Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Buck woke to a suffocating darkness, the world tilted at a sickening forty-five-degree angle.
Pneumatic lines hissed beyond the broken chassis, the encroaching mist creeping in through the shattered windows.
Diesel and scorched rubber permeated the air, squares of shattered safety glass spread across the interior.
Outside, the RV groaned, creaking and shifting as it inched forward, pitching down, branches scratching against the metal frame, snapping when the motorhome lurched forward. The interior surged with it, debris skittering toward the front, a horrifying groan splitting the air.
Buck blinked, pain hammering through his head, the scenery sliding left and right before finally stabilizing. He squinted in an effort to sharpen his vision, but everything just blurred into gray.
Tierney.
Her name formed before he’d fully roused, and he inhaled as everything came rushing back. The impacts, the lights, bullets chewing through the side panels. Taking her to the floor in the hopes of blocking any shots as they careened off the road, went over an embankment.
He peeled himself off the floor, praying he hadn’t crushed her in his attempt to shield her beneath him. She blinked when he touched her face, blood smeared down one side from a cut, her skin overly pale. She turned, cried out, pulse thrashing frantically beneath her skin, eyes rolling slightly.
He lifted the oversized hoodie he’d slipped on her, the crimson bloom on the bandages dropping his gut. “Shit. You’ve torn your stitches.”
She cradled her elbow, visibly trying to bury the pain. “I’m okay, just give me a second.”
“You’re gonna need a fucking hour to push down that kind of pain. And I don’t think we’ve got any to spare.” He removed his hoodie, then peeled off his shirt, balling it up as he pressed it beneath the bandages, heart stopping when she inhaled, looking as if she might pass out.
He adjusted the gauze, wishing he could do more when Dalton groaned from up front. Buck looked toward the driver’s side, noting the blood splattered across the passenger seat, the way Dalton’s right arm hung funny. He tugged on his hoodie and stood. “Dalton? Brother, are you okay?”
Dalton grunted, lifting his head, muttering a few curse words before he froze, looked out the windshield. “Nobody move.”
Buck gazed out the cracked window, one headlight shining through a tangle of branches.
He squinted, tilted his head to compensate for the odd angle before inhaling.
Water frothed about fifty feet beneath them, the RV’s chassis hung up on two massive cedar trees, a collection of thick limbs stabilizing them.
One of the branches cracked, and the trailer shot forward, punching through two more before grinding to a halt, more glass shattering in the back, a stray limb crashing through the window, narrowly missing Dalton’s shoulder.
Buck caught himself on part of the frame, then inched forward, planting each step carefully before stopping next to his buddy. He tried Dalton’s seatbelt, but nothing happened when he clicked the button. “I’ve got a knife…”
Dalton snagged Buck’s wrist. “Focus on Tierney. I can wait.”
A flash of light a hundred feet above them caught Buck’s attention as he peered out Dalton’s side window. Flashlights cut through the darkness, additional headlights outlining their silhouettes.
Freakishly large, wearing the same kind of PMC gear Grieves’ men had, the mercenaries fanned out, weapons silhouetted in the harsh light. One of the men twirled his hand, pointed at the wreck.
“Damn.” Buck tried the release, again, yanking and kicking until the clasp finally popped free. Dalton tumbled out of the seat, hitting the arm of the other chair before smacking the side, the impact shaking the entire structure. Trees groaned, branches giving a bit, but they held.
He staggered to his feet, arm hanging at an unusual angle before he jammed it against the steel frame, popped everything back into place.
Buck grabbed him when he sagged. “Jesus, Dalton, what the hell?”
Dalton waved Buck off. “Can’t fight or shoot with my arm like that. Had to do something. Those assholes are already picking their way down the embankment.” He nodded at Tierney. “How is she?”
Tierney huffed. “Alive enough to hear you.”
Dalton glanced at Buck, then slowly eased over, crouching beside her. “Can you walk?”
She glanced at Buck when he moved in beside Dalton. “I escaped from Grieves hurt worse than this.”
“All right. Then, let’s get you moving.”
He cleared away the debris, reaching for her left side as Buck levered her right, when suppressed fire cracked against the undercarriage, ticking and sparking outside the window.
The vehicle rocked, slipping another inch as the mud beneath sloughed off, the movement outlined through the window beside Tierney’s shoulder.
Dalton curled over her, blocking any shot, mumbling under his breath. “This baby’s not gonna hold out for long. The hill’s too unstable.”
Buck focused on Tierney, on the growing circle of red eating up her bandages. He glanced at Dalton, his buddy reading the truth by the way Buck tilted his head, bit at his bottom lip.
Dalton straightened. “I’ve got my rifle in the back. I’ll go out the hatch, draw as many as I can off, then flank around. Be back in five.”
Dalton picked his way to the rear, loaded up on mags and a few frags from Buck’s weapon’s locker — handing Buck his Sig and a spare Beretta for Tierney — then shimmied out the hatch.
He landed on the mud with a dull thud, his shadow moving past the skylight before laying down strafing cover fire, the sound fading left as his footsteps pounded the ground.
Buck crept back to the driver’s side, caught a glimpse of twin figures breaking off the pack, following Dalton, carbines barking, muzzles flashing bright in the dark.
“Buck.”
Her voice.
Weak. Raspy. As if it had taken all her effort just to get his name out.
He darted back to her, ignoring the way the RV shook, slipping another inch on the mud. “Right here, sweetheart.”
She licked her lips, clenching her jaw as she shifted forward. “We can’t stay. Help me up.”
He went to one knee. “You know I love you, right? That I think you’re stronger than anyone I know? But trust me, you’re not walking anywhere.”
“Beats dying in here because we won’t last five seconds, let alone the five minutes it’ll take Dalton to thin the herd, circle around.”
“You’ve got a point.” Buck took her hand in his. “I’ve got an idea. If you trust me.”
She looked him dead in the eyes. “With my soul.”
He looked around, mentally running through what he’d need to turn their liability into a Hail Mary, when a voice broke through the night.
“I know you’re in there, Tierney. There’s nowhere else to go. Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”
Tierney inhaled, gaze snapping toward the front, chest heaving. “That’s Malcolm Whitmore.”
Buck froze.
Whitmore had been her MI6 supervisor. Had been instrumental in shifting her over to Interpol. Was currently running some security agency. Paramilitary judging by the armed response. The way the men moved.
Buck squeezed her hand. “I need you to buy me sixty seconds.”
She grinned, wet her lips, again. “I can do that.” She took a breath, twisted toward the front more. “You sold us out, Whitmore. Sent your own people into the kill zone. Why?”
Footsteps, closing in on them before Whitmore answered. “Budget reallocation. Your unit was becoming an administrative liability, and Grieves offered a solution that funded operations MI6 was too squeamish to approve.”
“Bullshit. All you ever cared about was the money.”
“Justice isn’t cheap. It comes with casualties and sacrifice. You just happened to be on the wrong side of the ledger.”
“And the fact he was going to sell me on the black market? Was that part of the plan?”
“Grieves was a businessman. He saw an opportunity, and he seized it. I can’t really fault him for that, except where you escaped.
Became a loose end I couldn’t leave fluttering in the wind.
” Gravel crunched along the left side, a flashlight bouncing across the hood.
“All you had to do was stay gone, but you never could let things go.”
Buck motioned for her to keep talking as he rummaged through his supplies, found the frag he’d grabbed from Pike’s hunt.
It took thirty seconds to map out the tripwire so the men wouldn’t see it, ensure the blast blew up and out instead of simply engulfing the entire rig, and he was ready to set the trap.
Tierney shifted, nearly blacked out, eyes rolling, head lolling until she snapped back. “I thought we were friends.”
A laugh. Hollow. Right next to the driver’s door. “That’s why they call it sacrifice.” The remnants of the front windshield rattled before one of the men swept off the remaining shards with his weapon. “Enough. I’ll make this quick.”
Buck slid over to her, took her hand in his. “We need to go. See if he takes the bait.”
He leaned in, kissed her, then scooped her in his arms, carrying her toward the bedroom, ensuring they left a smear of blood along the edges of the furniture.
She grunted, holding back all but the occasional whimper as she helped brace some of her weight before he eased her down against the rear wall.
Buck stopped beside her, pulling the bandages even tighter. “Stay with me, Tier.”
She nodded, closed her eyes, looking worse than when he’d found her after she’d fought Grieves.
His cue to move.
He closed the door, strung the last of the tripwire through the handle, then knocked out the emergency window at the back.
Diesel fumes burned a line down his throat, a puddle of fuel collecting beneath the rear bumper.
More glass shattered in the main section, the metal creaking as someone climbed through the broken windshield, landed with a crunch on the glass squares.
The guy coughed. “I’ve got a blood trail.”
Whitmore pounded on the side of the rig. “Follow it. And Jones, check around back, just to be sure.”