“I understand.”
The Jaguar scanned the rugged countryside, feeling an uncomfortable urgency to finish what should already have been done. “They couldn’t have gotten far.”
“Not on foot and in this weather. They have no gear. No weapon or radio.”
The Jaguar said nothing. But he knew the other man underestimated Sean Cutter. He himself had underestimated the federal agent two years ago. He would not make the same mistake twice.
CUTTER HAD NO PROBLEM with risking his life for the safety and security of the American people. What he didn’t like was the idea of risking his life for the likes of a traitor like Mattie Logan. He had zero tolerance for anyone low enough to betray their country.
She might look like an angel with her wide eyes and porcelain skin; she might even be one of the most stunning women he’d ever laid eyes on. But physical beauty made no difference to Cutter when it came to treachery.
He stared at her, keenly aware of her proximity, that she smelled good, that her complexion was as pale and flawless as a child’s. But there was nothing even remotely childlike about the rest of her. Her eyes were deep and blue and filled with a woman’s secrets. Within their depths he saw the remnants of terror and a jumble of emotions held on a taut rein. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, but several strands had fallen free to frame her face. Strands his fingers itched to brush aside.
She possessed the kind of beauty that blinded a man. The kind of sexual appeal that made even a smart man do stupid things. All for the sound of her laughter or the promise of a touch. An element that made her every bit as dangerous as the terrorists aiming to kill them.
Ignoring the uncomfortable tug of something he didn’t want to identify, Cutter turned away. “Let’s move. Chances are they’re going to use the chopper to search for us.”
“But won’t the storm ground them?”
“It would if we were dealing with a sane person.” He shot her a sober look. “In case you’re not reading between the lines here, we’re not.”
“But they don’t have a pilot. They shot him.”
Impatient with her questions, he took her hand and pulled her into a jog. “The Jaguar wouldn’t have shot him if he didn’t have a backup pilot.”
“The Jaguar?”
He hadn’t meant to say the name aloud. Just hearing it sent a chill up his spine. Even after two years he could recall what it had been like to be helpless and hurting and look into the other man’s eyes and see pure evil.
“Stop talking and start moving,” he snapped. “Faster.”
She complied, but Cutter knew there was little chance of them outdistancing The Jaguar’s men. The terrorist surrounded himself with the most brutal men in the world. Men who would risk it all to advance whatever twisted beliefs had transformed them into terrorists.
Cutter had been in worse situations and still come out alive. But with a storm moving in and killers hot on their trail, survival seemed a long shot at best.
“Where are we going?”
He glanced over at his prisoner. She had snow in her hair. It clung to her thick eyelashes. Her cheeks were pink with cold, her eyes bright with fear. He wished she wasn’t so damn good to look at. The last thing he needed was a distraction….
“Right now we’re just trying to put some distance between us and those bastards with guns,” he said.
She was starting to breathe hard again. The way a woman did when she was in the throes of lovemaking. The image of her with her head thrown back, her body welcoming his, flashed unbidden in his mind’s eye. He imagined his hands on her body, her breaths coming short and fast as he worked her toward release….
Shoving the image aside, he picked up the pace. “Faster,” he said.
She struggled to keep up. “You never told me what agency you’re working for.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“I like to know who I’m dealing with.”
“All you need to know is that I’m the man who’s going to save your life.”
“The way I see it, you’re the man who’s going to make sure I spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”
“Save it for the judge, blondie.”
“The judge has already made his decision. A decision based on lies and planted evidence.”
“You got caught,” he snapped. “Deal with it, because you’re not going to get any sympathy from me. Got it?”
“What I got is railroaded. I can prove it, but not from inside a prison cell.”
“There are young men and women risking their lives every day to keep this country safe,” he snarled. “I don’t have any compassion for turncoats, so cut it out.”
For several minutes the only sound came from the pounding of their feet against the earth.
“You want to know what’s really frightening about all of this?” she asked.
“You have no idea what’s really frightening,” he said bitterly.
“The real culprit is still out there. They probably have access to the EDNA project. They’re probably trying to get their hands on the final-phase plans. And they’re probably still planning on selling the information when they do.”
Cutter stared hard at her, looking for the lie he knew was there. But the woman staring back at him had one of the most guileless faces he’d ever seen. He was not gullible when it came to female charms. Not by a long shot. But he could feel the draw to her. A draw that was part sexual, part…something else. Like a full moon pulling at a restless sea and causing a dangerously high tide.
Cutter was too smart to act on any of the crazy thoughts running through his head. He knew all too well what could happen when you mixed sex with an assignment. The last time he’d given in to temptation someone had ended up dead. He’d nearly been killed himself and had spent a good part of the next year wishing he hadn’t survived.
“Unless you want to end up dead,” he said, “you’ve got to keep moving.”
“Maybe that’s a better alternative to spending the rest of my life—”
His temper snapped. Stopping abruptly, he swung around to face her. Roughly he yanked her toward him so that her face was only inches from his. Close enough for him to smell the rosemary and lemon of her hair. He steeled himself against the sweet warmth of her breath against his face.
“If you think death is a better alternative than life,” he said, “then you haven’t seen it up close and personal. Believe me, there’s nothing dignified or honorable about it. It’s the ugliest thing you’ll ever see in your life. So don’t make stupid statements like that.”
She blinked as if his words had stunned her.
He hadn’t meant to lose his temper. Pulling himself back from a place he didn’t want to go, Cutter looked around, blew out a curse at the sight of the heavily falling snow. “The good news is that the snow will cover our tracks,” he grumbled.
“The way you said that makes me think there’s some bad news on the way.”
“Yeah, it’s called a blizzard.”
“At least fate is being consistent.”
Not wanting to think about just how bad their luck had been so far, he took her down a small hill and through a forest of sapling aspen and piñon pine that opened to a clearing. A secondary trail ran north and into the higher elevations; to the south was a vertical drop of three hundred feet to the valley floor.
“Which way?” she asked.
“Definitely not down.” He stopped a few yards from the edge of the cliff.
She motioned toward a narrow trail that disappeared into a densely wooded area. “Looks like that trail hasn’t been used for a while.”
“Deer or elk trail probably.”
“Where does it go?”
He shrugged. “Into the higher elevations.”
“Are there any houses or ranger stations?”
“There used to be some hunting lodges in the area. If we’re lucky one of them might still be standing.”
“That doesn’t sound
very promising.”
“Just keeping with the theme.”
“How far?”
“Don’t know exactly.”
“If you don’t know, how will we find it?”
“Don’t know that, either.”
“Cutter, if these men have access to a chopper, as far as we know they’ll be waiting for us when we get there.”
He looked around, gauging the snowfall. It was coming down hard. Visibility had dwindled. The wind was whipping. “You got to be able to see to fly a chopper. Not even The Jaguar is crazy enough to fly in this mess.”
A low rumble shook the earth. An instant later a helicopter roared out of the valley like a monstrous pterodactyl. The blades kicked snow into a blinding white swirl. Cutter caught a glimpse of yellow paint and black lettering. He reached for his sidearm, realized too late it wasn’t there.
Shoving his prisoner toward the deer trail, he shouted, “Run! Take cover!”
They were midway to the trailhead when the first gunshot split the air.
Chapter Four
The snow and wind blinded her. Mattie didn’t know if the skies had finally opened up or if the swirling snow was from the rotor blades of the chopper. All she cared about was dodging a bullet.
The endeavor seemed hopeless with the chopper hovering just a dozen yards above and two men with rifles taking potshots at them. The pines provided some cover but not enough. Over the roar of wind and engines, she could hear bullets ricocheting off rocks. She could practically feel the crosshairs of the rifles on her back and tried not to imagine what it would be like to die out here at the hands of a madman.
Cutter led her down the deer trail. They plowed through snow that was now several inches deep. Jagged rock blew past. Trees tore at her clothes. All the while she imagined the paralyzing pain of a bullet slamming into her back.
Fatigue set in quickly, the high altitude tearing down her endurance. Mattie ran as fast as she could, but it wasn’t enough. Lungs and legs burning, she slowed.
Cutter gripped her hand hard. “Come on, damn it!”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re going to have to try harder.”
Her foot hit something buried beneath the snow. Her hand was jerked from his as she tried to break her fall. She plowed facedown into three inches of snow.
“Get up!”
Mattie scrambled to her feet, but her legs were shaking violently; she didn’t think she could continue running. “I don’t think we’re going to outrun that chopper,” she shouted.
“What do you suggest? That we give up and let them shoot us down?”
He had a point. But the situation seemed hopeless. They couldn’t continue at this pace. Mattie was beyond exhaustion.
Still, he tugged her into a run. Within minutes she noticed his pace had slowed as well; she wasn’t the only one who’d reached the limit of her endurance. How could the situation possibly get any worse?
Her question was answered when the trail abruptly ended at a jut of rock that shot two hundred feet straight up. For several interminable seconds they stood there, their breaths spewing into the cold air.
The moment was broken when a bullet ricocheted off a rock less than a foot from Cutter’s face. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, wiping blood from his cheek.
“We’re trapped,” Mattie shouted, trying to stay calm, trying to think.
The chopper passed overhead. Too loud. Too close. The engine roared as it prepared to make another pass. This time she didn’t think they’d miss. At least not Cutter. They had other plans for her that weren’t nearly as expedient as a bullet in the heart.
“What do we do now?” she cried.
Cutter was looking down at the ground. Mattie didn’t understand what he could possibly be thinking. They were sitting ducks here. They had to move! She could hear the chopper getting closer. Then Cutter motioned toward a pile of rocks twenty yards away. Her gaze followed his point. She caught a glimpse of tiny hoof marks in the snow.
“This way!” He reached for her hand.
But she pulled back. “It’s a dead end!”
A volley of shots erupted. A hole blew through the sleeve of Cutter’s shirt. His body jolted. Mattie saw blood and smoke and heard herself scream. The next thing she knew he locked his hand around her arm and shoved her hard enough to make her stumble. Terrified that they were about to become pinned, she started to fight him. Then she spotted the black hole in the rock face of the cliff.
“It’s a cave!” he shouted. “Go!”
She didn’t have to be told twice. She scrambled over rock slick with snow and ice and into the protective cloak of darkness. It was like walking into the darkest of nights. Mattie could still hear the chopper’s engine. But the gunshots had stopped.
In the dim light, she saw Cutter sink to the floor of the cave. “That was damn close,” he muttered.
Remembering the bullet that had torn through his shirt, she stepped closer. In the dim light she could see the dark stain of blood. “My God. You’ve been shot.”
He glanced down at the wound. A bitter sound that was part growl, part laugh, squeezed from his throat. “I guess I have.”
“Maybe I should take a look—”
“It’ll keep.” He reached into his belt and slid what looked like some type of baton from his belt. Using one hand, he snapped it in two. Yellow light filled the cave. “Emergency flare,” he said.
“Handy.”
“I like to be prepared.”
“Boy Scout, huh?”
“Something like that.”
Yeah, and you’re no ordinary cop, she thought as she took in the cave. The flare projected light only about ten feet. But it was far enough for her to see that the interior was narrow and damp and barely high enough for them to stand. Stones and loose dirt comprised the floor. The rock walls dripped with water.
“Not exactly The Ritz,” she muttered.
“Pretty damn good for stopping bullets, though.”
The mention of bullets made her shiver. “What if those men land the chopper and come after us?”
“No place to land.”
“How do you—”
“Because my pilot had one hell of a time finding a decent area for the rendezvous point.”
“Does that mean we’re going to be okay?”
“That means this cave bought us some time.”
“How much?”
When he didn’t answer she glanced at him. He’d risen and was holding the flare in front of him, trying to see farther into the cave.
“Where does it lead?” she asked.
“Hopefully not to the den of some hibernating grizzly.”
She squinted into the inky darkness. “You’re kidding, right?”
He didn’t smile, but she thought she saw a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Deer wouldn’t use the cave if it was occupied by any kind of predator.”
“What if it’s a dead end? What if we’re trapped? What if we reach the end of the cave and have to turn around? And when we do The Jaguar’s men are waiting for us?”
He shot her a sharp look she didn’t quite understand at the mention of The Jaguar. Reaching into his belt, he retrieved a tiny box. Only after he’d struck a match did she realize what he was doing.
“It’s not a dead end,” he said.
In the flickering light of the match, she noted the tension in the set of his shoulders. She wondered if he was in pain from the gunshot wound or worried that there was no escape.
“How do you know?” she asked.
“There’s a draft.” He held the match higher. The tiny flame danced. “See?”
“That means there’s an exit?” she asked.
“The question is how far.” The flame burned close to his fingers, and he swished out the match.
“And what might be waiting for us on the other end,” she added.
“Only one way to find out,” he said, and started into the darkness.
CUTTER DIDN’T LIKE admit
ting it, but he’d suffered with claustrophobia since his disastrous mission in Africa two years ago. He’d learned to live with it for the most part. He’d learned to control the slick fear the way he controlled everything else. He’d passed the psych test for entry into the MIDNIGHT team not because he’d answered the questions truthfully, but because he’d known which answers the shrinks had wanted to hear.
As he and his prisoner made their way through the snaking tunnel, he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were traveling deeper and deeper into the bowels of the earth. After twenty minutes of walking, he struck a second match. A quiver of uncertainty went through him when the flame did not flicker. Had they somehow missed a turnoff that would take them out of the cave?
“What is it?”
He jolted at the sound of her voice, quickly corrected his response and schooled his features into a cool mask. “Nothing,” he said.
But her eyes lingered on his a little too long, and he had to remind himself of just how important it was for him to remain in control of the situation.
“No air movement,” she said.
“You let me worry about that.”
For an hour the only sound came from their shoes against the rocky floor and the incessant drip of water. Cutter knew it was the claustrophobia, but he felt as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen into his lungs. Soon his fingers and face began to tingle. He tried to occupy his mind with more important things—like how the hell they were going to get to a phone once they found their way out of this godforsaken hole. But he couldn’t suppress the terrible sensation of being trapped and slowly suffocated.
After a while he began to sweat. Not the kind of sweat that stemmed from physical exertion or heat—the temperature inside the cave hovered just above freezing. The sweat beading on his forehead and the back of his neck was panic sweat, and it felt like ice against his skin.
“Are you all right?”
The sound of her voice jerked him from a place he knew better than to venture. The first thing any agent learned about controlling fear when he couldn’t control his environment was to discipline his mind. Not think about it. Certainly not dwell on it.
“I’m fine,” he growled.