The Mercenary (24 page)

her arm.

After several yards he knew that there was no way that he was going to walk out of there on his own

two feet. He’d lost too much blood, his vision was next to useless, and his leg wouldn’t support his

weight. He stopped to lean against a tree. “Princess, you have to get to the grotto and meet up with

Lynx. Tell him where I am and he’ll send someone back for me when you’re safe.” She didn’t bother answering him; she just pushed her shoulder under his arm and held tightly to his hand

dangling between her breasts, forcing him to walk. The forest wasn’t thick; it was more ornamental than

wild. But the going was still rough. Thick shrubbery had grown between the trees, and the pathways

were obliterated by years of debris, fallen leaves and branches.

It could have been hours but it was probably no more than forty minutes when Victoria slowed her pace.

They had come to the road.

Marc was tortured by the fact that she’d practically carried him all this way. He could feel the sweat

making her clothes stick to her slender back.

Tory’s breathing was labored as she spoke—“I’ll g-get…the Vespa.” She moved from under his arm

and steadied him against the side of a rusted tractor that had been abandoned at the side of the road. “I’ll

be right back.”

“Tory…” But she didn’t have time to listen to what he had to say. Every muscle in her body burned, she

didn’t want to pause long enough to think. If she paused for even a second, she would be lost. Her legs

pumped faster as she rounded the barn and saw the scooter, partially hidden.

Marc tossed his good leg over the back of the seat as Victoria pulled up.“Go,” he said tersely, settling

his hands in front of her to grip the pommel.

She went. The moped didn’t go more than thirty-five miles an hour, but they were moving in the right

direction and hopefully had enough leeway for a clean getaway.

Tory angled her body to take a curve. This was suicide and she knew it. She was riding the unsteady

scooter with a total disregard for their safety. The rearview mirror showed no headlights.

But that could

be as temporary as the next curve.

“Keep it steady,” Marc warned, his hands holding on tightly to her hips.

The wind stung her cheeks and made her eyes water, but she concentrated on keeping them upright. The

noise of the little moped was so loud. She wanted to look behind to see if they were being followed, but

she didn’t dare.

The moon came out from behind the clouds. It was almost as bright as daylight as they rounded the

outside wall of Pavina, heading toward the beach and the grotto. The narrow wheels slithered on the

cobblestones before hitting the tarred road.

The Vespa was unpredictable on rough roads and gravel. The last time Tory had attempted to ride one

was on her first visit to Marezzo. That time she’d traveled at a sedate ten miles an hour, ignoring the

impatient drivers that honked their horns at her. This time she pushed the little moped as fast as it would

go.

She felt Marc’s body slump, and she was terrified he’d fall off. She almost cried with relief when his

arms tightened around her, and she took the dirt road toward the cliffs in a spray of gravel and dust.

The moped stopped in a shower of sand just as she felt his body slipping to the side. She managed to

swing her arm back, supporting him while she kicked down the stand.

Using her body to prop him up she managed to swing her legs off the Vespa and looked down at him,

biting her lip.

“Marc! Marc, up and at ’em. We have to get into the grotto so you can call Alex.

Marc?” His head

lolled on her chest. She pushed at him. “Marc, please. You have to wake up.” Glancing nervously over her shoulder, she saw the lights of a car coming down the main road toward

them. Then she looked at the beach. The tide was out, the sand glistening in the moonlight was damp and

the ocean was bright.

Tory scanned the horizon for the helicopter and Alex. The sky was empty. She bit her lip. Was she

supposed to wait on the beach? Or had Marc and Alex devised some brilliant escape that they had

forgotten to share with her?

“Marc, wake up!”

His eyes opened blearily as he stared up at her and then shook his head. “Lost too m-much blood. Go!”

“Oh, shut up!” Tory bit her lip. They moved slowly down the beach, her arms under his as she steered

an erratic path down the hard-packed sand.

She had to take the risk of being spotted by staying close to the waterline where the sand was firmest.

Nearer the cliff it was fine and dry and littered with rocks.

Her arms ached, as did her jaw from gritting her teeth, but they finally made it to the base of the grotto.

Looking over her shoulder she saw the waves had washed out the tire tracks. Now all she had to do was

get Marc up a mountain of rocks and rubble to the top. It was only thirty feet or so. She could do it. She

had to.

IT WASN’T QUITE AS BADas she’d expected. He was conscious enough to help, although

sometimes it took a pinch or harsh words to get him moving. It was slow and torturous but they finally

dragged themselves into the mouth of the cave.

Sprawled flat beside Marc, she struggled to draw breath into her heaving lungs. Sweat stung her eyes,

but she didn’t have time for that now.

She sat up and shook him. “Crawl over to where the bathrooms are,” she instructed.

He’d never make it

back to camp and she didn’t want to be trapped there if they were found. “Do you hear me Marc?

Crawl…”

“I hear you, General.” Marc struggled to sit up, a lopsided grin brightening his white face. “You are one

hell of a woman, you know that?”

Like Krista?“How do we get hold of Alex?”

“Done. I called him back there before I found you. If…we’re not back at the chopper site, he’ll look for

us here.” His voice faded and his eyes drooped.

Tory shoved him, hard.

“I’m awake.” He didn’t sound it, but his voice was strong enough for her to know he wasn’t going to

pass out again for a while. “Got…to…get…bike….” He licked his dry lips as he rested his head against

the rock wall. In the moonlight his face was a sickly gray.

“What?”

“They’ll…see it. Moon too…bright.”

She gave a silent groan. “I’ll be right back.”

The moped was on its side at the base of the rocks. Tory looked from it up the side of the cliff and

down again, shaking her head. It had been all but impossible to push and prod Marc up that steep incline.

How on earth was she going to pull the Vespa up there?

She looked around for a good hiding place, but there wasn’t one. The rocks and boulders were large,

but they were too close together. So she dragged the moped up and over the boulders, panting and

swearing when she had the breath for it and mentally using all the cusswords she’d heard Marc use when

she didn’t.

She pulled it the last few feet and sank to the ground, her head on her knees. It would have been nice to

take a rest, but unfortunately there wasn’t time. Marc was back there and she needed to check the

wound in his leg. God only knew what the next round held for them.

As she pushed the Vespa down the rocky corridor toward the lake, she prayed Alex would arrive with

help soon. Marc had been right about one thing: she was no hero. Her brother couldn’t arrive soon

enough.

Pushing faster, she wheeled the scooter into the alcove that held the three Porta Potti cubicles, out of

sight of the entrance.

Marc had propped himself against the far wall by the lake. “Lady, I have to say I’d have you on my side

any day of the week.” His voice sounded stronger but she ignored the useless compliment. If being by his

side required that she got shot at, she would pass, thank you very much.

“I’m going to get the first aid kit. Is there anything else you need from camp?” She didn’t like the gray

color of his skin.

He closed his eyes at her militant tone and leaned his head back against the wall. “Bring the pack.”

The camp was exactly as they’d left it. Tory bundled both survival blankets into the pack and looked

around to see if anything else could be useful. The matches lay beside the small propane stove, and she

shoved them into her breast pocket, then picked up the heavy pack, slinging it over her shoulder.

Marc looked slightly better when she returned.

She wrinkled her nose as he chewed a couple of dry ibuprofen—the water bottle and cups were back at

the camp. His leg was a mess; drying blood had stuck the pant leg to his skin. “It’s bleeding a lot, Marc.”

Marc’s lips were white. “Just put a pressure bandage on it to slow the bleeding…Shh!” There was a scrape outside, as if a shoe had scuffed over stone. She and Marc froze, then Tory crawled

silently to the opening into the main cavern. She glanced over her shoulder and raised four fingers.

Four men.

Marc swore, tightening his belt around his thigh, and motioned for her to stay where she was. She

watched the men split up to circle the lake.

When she turned back, Marc was hobbling to his feet and doing something on the side of the moped.

For one hysterical moment she thought he was going to ride the blasted thing down the side of the cliff.

He pulled the gas cylinder out of the A.L.I.C.E. pack.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“We’re going to pour this on the lake.” He hefted the spare can and indicated the moped. “Roll that over

to the water.”

Tory moved the Vespa out of its hiding place, and crouched down as low as she could between the

shrubs and ferns. She followed Marc to the edge of the lake.

Marc unscrewed the cap and carefully poured the gasoline into the water.

“Get out of those pants and shoes,” he whispered, his hand at his buttoned fly. “Leave on the T-shirt.”

His jeans dropped to the sandy floor a moment before hers did.

Marc’s head disappeared around the edge of rock facing the lake. Seeing the back of his leg made bile

rise in her throat. The bullet had passed all the way through. She avoided looking at the raw bloody

mess. Crouching behind him, she settled her hand on his warm, bare shoulder.

One of the men had discovered their camp. He called to the others and they all disappeared behind the

wall. Marc motioned her to move slowly behind him toward the lake.

His face glowed eerily in the diffused sapphire light of the water as he made room for her between the

shrubs. The groundcover was cool and damp under her bare feet. Moisture from the ferns dripped on

her cheek and she brushed it off impatiently. His leg was hot pressed up against hers.

God that must hurt.

She tried to hold her breath for a moment to regulate it.

The four men came back around the rock wall, two on either side of the lake. She pressed closer to

Marc. “Now what?”

Keeping his eyes straight ahead, Marc said softly, “Now we wait until they get to…oh, about to that

little tree over there—

“Shit.”He patted his bare hip. “The matches are in the pack.” Tory wordlessly dug into her breast pocket and slapped the matches onto Marc’s bare knee.

He looked startled for a moment and then cupped her face. “You are one sweetheart of a partner. Stick

by me. I’ll have you out of here in a flash.” Dropping a quick kiss on her open mouth, he turned back to

watch as the men got closer and closer.

“Why can’t we just make a run for it?” Tory whispered desperately. She was getting a very bad feeling

about this. The gasoline had spread in a thin oily film over the water. She rested her hand on Marc’s arm.

“We can slip by them, can’t we?”

“We left the guns back there, Tory, and they’ll see us as soon as we break cover.

Besides, there are

sure to be more of them waiting for us outside. We have to create a diversion.

Improvise.” He paused.

“Listen.”

Thechop-chop of the helicopter was unmistakable. All four men paused for a fraction of a second, then

moved faster, flanking the lake and moving swiftly toward them and the only exit.

He handed her a small cylinder and showed her how to clamp the mouthpiece so that she could breathe

underwater. “Get ready.” Marc struck a match. Flinging his arm up and over, he tossed it several yards

out across the water. At the same time, he cried, “Jump!” As they hit the water the flaming match ignited the gasoline. The sheet of fire spread rapidly, covering at

least a third of the lake. Tory’s head bobbed above the surface, eyes wide she watched the flames

sweep toward them. Marc, grabbing her arm, pulled her inexorably toward the whirlpool.

Eyes burning from the thick smoke, she treaded water, feeling the pull of the whirlpool, then a steadying

strength as Marc wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She could hear the shouts of the men

converging on the bank and then more running footsteps as they called for reinforcements. The cast was

filled with water, the cotton padding swelled, getting as heavy as a stone and threatening to pull her

under. It was like having a cinder block on her arm. Over the small mouth aerator she watched as the

eye-level flames burned closer and closer. She put both arms around Marc’s waist. He kicked his feet

until they were swept into the vortex of churning water. The fire was spreading, sweeping the gasoline

toward them in a blazing sheet of dancing orange and purple.

The voices got closer and louder. A gunshot reverberated against the cave walls, another splashed into

the water close enough to spray her shoulder.