Lethal Pursuit (Bagram Special Ops #3)

Eight

EIGHT

J ACKSON WAS IN hell and there was no way out.

As a battlefield airman at higher risk for capture, after basic SERE school he’d been selected for advanced training, which amounted to “advanced beatings.” He’d hated every moment of it. He’d surprised himself with how well he’d handled the pain, but part of him had always known the handlers would stop short of life-threatening damage.

The captors here had no such limitations.

The sounds of Maya’s terror and agony slowly stripped away his resolve to stay detached. Locked in his cell with his hands and feet bound and forced to sit idly by while they tortured her was almost more than he could bear. He’d give anything for the chance to charge in there and kill the man responsible, set her free, bargain for her life with his own.

Her screams raised the hair on the back of his neck and made his gut twist. They’d started out low and muffled, but now they echoed down the corridor, filling every atom of space with her terror and suffering.

He couldn’t block them out. Couldn’t stop praying. Those screams were real, not staged. He knew they were because she was yelling in Spanish, begging for mercy. Her voice was choked, hoarse. Desperate. And still the man torturing her didn’t let up. He’d pause for only a few minutes, as though to let the worst of the pain recede, then start in all over again. Jackson took a deep breath and released it slowly, fighting back the red haze of rage. He wanted to kill that motherfucker for hurting Maya.

He could hear something striking her flesh repeatedly. His mind conjured up dozens of horrific scenarios, each one of them as terrible as the last. He dug his numbed fingers into the rock wall and clenched his muscles until his body trembled. Nothing helped.

“Fucking monsters,” Doug muttered under his breath, shifting in agitation against the wall of his own cell. He’d been silent since the interrogation began, but obviously it had taken a toll on him too.

Jackson didn’t respond. He couldn’t because he’d either choke on the words or puke, he wasn’t sure which.

The kid standing in the corridor began pacing again, back and forth down the length of the cells, fidgeting and running a hand through his hair. It was clear he was uncomfortable with what was happening in the other room, though he did nothing to try to stop it. He was too afraid of his leader.

Jackson had already tried to get the kid’s attention, but either he was ignoring him or didn’t speak English. He hadn’t responded when Jackson had spat something at him about whether beating an unarmed woman was the true practice of Islam. From the kid’s increasing agitation, he damn well knew it wasn’t.

When the last scream faded into stillness, Jackson held his breath, praying it was over. Nothing came from the room now but low moans, sobs. His lungs constricted at those heartbreaking sounds. He had to squeeze his eyes shut and think of something else to erase the image of Maya spread out on the floor naked, beaten and bleeding. Or worse.

Fuck.

“Mohammed.” The sharp command came from the room Maya was in, followed by something in Pashto Jackson couldn’t understand.

The boy snapped to attention and took a halting step in that direction then hesitated, as though he had no interest in seeing what his leader had done to Maya. He swallowed audibly and began walking down the corridor. A few minutes later he returned, carrying her across his shoulders.

Jackson sat up, heart pounding. The lighting was poor at best, but his eyes remained riveted to her. She lay limp across Mohammed’s shoulder, her head lolling with each step. She was dressed, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t been violated sexually. Her shallow, rapid breaths shuddered in and out, telling him she was still conscious. Every few seconds a pained, pitiful whimper cut through the silence.

The pressure of tears filled his throat. He swallowed them down, keeping his blurry gaze on her as Mohammed took her to the empty cell next to Jackson’s and placed her gently inside. Even that seemed to cause her a great deal of pain, because her breath caught and she gave a throttled cry that ripped through the quiet.

Mohammed froze in uncertainty, laying her down only when his leader snapped something at him. He stepped away and closed the cell door behind him.

Soft treads approached, and the man responsible for her suffering paused in front of the partition between Jackson’s and the Sec Def’s cells. He carried a lantern in one hand, the candle now burned down to a stub. But it gave just enough light for Jackson to see Maya’s body.

She was curled on her side in the middle of her cell, facing toward him. The light glinted off her unbound coffee-colored hair, and Jackson got his first glimpse of her face. He sucked in a swift breath and bit down so hard his molars ached. Fucking Christ, the bastard had beaten her to a pulp.

One eye was already swollen shut. Her cheeks were wet with tears and blood trickled from a wound in her mouth. She cradled her left wrist against her body, and her shallow breathing told him it hurt to draw a breath.

The primal male in him howled in agonized outrage that they’d done this to her. The medic in him was terrified she might have internal damage and bleeding. Every single muscle in his body was rigid to the point of snapping, rage and horror flooding his system so hard and fast it made him dizzy. Only his bound hands prevented him from reaching for her.

Holding the lantern, the leader stood there quietly for a time, as though he wanted them to see exactly what kind of damage he’d inflicted upon her. When he spoke, there was a quiet smugness to his voice that only intensified Jackson’s hatred. If he got the chance, he’d kill him with his bare hands.

“Your female colleague had nothing of value to offer me. But you do,” he said pointedly to Doug. “For her sake, I pray you cooperate with our demands. If not...” He let the sentence dangle for a moment, purposely building the tension. “I am not sure she can withstand much more of that.” With that, he turned away and strode back down the corridor, taking the light with him.

The instant the rug swung back down over the opening, Jackson was on his knees, crawling up to the bars that separated them. “Maya.” His throat was so tight it came out as a croak. “Maya, can you hear me?”

“She’s in shock,” Doug said, as if Jackson couldn’t tell that for himself. “Maybe she’s better off that way.”

Jackson’s hackles rose and he ignored the man’s advice. “Maya, I’m here. I’m right here, can you hear me?” His heart was in his throat and for a long moment he didn’t think she would respond. Then he heard her shifting ever so slowly in the darkness, a little gasp of pain falling from her lips. “Maya...”

“H-hurts,” she whimpered, a bare whisper of sound that told him the effort of speaking was too painful to bear.

His eyes stung hotter. “I know. Can you tell me where?” If he suspected she had internal injuries, he’d yell for a guard and keep on yelling until they let him treat her and agree to release her. He didn’t care what they did to him after that.

He’d made the decision after the ordeal of advanced SERE school that in the event of being captured, he’d rather die fighting than live on his knees. But he’d live on his knees if it would save Maya. He’d do goddamn anything for that, including sell his soul.

“Maya?” He kept his voice low and steady, despite the tearing pain in his chest. She needed calm now, for him to anchor her. “Tell me where it hurts.”

She sucked in another shallow breath, bit back a cry. “R-ribs. Wrist. Face. Feet.”

Feet? Had that fucker pried her toenails out or something? The sense of vertigo returned. He closed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath to steady himself. “What about your chest or stomach, somewhere inside? Does it hurt inside anywhere?”

“Mmm-hmm.” The response was uttered from between gritted teeth.

His pulse shot up. “Where, honey?”

“Ev-everywhere...”

Jackson closed his eyes. He couldn’t fucking do anything. It tore him up inside to know that. Even if he started shouting for the guards and by some miracle they let him tend to her, he had no equipment or supplies. Taking a calming breath, he opened his eyes and tried to see her in the darkness. She was quiet, but he could hear her shivering and those soft, little choked noises she made, as if she didn’t want anyone to know she was crying and was doing everything in her power to hold them in. Having seen firsthand just how strong and formidable she was, it broke his heart.

Lying down on the cold stone floor, he stretched out against the bars of his cell and pressed against them as hard as he could, desperate to get closer to her. When he spoke again, he did so in Spanish so that if any of the captors were listening they wouldn’t be able to understand. This was for Maya alone. His voice was an aching whisper. “Maya. I’m right here, baby. Can you touch me?”

She took a shuddering breath and then those heartbreaking noises stopped as though she refused to let any more out. Was she ashamed? God, he wanted to hold her.

“Come here and touch me,” he urged softly, trying to give her the compassionate human connection she needed.

He heard her shift in the darkness, followed by the swift intake of a pained breath. He gritted his teeth against the urge to tell her to stop and willed her to come closer. There might not be anything he could do to alleviate her suffering, but he could at least try to give her some kind of solace.

He tracked every torturous inch of her progress with the sliding noises along the floor, her throttled groans of pain. All the while he kept urging her softly in Spanish, hoping his voice at least anchored her. At last she was close enough for him to register the warmth of her body on the other side of the bars. She reached through them to place a shaking hand against his face. Jackson’s throat closed up. He leaned into her touch, pressing his cheek hard into her icy palm, and rubbed gently. Her breath hitched on a sob.

“I’m here,” he whispered hoarsely. At that moment he’d have given anything to be able to make the bars disappear and have his arms free so he could hold her, soothe and warm her. “You’re not alone.”

She shifted those last few inches until she was laying full length against the bars. The only places they touched were her hand on his face and a few inches of their thighs, but he could feel the heat of her body and hoped the shared warmth would stem the worst of her shivering. Every time her muscles shook, it jarred her body, hurting her even more.

He turned his face into her palm and kissed the center of it, not trusting himself to speak. Then those trembling fingers traced over his face like she was trying to see him with her touch and traveled down to curl into his uniform, clutching the fabric as if it was a lifeline. He thought his heart would crack in two. “Just hang on, baby. Hang on to me.”

She expelled a rough breath and held on.

Doug spoke for the first time, his low-pitched voice carrying the English words from the cell behind him. “We’re here for you, Maya. You’re not alone. We’re going to get through this together, all of us.”

She said nothing, only shuddered and kept breathing in a shallow pattern that alarmed him. It killed him to be so close and yet be unable to help or touch her more than he was. An unknown amount of time passed, and her breaths evened out so much he thought she must be asleep. But her grip hadn’t relaxed on him and when she shifted, a ragged cry slipped free. The sound sliced through him like a scalpel. He pressed harder against the bars. She needed to feel him, feel his body up against her, his heartbeat beneath her cheek.

Lying as close to her as he was going to get, he did the only thing he could think of to soothe her.

He opened his mouth and began to sing softly.

* * *

M AYA’S FINGERS HAD long since gone numb from clutching Jackson’s uniform shirt, but she refused to let go. The bars keeping them apart dug into her flesh, though she barely noticed the discomfort through all the other pain. Her ribs, face and the soles of her feet throbbed and burned until she wanted to scream from the relentless onslaught. Everything else just plain hurt.

Crawling to Jackson had been almost unbearable, but being able to touch him took the sharp edge off the fear and despair. The slight heat she could feel coming from him helped warm her a little. Yet the black void of hopelessness was there, waiting for her, ready to swallow her. She’d almost fallen in.

With that single session, that fanatical malparido had managed to break her. She’d screamed for him, endlessly. Her throat was swollen from it. It shamed her.

In the midst of her despair, Jackson’s low, melodic voice filled the darkness. It rolled over her senses like a caress, penetrating the shock and cold inside her. Singing. He was singing to her because he couldn’t touch her and it was the best he could do instead.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to drift, holding tight to his uniform and his voice. That low, beautifully modulated voice brought a sudden rush of tears to the surface. Her heart swelled until it felt like it was jammed against the inside of her bruised ribs.

Maya let the sound of it stroke her battered soul, vaguely recognizing an old Rat Pack song. She didn’t really hear most of the lyrics and they didn’t matter. The sentiment behind them did, and his effort to reach out to her. Somehow he’d known she needed him to ground her, keep her from going too deep in her head. She didn’t care that the Sec Def was in the cell next to Jackson and could overhear everything.

Jackson sang two more songs to her softly before falling silent.

A long pause followed before she could find her voice. “Thank you.” Saying the words made the cut in her lower lip bleed more, but she didn’t care.

“Anytime, querida. ”

That endearment wasn’t fake, or said because he was desperate to make her hang on. He meant it. Knowing that flooded her cold body with a frisson of warmth.

He shifted against the bars once more, pressing harder into her touch as though he wanted more contact. Once again, he spoke in Spanish, the words slow and measured. “You’ve got to keep fighting, baby. I know it hurts and I know you’re scared, but you have to fight and get through this.”

She swallowed thickly. “My sister said that to me.”

“Your sister? What’s her name?”

“Pilar.” She fought the tide of memories rushing at her. “She died.”

“I’m sorry.”

She managed a nod, though of course he couldn’t see her. Her fingers relaxed their death grip on his uniform as she cradled her injured wrist against her body. It hurt to breathe. Taking shallow breaths didn’t seem to help. The pain in her ribs, face and wrist was worse than lingering burning in her abused feet.

Jackson. Focus on Jackson.

She stroked her hand over his chest, comforting herself with the feel of all that strength and vital heat beneath her exploring touch. He moved against her like a big cat, trying to touch her in return. There in the hushed darkness with a fellow prisoner listening in, it still felt intimate. His thoughtfulness meant so much. Jackson was safety and security, a solid link to reality.

“Tell me about her,” he murmured.

With his patient coaxing, she found herself telling him about her sister. Haltingly at first, then more easily, she gave him an abbreviated version of events in their upbringing and the horrific sexual abuse Pilar had withstood. Things she’d never told another living soul. That was how much she trusted Jackson. And a part of her she didn’t want to acknowledge was afraid she wasn’t going to make it out of here alive, so she needed to tell someone about her sister. She didn’t care if anyone else overheard.

“She took it so that I wouldn’t have to,” she managed hoarsely. The darkness helped. It made her feel less exposed, hid the guilt and torment that had to be all over her face. She hurt all over but nothing was going to ease it, and talking about her deepest secrets made her feel closer to him than she had to anyone else since Pili died, even Ace.

“Where did you go when you ran away?” he asked. His tone held no judgment, only concern.

“The streets.”

His silence said everything.

Maya changed the position of her right arm, wincing as the slight shift jarred her left wrist, balanced on her hip. She paused until the worst of the pain had faded before going on. “For a while I thought she’d make it. We didn’t have any money, and she started turning tricks at night so she could earn enough to get us an apartment.” Maya would never forget the horror she’d felt when she’d first found out. “She wouldn’t let me get a job, no matter how much I argued. Said I was too young and insisted I go to school every day. She was my hero.” Looking back, it was obvious now how much braver Pilar had been than her. To sacrifice so much for someone you loved, give up your pride, your body and your future? That was how much her sister had loved her.

“God, Maya...”

“Before long, she started drinking. To numb the pain, I think. Then came the drugs. I couldn’t do anything at that point. It was too late.” She drew a slow, shuddering breath, fighting the fiery splinters of pain that shot through her ribs as they expanded. Wincing, she continued. “My junior year, I came home one day and found her. She hanged herself in our bathroom.”

Jackson made a low, sad sound and was silent a beat before asking, “What did you do after she was gone?”

“I stayed there using the money she’d left me and finished school. My school counselor and social worker told me about the Air Force Academy and helped me get ready to apply in my senior year. Being accepted was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

She’d needed to get the hell out of her old life, and the Air Force had seemed like the perfect way to do that. It gave her a bachelor’s degree in behavioral science, allowed her to travel and armed her with the skills to defend herself and others. “I made up my mind at Pili’s funeral that I would make a difference. Be in the FBI or CIA someday, make the world a safer place.” She’d dreamed of making it into one of those agencies, of hunting monsters and making a real difference in the world. And now she’d wound up here.

“So you became a kickass warrior,” he finished. “I’m glad you made it out of there.”

But not kickass enough. The bleak thought stole into her mind before she could block it. She owed it to her dead sister and to her fellow prisoners to keep fighting. If she gave up hope, she was as good as dead.

“Your sister would be proud of you.” He sounded convinced.

A sudden lump clogged her throat. She hoped Pili would be proud. If she somehow survived this and made it home in one piece, she’d make it into one of those government agencies or die trying.

“Tell me your favorite memory of Pilar,” he coaxed, dragging her back to the present.

She thought about it and, despite the pain in her face, smiled a little. “Mostly dumb things. Dancing around the kitchen together in our place after we ran away. The sad little Christmas tree she bought at a discount lot and dragged home. We decorated it with strings of popcorn and bits of fabric because it was all we had. That was the best Christmas ever,” she whispered tightly. Blowing out a shallow, painful breath, she swallowed back the tears that threatened. “What about you?”

“Christmases were always a big deal at our place. Big dinner, lots of laughs.” He sounded wistful, but she could hear the edge of a smile in his voice. “Mostly just my family. They’re my happiest memories.”

Maya blinked away the sudden moisture in her eyes. His love for his family was so strong she could practically feel it. A small part of her envied belonging to that kind of tight-knit security, but she just wanted him to return to his loved ones safely. The chances of them escaping on their own were almost zero. Their only chance lay in a rescue. She prayed for a miracle.

“They’re...” She paused to gather herself, found the courage to say it aloud. “They’re all out looking for us by now. Right?” She hated the uncertainty eating at her.

“Yeah. And with the Sec Def being involved, the entire region has to be crawling with SOF personnel right now.”

She clung to the tiny spark of hope those words lit inside her. Maybe someone would find them before it was too late. Otherwise their chance of escape—of survival—dwindled by the minute. Even if they managed to get out, in her condition she’d be a liability to the others now. No way could she keep up on the run with her injuries.

They were silent a long time. To stay calm, Maya focused on taking shallow breaths and feeling the steady throb of Jackson’s heart beneath her palm. “In your training,” she began, in English this time, “you must have been good in the water. Scuba diving and whatever.”

“I wasn’t at first, but I got real good eventually. Why?”

A beat passed before she answered. “I’ve always wanted to scuba dive.” The wistful words trailed off into silence, and he didn’t break it.

She was just drifting off into a light doze when the sound of footsteps snapped her to rigid wakefulness. Her bloody lips pressed together to stifle a cry of pain and fear. Were they coming back for her?

No. No! Her heart beat a hard tattoo against her ribs.

Jackson heard it too. He tensed, seemed to hold his breath for a few seconds until it became clear the person was headed toward them. She forced herself to pull her hand away from him, her mind screaming in protest at the loss of her only anchor in this sea of agony and suffering.

“Maya,” he whispered, regret and urgency lacing his voice.

Forcing back the cries clawing at her throat as she inched her way to the middle of her cold cell, Maya gathered what was left of her courage. If the guards suspected she and Jackson cared about each other, they’d exploit it at every turn. She refused to allow that to happen. She was the ranking military officer; her duty now was to protect Jackson and the Sec Def. If that meant taking more beatings over the next few hours or days to spare them, she’d do it.

I am an American Airman.

Wingman, Leader, Warrior.

I will never leave an Airman behind,

I will never falter,

And I will not fail.

She repeated that part of the Airman’s Creed over and over during the long seconds while those dreaded footsteps approached. The beam of the flashlight finally washed over her and for one terrible moment, the panic rising inside her was so strong she didn’t think she could hold it back.

But the man holding it merely shone it over her still form as though he was looking her over or making sure she wasn’t dead yet. Apparently satisfied by what he saw, he clicked it off and shuffled back toward the opposite wall. His knees cracked as he sank down and settled himself there.

Aware of Jackson lying close by and that her captors would be returning for her soon enough, Maya closed her eyes and drifted into a fitful doze, desperate for the escape.