The Killing Game (28 page)

Not only was the man not done with her, odds were he’d shoot Dempsey if he woke up and tried to stop them. She couldn’t let that happen. She’d started to care deeply about this man and no one knew the danger of getting involved more than she did. She edged out of bed slowly, moving carefully away from the man she’d made love to, keeping her body between the Russian and the soldier. Volkov held her boots and jerked his head to the curtained doorway. If she made a wrong move, all the Russian had to do was squeeze that trigger and Dempsey was dead. She nodded, silently snagging her fleece and jerkin on the way out, and getting outside as fast as she could to try to draw Dmitri’s attention to her rather than Dempsey.

Two horses waited in the darkness. Dmitri stood behind her as she put on her boots.

“What’s the point in taking me again?” she asked quietly. “My family has already proven they won’t meet your demands.” Her throat went dry as she recalled the vest of explosives he’d made her wear and the terrible cascade of rocks that had been the West’s response to her capture. She couldn’t cope with that again. She gazed around in desperation but there was no one outside. Everyone was asleep.

He stuffed a rag in her mouth and tied a stinking oily cloth around her lower face to keep it in place. She tried not to gag, strove for calm as her heart pounded. He pulled her wrists behind her back and bound them tight enough her arms screamed in protest. He was punishing her for her escape—although it hadn’t exactly been her fault. She forced herself to breathe calmly through her nose. She would not panic. This insane old man was not going to destroy her. But she knew that if she struggled, if she made noise and alerted help, someone might get shot. Better to go with him and figure out another way to escape when they were far from the village.

Dempsey would find her.

She blinked back emotion because somewhere over the past few days she’d learned not only to trust the soldier, but to rely on him. She didn’t want him to die because of her. She could survive pretty much anything—even being buried underground—as long as he was around. But she could not survive his death.

He might not be hers to keep, but she didn’t want him to die. Not now. Not ever. But he had the skills to find her and he would help her.

Axelle squared her shoulders as they started walking. Dmitri nudged her forward and caught the lead rein of the horses. She straightened her back and raised her chin. They went quietly around a low-slung house, and something flew over her head and smacked into the Russian like a wrecking ball. The whirling mass of arms and legs was nothing but a blur in the darkness. For a second she stood there like a fool, then she started running back to the village. A man rose out of the ground like a phantom, and she froze as he pointed his gun straight at her heart. Two shots later his head exploded. Blood sprayed her face and she was struggling not to choke as he crumpled in front of her.

Suddenly gunfire rang out from every direction, muzzle flashes lighting the darkness. She threw herself to the hard ground and rolled toward the nearest building as bullets flew overhead. Screams rang out from the terrified villagers, who found themselves in the middle of a raging gun battle. Crap. She couldn’t help anyone until she got rid of the gag and bonds, but no matter how she wriggled she couldn’t dislodge either. Finally the shooting stopped and she looked around not knowing what the hell was going on. Or who’d won the fight.

Someone touched her shoulder and she startled. It was the soldier, Cullen. “Where’s Dempsey?” he asked, pulling off her gag and helping her to her feet.

She twisted so he could untie her wrists. “I left him asleep in that hut.” Her mouth parched with sudden dread. “He didn’t come out when you started shooting?”

The man she knew as Taz limped toward her.

“Where’s Volkov?” Cullen asked him.

“The bugger slipped away once the firefight broke out.”

“You okay?” Cullen eyed his limp.

Taz nodded. “I twisted my ankle when I brought him down. It’ll be all right in a minute.”

Axelle threw off her bonds and raced across the dusty ground toward the hut she’d shared with Dempsey. Had he already been dead when Volkov kidnapped her? Had the old man tricked her? Her heart vibrated in an unsteady rhythm of dread. She sprinted through the door, the other soldiers on her heels, thrust open the curtain and ran to the bedside. She touched her hand to his chest but he was breathing steadily. Fast asleep.

Cullen poked him and he still didn’t stir.

Taz leaned closer and lifted his eyelids. “Drugged.”

Her hand shot to her mouth as her thoughts whirled. “We ate separately.”

“The villagers were helping Volkov. I saw one of them meet with him to the east of the town and the guy gave him horses,” Cullen told her.

Baxter stuck his head through the door. “Four armed men dead. No identifying insignia.”

Taz was checking Dempsey’s vitals and Axelle tried to slow her breathing, but the fear she’d felt for him made her hands shake. This was crazy. Getting involved with a man who did this sort of thing on a daily basis was emotional suicide. Feeling this much reminded her of how desperately it hurt when it all went wrong.

To do something useful she gathered their few scattered belongings and stuffed them in Dempsey’s pack.

“Is he okay?” Her voice wavered.

Cullen narrowed his gaze at her. “Any idea who the shooters were?”

Axelle shook her head. Cold to the bone. “No, but there were more of them in the mountains. Dempsey set off an avalanche and killed another four men.” She caught Cullen’s blue-eyed gaze. “We dug one guy out of the snow, but there was no identification on him either. Dempsey took a photo.”

The soldiers looked at one another, Baxter keeping watch from the front door.

“What’s going on?” A shiver rippled over her flesh as she realized how close she’d come to kidnap and death—again. She didn’t want any of this. She wanted to be left alone with her cats, but Dempsey was lying unconscious on the bed.

Taz sat on the bed. “Why does Volkov want you so badly?”

She frowned. “I don’t know.” She huddled into her fleece, reached out a hand to touch Dempsey to reassure herself he was still alive. He felt solid and warm and immovable. “He saved me. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

“We thought you were both dead,” The controlled tone of Cullen’s voice betrayed him. “We sent Josef back to camp while we came on, looking for bodies. Then Dempsey’s GPS signal started pinging again and we busted a gut running here. Arrived in time to see Volkov leading you out the door.”

“I woke up to him holding a gun on me. I figured if I left quietly, there was less chance of Dempsey getting hurt.”

Cullen grinned. “You do know he’s the one supposed to be protecting you, right? Not the other way around.”

She hooked her hair behind her ear. “He already saved my life more times than I can count.”

Taz lifted Dempsey’s arm and let it flop back down. “He’s out for the count.”

Cullen frowned at his friend. “At least he’s got a smile on his face.” He waggled his brows at Axelle.

She pushed past him impatiently. “We need to talk to the elders.”

Cullen grabbed her arm. “We will, but you’re staying here.”

She wrenched out of his grasp. “Why?”

She noted a glance flicker between the three men. Uncertainty. She crossed her arms. “You don’t trust me?”

“That isn’t it exactly.” Cullen shrugged. “We need to protect you and Dempsey, and the easiest way to do that is by keeping you contained.”

She narrowed her eyes to thin slits and stared him down.

“Me and Taz will talk to the locals. Baxter will be your lookout.” The way his eyes strayed over Dempsey, she knew they’d all be watching her to make sure she didn’t hurt Dempsey either. Which made no sense, but then none of this made any sense.

She walked forward until she was nose to nose with the pretty-boy soldier and gave him a shove. “That man on the bed rescued me from a sadistic bastard who’d kidnapped me and put me in an explosive vest. Dempsey led me through tunnels in the mountains—my own personal version of hell—and brought me out alive on the other side. I would
kill
for this man.” She poked him in the chest again. “And if you think I’d hurt him in any way”—she had to pause for a moment to swallow her rage—“then you’re more stupid than you look.”

His eyes softened a notch and he held her by her upper arms, his grip gentle. “I found him in bed, drugged. I have no idea where you’ve both been for the past twenty-four hours. You were walking away with one of the world’s most wanted terrorists when heavily armed men pop out of nowhere and try to kill you. Not just the terrorist.
You
. Now, I might not be a scientist and I may look pretty stupid, but don’t let the handsome face fool you.” He let her go. “Something fishy is going on and until I figure it out, or until Dempsey wakes up and tells me you are Mother-fucking Theresa, I’m being cautious. Is that okay with you?” With a nod he left her to Baxter’s watchful eye. She sat on the bed beside Dempsey. Closed her eyes and wished them all to Hell.

***

Holy mother of God, his head ached like he’d downed ten pints of bitter and finished the night off with a bottle of Famous Grouse. Dempsey tried to open an eye but it hurt too much. He gave it five beats, then forced his lids apart, forced himself upright on the bed and waited for the world to settle. He scrubbed a hand over his face to try to wake himself up, but he felt like he had glue in his veins and it was all he could do not to throw up.

Baxter watched him from the door. Flashing a grin, the soldier walked toward him and handed him a canteen of water. Axelle lay asleep beside him, her mahogany hair fanning out against the red covers, her lips slightly parted. He took a swallow and washed away some of the sourness that coated his tongue. His memories were a little fuzzy but he was pretty sure he and Axelle had…
Christ
.

Exactly
when
had Baxter arrived?

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and forced himself to his feet. Sunlight shafted through the tiny windows. He walked to the front doorway—not that there was an actual door—and stepped outside. He peered at three local men digging graves in the hard-packed earth.

“What happened?” His voice sounded as though he was a forty-a-day smoker.

“You slept through the party.” Baxter filled him in. Anger mounted up inside, but Dempsey held it back until Baxter finished.

“We were worried Dr. Dehn might be involved in some way.”

“No. Axelle’s an innocent in all this.” Dempsey shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “We ate separately. They probably put something in that tea that tastes like piss anyway.” His stomach churned. “Any idea what they gave me?”

Baxter shook his head. “I figure Taz and Cullen will get it out of the chief there.”

Dempsey nodded. “Volkov is trying to use Axelle as leverage for something. I just don’t know what it is.”

Who were these other shooters? Snake eaters? Why try to kill Axelle—unless they just didn’t want any witnesses? Shit. He didn’t know.

“Watch her,” he said then strode across the dusty square and walked straight into the chief’s abode. He nodded to Cullen, who was sitting talking to the leathery faced old sod.

Cullen grinned.

The old man’s eyes swept over him and widened. He stood stiffly, bent with age, and bowed from the waist. “I must apologize. I do not know how drugs got into your body. Your soldier assures me it must have happened while you were here in my home, and I am deeply shamed.”

Dempsey ignored the old man. He’d once watched his father feed a couple of squaddies tea and biscuits in their farmhouse kitchen, all full of chat and smiles. Half an hour later, they’d bombed the army checkpoint where one of the lads had been on duty. He’d been sent home in a box and never made it past his teens.

This man’s wife and daughters stared at him from what he assumed was the kitchen. They averted their eyes but not before he saw fear in the old woman’s eyes. These people had seen a lifetime of war and treachery. Damn, he didn’t want to add to it, but shit… He looked away.

Old photographs were propped in various places of honor on an antique wooden cupboard. He scanned them. Plucked one grainy black-and-white image from pile.

“This man.” He held the photo beneath the elder’s nose. “You were friends?”

The old man shook his head.

“You’re lying.” The photo showed a much younger Dmitri Volkov. “This man is a known terrorist who taught Islamic extremists everything they needed to know so they could vaporize innocent civilians.”

The old man’s jaw looked thin and fragile but it firmed up. “You are mistaken. The man in that photograph saved this village from the Soviets when they were shooting anything that moved and burning everything you could eat.” The unfocused eyes sharpened. “That man in that photograph died many years ago.”

Dempsey held his tongue and rifled through the other photos in the man’s collection. Most of them were black and white or sepia. He didn’t know what he was looking for and slammed them down in frustration. Nothing made sense. Then he collected all the photographs and slid them into a pocket. The old man looked stricken. “I’ll make sure you get these back.” He looked at Cullen. “Did you radio HQ?”

Cullen nodded and they went outside to talk. “”We’ll have another two four-man squads in a couple of hours. You sure Axelle Dehn isn’t involved in any of this?”

Dempsey might have blacked out after he’d made love to Axelle, but he remembered everything that had happened in the run-up to that perfect, glorious moment.

“I’m sure. Volkov’s trying to use her but her father isn’t falling for the bait. I’m surprised the Americans haven’t turned up yet.”

They looked at one another.

“You don’t think…?” Cullen looked toward the four corpses, neatly wrapped and ready for burial.

“I fucking hope not because there’s another four on the mountain who won’t defrost until spring. Do you know which way he went?” he asked, meaning Volkov.