If he let her walk away.
"IT'S TIME."
Carrie's eyes flew open with a start. With consciousness came instant terror. The same terror she'd awakened to for more days than she could count.
Then she realized she was not in the cage. A dozen exhausted, ragged slaves were not sharing the same squalid misery with her.
She struggled to get her bearings. She was in a tent. It was dark. And hot.
"It's time," a man's voice whispered again, closer this time as a gentle hand touched her shoulder.
Cavanaugh.
Real.
Helping her.
Relief was instant.
"I fell asleep?" she whispered into the dark silence. She no longer heard the generator running.
"Exhaustion and starvation will do that to a person."
She sat up straight, stretched out the kinks, and let her eyes adjust to the darkness. Cavanaugh's shadow loomed along the tent walls before he returned to her side.
He squatted down in front of her. "Awake now?"
She nodded, then whispered, "Yes," when she realized he probably couldn't see her.
A big hand squeezed her knee. "Good girl. Can you carry this?" A bulky weight landed on her thighs.
His backpack.
"I pilfered some of the bottled water stocked in this tent, so it's heavy."
"I can do it." She figured that he needed her to carry the pack because he would need his hands free for other things. Things she didn't want to think about but knew would be necessary to get them out of here.
"Let's get the straps fitted."
She stood and slipped the pack onto her back. His big hands were deft and steady as he stood behind her and helped her adjust them.
Helped her.
An overwhelming flood of gratitude swept her right to the edge of control, and she had to fight to keep her knees from buckling.
"Hey." Strong hands gripped her shoulders, steadying her. "Hey," he repeated gently and turned her around to face him. "What's happening?"
She blinked back a damning rush of tears. "It's... it's just... I thought I was going to die here."
She swallowed hard, made herself meet his eyes. Even in the dark she could see the compassion and the strength and the promises there. "Thank you."
He squeezed her shoulders, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Don't thank me yet, sweetheart. We're a long way from gone."
And she was a long way from grasping exactly what it was about this man that had her wanting to throw herself into his arms one instant and back away the next. Both of their lives were on the line here, and she so did not have it together.
"What's the plan?" she asked abruptly. If she didn't inject something concrete into this very tense, very intimate situation, she was going to do something very, very stupid. Like fall into his arms again.
"Stealth," he said simply.
She blinked. "That's it?"
"That's what you need to know," he said evasively. "For now."
"Fine. What about the dogs?" Even more than the guns, those dogs terrified her.
"They're more for intimidation than for tracking."
"Yeah, well, the intimidation part is definitely working."
"Even if they're trackers," he assured her, "both of us have left our scents all over this place. It'll take them forever to figure out where to start looking. In the meantime, we're steering way clear of them on the way out."
She shivered involuntarily, remembering one day when the dogs had mauled a man who had attempted to escape.
"The generator shut off two hours ago," he went on, "so unfortunately we don't have that noise to help provide cover. On the plus side, at this time of night the guards are fighting sleep, if they aren't sleeping already. No perimeter fences, either, which tells me they're not too worried about anyone trying to slip away."
"It's a little difficult to run when you don't have the strength to put one foot in front of the other," she whispered in agreement.
"This isn't going to be pretty." His voice was hard, all business. "I'm going to have to take out your favorite guard first. He drew watch outside the tent."
She swallowed, understanding that "take out" had nothing to do with dating or Chinese food, and was most likely a permanent resolution. Oh, God. For the first time in her life she truly understood gallows humor. She'd wished the guard dead a hundred times since she'd been brought here at gunpoint. Faced with the probability of it actually happening, however, she felt a fissure of regret. She had dedicated her career to saving lives. The thought of someone dying because of her...
"Don't think about it," Cavanaugh said softly.
He not only rescued women, he read minds. And he was right. She needed to remember only one thing: this was life or death. Better the guard's death than hers.
"I'm okay." If she said it often enough, maybe that would make it true.
"Yes. You are." It was as much an order as a statement. "Don't move. I'll be right back."
She nodded and he ducked under the tent flap.
She stared at the spot where he'd been, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing.
Before she could reconcile herself to the fact that the sound she'd just heard was most likely the sound of a neck being snapped he was back.
She couldn't make out his expression, but she could smell the adrenaline on him. Could feel violence crackle around him like electricity.
He handed her a pair of sandals, the soles still warm to the touch.
Oh, God.
She put them on.
When she straightened, she realized he was carrying a rifle. Of course. He'd taken it from the guard.
"You stay on my six." He reached for her hand and dragged it to his belt. "Hang on, you got it? From this point on, we are officially connected at the hip. It's all about running now. No questions. Just follow me and keep as quiet as you possibly can."
She could run. She could be quiet. She could do anything he told her. What she couldn't do was keep herself from stopping him when he turned to lead her out into the night.
His eyes were full of questions as she moved in close against him.
And then he got it.
"Carrie." His breath was warm against her lips as she lifted her face to his. "You don't want to do this."
"What I don't want to do," she whispered, standing on her tiptoes and wrapping both arms around his neck, "is regret that I didn't."
Her heartbeat was already wild from the fear and the danger and the risk. But when her lips touched his, wild didn't even begin to cover the sensations that bolted through her blood and apparently slammed through his just as hard, just as fast, because there wasn't an ounce of caution in his kiss. He wrapped his free arm tightly around her waist and lifted her flush against him, his body hot and responsive, his mouth hungry and fully, carnally engaged.
He was a big, hard man. Yet all she could think about was the softness of his lips, the sleekness of his tongue, the profound restraint with which he held her that both excited her and reminded her of the danger he was in because of her.
She wanted the kiss to go on forever. Wanted this intense exploration of mouths and tongues and sensations, which she'd initiated but that he'd taken to an entirely different level, to obliterate the harsh reality that once they set foot outside this tent their lives could very well end in an explosion of gunfire.
And in this moment she wanted him almost more than she wanted her freedom, because she was desperately afraid that freedom would come at the cost of his life.
Fortunately, there was a cooler head in this tent than hers. There was a man who would not allow her to give up the promise of a future for the price of one moment in time. No matter how amazing that moment promised to be.
He lifted his head on a groan, pressed her face into his chest, and held her against a heart that beat like thunder.
"If I were to pick a cliche," he murmured against her hair, "wrong time, wrong place pretty much sums it up.
"
She swallowed hard, willed her heart rate to settle. He was right. "I'm sorry."
"That makes two of us," he said gruffly.
Shouldering the rifle sling, he cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face so she could see his eyes. "So be warned, Carrie Granger. The next time I kiss you, you're going to end up naked and flat on your back, and it's going to take an army to keep me from making certain you never feel the need to say you're sorry again."
It was all she could do to keep her legs under her, let alone assemble a coherent thought.
"Nothing to say to that?"
"I... um... gulp?" She finally managed to answer his smile with one of her own.
He pressed another kiss on her forehead. "Well said."
When he pulled back and searched her eyes he was all business again. "Ready to do this now?"
"Yeah." She drew a bracing breath. "I'm ready."
He squeezed her arm. "Like glue," he reminded her.
Then he turned toward the tent flap and led her into the night, either to freedom or to death.
Eight
Gripping the rifle in his left hand, Cav crouched low to minimize his profile. He thanked God and good fortune that the sky was still cloud heavy and the night dark. He chanced a glance over his shoulder and motioned for Carrie to follow his lead.
She instantly mimicked his movements and, as promised, stuck like a tick as they skittered across twenty yards of open ground, then ducked down behind the relative cover of the five vehicles parked in a tight row in front of the silent cook tent.
Even though he'd clicked into combat mode, a small part of Cav's body and brain--as well as a big part of his libido--was still engaged in that kiss she'd laid on him. The proper southern belle just kept surprising him. He had every intention of relishing that kiss for a long, long time... later.
Right now, he had more pressing issues. Like the sleeping dogs on the far side of the camp. And the two guards on foot patrol who, if he'd timed this right, would be walking down the path any moment and filing right past the jeep they were hiding behind.
He slipped the safety off the AK as quietly as possible, then touched Carrie lightly on her arm. When he had her attention, he pressed a finger to his lips, signaling her to be quiet. Then he dropped to his haunches behind the front wheel well, urging her down behind him.
Less than twenty seconds later the sound of voices and the muffled crunch of sandals drifted too close for comfort. The pair of guards walked toward them, AKs slung over their shoulders, their footsteps unhurried.
The guards walked directly in front of the jeep. Some six feet and the width of an engine block separated them. And then they stopped.
Cav barely breathed. While Carrie was still sleeping, he'd retrieved the KA-Bar Warthog from his backpack frame. Very slowly, he lifted his pant leg and pulled the knife out of his boot. Behind him, Carrie was statue still in the shadows. The gentle warmth of her breath against his back, where she huddled against him, told him she was doing fine.
Come on, come on, he willed the guards silently. Move on, you lazy bastards. Finish your rounds.
Just when he was certain they would be on their way, a match flared in the dark.
They were taking a smoke break.
Carrie's hand tightened on his belt loop but she didn't make a sound. Several more minutes passed. Sweat ran down Cav's face and trickled down the middle of his back as they waited it out.
She had to be miserable. Even in the middle of the night the heat was killer, depleting their bodies of fluids and salt. His calf muscles started to cramp from the awkward way he was crouched. He was betting Carrie was struggling with muscle issues as well.
He could tough out the pain. But she was already in a weakened physical and mental state, and he was worried about how much more she could take.
If the guards didn't move on soon he was going to have to do something. The last thing he wanted to do was shoot them. The gunfire would wake up the entire camp, and dodging bullets on the run was a surefire way to get her killed. He could take one guard out with his knife, but the other would be yelling bloody murder before he could shut him up.
Move, move, move!
And still they stood, leaning against the jeep, passing the cigarette back and forth, talking about women. Carrie pressed her forehead harder into his back, a sign that she was struggling.
He had to do something before she gave them away.
He felt around on the ground until he found a Ping-Pong ball-sized stone. After hefting it to get a feel for the weight, he looked around for overhead obstacles, then gave it a hard fling in the opposite direction from their flight path.
Both guards stopped their chatter and came to attention. So did the damn dogs. Six deep-throated barks rang across the mountainside. He couldn't pick up the guards' new conversation, but when they took off at a fast walk toward the spot where the stone had landed Cav didn't waste any time.
He helped Carrie to her feet and knew by the slow way she rose that she was cramping up.
"Foot or calf?" he whispered close to her ear as the dogs wound down with a few halfhearted yelps and finally fell silent after a shouted order from the guards.
"Calf," she ground out between clenched teeth.
He handed her the rifle, quickly dropped back to his knees, and felt along the backs of both of her calves. He found the knot--rock hard and the size of a marble--in her left calf and started working it out with his fingers.
Her quick intake of breath and her fingers digging into his shoulders spoke of the pain, but she toughed it out.
"I'm sorry," he whispered but was relentless until he was satisfied he'd worked out the knot and the muscle wouldn't seize up again, at least not immediately.
"Can you walk?" He stood and dug into his pack for the salt tabs he'd brought with him.
"Yes," she answered without hesitation and downed the pills with some water. He did the same, then recapped the water bottle and stowed it in the pack.
"Hold on a sec." He opened up the KA-Bar, dropped to his back, and shimmied under the first jeep in line. If he remembered right, the fuel line ran along the driver's side of the frame.
He felt around. Bingo. He then felt around for the rubber fittings leading to the fuel filter and cut them. The gas wouldn't leak out immediately, but when they started her up the fuel pump would spray gas all over, and the engine would run for a bit but then die of fuel starvation.
He slid out from underneath the vehicle, motioned for Carrie to follow, and took the thirty seconds he needed to repeat the process with the middle and the rear vehicles. As tightly as they were parked, the other two weren't going anywhere anyway.
"Okay," he whispered, "let's boogie before they decide to come back."
He crouched low and, with Carrie close behind, he sprinted toward the far side of the encampment, keeping to the shadows, ducking between the mining equipment and steep wall cut into the mountainside. She stopped him with a hand on his arm before they'd traveled twenty feet.
"Are you sure we can't free them now?" she asked looking back toward the caged slaves they were leaving behind.
"Trust me on this, Carrie. I'm not going to forget about them. I'll be back with enough resources to get them out of here. Right now, we've got to worry about getting our own asses the hell gone."
KEEPING HIS PROFILE low, Cavanaugh alternately sprinted and crept along the upper perimeter of the camp, leading them farther from the center of operations and higher up the mountainside. Carrie wanted to ask where they were headed, but she kept her mouth shut and her feet moving, and she made herself think past the painful cut on her foot and the exhaustion and her sore calf muscles.
She was physically depleted. Neither her muscle mass nor her motor control were what they should be, but adrenaline was a wonder drug. She just prayed the rush lasted long enough to get her past the worst of it, because when she crashed she was going to drop like a stone.
In the meantime she followed
Cavanaugh's lead, even though she wondered why he was taking them farther up the mountain instead of down.
"When they wise up to the fact that we're AWOL," he whispered as he tugged her down behind a boulder to catch their breath, "they're going to figure we went down, not up."
That was at least the second time he'd read her mind. She wasn't going to question it, just like she wasn't going to think about the guard whose sandals she wore or the way his body had looked, slumped and lifeless where Cavanaugh had propped him in a sitting position outside the tent.
Except she hadn't been able to stop thinking about it.
"Drink," Cavanaugh prodded, gripping her hand and shoving a bottle of water into it. "We need to keep hydrated."
She drank, then handed back the bottle. The generator kicked on just then, flooding the mining site with dim light. A shout rang out. Then another.
"The jig is up," Cav said, helping her to her feet. "Now we run like rabbits."
She glanced over her shoulder as he took her hand and pulled her along behind him. Less than fifty yards away the camp came alive with soldiers scrambling, rifles at the ready, as the general yelled orders that needed no translation.
It was an all-out manhunt.
"Don't look back," Cavanaugh ordered as the dogs started baying and snarling. "It'll only slow us down."
He was right, so she forced herself to forget about the guns and the dogs. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other as Cavanaugh led her away from the mining road and into the thickness of the jungle.
"THE BAYING IS getting farther away, don't you think?"
Cav leaned back against a thick tree trunk, boots braced on the ground against the steep downhill slope, and tried to listen past the blood pounding in his ears and his heavy breaths. They'd been on the run for at least an hour. The sound of the baying dogs was a powerful incentive to keep moving. This was only the second time he'd allowed them to stop and rest.
"I think so. Yeah. At the risk of another cliche, it sounds like they're barking up the wrong tree."
She smiled. It felt damn good. What felt even better was that the guards were searching down the mountain. As he'd also hoped, it appeared the dogs hadn't been able to pick up their exit scent. When they tried to start the vehicles and gasoline sprayed all over the place, it would be even more difficult for the dogs, whose highly sensitive sense of smell would be bombarded.
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