No Regrets

When he saw the coordinates, he swore under his breath. Into the phone he said, "We're going to need cold weather gear, sir. We're headed back to Russia."



Just then, the tiny window in the door of the cabin shattered, David jerked and his head slammed hard against the blood-spattered wall behind him. The phone fell from David's limp fingers and he crumpled to the dusty floorboards with a dull thump.



Noelle screamed.



CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE



Caleb tried not to jostle the boy as he and Grant hiked back down the road to where they'd left the truck. This was the only road leading to his cabin, and with Grant's battered old Ford parked across it, no one was getting through this way—at least not without making one hell of a racket.



"He's not going to make it long enough to get to the hospital," said Grant.



Caleb glanced down at the kid. His breathing was shallow and his skin was ashen.



The image of Lana lying broken and bleediffg in his arms flashed in his mind, making his chest ache with guilt. It had been almost a year since he'd carried her out of that cave, and there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about her. There wasn't a day that went by that he didn't hate himself for letting those bastards hurt her.



She'd lived. Maybe this kid would, too. "You're probably right, but I have to try."



"I know. We're not going to give up on him." Grant's tone was hopeless. Flat.



"You want to lay him out in the back or keep him in the cab?' Grant's rifle was in his skilled hands and his eyes were on the trees.



He could hit nearly anything he could see with that rifle, but that did little to ease the tension that had started growing between Caleb's shoulder blades ever since they'd found the bloody kid. "I'll hang on to him. Try to cushion the ride for him."



As they neared the truck, Caleb and Grant both slowed, surveying the area for signs anyone had come this way.



"Looks clear," said Grant.



Caleb saw nothing, but that nagging worry was still grating against him. "Yeah. Looks clear."



Grant gave him a sideways glance. "You got a bad feeling?"



"Yep."



"God, I hate it when you get those."



"Me, too. We'll drive up to the cabin to check on David and Noelle before we head back down the mountain. Let David know what's going on."



Grant opened Caleb's door so he could maneuver the kid inside the passenger's seat. The truck dipped under his weight, squeaking in protest. Grant hurried around the truck, still keeping his eyes on the trees. He slid in behind the wheel and stowed his rifle in a custom-made slot in the driver's side door.



The inside of the truck was as beat-up as the outside, with a wide crack running along the top of the dashboard, matching those in the aged vinyl seats. The knob on the manual window crank was missing and the lock on the glove compartment was busted so that it had to be held closed with duct tape. The truck smelled of sun-baked plastic, aging foam, half a million french fries and something else that Caleb didn't recognize—a harsh smell, like week-old sweat and a faint chemical odor that flirted with his memory, something he hadn't encountered for years.



Grant put the key in the ignition.



Homemade explosives. That was the smell. Holy shit!



Grant's wrist twitched as he started to turn the key.



"Stop!" shouted Caleb, and ripped Grant's hand away from the keys.



The kid didn't make a sound when his leg hit the dash because of Caleb's jerky movement. Not a good sign.



"What the hell?" snapped Grant, as he tried to tear his arm away. Caleb didn't let go.



"Get out of the truck. It's wired to blow." Cold sweat. broke out along Caleb's ribs.



Grant opened the door slowly and eased out of his seat. Caleb leaned down, following his nose to where the smell was the strongest. It was awkward trying to lean over the kid, but he managed to get down far enough to see under the steering column. A bundle of wires led from the ignition to a squat metal can that still had some of the tuna label attached:.Talk about homemade. He could probably disarm it, but it would take time. Time the boy didn't have.



Time David and Noelle didn't have. Someone was out here trying to kill them, and David needed to know it, pronto.



"We need to get back to Noelle," said Caleb.



Grant nodded and grabbed his rifle. "Catch up when you can," he said, and took off sprinting up the trail back toward the cabin.



Caleb eased out of the truck and laid the boy a safe distance away. There was nothing he could do for him, now.



Somewhere in the last few moments, the kid's heart had stopped beating, and without enough blood to keep it pumping, no amount of CPR would help. The boy was dead.



Caleb stood over him for a brief moment, feeling his blood cooling on his hands and clothing. So much fucking blood. So much innocence lost.



Caleb turned away, unable to stand the sight of yet another life ruined on his watch.



Shame gnawed at him, but he had a job to do, so he shut that part of himself down. If he didn't hurry, chances were David and Noelle would be added to that list, and he couldn't let that happen.



By the time Caleb was halfway up to the cabin he heard the crack of a rifle and prayed that it was Grant's rifle that had made the noise.



Noelle crouched beside David, willing her body not to seize up with fear. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she was still screaming, but the rational part of her brain kicked into gear and assessed the situation.



David's left arm was bleeding heavily, and Noelle said a quick prayer of thanks that the bullet hadn't veered more toward the right and everything vital. He was conscious, but groggy, likely from hitting his head on the way down.



She didn't dare move him, but she had to do something to stop the bleeding. She ripped off her sweatshirt, heedless of her glasses as they tangled in her hair. She tied the shirt around the wound, pulling it as tight as she could.



David groaned in pain and his eyes fluttered open.



Outside, Noelle could hear the heavy pounding of a helicopter's blades. The Swarm was coming.



Adrenaline surged through her blood, giving her speed and strength. She scrambled to slide the disk she'd burned out of her laptop and tuck it inside David's shirt. She only had a few seconds before they were here, and she needed to make sure the work she'd done wouldn't fall into the wrong hands.



Without hesitation, Noelle typed a command into her laptop, executing the clean sweep deletion program that would ensure everything on her hard drive would be scrubbed away without a trace. She didn't care about all the work she'd done being thrown away. She was only worried about David and making sure he stayed safe.



She shook him, wincing when he moaned in pain. Slowly, his eyes opened and she could see confusion clouding his blue eyes.



"David!" she said, filling her voice with every ounce of terror she was feeling. It got the desired reaction and she could see him forcibly throwing off the effects of his injuries. He looked almost lucid. And mad as hell.



"Do you remember what I told you the first night we made love?"



He blinked and she could see him struggling to focus.



Noelle leaned down to his face. Fear prowled along her spine with acid claws. She was shaking so hard it was difficult to move.



She grabbed his face in her hands and kissed him. It was a sweet, gentle kiss filled with everything there wasn't time to say.



Noelle pulled away and stared directly into his eyes. "Remember what I told you the first time we made love. It's important."



She heard footsteps approaching the cabin. They were out of time.



She threw herself over David's body and gave in to the torrent of fear and anger and guilt that had begun pounding at her the second she realized David had been shot. Tears streamed down her face in display of grief.



She pressed her fingers against his neck, blocking off the flow of blood going to David's brain. In a few seconds he'd pass out. Noelle prayed it would be enough to fool the men coming after her into thinking he was dead.



Three armed, masked men burst through the door, sending a spray of wood splinters into the air.



Noelle turned toward them, her face a teary mess. "You killed him!"



She pulled the gun from David's belt, stood and pointed it at the closest man. Before she could pull the trigger, one of the men aimed a pistol and shot her in the leg.



Noelle stumbled and the world became a giant black hole that swallowed her up in one bite.



Grant was too late to stop the man carrying Noelle from getting on the helicopter. He disappeared around the corner of the cabin with her limp body over his shoulder before Grant could take the shot. The two men who were struggling with David's body were another story.



He controlled his breathing as he peered through the scope on his rifle, targeting the head of the man carrying David's feet. Grant didn't have time to wait for his heart to stop racing, so he found the rhythm of the beats and made his shot between them.



Pink blood spray bloomed into the air from the man's head, but Grant was already finding his next target, who hadn't yet realized why the load he was carrying had suddenly become so heavy. A scant three seconds later, the second man crumpled to the ground in a lifeless heap.



The helo pilot must have been given orders to leave without the men, because it was already rising steadily, whipping the limbs of the nearby trees into a frenzy of motion.



Grant peered through his scope, targeting the pilot, but then hesitated. Noelle was on that chopper, and if he took it down, it might kill her. If that happened, David would never recover. Assuming he wasn't dead already.



The thought had Grant's lungs squeezing hard, blocking off his air. With a vicious curse, Grant ripped the scope from his eye and went to see if David was still alive.



The throbbing in David's head woke him. A sense of urgency called him out of the blessed comfort of unconsciousness. Then he remembered.



"Noelle!" shouted David, surging to his feet.



His head spun, and he could barely make out the little cabin among the dozen identical images swimming before his eyes.



"Easy," said Caleb. "Just take it easy and sit down."



Caleb's massive strength forcing David onto a stool left him no choice but to sit or fall down.



"Where is Noelle?" he demanded of all three Calebs who stood in front of him.



"We're going to find her, David."



Find her? She wasn't here? Fear and guilt threatened to drive him back into oblivion. Noelle was gone.



David clutched Caleb's shirt, not caring how desperate he sounded. "I have to go after her."



"We will," assured Caleb in a low, comforting voice. "But first we have to figure out where to go."



David's vision had cleared so that there was only one of everything again. The pain pounding at the back of his skull was still there, as was a deep burning sensation in his left arm. None of that mattered, and he couldn't let it slow him down.



"How long was I out?"



Caleb checked his watch. "Eighteen minutes. Grant stopped two of the men who were trying to pack you up and bring you along. Their helicopter left without them once the shooting started. Noelle was already gone, along with her computer and all her papers," continued Caleb in an even voice as if he were talking about the weather rather than the whereabouts of the woman David loved.



"Is she ...?" David couldn'teven bring himself to ask.

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