Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run (9 page)

He released the woman, but she didn’t run. Instead, she rose up and peered over the top of a bush.

“Sorry I almost shot you,” she said, fiddling with the strap on her backpack and obviously avoiding his eyes. “But I didn’t know it was you.”

Surprised at the rage coursing through him, he opened his mouth to tell her off then thought better of it. Not a good idea to alienate her until he knew who she was and what those men wanted.

“Forget it,” he muttered. “Let’s just figure out what to do now.”

The distant crackle of a radio made them both jump.

“That guy they left behind will have heard that shot. So he’s going to come after us.” He glanced around, checking out the available cover. Not bad, but not as good as he’d like. “We can make a run for it, but I think we’ll have a better chance if we take Blondie out first.”

Brushing the sand off the revolver, he tried to cock it. “I’m afraid that rock did a number on this. The hammer’s bent, and the cylinder won’t turn.” He handed it to her. “We need some kind of weapon. Something to hit that monster with and knock him out.”

“What about the butt of the gun?”

“Won’t work. It’s too light. It’s made of aluminum. Pretty to look at, but the gun’s not real sturdy. At least with cheaper models like this one.” He picked up a rock and bounced it on his hand. “These rocks are all too small. I could probably find one that’d work, but not without breaking cover.” Sighing, he crouched down at the edge of the thicket. “Oh well, maybe, if I’m quick, I—”

She stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. Opening her backpack, she dropped in the gun, pulled out a sock half-filled with something he couldn’t identify, and handed it to him.

“Coins,” she explained. “I was taking them to the bank.”

He hefted the sock then tied a second knot to compress the coins until they were brick solid. “This’ll do nicely.”

The radio crackled again, much closer now.

Peeking through the bushes, he whispered low, “Here he comes.”

Obviously following what was left of their footprints in the sand, Blondie inched forward. The brute was being too careful, easing in
gradually
and checking out each clump of shrubbery before moving on.

Motioning for the woman to hide, he pantomimed leading Blondie down the beach with her coming up and hitting him from behind. She rolled her eyes, shook her head, and used her hand to indicate firing a gun. Yeah, she was probably right—the man would just shoot him.
Christ, you’re going to get both of you killed
.
Think
!

But no plan presented itself. Maybe his brain was still befuddled from the effects of his injury. Or his current headache. Stymied, he raised his hands in a question.

She glanced around then motioned for him to squat down at the edge of the shrubbery, grab the man’s feet as he stepped by, and trip him so she could hit him on the head. Not a half-bad plan. And one he should have thought of himself. Why it insulted him that she’d come up with a better plan, he wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t afford the time to analyze it now. He handed her the coins and crouched down beside a huge
cardón
cactus, wondering who this woman was and how she’d come up with her plan so fast. Did killers creep up on her often?

She hunkered down behind him. When he saw the monster’s shoes appear at the base of the cactus, he grabbed hold of the guy’s ankles and jerked. Blondie belly-flopped on the sand. The woman brought the sock crashing down on the bastard’s head. He went limp.

“What do you know?” she said as she returned the sock to her backpack. “These damn things are good for something.”

“Well done.”

“Is he okay?”

“He’ll live,” he said, checking the monster’s pulse.

“Yo, Bruce,” the radio chirped. “Did you check out that noise? Was it gunfire?”

She grimaced. “So that’s Bruce.”

“You know him?”

She shook her head. “No. I was hiding from them and heard someone mention his name, but I didn’t hang around to get acquainted.”

“Understandable.” He shot Bruce a glance. “I doubt he’ll be out for long, so what do you say, we get out of here?”

“I thought you'd never ask.”

He gave her a wry smile and bent to retrieve Bruce’s gun. “Why don’t you head for that little road there? I’ll be right behind you.”

“No, Max, that leads to the main highway. This way’s better,” she said, pointing toward a hill in the distance. “It’s impassable by car, so if they follow us, they’ll have to do it on foot.”

He straightened up, the weapon forgotten. “What did you call me?”

She blinked. “I called you Max. Isn’t that your name? It’s tattooed on your arm.”

“It is?” Bewildered, he glanced down at his arms, wondering how on earth to explain. “So it is.” He saw the surprise on her face turn to suspicion. “Look, what’s your name?”

Expecting her to be upset that he didn’t remember her name, he braced himself. But she just hesitated and bit her lip.

“Jane.”

Well, that answered one question at least: she hadn’t expected him to know her name so they weren’t friends. Then who the hell was she? She was obviously lying about her name, but why? Deciding not to press it at the moment, he shrugged. “Okay, if that’s the way you want it.”

She must be in some kind of trouble. So he’d wait and give her a little time before he asked again.

Brakes squealed in the distance as the goons’ two vehicles skidded to a stop beside the cottage. Max darted behind a handy clump of shrubbery, pulling her with him. From the cover of the bushes, he watched five men come around the corner of the house, guns drawn.

“For now, you can be Jane, and I’ll be Max,” he whispered. “But we really should discuss this later. Unless, of course, you want to invite our friends.”

She moved in beside him and looked for herself. “Later’s fine with me.”

“Good. Then, since you know the way, lead on.”

As he followed her, Max felt a rush of admiration, remembering the way she’d faced him down. She wasn’t as beautiful as he’d remembered. Her face, halfway between square and oval, sported a scar above her right eyebrow and a faint little dent in her chin. A light dusting of pale gold freckles buttoned down her nose.

If he took each of her features separately, only her eyes were striking. She was attractive rather than stunning, he decided then asked himself why the hell he was stunned. But he couldn’t deny the combined package mesmerized him. With her red hair contrasted against her ivory skin and charcoal eyes, she looked like...secrets wrapped in sunshine.

So what had caused his earlier resentment toward her? Probably the fear of how much trouble she’d have been in if she’d shot that man. And lust, he realized with chagrin. Desire—sharp, painful, and highly inappropriate. Like being dragged out to sea in an undertow.

Safest reaction: blame the woman.

Frowning, he shook his head at his own insanity. Here he was with no idea what was going on or what to do about it, yet his sexual urges had him wanting to fight with his only ally. And he sensed his normal reaction would’ve been to choose anger over vulnerability. This bothered him. A lot. Was he such a hard ass that he considered it a weakness to desire a woman? Man, that would suck!

It was definitely something he’d have to work on—if he lived long enough.

***

Tess wondered if she’d regret taking Max with her. Probably. But she owed him. Big time. Thank God, he’d stopped her from killing Nick. Murder was
sooo
not the answer. She must’ve been crazy
to even consider
it.

Shooting Nick would’ve made her no better than he was. And it would have solved nothing. Tony wouldn’t stop hunting her until she was dead. He detested her. She didn’t know why, but she could feel the hate spitting from his eyes every time he looked at her. And killing Nick would only make things worse.

Still, her gratitude to Max warred with suspicion. Who was he? Was he a danger to her? At least the last few minutes had convinced her he wasn’t Nick’s man—well,
probably
wasn’t.

She had to admit she felt better being with him than on her own. He might even know how to keep her safe from Nick. After all, he’d known more about her gun than she had. But could she trust him?

‘
You can be Jane, and I’ll be Max
.’

She pondered his words as she led him back to the grove of palm and Joshua trees. What the hell had he meant? Was he just pissed because she hadn’t told him her real name?

But if his name wasn’t Max, what was it? And why did he seem so confused? He didn’t even know he had a tattoo until she told him. Unless he was faking. But what would be the point of that?

“
Jane
,” he whispered pointedly as they entered the grove. “The hill you pointed out is in the other direction, so where the hell are we going?”

She flinched at the emphasis he put on the name, making it clear he knew she’d lied. And damn it, she hated lying. To anyone. Shrugging off the guilt, she gestured at the Joshua tree. “Right here, to collect my duffle bag.”

She retrieved it from behind the tree then sat on the ground and yanked her shoes out of her backpack. “I also need to put my shoes on before we get to the rocks.”

“Put your—” He broke off and glanced down at her feet. “Jesus, you’re barefoot.” His gaze traveled back up and locked on hers. “Why are you barefoot?”

She gritted her teeth against the tingles that danced along her spine at the lure of those gorgeous hazel eyes. “Because I hate wearing shoes,” she snapped then stopped herself.

God, give the guy a break
.
It’s not his fault he affects you this way
. Shaking her head, she tugged her sneakers on. “Sorry, didn’t mean to snap at you. I guess I’m just a little out of sorts.” She glanced back toward the cottage. “Those bastards ruined my whole day.”

He reached down and pulled her to her feet. “I can relate, since they did a number on mine, too. But I’d suggest we put some distance between us and them before we stop to compare notes.”

“Right.”

Shouldering her duffel bag and backpack, she led the way across the desert to a rocky path that wound up the side of a weathered knoll to the high plateau above. She heard Max’s strained breath as he lumbered up the slope behind her. His strength surprised her. As badly injured as he’d been, she’d half expected him to fold.

Halfway up the hill, she stopped in the shelter of a large boulder protruding from the slope. Though he didn’t complain, he had to be famished. She needed to feed him or he’d be too weak to make it to the village. Sitting down on a rock, she dumped the sand out of her sneakers. Max sank to the ground beside her. He had a band of sweat on his forehead and dark purple bags under his eyes.

“You look exhausted,” she said. “We can rest here for a few minutes.”

She pulled a plastic knife, flour tortillas, and a jar of peanut butter out of her backpack. Spreading peanut butter on a tortilla, she rolled it up and handed it to him. “Hope you don’t mind a little sand.”

“I’m not choosy. Right now, I’d eat just about anything.” But he accepted the impromptu sandwich with a grimace. “Got anything to drink? If not, I’ll never get this down.”

She fished two bottles of water out of the pack and offered him one.

He took a long pull then went to work on the tortilla. “What else do you have in that magical bag?” he said with his mouth full. “Some aspirin, maybe? Or something that will get us out of this mess?”

“Aspirin, I have.” Digging out a small plastic bottle, she tossed it to him. “But I’m afraid nothing short of a miracle will get us out of this.” She got up and peered through the shrubbery hiding the path. “Our friend, Bruce, is standing by the Jeep holding his head, and the others are searching the cove. I don’t know if there will be enough of our footprints left in the sand for them to trace us here, but there may be.”

Max got to his feet. “Shouldn’t we get a move on?”

She motioned him back down. “Not yet. You still look half-dead, so let’s take another few minutes. Even if they track us here, Nick doesn’t like to hike. And he can’t get a car up here.”

“Nick? Then you do know those guys. How many of them are after me?”

“I only know two of them. But they’re all after me. At least yesterday they were. Today, I guess it’s both of us,” she added, moving back into the shade of the boulder.

“Would you mind decoding that for me? You don’t come with English subtitles.”

In spite of herself, she grinned. “Sorry. I meant that until you helped me this morning, they were only after me. They didn’t know you existed. But now that you’ve helped me, they’ll be after you, too.”

“How would they know I helped you? I got out of the house when I heard them come in, so no one saw me. And while Bruce might have caught a glimpse of me when I took him down, I doubt he even knew you were there.”

“In that case, you’re probably right,” she said, sighing with both relief and despair.

She hadn’t gotten Max mixed up in this terrible mess after all. But she’d have to face the danger alone. Again. God, she was so tired of being alone. She closed her eyes a moment and fought off a crushing bout of hopelessness.