Hit Hard Page 11

  “Go on.”

  She shrugged. Russ pressed, grabbing her wrist. “Tell him!”

  “Let her go,” Sam ordered. Though when he did, she smiled at Russ, pleasure in the look. Takes all kinds, he thought.

  “Rohki did not mention what he was buying, only that it was like no other out there. But his bed partner said he was almost afraid to have it.”

  What would scare a hard-ass like Rohki? Sam headed to the door.

  “I’m sticking around here.”

  “I wasn’t inviting you along.”

  Dahl scowled at him. “You got what you needed.”

  Sam slung a glance over his shoulder. “Yeah, and found a traitor.”

  Dahl’s features pulled taut. “It’s just money.”

  “And the people they kill, it’s just their lives, right?”

  He paled.

  “You betrayed your country, the Corps, and worse, the men and women who are fighting these terrorists. Turn you in?” He scoffed. “I’ll let America’s best come after you.”

  Alarm lit across Russ’s expression before Sam stepped out, closing the door behind.

  Max and Sebastian heard the entire conversation and when Sam left the building, they gave him a wide berth. He walked in long strides, eating up the pavement for a block. Then he stopped, inhaled a lungful, and let it out. “The airstrip is in the West, Ratchaburi.”

  “I’ll get a location. Sorry about Dahl.”

  “He isn’t getting away easy. We clue in CIA first chance.”

  “Roger that.”

  He glanced back at the building, disgusted, then looked to the sky. His gaze moved over the shops seated at the base of the high-rise, a sudden movement snapping his attention to the low roofline. Sam frowned, a chill running down his spine.

  A rifle barrel?

  Sam ducked into the alcove of a doorway and hit the walkie-talkie on the cell. “Be advised, we have a shooter on the roof.” He gave the address. “Coonass, get west of my position.”

  The rifle barrel moved, sliding for aim.

  Then it fired.

  The wall of glass shattered inches from his head and Sam bolted toward the building, then down the alley, looking for a way up. Shoot at me, God dammit. He circumvented the rear, and found a fire escape ladder attached to the wall. He climbed. Who did Dahl tell about the meeting? Why shoot at him? At this hour, who were they aiming for? He flung his leg over the rim of the building, vaulting onto the surface, then stepping lightly. The roof wasn’t stable, beat to hell from typhoons, and he moved along the edge, closer to where he’d seen the shooter. The air-conditioning units blocked his view. Sam edged across the uneven rooftop and around it, drawing his weapon.

  Someone knelt on one knee, and aimed down into the street. The figure was motionless, dressed in dark, loose clothing, a baseball cap covering his head, face wrapped in cloth from the throat up to his eyes. Ninja clothes, Sam thought bitterly.

  He inched around, aiming. “Drop it.”

  The figure didn’t move, didn’t shift.

  “Drop the weapon!” he shouted.

  The man rippled, like black heat in the dark night.

  “Hands up,” he called. “Back away from the weapon!”

  The figure moved to the edge of the roof.

  “I wouldn’t, pal. It’s a long way down.”

  Sam moved closer and heard heavy breathing, and nothing else. Then the figure dove over the side of the building. Jesus. Sam rushed to the edge. The man landed on an awning, slid down to the ground, and hit hard. He rolled to his feet and took off.

  “Drac, he’s coming your way.”

  “I see him. I’m on it.”

  Sam slung the rifle and hurried to the ground.

  Stones cut into her feet, the road burning her soles. She didn’t stop, not to breathe, not to think, driven to advance. She heard the rapid footsteps behind her and ran down the block, then darted right, and ran through the wet, narrow alley. She was over the chain fence and running for freedom, a little smile curving her lips. She heard the shouts, the vehicle, and saw a stone wall in front of her. She expected it and leaped, climbing to the edge, and reached for the thick, gnarled branch overhanging the wall. She held still, hidden in the dark confines, cloaked and melting into the shadows as she watched the man hunt. He gripped the rifle, his speed and agility intriguing. She knew the moment when he gave up and she unfolded from her perch.

  Colombo, Sri Lanka

  Logan sifted through the newspaper, his laptop beside him. He waited for Max to send him more intel. Watching Riley sleep wasn’t helping anyone and for the first time since he was board certified, Logan felt useless. On the other side of the glass wall, Riley was motionless, his condition unchanged.

  His wounds were healing, yet he was still in a coma. Beside the bed, a young nurse sat reading Chaucer to him. Logan had worked in the hospital with patients until the Sri Lankan government stepped in. Legal issues, they said. A waste of manpower, he thought.

  The laptop pinged. He folded the paper, and drew it to his lap. A photo message appeared, text beneath it.

  Who’s crashing the party? it read.

  Logan clipped the photo, and dropped it into his data file, then started a match search. It would take a minute, the world had a lot of bad guys to choose from. The newspaper slid from the chair beside him and he picked it up, folding it roughly. He watched the computer glide through pictures, matching facial structure, and while it worked, he glanced to the right, a headline making him linger to read.

  Dam break unexplained. He read a few lines. Thomas Rhodes, an American who was on the original construction, claimed the dam had not cracked from pressure, and was structurally sound. When asked why it broke, killing thousands, Rhodes could not yet offer an explanation. Dr. Risha Inan, Sri Lanka’s top engineer, said her government would not allow the basin to be used and would route water supplies to nearby tributaries. That’ll put a strain on the water supply in the areas, Logan thought, remembering the thousands of dead and dying they couldn’t save.

  The computer pinged with a match and Logan tipped the screen.

  Immediately he sent a return text message. Sam needed to know the party crashers were big league. And deadly.

  He closed the laptop, then looked up to see Killian and Alexa rushing toward him.

  The rifle beat against his back as Sam followed the figure in black. Agile and fast, he barely made a sound as he ran, and Sam pushed harder, following the wet path around buildings. The man moved as if he’d practiced this run, avoided potholes and puddles, grabbed a low-slung fire escape, and vaulted over debris in the alleys. Sam lost sight of him for a block, then found the shooter rolling over the top of a chain fence. The fence rattled and the man dropped to the ground, landing on the balls of his feet, then bolted into the dark.

  Sam used the trash cans like stairs and overtook the fence. When he landed, his gaze rocketed over the area. He was alone. “Be advised. I’ve lost visual at Prai Cho.” Sam went left of the shooter’s last direction, hoping to cut him off.

  “We’re coming up on the south end of there now.”

  “I’m north, but I’ve got the rifle and on the streets with this thing is going to get me arrested.”

  “Chinese brand of the day?”

  “A Russian Dragunov SVD.” Lightweight, accurate, with IR detection capability scope.

  “Infrared scopes, geez,” Max said. “Whoever had it, had a specific target.”

  “Yeah, me. Blew out the glass on the first floor near my head.” He gave the street address, then picked up his pace.

  “Shit. That’s Thidan Graphic Systems,” Max said. “It’s a CIA station front.”

  Eight

  A figure stepped into her path and Noor crouched, her knife ready. Recognition was instant and she relaxed, replacing the razor-thin blade in her sleeve.

  Zidane eyed her from head to foot, then flicked a glance at the hotel in the distance.

  “Do not spend your conscience
with me, Jai.”

  She seldom called anyone by name. He supposed it made any meeting personal and Noor kept her distance from more than just people. She tried to move past him and he stepped in her path. Her gaze rose, locking with his.

  “He will discard you as easily as me, or that woman.” He inclined his head toward the hotel.

  “She is his plaything.”

  “And you are not?”

  Her eyes turned hot and angry. “I choose. I choose to do as I must or as I wish!” Her words bit softly.

  “That includes fucking him?”

  “Sex is meaningless to me.”

  Zidane neared, crowding her and knowing she didn’t like it, but her pride kept her still, her small body locking with tension. He could smell it. “You let it be. You have risen above your past,”—he touched his fingertip to the knife in her hip belt, concealed as decoration—“Yet you keep it with you. Sex is not a weapon.”

  She cocked her head. “Do you want to fuck me, Jai? Come, find a spot.” She reached for him.

  He slapped her hand away, his face hot with frustration. “I do not want a woman who has nothing but her rage for comfort.” He stepped back, disgusted, and finally, accepting her for what she was. A cold-blooded killer. At least he had a conscience. He left her.

  Noor looked away, swallowing hard. Then she let out a long breath, before she headed back to her master.

  Viva sat up sharply, her breath racing into her lungs so fast her chest ached. Her fingers dug into the sheets, panic flowing through her. A dream, it was a dream, she told herself, and looked around the room. The lights were still on, the doors closed. The air was almost too cold. She let out a long breath and gripped her head, the pain excruciating in the back of her skull. This so sucks.

  Exhaustion beat at her body. She hadn’t meant to sleep. Sleep was very unpleasant lately and just weird. Nothing made sense or order, and the more she probed, the more it hurt.

  She looked at the clock, shocked to see that hours had passed since she returned from shopping. If she’d slept, why didn’t she feel rested? Why did her head still hurt like a brigade was marching through her skull? She wasn’t a stupid woman, dreams had a certain feeling, omniscient, like you knew they were dreams and let yourself be outrageous and far-fetched. She scoffed to herself. Hers were out of control. So this is what it feels like to be a space cadet, she thought, pushing off the bed and calling room service. Food would help. She hadn’t eaten much in two days.

  Her feet felt sore and she sat examining them and found cuts, then snapped a look at the sheets, and could see speckles of blood from there. Okay, okay, shopping, docks, sleep, bad food, sleep, bad dreams, nothing else. She sure as heck didn’t remember turning her feet into hamburger.

  Confusion twisted down to her soul, and a quick solution sent her off the chair to the mini fridge. She grabbed a small bottle of wine, broke the seal, and drank. It didn’t help. She wanted to get tanked, pass out, forget everything for a while. She was reaching for more when a knock thundered through the little house. She whipped around, nearly dropping the bottle, then rushed to the door, peering through the peephole.

  “This isn’t a good time, Sam. Go away.” She was just too messed up to deal with his sexy self right now.

  On the other side, Sam scowled. “Open the door, Viva. We need to talk.”

  “Please, not now. Go away.”

  Something was wrong. “I can break it in, you know.”

  She sighed, threw the lock and flung open the door. Part of her was so glad to see him and she wanted to spill her guts. Another said, don’t give the guy more headaches. “Why are you here?”

  “I was in the neighborhood.”

  She stared, unamused.

  “The wrong people know we were in the jungle and I killed Thai mafia.” Sam frowned. She didn’t seem concerned. “You’re in danger because of me.”

  “No, it’s because of my asinine behavior.” The jungle felt so far away, and almost better than what she was experiencing now.

  “They won’t see it that way, though my contact was killed before you got into it with that gang.”

  Viva’s forehead wrinkled as she thought about feeling followed, but she didn’t trust her instincts, they were pretty much playing games with her lately. “I’ll be a bit more cautious then.”

  “It’s better if you left Thailand, and went home.”

  “There you go with those control issues again.” She scoffed and waved him inside. “And there is no home.” He moved in and she shut the door. “I have an apartment in New York that’s sublet for another ten months and everything I own is in storage. Or still scattered on the side of the train tracks.”

  “Family?”

  She hesitated. “Unavailable. I’ll leave Bangkok.” God knew this was just getting too weird. “But I’ll return to the dig.”

  “That might not be enough.”

  “You know what, Sam Wyatt, why don’t you fill me in on what you’re doing here and maybe we can pin the blame on you!” She dropped onto the sofa.

  Sam scowled, noticing her hands wouldn’t be still. Where was the woman who faced danger like it was a treat to be had? He knelt in front of her. “What’s wrong? I can feel it.” She looked incredibly pale and tired.

  “I don’t know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I haven’t slept well since I got here and when I do, it’s just lousy. I got a little food poisoning from bad shrimp, I think. It hasn’t been a good two days.” Boy, was that putting it lightly. She didn’t say anything about the dreams, the curtain thrown down over her mind. If she could just push it aside, she’d see what was really happening to her.

  “You’re not leaving the country?”

  “Not this minute, no, but you’re right.” The farther away from Thailand, the better, she thought. “I’ll contact Dr. Nagada, he’ll understand, believe me.” Didn’t she fly from one project to another, one job to the next? Now she had inklings of being a schizophrenic? Bad career move.

  She lifted her gaze to his. There was a hollowness there he hadn’t seen before. “Promise me.”

  She crossed her heart and tried to smile. He looked so concerned right now, that scowl actually soothing to see. She flinched when the glass door rattled. Sam went to it, sliding it open.

  Max stuck his head in. “Hi, Viva, glad you’re okay,” then frowned and added, “You look tired.”

  “That isn’t a compliment, Max.”

  “Sorry.” He shrugged, then looked at Sam. “Coonass has the rear. Everything okay?” He glanced at her again.

  “Yes, it is,” Viva said testily. Then her gaze fell on the rifle in his hand and she shot off the couch to ask what he was doing with that, but one word flying through her brain stopped her. Dragunov. In an instant, she knew how to load it, sight it in. Jesus, where was this stuff coming from?

  “What’s the matter, Red? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Her gaze flicked up and clashed with his. Sam’s eyes narrowed. Her face was drawn and pasty, yet her eyes held almost a vicious glare.

  “You need to leave.”

  “What?”

  “Leave. I’m tired, you need to leave.”

  She was practically shoving him out, and Sam grabbed her arms, held her still. “What the hell is the matter with you?” He could feel it, an energy in her, her skin was hot, her eyes darting. As if she’d explode.

  She wrenched out of his arms. “Go, please.” If he stayed, this wouldn’t end well.

  Sam moved near. “Viva, you can trust me.”

  That hit a mark, a spot inside her heart that ached with confusion and uncertainty. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. Sam trapped her against him, feeling a strange desperation as her mouth savaged his, almost as if this kiss was their last touch.

  A war raged inside her, heat and hunger and the desperate need to get far away from him. Fear, she realized, fear for him, and a blade of shock ripped through her when her fingers unconsciously closed over his knife.
She jerked back. “Go, Sam, please.”

  Sam frowned at her for a moment, hearing the begging in her voice. He didn’t want to leave her, not like this. He could feel the twist of emotions on the surface and wondered what had happened in the last couple days. Yet when she pushed, he stepped out. She shut the door and he heard the lock click, saw the lights blink off. Max came around the side and Sam looked at him.

  “She just kicked me out.”

  “That’s not like her.”

  “Something’s wrong.” Granted he didn’t know her that well, but that wasn’t the woman who ran through the jungle with him.

  “She didn’t look so good.”

  It was more than that. For a moment there, Sam felt an uneasy chill from her.

  Sam looked back at the door, deciding to check in on her tomorrow, and somehow get her safely out of Thailand.

  Inside the room, Viva sank to the floor, tears flowing. What did I do? She wanted to take his knife, and the ugly thoughts she had—it hurt to have them. She swiped at tears, vaguely noticing an oily smell to her hands, then pushed off the floor, impatient for the room service. She went to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, washed her hands. She stared at her haggard reflection.

  You’re stronger than this. Smarter than this. Buck up. Figure it out.

  She dried her face and pushed the towel into the hamper, her hand coming away slowly. She frowned, then flipped off the rattan lid and grabbed the black bundle. She shook it out. A tight-fitting shirt and pants, a long scarf. It wasn’t hers. She sniffed them, a creepy feeling pouring over her when she smelled her own perfume. But they’re not mine. She dropped them instantly, stepping back, looking around as if the room offered an excuse, a reason.

  They were dreams. They had to be. Then she looked down at her feet, red and cut. It felt like a dream.

  The knock startled her and she smothered a yelp. Hurriedly she stuffed the garments in the bottom of the hamper and let the waiter in. Again, he wouldn’t look her in the eye nor let her tip him. She was closing the door after him when she saw someone beyond the trees and stepped out, scanning the wild gardens, movement in the palms and tall flowers. She started to investigate, but when she saw a waiter bustle by with a tray, she backed inside and sealed out the world.