She’d have screamed on this one had he not kissed her deeply and drawn her cries directly into his lungs.

  But still he forced himself to clutch at a tenuous thread of control. The way her internal muscles were clenching at him, coaxing him deeper into her, was driving him mad. He wanted to slam into her mindlessly, to let go of everything he was and pour it all into her. But he dared not. This was torture of the worst kind, for he imposed it upon himself. Exquisite pleasure beckoned just out of reach, and every fiber of his being begged him to allow himself the moment.

  Must. Not. Must maintain control.

  But then she climaxed a fourth time, keening with such intense pleasure, her muscles spasming around him with such power, her breasts pushing up at him with such rosy perfection that he lost the battle. He capitulated with a strangled shout of his own, his pent-up need bursting through with a violence that tore away all rational thought, leaving behind only the rawest, most primitive shreds of his identity.

  Eventually, she murmured, “Maybe Valentine’s Day isn’t so bad after all.”

  He smiled and kissed her forehead tenderly. It was rapidly becoming his favorite holiday.

  Long, blissful minutes passed before the soldier in him pushed forward, whispering at him of danger. His mind might know that to be true, but his heart didn’t have the slightest interest in listening. Right now he wanted to collapse in the arms of his lover, to savor the way her breath caught unevenly, to kiss the bright spots of pleasure he’d put in her cheeks and to caress the warm flush over her entire body.

  But the soldier shoved back, demanding that Colt pay attention. After all, Layla’s safety was on the line, too. That tipped the scales.

  He murmured, “We were supposed to rest in here and get warm, not to wear each other out. Unfortunately, my gut’s telling me it’s time to move on. When you’ve caught your breath let me know, and we’ll continue.”

  Layla sighed. He knew the feeling all too well. “Okay,” she mumbled gamely.

  He smiled into her hair. He had to give her credit. She was tougher than she looked. She fished beneath herself for her underwear and twisted awkwardly putting it on. “I think the jarheads are going to have to concede this one to the army.”

  He opened his mouth to mumble an army oo-rah, but his sharp night vision caught her sudden frown, and he shut his mouth in alarm. Crap. He didn’t want her getting any more bright ideas, like running off alone into the woods again. He needed a fast distraction tactic. He leaned over her and kissed her passionately, and bless her, she rose up to meet him with abandon.

  Hell, she was pulling his attention away from the problem at hand a lot better than he was doing it to her. It was a struggle to roll away from her and reach for his pants. At least they were both plenty warm now. It was a wonder they hadn’t set the forest around them on fire with all that burning passion.

  Focus, you idiot.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much trouble getting his head into the game. Bad men were out there in the night. And if they caught up with him and Layla, the bad men would probably kill her and kidnap him. He’d be killed, too, but not until they’d ripped Peter’s secrets from his mind by whatever means necessary.

  Raindrops pattered lightly on their leafy roof. The night’s creatures were hunkered down avoiding the rain, so he couldn’t count on nature’s own perimeter alarm system. And then he heard a sound that made his blood run cold. It was distant. Muted. But that had definitely been a stick cracking.

  He whispered urgently, “Finish getting dressed. Hurry.”

  Layla lurched against him. “Why?”

  Civilians. They always asked why first before they did anything. A soldier jumped to follow orders first and asked why later. “Just do it. I’ll explain later.” If there was a later for them.

  He reached for his shirt and dragged it on frantically. She reached for her clothes, finally catching his sense of urgency. They banged elbows and knees and got tangled up a time or two, but somehow they managed to get fully dressed remarkably quickly.

  He pressed a finger to her lips, indicating that she should be silent. She nodded, her eyes huge with fright. Smart girl. He eased out of the shelter, gesturing for her to follow.

  He moved off cautiously through the trees. Although his night vision was fully adjusted, he still felt as blind as a newborn kitten. His pursuers would undoubtedly be wearing state-of-the-art infrared imaging night-vision goggles out here. Bastards. Stealth wouldn’t work against their pursuers and their technology. His and Layla’s only chance lay in getting away from here fast.

  He took off running, opting to head downhill so Layla could keep up the breakneck pace for longer. Thankfully, the rain made the forest floor into a sodden, silent, mat that masked their racing progress.

  They’d been running for perhaps a minute when, without warning, he heard a muffled pop and something hot and heavy slammed into his left side. He swore as fiery pain erupted in his ribs.

  “What’s wrong?” Layla gasped.

  “Nothing.” He wasn’t about to tell her he’d been shot. She’d go hysterical on him for sure. All he could do was make himself and Layla the hardest possible targets they could be to the snipers behind them. He swerved to the right for ten seconds or so, and then leaped back to the left without warning. Had he not been hanging on tightly to Layla’s arm, she’d have been separated from him for sure. He felt something warm and wet running down his left side and soaking his shirt. Grimly, he pressed onward.

  Time stopped registering for him. It could’ve been a few minutes or it could’ve been an hour later when he staggered. Had Layla not yanked hard on his arm, he’d have gone down.

  “Are you okay?” she panted.

  “Gotta keep going,” he grunted. But then he stumbled again. How much blood was he losing, anyway?

  He could almost hear Peter call him all kinds of a stupid fool from beyond the grave. And the twerp would be right, too. He was going to bleed to death, and then what good was he going to be to Layla?

  The world went black.

  Chapter 7

  L ayla couldn’t help the soft cry of distress that escaped her throat when Colt stumbled and went down to his knees. He slumped for a moment, then shook his head and came back up to his feet, but something was terribly wrong with him.

  “Talk to me,” she urged in a panicked whisper that was more panting than words. “What’s going on?”

  “Bleeding out. Gotta stop it. Bind this wound before I die.”

  Die? Bleed out? Oh, God. They stopped in the shadow of a towering hemlock. “Where are you hurt? Lemme see,” she demanded in a whisper.

  Colt slid to the ground, leaning back against the tree trunk. He was holding his left side. Something black and oily-looking soaked his shirt. She wasted no time lifting his shirt. She gasped at the ugly, round wound in his side.

  “What the hell happened to you?” she demanded. “When did you get shot?”

  “Right after we left the shelter. I think the bullet’s lodged against my rib. Didn’t get to my lung. Feels like the rib’s cracked, though. God, that hurts.”

  And coming from him that was saying something. Using adrenaline-jacked strength she didn’t know she had, she ripped a strip off the bottom of his shirt and tied the makeshift bandage as tightly as she could around him. “Can we stop and rest a little while or are they still after us
?”

  “Don’t know. Can’t hear them right now.”

  “Can you move? I think we ought to keep going.”

  “Slave driver,” he grumbled.

  She was too scared to smile, but she appreciated his effort at humor as she hauled him to his feet. Once she got him vertical, though, he swayed unsteadily. “Put your arm around my shoulders and lean on me,” she directed.

  “We’re not going to get far like this,” he panted.

  “It’s better than nowhere at all. Unless you’d prefer to just sit down and wait for whoever’s hunting us to find us and kill us.”

  “They won’t kill me until they find out what I know.”

  “That’s great for you,” she snapped, “but I’m toast.”

  “Not if I refuse to talk until you’re safe.”

  “You’re assuming they won’t shoot first and ask questions later. And given that you’re sporting a bullet hole, I’d say that’s a faulty assumption.”

  Color him impressed. That was actually an excellent piece of deductive reasoning. Of course, Peter had never called her stupid. Quite the opposite, in fact. And in his limited experience with her, Peter was right.

  Shut up and walk, Self.

  Self replied dryly that talking to Self was often a sign of delirium induced by excessive blood loss.

  Yup, he was going crazy. Either that or dying.

  Layla staggered a little under Colt’s weight. It couldn’t be a good sign that he was leaning on her so heavily. But he didn’t complain of any discomfort as they stumbled down the mountain together. Every time the wind blew a flurry of water fell on them. It might not be raining at the moment, but they were still soaked in minutes.

  She picked through ferns and downed trees and rocks hidden under dead leaves, just waiting to ambush and twist the nearest ankle. It was slow, difficult going. She had no idea what they were going to do when they reached the bottom of the mountain, but she would cross that bridge when they got to it.

  About the same time as it started to rain again in earnest, she thought the steepness of the slope might be easing. She whispered to Colt, “I don’t know where to go next. I only knew to go down.”

  He muttered between clenched teeth, “Survival rule of thumb is to follow rivers downstream. They always lead to human settlements.”

  Right. Downstream. Humans. Help. She tripped on a partially buried log and he gasped.

  “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed under her breath.

  “Talk to me. Distract me.”

  She babbled under her breath, “I wish I had some painkillers for you, but unfortunately, I’m plumb out at the moment. The good news is I think we’re almost to the valley floor. Maybe the going will be smoother when we get there.”

  In response his hand squeezed her shoulder weakly. Oh, Lord. He was slipping.

  He grunted. “Look for a road. Flag down a car. Leave me. Go get help.”

  She jolted in dismay and whispered back angrily, “Are you kidding? No way am I leaving you. You’re the one who knows what to do. Besides, I could never live with myself if I just left you. Not after what we’ve shared—”

  The trees ended as abruptly as they had at the summit of the mountain. One moment they were in thick forest, the next they were at the edge of a meadow with cold rain slashing at their faces. The weeds bent over in uneven humps that made for rough going as they stumbled along the margin of the trees, paralleling the field.

  “I feel sick,” Colt muttered in chagrin. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

  “Go for it. Just point your head the other way, and don’t stop walking.”

  “Head hurts…”

  “When we get back to town and are safe, I promise I’ll give you a whole bottle of aspirin. But we have to get there first. I know you don’t feel good, but you have to keep going. For what it’s worth, you’re being very brave.”

  He didn’t even snort in response.

  “Stay with me, Colt,” she said lowly. “I need you.”

  His voice was a bare sigh as he said, “Maybe I should just surrender to these guys.”

  She stopped, spinning fast to face him. “Don’t you ever give up on me. You hear? I need you.”

  He gave her a crooked smile that was pure Colt and trailed his fingers down her cheek. She leaned her face into his palm, savoring his touch.

  He murmured, “You need me, huh? I kinda like the sound of that. Don’t know what I’d do without you, either. Only anchor to reality for me and all that.”

  Warmth spread through her as he looped his arm resolutely around her shoulders and they resumed their painfully slow progress. She was his anchor? A big, strong guy like him needed her? She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had truly needed her. Even Peter had eventually moved away and lived his own life. But Colt? Cool.

  As they staggered onward Colt started to mumble randomly under his breath. A word here and there or a snippet of a sentence. Uh-oh. He was getting delirious. She had to get him to tell her what to do next before he went completely nonrational.

  “How long should we keep walking?” she asked urgently.

  “Water. Or road.”

  Okay then. She’d just keep heading down the valley until they came across one or the other.

  “Laser. Solar mirror. Wipe out cities…hah. Kid stuff. Missiles knocked out of space…now that’s impressive. Into right hands…”

  Holy cow. Was his mental block breaking open in his delirium? Desperate to keep Colt with her and to hear anything he had to say about Peter’s secret, she asked, “Did Peter design a weapon that can wipe out cities?”

  A snort. “Missile killer.”

  Okay, what was the big deal about that? Why would something like that be so valuable that someone was going to all this trouble to get it? Aloud she asked, “Haven’t we had patriot missiles for a long time?”

  Another snort. “Prehistoric.”

  O-kay. “What’s the big deal about a missile killer then?”

  “No more nukes.”

  She pondered that for a moment before the full implications of it hit her between the eyes with the force of a sledgehammer. No more nuclear weapons. If Peter had designed a weapon system that could reliably pick a nuclear warhead out of space as it flew toward its target, then he might just have ended much of the threat of nuclear war for all mankind.

  “Wow,” she breathed. “Did Peter tell you that’s what he invented?”

  “Shh. Classified. Can’t tell. Prison cell’s bugged.”

  After that he fell mostly silent. Whether Colt was still delirious or not, she couldn’t tell. And frankly, she didn’t want to know. She took comfort in believing that he was lucid and would know what to do if some new crisis arose.

  How long they walked along the edge of the valley, she had no idea. Long enough that her legs ached and her shoes felt like they were filled with lead.

  And then, without warning, Colt stopped abruptly. She froze out of reflex. “Did you hear that?” he whispered.

  “Hear what?”

  “I think that was a car. Up ahead.”

  Abject relief flowed through her, releasing every bit of the dragging exhaustion she’d been holding at bay. They’d almost made it. Just a few more steps.

  Colt’s arm fell away from her and he eased forward cautiously. She followed wearily. He waved her down to a crouch and she peered ahead in the dark, seeing nothing. He glided forward a few more yards and that was when she spotted it. A bare strip of asphalt cutting across the meadow to a concrete bridge spanning a stream. They’d done it. They’d found both a road and water. Now. Which one to follow?

  “I vote for the road,” she muttered. The idea of walking along on nice, smooth pavement sounded like pure heaven.

  “Agreed. We wait here for a car to come along,” he replied. “You’ll step out in the road to flag it down because a lone woman is a lot less threatening than a lone man. The driver’s much more likely to stop for you than me.”

  “W
ake me up when someone comes along, eh?” Her eyelids were suddenly so heavy she could barely hold them open. The adrenaline that had been sustaining her must’ve just given up the ghost.

  Colt didn’t look any better. He literally looked about ready to fall over. She looked up at the road and—

  Her life flashed before her eyes as three dark, humanoid forms rose up out of the grass directly in front of her. They couldn’t be more than thirty feet away.

  Her entire being completely vapor locked. A single incongruous thought flashed through her shocked mind. She was going to die on Valentine’s Day. Talk about a hex.

  She clenched Colt’s hand with all her strength and said in a normal speaking voice, “Uh, Colt? Someone’s here.”

  His entire body jerked beside hers but he made no other move. Either he was incapable of it or thought discretion was the better part of valor at the moment. She squinted, trying to make our more details of the strangers. Oh, no. Every one of the men was pointing a rifle at them. And they didn’t look like recreational hunters. Not with their faces painted black like that and wires running to their ears and to gadgets around their throats.

  “Get up,” one of the men snarled.

  Colt tried to push up, but he collapsed right back down beside her. Not good. Apparently, he was done in. Which meant she was in charge of negotiations for the moment. Layla gulped. She had to think fast. Colt had been worried that she would be seen as expendable. She had to find a way—and soon—to convince these guys that they needed her alive.

  “Who are you?” she demanded, praying she didn’t sound nearly as scared as she was.