Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Sierra Leone
The human eye sees what it expects to see. Deaver knew that. Like all soldiers he used that fact often. Half of military tactics is deception and evasion.
It was evening. Half the troops were on routine patrols—unarmed, the idiots.
Deaver still found it hard to believe that soldiers would allow themselves to go unarmed. Orders from on high. Military observers and peacekeepers had to show their neutrality at all costs. Axel had thought it stupid, too. Deaver had a sudden pang of sympathy for the guy.
He felt like an incredible asshole walking around unarmed in West Africa, a place where it was as if some giant hole had opened up and sucked in everyone who was human, leaving only deranged monsters. He’d only been unarmed for a couple of days but it felt like forever.
Deaver could only imagine a whole tour of duty here unarmed would feel like, where if you fell into the wrong hands you could have your hands and feet chopped off by teenagers, be staked out in the broiling equatorial sun with your bowels slashed open for the insects to eat or be skinned alive, without any weapons whatsoever to defend yourself with.
Well, the hell with that, he was getting the fuck out. Right now. Just as Axel would have.
The evening air was suddenly filled with the familiar whump whump whump of a helicopter. Deaver walked fast in the direction of the sound. He wanted to break into a run, but he didn’t dare.
In the twilight, he could make out the familiar outline of a Huey, landing in an improvised helipad carved out of the surrounding forest. The pilot landed gently, smack in the center of the circle.
The pilot stayed in the cockpit, his hands on the controls.
He clearly wanted to be out of there as soon as possible.
He was landing at last light to increase his chances of survival.
The route from Freetown took them over rebel-held territory.
RPGs needed daylight to take planes and helicopters down.
Men dressed in jeans and sweatshirts with the sleeves cut off jumped nimbly down and started unloading boxes. They worked silently and efficiently. Within ten minutes, there was a neat stack of boxes lined up on the ground.
Deaver walked straight up to one of the men. He shouted over the noise of the rotors and the engine. “May I ask where you’re going next?” He was a good mimic and he’d talked enough with Axel to be able to imitate his slight Swedish accent perfectly.
One of the men stopped for a second to look at him curiously. “Back to Lungi,” he shouted back then took another box from the man behind him, passing it on to the man in front of him.
Perfect. Lungi International Airport, his way out. If they left immediately, he could make the 9 pm flight to Paris, then on to the States. He’d be back in the US before anyone even thought to question whether Axel had made it back home.
“I’m on leave,” he shouted over the thumping whine of the main rotors.
“My flight departs early tomorrow morning from Lungi. I was supposed to hitch a ride with the convoy, but I missed it. My commanding officer made me go over some paperwork, the bastard.” Deacon rolled his eyes.
The man looked like an NCO. NCOs throughout the world are familiar with dipshit officers.
“Can you give me a lift to the airport? Otherwise I will lose my flight.”
The man stopped and looked back. “We’re offloading four hundred pounds of supplies, so we’ve got plenty of room.
I don’t see why not. Wait here.” He leaped into the cockpit and Deaver saw him confer with the pilot.
The pilot turned his head sharply and stared at Deaver, looking vaguely insectoid with his deep black pilot’s sunglasses.
It was impossible to tell his expression.
Finally, after a long scrutiny he said something and the man he’d been talking to jumped back down.
He jerked a thumb towards the pilot and put his mouth close to Deaver’s ear.
“Pilot said sure,” he shouted. “We’ll be back at Lungi in an hour. Hop on in.”
Fucking A!
Deaver quickly climbed into the cabin and settled himself in for the first leg of his journey back to his diamonds and his new life.
I don’t want to be alone tonight.
The words lingered in the quiet of the room. A log broke apart, the pieces falling to the hearth with a hiss and a flurry of sparks.
Jack reached out, hesitated a moment, then used his thumb to gently wipe the tear away from Caroline’s cheek. She didn’t move, she didn’t even blink, watching him to see how he’d react to her words. Her skin felt like satin, so tempting he lifted his hand away.
It trembled. His hand fucking trembled.
Jack had been team sniper for three years.
Snipers are made—forged in the fire of ceaseless, pitiless training.
But snipers are also born—with a rare combination of natural born eye and hand coordination and with the kind of nature that can wait, endlessly, for the right moment to explode into action.
Jack never lost his cool, ever. He’d hunkered behind a rock in the prone position, finger on the trigger, eye on and off the scope in half-hour intervals, for three days and three nights for the chance of catching Mohammed Khan, drinking only a liter of water and never crapping.
His hand had never once wavered and when he’d finally made the shot, it was a perfect kill.
Khan had dropped like a stone with a .50 caliber bullet through the bridge of the nose, one of the few shots guaranteed to kill instantly. One shot one kill. The sniper’s mantra.
He was in control of himself, always. His life had depended more times than he could count on that control.
The fact that his hands trembled scared the shit out of him. He couldn’t lose control, not tonight. He daren’t. If he lost control, who knew what he would do to Caroline? Fuck her too hard? Ending up hurting her? Jesus, maybe biting her?
He shuddered at the thought.
Right now, right now, he was shaking with lust, clenching his hands into fists because he was afraid he’d grab her and throw her to the floor.
Every cell in his body was slick with lust, aching to have her.
It wasn’t just a six-month dry spell. It was as if he’d never had sex before.
It felt like a lifetime of backed-up desire was raging through his system, burning up his veins.
Touch was too difficult, just right now. Use words, he told himself.
I don’t want to be alone tonight.
“I won’t let you be alone tonight, Caroline. Come with me.” Cupping a hand under her elbow, safely covered by black silk, Jack lifted her from the piano stool. She rose, huge gray-silver eyes fixed on his.
Do not fuck this up, he repeated to himself over and over.
He had to get a grip. When he’d come down the stairs a few hours ago, it was as if someone had reached deep inside his head and pulled out the most compelling image he could imagine, one he didn’t even know he’d had in his head, something guaranteed to touch all his buttons and get his blood up.
The Lake dining room in candlelight, and Caroline standing there, lighting the last of the candles, the warm glow turning her skin the palest of ivories.
She was beautiful beyond his wildest dreams, shiny golden red hair up so he could admire the long curve of her white neck, dressed in some elegant black dress that seemed designed specifically to show off her small waist and pale shoulders.
Jack had never dared even dream that one day he’d be in Greenbriar with Caroline waiting for him with a smile—yet here he was and there she was.
And when she’d invited him into the living room—Jesus.
It was like some magnificent wheel of fortune turning full circle.
Life had been incredibly brutal to him his first eighteen years of life.
The lowest point of his life had been when he’d stood on the other side of that window, the one right there behind Caroline. The one he was close enough to touch.
He’d been a starving, homeless half-boy, half-beast in rags, staring hungrily at a life he couldn’t even begin to fathom.
He could barely imagine being on the same planet as the otherworldly creatures he had watched through the glass while shivering in the snow.
Such beautiful people in such a beautiful room.
And then the wheel of fortune had turned. He’d been found by the Colonel, adopted and given everything his hungry soul ached for—love, discipline, purpose. He, the penniless boy, had even, in the end, turned into a wealthy man.
And now that wheel of fortune had turned again, richly, plunging him straight into the land of his dreams.
He was on the other side of that window, now. Not the beggar boy with his nose pressed against the glass, but the man inside the room with Caroline.
Carefully, touching her only by her material-clad elbow, he nudged her closer to him. He himself didn’t dare move. He felt like a big bar of C4 with the detonator cap in place. One wrong move and he’d ignite and explode.
No, she had to come to him. And she was, too. Carefully watching him out of huge, troubled eyes, she obeyed his touch and stepped forward until her feet stood between his and the tips of her breasts touched his chest.
Jack had no idea what she was thinking. She didn’t look consumed with desire for him. If anything, she looked sad and lost. Something would have to be done to change that because that wasn’t what he wanted from her in bed.
Slowly, carefully, he bent down to her and brushed her lips with his.
Her mouth was cold—she was like a beautiful marble statue.
He lifted his mouth, let his eyes roam over that lovely face, lingering on her mouth, then fit his mouth over hers again, a little more firmly.
She watched him, gaze troubled, until the very last second, then her eyes finally fluttered closed.