The Heart of a Mercenary Page 8

  Then something caught his eye. He tensed, stared hard at the river.

  Coming round a distant bend in the Shilongwe was a boat, moving slowly, silently, flowing with the current, engines turned off, a searchlight panning the beaches as it moved.

  Every muscle in his body snapped tight. He watched as the boat came closer. He could make out six men, soldiers with berets and guns. His gut twisted. The soldiers must have traced them to the banks of the Shilongwe, heard reports of the aborted rescue attempt, and come downriver after them. They probably didn’t know if he and Sarah were alive or dead. But that could change as soon as their searchlight hit the beach they’d left at nightfall.

  Hunter had done his best to erase their tracks in the sand with palm fronds. And because it was night, there was a chance the soldiers might miss the signs. But he wasn’t going to bet on it. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell Sarah. This would be more than she could handle right now. Her newfound resolve was still too fragile. She was still too exhausted. Knowing the militia were on their tail could break her completely. He had to find a way to keep her moving—fast—until they reached the Eikona River and crossed into the Blacklands, where there was a chance they wouldn’t be pursued.

  He nudged her awake. “Sarah,” he whispered. “We need to move.”

  “Already?”

  “Right now.”

  23:59. Venturion Tower penthouse, Manhattan.

  Monday, September 22

  Low autumn clouds swallowed the lights of the Manhattan skyline, and a sharp wind flicked rain against the glass. He paced the length of his windows, conscious of his reflection against the dark panes.

  His point man in the Congo, Andries Du Toit, had told him their militia had picked up the nurse’s tracks. That was the good news. The bad news was that someone was helping her run.

  He cursed softly, swiveled on his heels, paced back along the length of the windows. Someone else had to know the importance of what was in that biohazard container; someone who had access to a helicopter, a bigger network. A real uneasiness bit into his usual steely calm.

  He needed the woman alive. They had to make her talk. He had to find out who else knew about the pathogen, who was helping her. Because if whoever was with her was even remotely connected to the U.S. president, he had no choice but to launch the attack immediately. He checked the green glow of his watch. It was almost six in the evening, almost Tuesday in the Congo. He needed to meet with the others as soon as possible.

  The phone rang, startling him. He jumped and grabbed the receiver. “Yes?” he barked.

  “Dad? You okay?”

  “Olivia, darling.” Warmth flooded through him as he greeted his daughter. “I’m fine, just…planning my day tomorrow.”

  She hesitated. “You sure you’re all right?”

  He smiled broadly. “Of course I am. Just a small business glitch. I’ll have it sorted out by morning.”

  Chapter 7

  06:10 Alpha. Congo jungle.

  Tuesday, September 23

  The day dawned to the high-pitched shrieks of African grays and a troop of gray-cheeked mangabeys proclaiming their territory with wild staccato barks and obscene deep chuckles.

  Sarah winced at the monkeys’ discordant sounds. They scraped against nerves already raw from stress and exhaustion. She’d been on her feet for almost a full twelve hours now, stumbling blindly behind Hunter with invisible things tearing at her clothes and skin. The night had taken a severe toll on both her mind and her body, and as a nurse, she knew she’d pushed herself to her limit. She was about to collapse physically, and snap psychologically.

  And once again, with daybreak came oppressive heat and humidity. Perspiration oozed a steady trail between her breasts and down her belly, plastering her camisole to her skin. Plus Hunter had made her wear her long-sleeved shirt overtop. She stumbled to a stop, wiped the back of her sleeve over her wet forehead. “Hunter,” she said. “I need a rest.”

  “Not now.” He didn’t break his stride.

  “I mean it!” she called after him.

  He halted in his tracks. For a second he stood stock-still, as if trying to control his irritation before facing her. Then he turned around slowly, his face glistening with moisture and his eyes sparking with what she could only imagine was frustration. “You have got to keep moving, Sarah.”

  “No.” She refused to budge. “I need rest. I know my limits.”

  Impatience flickered over his face. It made her feel like a tiresome piece of baggage. And that made her want to lash out at him.

  He took a step toward her. “Sarah.” His voice was low, firm. “We’ll rest when we get into the Blacklands.”

  “Right.” She slapped at a bug biting her neck. “The cursed land, the land that time forgot, where no one will find us.” She bent over, rested her hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath. “Could I at least have some water?”

  “Not until we find another source.”

  She knew he was right. She’d drunk most of his water while they’d waited for their rescue chopper, thinking they’d be out of the Congo soon. But she was dehydrated and was going to collapse soon if she didn’t get some liquid into her system.

  He must have seen the desperation in her face because his voice softened ever so slightly. “Sarah, I know this is tough, but we should reach Eikona Falls within the hour, and that means drinking water. And once we cross the Eikona, we’ll be heading into some very dense primary stuff. It’ll be darker, just a little cooler, and we can risk making a fire, which means dry clothes.” He smiled slightly in encouragement.

  She stared at the curve of his mouth, and the exhausted and rebellious part of her brain wondered if his smile was false, if it was just a pretense at camaraderie designed to fuel her hope. Because just a second ago she’d seen the raw impatience in his features. He was doing a damn fine job of hiding it now, behind that smile.

  Josh used to play that game.

  “Come, let’s go.” Hunter turned, slashed at a liana thick as a python.

  But she could not go on. The muscles in her legs were ready to give out. She desperately needed to lie down. Even the dank carpet of slippery, rotting leaves and lurid-colored fungi was beginning to look appealing.

  But Hunter kept moving forward, away from her, the thick curtain of foliage swallowing him as she watched. Panic licked at her stomach. “Damn it, McBride, stop!” She yelled after him. “Please!”

  Hunter jerked around. “You have got to keep moving, Sarah.”

  “Just a few minutes? How can a few minutes hurt?” She slapped at another bug and began to peel her long-sleeved shirt off. She was desperate to get cool, to feel air on her arms.

  “Don’t do that,” he warned.

  She paused midmotion and glared at him. If she heard one more brusque command come out of Hunter McBride’s mouth she was going to scream. Don’t do this. Don’t do that. Do this. Do that. It was all she’d heard through the black night as he’d dragged her at a breakneck pace through the forest. “Why not?” she snapped. “I’m dying of heatstroke here, in case you hadn’t noticed.” She swatted at a cloud of irritating black insects hanging around her face.

  A look of strained patience tightened his features. “Better than being chewed to mincemeat by bugs.” He fished into one of the many pockets in his flak jacket, handed her a small bottle of repellent. “They go for the wettest parts of your body—armpits, groin. They want the salt. Best you keep that shirt on, keep covered.”

  “It’s sopping wet,” she protested, and hated herself the minute the words came out of her mouth. But she’d completely lost the ability to be cooperative.

  A muscle pulsed dangerously along his jawline. “Put the bug juice on, Sarah.”

  She smeared the insect repellent over the exposed areas of her skin, the chemical fumes nauseating to her empty and already queasy stomach. She handed the bottle back to him and watched as he carefully secured the flap over the repellent. Sarah wasn’t able to
stop what came out of her mouth next. “I wish you’d lost the damn bug juice instead of the phone. At least we could’ve gotten help.”

  His hand stilled. His brows lowered and a quiet, dark thunder crept over his features. He took a step toward her.

  Sarah cringed, instinctively backing up against the trunk of a tree. Oh God, had she pushed one of his buttons again? She’d called his skill, him, into question. And he didn’t like it. Not one bit. When was she going to learn to keep her stupid mouth shut?

  “Sarah,” he said ominously. “We’re on the same team, and don’t you forget it. I want to get you and this canister out.” He clapped his huge hand over the biohazard container he’d secured to his belt with a piece of cord. Her container.

  “I’m…I’m just stating the obvious. If we had the phone—”

  “Did you not hear me? The phone would make no difference. No one is going to fly into Congo airspace. Not unless they want to die. Do you want that, Sarah? Do you want to make people die?”

  She bit her lip. This man did not play fair. And she was a fool for pushing him. She’d seen he had low flash points, and she had no idea what could—or would—make him snap. She didn’t want to find out. She did not want to be on the wrong side of Hunter McBride in a dangerous mood.

  He came even closer, his breath mingling with hers in the moist jungle air. And for an insane moment she thought he was going to kiss her. She thought he was going to force his mouth down hard over hers and savage her right there on the jungle floor.

  The thought both terrified and excited her. A mad part of her even wanted, needed him to. She needed to physically tap into his strength even while she was lashing out at him, pushing him away. Maybe this was what Stockholm syndrome was all about. Maybe she had developed an unnatural and deep attraction to her intoxicatingly powerful captor for fear of the alternative—certain death.

  His mouth came even closer, his lips almost brushing over hers. Her breathing faltered and her world telescoped in on itself. She closed her eyes.

  He traced her jaw very gently with his fingers. “And maybe, Sarah, just maybe, the phone is gone because of you.”

  She flashed her eyes open. “What? Oh, I get it. You lost it because you were too busy looking after me, is that it? I’m a pain in your butt. You think I’m holding you up—”

  “You are holding me up,” he said simply.

  Anger bubbled up through the strange mix of sensations swimming through her. She glared into his eyes. “Well, let me tell you something, Hunter McBride. Without me you wouldn’t have your precious pathogen all boxed and ready to go. You’d still be running around looking for it somewhere in central Africa.”

  He didn’t move a muscle; not even a flicker ran through his strangely colored eyes. His mouth, his body were still just as close.

  Sarah’s knees started to wobble, but she forced herself to meet his smoldering intensity head-on. “Think about that, McBride. Count the days I’ve saved you, and you’ll see that dragging me along is a pretty damn small price to pay. So I’d really appreciate it if you’d cut me some slack and let me rest for a damn minute.”

  Light glimmered in his eyes and a smile tugged at his lips. “Now there’s the spirit I want to see.”

  Her jaw dropped. Oh, she saw what he was doing! He was finding hot buttons to make her angry, to feed her energy, anything to kick her in the mental butt and keep her moving through the damn jungle. He was manipulating her emotionally.

  Her heart went stone-cold.

  That’s exactly what Josh used to do. He’d toy with her emotions to get her to react the way he wanted her to. And it had taken her years of psychological and emotional manipulation before she’d even recognized it for the abuse it was, before she’d seen how Josh had been twisting her mind to first blind her to his affairs, and then to make her accept them, as if she were somehow to blame, as if it was her fault that her husband needed to look elsewhere for sex. And the fact that she was unable to bear children had played right into his manipulative hands. He’d used it to make her feel worthless as a woman.

  Sarah suddenly felt embarrassed. She covered her face with her hands. In her exhausted, dehydrated state she was confusing things, coupling old pathological reactions with the present. She was allowing Josh to get to her even now, a continent and an ocean away. She was seeing him in Hunter McBride. That wasn’t fair. But she was too tired. Too tired to think, to stand…She sagged back against the tree and allowed herself to slide down to the spongy ground.

  Hunter crouched down beside her. “Sarah?”

  For an instant she thought he was going to touch her, and she braced herself. But he didn’t. Her heart swooped even lower with hurt, rejection. When was Josh going to stop haunting her? She burrowed her face into her arms.

  “Sarah?”

  She gritted her teeth, refused to look at him.

  “Sarah, look at me.”

  “I know what you’re doing, McBride,” she mumbled into her arms. “You wanted to make me angry.” A dry sob shuddered through her body. “You’re doing what Josh used to do to me.”

  “Josh?” Hunter’s brain spun. The Aid Africa file had indicated she was recently divorced. “Is he your ex?”

  “Just forget about it!” she muttered.

  Hunter frowned. What had her ex-husband done to her to make her feel like this so many thousands of miles away?

  But he didn’t have time to ask, to coddle. Not if he wanted to save her life. Those soldiers couldn’t be far behind. He placed his hand on her shoulder. “Sarah, honey, listen to me, I’m just trying to help get you moving. I want to get you out of here, alive—”

  She jerked her head up, brown eyes glistening. “Don’t you honey me. I’m just a job. You said so yourself. That’s it, so quit messing with my head.”

  “Sarah, that’s not—”

  “Not what? Tell me it’s not true. Tell me you weren’t manipulating me.”

  “Jesus.” He dragged his hand through his damp hair. He was at a complete loss for words. “Of course I’m trying to give you motivation. Your mind is the most important survival tool you’ve got out here. But you’re misinterpreting things. You’re fatigued.” He grasped both her shoulders, forced her to look up into his eyes. “Listen, Sarah, the militia picked up our tracks last night. Six men are coming after us, and you can bet your life they’re moving much faster than we are right now.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “How…how do you know?”

  “I saw them on the river last night, and there’s a good chance they picked up our tracks on the beach.”

  Her eyes flicked wildly around. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Because you can’t afford to panic, like you’re doing now. It drains physical resources. You use too many calories, need too much water, can’t focus, you make mistakes. Panic is a deadly emotion out here.” He paused. “This is not about mind games, Sarah. This is not about you or me or your ex. This is about pure survival.”

  She stared at him, visibly trying to tamp down her fear. She was struggling both emotionally and physically—and it ate at him. But he had to get her moving. He reached for her arm, helped her up.

  She hesitated, then looked deep into his eyes. “Tell me one thing, Hunter,” she said, very, very softly. “If you are forced to choose between me and that container, which will you pick?”

  “Sarah, that’s not fair, and you know it.”

  “Tell me.”

  His mouth tightened with bitterness. He would have no alternative but to choose the container. That was his job. Those were his orders. “Sarah, you’re tired—”

  “See? I’m right.” She shoved her damp tangle of curls off her forehead. “At least I know where I stand, what I’m worth in this game.”

  “Sarah…” He reached for her.

  She jerked away from him, held up both hands. “Please don’t touch me. Don’t mess with my head anymore.”

  His jaw clenched. There was no time for this. And even if there
was, there was zip he could do about it. She was twisting everything, making him feel about as lost and confused as a water buffalo in New York City. “Fine,” he said. “Whatever. You win, now let’s go.” He turned and swung viciously at a liana with his machete, dislodging a bunch of epiphytic orchids as he did so. His boots stomped over them as he pushed his way into the forest.

  Sarah stared at the crushed blooms in his wake. Oh God, what had she just done? Because of her obsession with her past, with Josh, with her own failures, she’d pushed away the one man who could give her the strength to get through this.

  She put her fingers to her temples, trying to gather herself. She’d made the mistake of thinking she could put her past behind her by just packing up her life and getting on a plane. But instead, she’d dragged her baggage all the way over the ocean to Africa, into the very heart of the Congo. And it was chasing her down right now, just like those soldiers coming after her.

  Sarah could see now that no amount of running was going to help distance her from the effects of Josh’s emotional abuse, her past mistakes. They were going to haunt her right into the Blacklands and beyond, unless she found a way to tackle her own ghosts.

  Hunter was right. It had to be her choice. She had to want to survive. She had to find a way to do this. She had to look into herself, figure out how to sever the past and move forward with only the good memories, not the bad ones. She needed to envision a future for herself, just as he’d said back on the beach—a future beyond the jungle, beyond Josh. She had to try and picture it. Trouble was, she couldn’t.

  “Sarah!”

  She forced her exhausted limbs to move. “Coming…coming.” She stepped around the bruised petals and followed him deeper into the jungle.

  They broke through the tangle of foliage so suddenly Sarah thought they were going to pitch straight over the cliff and tumble down into it. She groped instinctively for a branch—anything to help hold her back from the hungry, churning maw below.

  The Eikona River.