“Shit,” the soldier muttered, a strangely worried expression crossing his face. “What are you doing here?”
Jack stayed still. “Having a bath, clearly.”
The soldier looked his dripping, naked body over quickly. “Yeah, I can see that.” His gaze flickered away and came back, narrowed. “Is that mad bastard with you?”
“He’s around.”
“Shit,” he hissed. “Shit, shit, shit.” The rifle wavered slightly.
This obviously wasn’t going the way the soldier thought it should, which confused Jack. Mr. Valadian was looking for him and here he’d been found, but his discoverer didn’t seem at all pleased by it. Unless . . .
“You alone?” Jack asked.
The soldier glared at him, jaw clenching tight, rifle steadying.
It all screamed yes. So that was his issue. Alone, and somewhere out there was Blade. Jack wouldn’t want to be in this guy’s position.
“Don’t move,” the man snarled, finger caressing the trigger of the rifle. “Don’t open your mouth, either.”
Jack simply spread his empty hands and obeyed.
This was going to be a waiting game, then, between the soldier and Blade. Would the man panic and shoot Jack before Blade came looking for him?
Jack didn’t have the patience for either outcome. His orgasm had left him jittery and eager to move, to work through the last of the endorphins. Coming once always filled him with energy, usually to fuck again. But this would do as an alternative.
Jack dropped under the field of fire and rolled forwards. He came up under the rifle, knocking it aside before the soldier could even shout. Twisting the man’s rifle arm under his own, Jack spun and put his back to the soldier’s chest, arm and weapon trapped between them. He elbowed the startled man in the face twice, in rapid succession.
Jack found it almost too easy, despite his recent illness. Even when the soldier regained some wits and fought free of him, trying to sweep Jack’s legs out from under him. Jack flung himself out of the way, then came back in immediately, double-barrelling his foot into the soldier’s chest, then his face. Advancing again, he wrenched the rifle from slackening fingers and tossed it away.
Jack was burning to use his hands, to feel in complete control again, to know he could rely on his body. To reassure himself he wasn’t a slave to its mindless lusting. So he forced the hapless soldier back into the trees, kicking, punching, weaving through the feeble return blows. Blood splattered the man’s face and the front of his clothes. He fumbled for a knife, and Jack knocked it from his hold before he could raise it past his belt. Jack realised somewhere between one kick and the next punch he was playing with the man, taking out his frustrations and anger on him.
This wasn’t the SAS way. Fight when necessary and within mission parameters. They didn’t abuse their opponents, just eliminated the danger they posed.
Giving up his anger, Jack moved swiftly, closing with the soldier. Sensing the fight had changed, the man redoubled his efforts, blocking blows and dodging kicks. Now that Jack wanted it over, the man was finally fighting for his life.
Jack backed off, as if now wary. Snarling, the soldier shook blood and sweat from his face. He swayed on his feet but dragged in deep gulps of air, preparing for the next bout.
After feinting one way, Jack spun around and leaped onto his back as the soldier turned. As they fell, Jack twisted and got the man under him when they hit the ground. Knees clamping the soldier’s arms to his sides, Jack grabbed his head and wrenched it up and to the side.
The man’s neck broke with sickening crunch.
Jack knelt there for a long time, breathing hard. Whether it was a lack of oxygen to his brain or the swamping waves of adrenaline, Jack couldn’t form a firm thought until his heart slowed from rapid-fire pace to something a bit more normal. Even then, the only thing that sang clear through his mind was Blade.
Jack raced back to their little camp. At his approach, Blade, who’d been kneeling by a pack, twisted and rolled. He came up on his knees, the two Eagles aimed directly at Jack. The instant he recognised Jack, the barrels of the guns jerked skyward.
Flowing to his feet, Blade tossed a gun to Jack. “What happened?” He immediately began scanning the surrounding trees.
“One of Valadian’s men. He was alone, though others can’t be far away.”
“You neutralized him?”
“Yeah.” Jack breathed it out like it was a humiliating defeat. Still, he let the gun settle into his hand with a little sigh of relief.
“I suspected it might happen this close to the compound. Get dressed.” He indicated a pile of material where he’d been kneeling. “I’ll keep watch.”
Edgy, Jack dressed swiftly, donning a DPDU the same as Blade was wearing. The uniform had been meant for Blade, being too short in the legs and sleeves and a little snug across the chest, but it was better than careening around naked. Clothed and armed, he joined Blade in scanning for enemies.
“What now?”
“Now, I fear we’ll have to take the long way around,” Blade said calmly.
Blade whistled shrilly for Sheila, and by the time she lumbered back into their clearing, they had the small packs on their backs and Jack had added tough combat boots to his ensemble. Blade strapped the big bags upright on the saddle so that from a distance they would look like two people riding the camel. Jack watched bemusedly until he worked out what it meant.
“You’re sending her off on her own? She’s our transport!”
“A secondary benefit only. Her real purpose is as a decoy. We didn’t bring the buggy because it couldn’t drive itself home. Sheila, however.” Blade stroked her neck, then stepped back and slapped her sharply on the rump. “Home, Sheila. Home!”
With a startled grunt, the camel jerked into a trot, heading for the narrow path they’d arrived by, her fake passengers wobbling. Blade watched her go with a small worried frown.
Jack grudgingly admitted it was a good idea. When Valadian’s men came looking for their lost fellow—and found his body—they would see camel tracks leading into the gorge, camel tracks and theirs inside the gorge, and camel tracks leading out. If they followed and caught sight of Sheila in the distance, it’d look as if Blade and Jack were fleeing back the way they’d come.
“We go this way.” Blade indicated further into the gorge.
They backtracked to the pool, and Blade moved them onto the rocks surrounding it so they wouldn’t leave any footprints. On the far side of the waterfall, they clambered over damp rocks and squeezed through a very narrow gap in the cliff, coming into another opening a few minutes later. Unlike the previous one, this space wasn’t fed by an underground stream and it was drier, the plants brittle and hard. The floor was sandy and Blade avoided it, jumping from rock to rock, even swinging between the thin, papery trunks of the stunted trees. It was warmer here, the heat of the desert not held at bay by a curtain of moisture.
Neither of them spoke beyond Blade warning Jack about a wonky rock or cracking branch. They fell into a natural rhythm of working together, Blade on point, Jack constantly checking their six. Jack had only ever felt such symbiosis with other military-trained personnel, people who’d had the same commands and actions drilled into them. Occasionally, Jack found himself falling into military hand signals, and Blade responded in kind. He supposed it shouldn’t shock him, but tallied up with everything else, and the whispering echo of Blade’s voice—“I have a sudden urge to salute.”—Jack didn’t like the conclusion he was drawing.
He kept his thoughts to himself. Right now wasn’t the time to confront Blade about his past.
They kept moving through the narrowing and expanding gorge for several hours, leaving behind all hints of life and returning to the dead nothingness. The further they went with no sign of trouble, the more Jack wondered what the hell was going on. Valadian’s army wasn’t a sternly disciplined, regimented group, but it wasn’t a stupid rabble, either. Jack and Blade shouldn’t be getting away with this. And yet, it seemed as if they were.
Darkness came quickly in the gorge. The moment the sun dropped out of sight of their narrow view of the sky, shadows crawled down the walls and spread like ink over the ground. Jack put his sunglasses away and took the hat from his head, needing as much light as he could get. Ahead, Blade removed his hat but left his glasses on for longer. He finally took them off when the sun was over the horizon, leaving them in true darkness.
“No torches,” Blade whispered. “Keep close to me.”
Cold flooded down the gorge on the heels of the shadows. The sweat pooling at the base of Jack’s spine began to cool uncomfortably.
Abruptly, Blade stopped, looking up at the rock walls closing in on them.
“What is it?”
Blade gestured. “There’s a cave up there, big enough for us to bunker down in. I’m wondering, however, if we should keep going. There’s another shelter at the far end of the gorge. I think we can make it by dawn. Or not long thereafter.”
Jack considered. Night had barely bloomed and he much preferred travelling in the cold than the heat.
“Easier to warm up than cool down,” was his offering.
Blade grunted agreement, and they continued on.
An hour later, Jack had a nice level of exertion going to keep the cold at bay. However, it didn’t stop the chill of a dingo howl rippling down his spine. The damn thing sounded like it came from just in front of Blade.
The assassin froze, crouched on a rock slightly above Jack.
“Blade?” Jack hissed the name.
“Shh.”
Another howl, sounding closer, and as it faded, another canine voice rose in response.
In the eerie silence that followed, Jack heard it. The soft pad of paws, the distinctive click of nails on rock.
Fantastic.
“Jack,” Blade whispered. “Back up.”
Not really needing to be told, Jack crept backwards, Desert Eagle up even though he could barely see anything beyond fifteen feet in the darkness. Blade was a paler shadow in front of him, sliding off the rock and moving in Jack’s wake.
They’d gone perhaps a dozen feet when the dingo appeared, bounding to the top of the rock Blade had abandoned. It stopped there, glittering eyes focusing on them. Jack had heard they grew big in this part of the country, but this was ridiculous. The dog probably reached halfway up Jack’s thigh at the shoulder, weighing nearly thirty kilos. A person would definitely feel it if this thing hit them full on. Otherwise, it was lean and sleek, a strong-looking animal, with a beautiful array of teeth it proudly showed them when it snarled.
“Jesus.” Jack didn’t know if it was a curse or a prayer. He’d always liked dingoes. At least conceptually. Here and now, he’d rather not have to reconsider his opinion.
The dingo lifted its head and howled, a long, undulating sound that rippled down Jack’s spine and threatened to liquefy his bones. From the darkness behind the wild dog came answering howls, a chorus of savage hunters eager for the chase.
The red point of the laser sight on Jack’s Desert Eagle was brilliant against the shadowed chest of the dingo.
Blade shoved Jack’s arm up. The bullet cracked against the rocks of the gorge. On its boulder, the dingo crouched, snarling at the unusual sound. Its pack mates yipped and yowled, the sounds echoing between the narrow walls until it felt as if they were surrounded by hundreds of animals.
“What the hell?” Jack hissed, trying to wrestle his arm free of Blade’s hold.
“It’s just a dog,” the assassin ground out. “He’s only protecting his—”
The dingo leaped, flying towards Blade.