Dangerous Attraction Romantic Suspense Boxed Set (119 page)

He turned the corner and saw the narrow slit of the cave entrance. So much for stealth and guile. He approached from the side but had to slog through the snow with the subtlety of a four-year-old discovering snow angels. His breath puffed out in white clouds and his lungs hurt. He pulled out two flash-bangs, pulled the lever and tossed them in. He gripped his Diemaco and went through the entrance of the cave in a low crouch, eyes watering from the acrid smoke. Horses danced around the cave and one bolted, almost flattening him. The yak circled in confusion. There was no crowd of militant fighters. Just one lone enemy fighter. The Russian brought his rifle around but Dempsey shot his hand and put two more into the man’s torso.

One of the world’s most wanted terrorists fell unmoving to the floor.

No time to check if he was dead but he grabbed the Russian’s rifle as he ran over to where Axelle was propped against the cave wall, gagged, and covered in a blanket. Her eyes were so wide with fear he could see white all around her irises. Her usually pretty hair was slick with sweat. He pulled away the blanket.

His jaw dropped.

This
he didn’t need.

He undid her wrist and ankle bindings as he visually checked the explosive vest. Normally he’d call in the bomb squad to deal with this shit but this wasn’t normal. He dragged her to her feet where she wobbled unsteadily. He checked the duct tape on her lips for booby-trap wires before ripping it away.

“You okay?” Stupid question but she nodded anyway. He turned her around to check out the vest.

She trembled like an earthquake beneath his fingers.

“Did he booby-trap this?” Dempsey asked.

“He told me it would explode if I tried to take it off.”

That was what he’d have told her to control her without having to watch her every single instant. There was no way of knowing if it was true without examining the wiring in detail and he did not have fecking time.

“We’ve got to go.” He grabbed her arm to pull her with him but she dug in her heels.

“Get this thing
off
me!”

“There’s no time.”

But she wouldn’t budge even though she hated caves. Dempsey ran his eyes quickly around the simple setup. Okay. He took a settling breath. Shit, he’d grown up knowing this stuff—it wasn’t that complicated. Were there anti-tampering measures? He didn’t see any and it didn’t make sense for the old guy to bother when he, presumably, still had to move her through the mountains to whatever destination he’d planned out.

Dempsey pulled his multi-tool and was about to snip the wire when she grabbed his hand with shaking fingers.

“Do you know what you’re doing?”

She still thought he was an idiot. Now would be a fantastic time to prove her wrong.

“I guess we’re about to find out.” He leaned forward, watched her eyes flash with something other than terror as he kissed her on the lips—just in case this was his last moment on earth. Her lips were rough and dry from cold, and oh so sweet. After a moment of surprise they softened under his. He held her gaze and a connection passed between them that had nothing to do with the situation they faced. It was a connection filled with possibility and wonder and the blinding knowledge that if they were about to die—it wouldn’t be such a bad way to go.

He snipped the wire. Nothing happened and they both blew out a sigh of relief as he quickly helped her out of the vest. Then the ground shook and rest of the animals bolted out the front of the entrance.

Axelle shrieked as the first bomb missed the target but brought down a rain of stone on their heads. Her fingers grabbed a handful of his shirt. “What the hell is that?”

“My guess is a Spectre gunship.”

“Oh, my God.” Her skin bleached chalk-white as more bombs started to strike closer. There was no way they were getting out the front of this cave. It had never really been an option.

“Come on.” He dragged her toward the back of the cave and they started running through the dust-choked air. The Russian was gone, along with his pack.

Not as dead as he’d hoped then. Old bastard must be wearing a bulletproof vest.

“No, no, no!” She pulled against his grip every step of the way, but he didn’t let go. This was her greatest fear—being buried alive—and it was about to come true. And he was propelling her toward her destiny as fast as he could whether she liked it or not.

They had one chance and a slim one at that. As he ran, he pulled a flashlight from one of his many pockets and made out two passages ahead. He shone his beam across the floor; a blood trail led one way. He followed it—because the Russian was still his mission and he hadn’t failed a mission yet. This crafty old bastard wasn’t about to outfox him.

He forced Axelle to move, knowing the chance of them making it out of this hellhole alive was about as likely as Al Qaeda becoming pacifists. The roof above them groaned. Stones shifted and showered down in a rush. Giant slabs of rock torqued and heaved as the mountain buckled under the bombs.

This wasn’t how he’d expected to die. His fingers tightened over Axelle’s slim hand, half apology, half encouragement, all desperation. A God almighty explosion brought the roof of the cavern down behind them, and they were thrown forward by the percussion. His head hit a rock and blackness washed over him.

* * *

Axelle opened her eyes but she was blind.
Omigod. Omigod.
Her chest heaved like broken bellows. Dust filled the air and she couldn’t breathe. Blood pounded her ears, the pressure so intense it rammed her brain and made every nerve in her body fry as she lay there in the darkness with only the sound of her own mortality for company. Thousands of tons of rock blocked the cave entrance, and they would never get out. The bombs had stopped, but the absolute silence was solid and terrifying. They were buried. In a crypt. In a tomb.

Rock was like a malevolent living creature, squeezing her airway, licking her skin. Sweat ran freely down her brow and beneath her armpits and heat radiated from her body even though the air was frigid. She wasn’t hurt beyond the bruises and scratches she’d been carrying for days and yet she lay on the ground, paralyzed by sheer terror and piteous weakness, unable to move. She wished she was dead.

She drew in ever shallower gulps of air, the rational part of her brain understanding she was hyperventilating and would pass out if she couldn’t control the panic.

Unconscious sounded pretty damned tempting right about now.

Roll over and die while you’re at it.

Her fingers groped around her and she touched something soft and warm—a sleeve, a hand.

Dempsey?

God, please don’t be dead.

She cupped her hands over her mouth and nose, and willed herself to take slower, deeper breaths. He’d risked his life to save her. She had to help him or he might die.
Assuming he’s not already dead.

She reached out again and found his wrist. His skin was warm and there was a faint but crucial flutter beneath her fingers. She rolled onto her knees, moving slowly and using her hands to check for jagged rock overhead. Her stomach roiled. Fear threatened. But none of that would save her from this nightmare. Nor would tears. Nor would screaming for her mommy for thirty hours straight. She snapped out of the memory. She was here with Dempsey, whether she liked it or not, and she had to deal. She pushed the fear into some other part of her brain and refused to think about it.

Through touch, she worked her way up Dempsey’s body until she found his face. She placed her palm near his lips and felt a puff of air against her skin. He was still breathing. She closed her eyes and let out a breath. She shook him gently but he didn’t stir.

What if he was seriously injured? How could she help him? “Dempsey?” Her words echoed in the thick darkness and she almost lost it. The idea of being alone down here was enough to drive her insane if she let herself think about it.

Don’t think about it.

She ran shaky hands over him, searching for sticky blood, bending each limb, looking for obvious sign of injury. She was sweeping her hands up his torso again when he grabbed her wrists. She lost her balance and fell against him and he huffed out a groan.

“I’d let you keep doing that but this is too dark to be heaven.” His voice was hoarse. Such a bolt of relief shot through her system she couldn’t speak.

“I take it we’re still alive and kicking?” he said.

She gripped his shirt with both hands, forced emotion into bite-sized chunks that she could talk around. “Not sure we’re at the kicking stage yet, but we’re alive—thanks to you.” This man, this soldier, had run into a cave that he’d known was about to be bombed, to save her. How did you thank someone for doing that? What could you say to a man like that?

He eased out a breath and tried to sit up.

“Are you hurt?” She went to grab his arm to help but connected with a body part a damn sight more personal.

“Jesus,” he hissed and groaned. “Woman, I’m in no condition for that kind of thing.”

She heard laughter in his voice.
Laughter
?

They were buried inside a mountain with no way of knowing if they’d ever get out, and he was amused? Was he crazy? She felt herself retreating, the walls closing in on her again, the reality of their predicament drilling holes through her reason.

He swore in obvious pain and reached out a hand that brushed her thigh before finding her fingers curled into tense knots against her body. “Are
you
okay? Did that old fecker hurt you?”

Shaking her head, she raised blind eyes to the ceiling. “He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re asking. Didn’t beat me either.” Her throat felt raw with the effort to talk when she was enveloped in terror. “Physically, I’m fine”—her voice cracked—“but I’m so scared I can barely breathe…” She swallowed repeatedly, feeling her throat shrink with every inhalation. Admitting weakness went against everything in her nature, but she owed this man complete honesty. “If you weren’t here with me, my heart would already have exploded.”

They knelt together in the void. “No one in their right mind would be happy about this situation. The important thing is”—he ran his hands down her arms—“that we work together. We don’t panic because panic is what gets you killed.”

Tears burned but she refused to let them fall. She would cry when they got out of this hellhole. She would bawl her eyes out and sob like a baby for twenty-four hours straight, but not until then. She hadn’t reached breaking point yet, because this man was at her side and she trusted him. She wouldn’t let him down.

“I’m going to need your help.” She couldn’t do this alone.

“That’s what I’m here for.”

A sudden rush of alarm swamped all the calm that had started to settle her blood. “We’re going to die, aren’t we?” She gripped his arms and shook him.

“Christ. It’s a good job I don’t have a big ego, lady, because you crushed it the first day we met and have been stomping on it ever since.” Laughter swam around her even as strong hands squeezed her shoulders.

God, she was such a witch. “I’m sorry.”

“Pardon?” She felt his breath on her face as he leaned closer. “I didn’t quite catch that?”

She gritted her teeth because he was teasing her and she wasn’t comfortable being teased. “You heard.”

He snorted and her temper spiked and she tried to pull away. She hated everything about this situation. Hated being helpless. Dependent. So damn scared she couldn’t think.

“Relax.” He smoothed a warm hand down her back and, despite everything, it felt good. “You’re funny.” Her anger dissolved when he kissed her knuckles. “Now help me stand and we’ll figure a way out of this fucking shithole.”

She eased him upright and put her shoulder under his arm, trying to avoid being poked and prodded by various pieces of his equipment. “You swear like a trooper, you know that?”

“Here I’ve been trying to watch my language around the ladies.” There was more amusement in his voice. He was working at keeping her mind off their situation and her incapacitating fear.

She forced herself to make the effort, to push past the horror. “How’s that working out for you?”

“Like a total pile of wank.” There was a click of a flashlight and suddenly she could see his face, the crinkles around the blue eyes, the slight twist of his full lower lip, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead.

“You’re hurt.” She raised her fingers to the swelling but he captured her hands.

“It’s nothing.” His voice grew serious. They stared at one another in the beam of the flashlight as if they’d never seen one another before. His deep piercing eyes didn’t judge her fear or insecurity. Instead they promised her hope. When had she ever been that generous of spirit?

She constantly pushed people away because being alone was easier than dealing with heartbreak. But to survive this, to not lose her mind, she needed Dempsey.

“We’ll find a way out of here, don’t worry.”

To her horror, hot tears flooded her eyes and a sob filled the air. Dempsey pulled her to him and pressed her face against his chest.

“We’ll get out of this mess and you can plead my case at my court-martial.” He rubbed his chin in her hair and she gripped him as if she was hanging over a precipice.

“What do you mean, court-martial?” She hiccupped.

He drew away. “Let’s start moving before this rock decides to shift—”

“Don’t scare me any more than I am already and don’t try to distract me.” She took his chin in her hand and made him look at her even though his expression went carefully blank. “What court-martial? How did you find me?”

“I tracked you from camp.”

Her eyes lit up. Did that mean the other soldiers knew they were here?

He shook his head, reading her mind. “I left before the others. They were at least an hour behind when the storm struck. Josef was with them.” His lips tightened. “If I’d played by the rules and stayed with the others,
this
would never have happened.”

“No,” she said softly, “I’d still be sitting in a cave wearing a vest packed with explosives, and the chances of you ever finding me would be zero.” Dust shimmered in the air between them. Dust and something else. Something sweeter. “They’d court-martial you for leaving your men behind?”