Dark Escape (DARC Ops Book 10) Page 13

  “I heard them mention his name back there . . . they know the general.” Declan’s voice was casual, as if he wasn’t dropping the bombshell he was.

  She said nothing. She didn’t know Ironside at all. Not really. He was an acquaintance of her father’s. Not hers. God, she’d been a total fool.

  The clunking of their heads took away a chance to listen to his heart beating, but she knew it was there. Strong as ever. He had such a great heart. She had thought similarly about a few men, up to a day ago.

  “We’ll live,” Declan said. “We’re living right now.”

  “Think for very much longer?” she said.

  “I bet we’ll make it to mile twenty.”

  “And beyond.” She could feel it, too. They would get beyond, and go home.

  She had to think of it that way. Every step was one step closer to freedom. To escape. To home.

  The sky ahead was lightening; a deep and dark blue radiated from a distant mountain range. It would have been so beautiful, like the stars, if only they weren’t being chased by a small army of killers. And whoever else back home that she thought were her friends.

  “We’ll get there,” Declan said. “Let’s stop to rest a minute now.”

  She slid off his back and tumbled, her leg refusing to take her weight. She reached out to break her fall with her hand—pain shot through her wrist . . . the wrist that held the makeshift crutch. When would it end? This struggle to live, to just get back home? Did Declan feel this way every day? How did he deal with it?

  She couldn’t hold it back. She tried biting her lip, then pushing on her eyelids, pushing her sobs back into her head, and her tears. But they came out hot and flowing, her face tight and soundless with crying.

  “Sophia?”

  She couldn’t answer.

  “Come on,” he said, making his way over to her. She felt his hands. “Where are you hurt?”

  She was shaking with the cry until it surfaced into a wail.

  He held her tight, holding his head against hers, their cheeks together. For a long while, he didn’t say anything, but she felt the words. Finally, he just stopped talking, stopped the advice and the slogans, and simply held her like she’d needed.

  She closed her eyes and focused on the feeling of his body. This guy. Her guy. Her warrior, and she’d gotten him in so much trouble.

  Back in New York, her life was safe and privileged, lived often through abstraction, a work of art. Middle Eastern art. She studied these paintings, artists like the ones clustered around at the parties of Mr. Abbas, thinking she knew something about the other side of the coin. The other side of the canvas. But now that she had actually stepped through and lived it, she could see how much she had been deceived. A deception somewhat by her father. That stung. But it was nothing compared to the murderous deception by General Ironside.

  Who the fuck did she think she was? Stomping through Afghanistan, punching through the painting like a child’s hand through canvas. Now she was getting the slap for it.

  “I don’t want you to be the one to pay for it, for me thinking I could be this undercover spy . . .”

  “It’s the general’s fault, putting you in that position with absolutely zero experience. Inserting listening devices like that . . . I still don’t understand it, unless it was a fuck-up on purpose.”

  “On purpose?” Sophia said.

  Declan looked down, stared at his boots, and shrugged. Sophia could almost feel what he’d meant to say; it emanated off his body, a shared regret. A deep disappointment. She knew now more than ever, just by how Declan shook his head, still speaking nothing, that Sophia had perhaps ultimately been used. The real question now was if the general had other reasons for planting the bugs in the first place.

  But her biggest regret, still, was that she’d gotten Declan into this mess in the first place.

  Sophia leaned away from Declan, room enough to see his face.

  He cocked his head slightly, waiting for something.

  “Sorry,” she said, her voice almost a whisper.

  “What?”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You don’t have to say that. You don’t have to be that.”

  “I got you wound up in all this bullshit,” Sophia said, “so I should just cut you loose.”

  “Cut me loose?”

  “With my ankle, and my wrist, and you having to carry me, neither of us is going to make it.”

  “That’s not—”

  “You know it’s true. I know you know; you’re a logical man. You know it’s either one of us or neither, and that one can’t be me.”

  He was shaking his head.

  “I’m slowing you down,” Sophia said. “Without me on your back half the time, you’d already be there by now.”

  Still shaking.

  “You could come back for me,” she said. “Just think about it. At least you can try. That’s better than both of us dying out here.”

  “Sophia,” he said, “that’s not going to happen.”

  “That we’ll die?”

  “That might happen,” he said. “But the part about me leaving you . . . ?”

  She buried her head in her hands. “God, I just feel so guilty.”

  Calmly, Declan said, “I understand how you could feel that way, but . . .”

  He continued talking to her while Sophia sat in a daze of fatigue and confusion, feeling her mind uncoil just ever so slightly. “Who were you two days ago?” she said. “What were you doing? What kind of life did you have? It’s crazy how I came along and took that and—”

  “You didn’t do anything to me.”

  “Oh? Nothing?”

  “Sophia . . .”

  “What?”

  “You’ve listened to every one of my commands so far . . .”

  She waited.

  “I had you marching here, hiding here, doing something in a cave . . . and this whole time you trusted me and soldiered on like pro, even though you’ve never done anything like it before. And what good has it done for you?”

  Her mind was still uncoiling, the feeling of her consciousness beginning to float over her body.

  “You followed orders and got your ankle fucked up, now your arm.”

  She was no longer crying.

  “You are the expert. And you know your stuff, everything. I’ve been watching you so closely . . .” she paused, trying to find the right way to put her thoughts into words. “Why is it that you think I so blindly follow your orders?”

  He shrugged.

  “Oh? What? You think I just do that for anyone? Any handsome face?”

  He stared at her.

  “I follow your orders,” she said, “and I follow you, because I know you’ll do what’s right and get us through this.”

  “I will,” he said, his expression staying the same. Two small fires burned in his eyes where the sunrise reflected back at her, lighting her up with a distant promise.

  “I know you will,” Sophia said. She’d known from the beginning she could trust him, but now, somewhere along the dunes, her feelings for Declan had evolved from mere rescuer to something deeper.

  If they had only met under different circumstances . . .

  Declan got up from where they’d fallen, moving to her slowly, his boots kicking softly through sand until he plopped down in it next to her. Then inching sideways closer to her until their shoulders touched, then faces turning in until lips met in a soft kiss. His hands curled around the back of her head, holding her in place as he carried out, softly and slowly, what he needed to do. And what Sophia needed now was to feel herself relax through his kisses, through his embrace, to know that it would be possible for her to reset the disappointment. He’d been so attentive like that, through all his guts and brawn and logic, to know when they both needed a break. She was happy to break with him, kissing him deeply in return. She indulged in the feel of his hard body pressing against hers, the soft warmth of his tongue outlining her lips and then delving inside,
exploring, eliciting nothing but pleasure. Her pain and fear forgotten . . .

  But there was also a part of her that wanted to show Declan that she needed fewer of these breaks. That she knew, more so by the minute, that they’d be getting all the breaks they’d wanted after this hell storm was over. After they survived Afghanistan, together.

  Sophia wanted to move forward with him in every way.

  So she pulled back, staring at his face made even more beautiful by the brightening morning.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Ready?” she said.

  “For?” A smile crept over his face.

  “For getting the hell out of here.” Sophia tapped him on the shoulder with her good hand, tapping firmly like a fellow soldier. Like she could also be a grunt, digging deep and moving like one despite her multiple injuries.

  “Let’s do it,” Declan said.

  She stood first, and was first to reach for his hand. She grabbed hard and leaned back, pulling him off the sand with a quiet grunt. They stood together, taking another moment to admire the brightening sunrise and their brightened faces, before dusting each other off and getting on with their journey home.

  22

  Declan

  They’d been making good time, but with some difficulty. Every step grew harder than the one before it, but he kept pushing. He had to. For his sake and Sophia’s. They couldn’t quit now, no matter how tired he was. Muscles trembling with fatigue, he clenched his jaw and pressed forward. He heard every breath she took, matching her exhaustion, and his. He had to be the strong one, had to be the one who refused to stop, even when she implored him to. The extraction team couldn’t wait around forever. They had to reach their destination as soon as possible. No excuses. They either made it or they wouldn’t.

  With the sun well up in the sky, Declan finally gave her the signal to stop—tilting his hand to his face, drinking an imaginary water bottle, too tired at the moment to even mumble the words. Standing a few seconds later, the imaginary bottles were replaced with the real ones Declan had found back at the mine. After a few swigs, with Declan watching her the whole time, he capped his off. Sophia could read that signal, too, although it was perhaps the one she’d had the most problem with.

  He felt like the biggest asshole in the world, Sophia not having the mental training for water rationing—which had always turned out to be much harder than anyone could realize. And as an art curator in New York, she didn’t have Declan’s heat acclimation, either. Sure, summers got hot in the city, but a desert valley in Afghanistan was about as far a leap as an art curator planting listening devices in the estate of one of Kabul’s most influential businessmen.

  But she was holding up. And after drinking far less than she’d probably liked, Sophia capped the water without a second thought. Declan appreciated her growing discipline. Perhaps it could be something they could explore in the bedroom of some apartment in some city they might settle on. He wanted to settle together. He wanted together, no matter where.

  “How do we look?” she said, her voice background to his mental map check. He’d been looking for landmarks that would direct them to the target area, a location where they’d ideally intercept a mixed unit of Marines and DARC Ops agents. At this point, he’d be ecstatic with meeting any type of friendlies, but seeing his actual friends would be a pretty sweet reward. He thought of their reward as they continued.

  “We’re past mile twenty-five,” he said. “Moving pretty good now.”

  Sophia explained how she’d found her rhythm through the pain. A slow and steady rhythm that Declan was more than happy to accustom himself to.

  “I thought we’d be at twenty-two,” she said. “Finally, a nice surprise.”

  “Maybe we’ve got more on the way.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like Jackson and his crew, in a limousine with champagne and pizza.”

  “And ice cream,” Sophia said. She was always talking about ice cream. Banana splits, in particular. “I just don’t know how well a limousine would handle the sand,” she said.

  “Better than a twisted ankle.” He frowned. Her expression of pain had grown steadily with the miles they covered. At least she hadn’t broken it. His jaw tightened at the thought. Even through his makeshift bandage, the bruising and swelling were obvious.

  “I thought you said I was doing good,” she said, groaning as their course took them downslope once again.

  “You’re doing beautifully, Beautiful.”

  Declan wanted to think that her groan was out of disgust rather than pain. Then her groan turned into a chuckle midway through the step. Then a chuckle to a word: “Thanks.”

  “No problem.”

  “But I don’t feel too beautiful,” Sophia said. “I don’t even want to know how beautifully I smell.”

  “I bet you smell as beautiful as I do,” he said. No time for breaks now, water or otherwise. They were too close. Anywhere within five miles he was told to keep his eyes open, and that’s what he was doing. And now he was doing it with the help of Sophia.

  She pointed to something off in the distance and said, “What’s that over there?”

  He looked over, following an invisible line from her hand to the mystery object on the horizon, whatever it was, wherever it was. Then finally, still squinting, he had to say, “Where?”

  “Two clicks from that pyramid-looking rock thing on the . . . the ridge.”

  “Two clicks?” Declan said with a grin.

  “Yeah?”

  “Clicks?”

  She just stared at him. “I watch movies, you know.” Then she said, “Miles?”

  Declan said, “Clicks are kilometers.”

  “Two whatever; what’s that? Is that something moving?”

  He couldn’t see it. Instead, Declan’s eyes were tracking a now-emerging dust trail on the opposite end of the horizon. It was moving fast, what must have been a convoy of vehicles. “Were you talking about that?” Declan asked her, pointing to his own target, the dust rising high and disappearing in front of the sun. “Let’s take cover for a minute.”

  Without a word, Sophia took a knee, and then just rolled onto her side in a big sigh.

  Declan stayed on his knee, trying his hardest to squint out what kind of vehicles had been driving by. The American unit would be on foot, with perhaps an Assault Breacher Vehicle with them. A heavy armored tank with a plow on the front. But that kind of vehicle wouldn’t be traveling this fast. And boots wouldn’t be kicking up that amount of dust.

  “Are those our limos?” Sophia asked, lying on her back, looking into the sun through a water bottle. Neither of them had very much left. Somewhere in the equation of time, water, and the tenacity of their pursuers lay life. Or death.

  She spoke again when he didn’t answer. “I’m guessing not limos, then,” Sophia said. “I’m guessing something a little worse.”

  “Maybe a lot worse.” He wasn’t sure enough to tell her, but the way the vehicles moved so quickly and haphazardly, and doing so in this location, coming right in their fucking direction, made Declan surer by the minute that they’d be visited by some insurgents if they didn’t make some haphazard maneuvers of their own.

  But what could boots do against tires?

  What could two with an old knife do against a few dozen with heavy weapons?

  “We should move,” he said to an already-standing Sophia.

  “Where to?”

  He was looking around for some rock to hide behind, a clump of shrubs, an old mining truck. But all they had to break up the solid hot burn of the desert was their shadow.

  He’d known how dangerous it was, in these open valleys, to get caught flat-footed. And they were more than flat-footed now, with the fatigue of two days of escape, with Sophia’s busted ankle, with hardly any water or food in them for energy.

  He swore, long and low under his breath. After all this shit, after all he had been through to save both of them, he couldn’t let it end this way,
not so close to freedom and his team. Crouching low, ignoring the screaming pain in his thigh muscles and his back, he grabbed Sophia’s hand and dragged her along behind him. She ducked low as well, but her moans of pain caused him more than a twinge of concern. She couldn’t trip. She couldn’t fall. If she did, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to get her up again.

  It hardly mattered where they were headed, just anywhere away from the rushing convoy. Declan already figured they were toast, and was half thinking about sticking around and trying to devise a battle plan. But running, he supposed, even with an injured Sophia, was their best option. As his eyes focused on the bouncing horizon, headed away from the convoy, he could see another cloud of dust from vehicles much closer. Jeeps with black flapping flags. Another set of clues that it wasn’t friendlies, DARC or otherwise. They’d had them pinned and were pinching in.

  Would he see friendlies ever again?

  “Insurgents,” he finally yelled to Sophia as they ran.

  “No shit!”

  She was doing well to keep up, having ditched the crutch and just running through the pain, though with a severe limp, and a cuss word every few steps vying with her effort to breathe in their mad dash. If they were lucky, the speeding convoy and the other, with the black flags, were more focused on each other than on them. She was no longer like an athlete helped off the field, but staying on with some guts and playing through the injuries in a final game.

  And this definitely looked like their final game, insurgents speeding toward them in both directions. Two ominous dust clouds. Declan had told himself to stop turning back to see the progress of the rear group, since they were most predictably gaining ground by the second. He told himself that it was an inevitability.

  He headed toward a low hump in the ground—too low to be properly defined as a hill, but he’d take anything he could get at this point. They crept up a gentle slope, nearly doubled over when Declan spotted a narrow, boulder-lined path following the base of that hump, which turned into a shallow ravine. Again, he counted his blessings. Up ahead, he saw two low ridges in the distance, sloping down in the middle like a camel’s hump. If he’d had the energy and they weren’t again running for their lives, he might have shouted out a whoop of joy. It was the first hint of landmarks he’d seen and in this recent opening, perhaps their only option for slowing down the vehicles. In the thick sand and around the rocks, it would definitely slow the pursuit. He barked to Sophia, “Hard left!”