Authors: Monica McCabe
Jason lunged to the rescue, slamming a broken two by four onto Bessault’s arm with enough strength to crack bone.
The gun fell from the warlord’s fingers, and he screamed in pain, hurling vulgar curses and threats at them all.
Miranda jumped to confiscate the weapon and glared her contempt at the cold-blooded killer writhing on the ground. Never had she known such potent hate. It gave her a glimpse of what Matt must have carried all these years. It was overwhelming. How could he have borne it?
“Help me bind these men, Jason.” Nik pulled a handful of zip ties from his pocket. “We can lock them up in a shack until our troops arrive.”
Miranda whirled, searching for Matt. He stood alone, silently watching as Nik bound Bessault’s hands, the warlord’s stream of foul curses invoking no trace of emotion.
She spotted blood. Matt’s arm hung limply by his side, and she realized in horror that he’d been shot.
Tossing Bessault’s gun to Hank, she rushed to Matt, and the doctor in her took control. She ripped open his sleeve to inspect the damage. He flinched, but stood still to allow her triage.
“The bullet just grazed the flesh, but we need to wrap the wound.” She grabbed the hem of her shirt, intending to rip bandages, but Hank stopped her.
“You may as well finish this off.” He removed what was left of his shirt and began tearing fabric, handing her the rough strips.
With a grateful smile, she accepted his offerings. “Thank you, Hank.”
“It’s all right,” he said to her. “Fix him up.” With a nod toward Matt, he left to join Nik and Jason.
She wasn’t sure, but she thought she’d just received Hank’s blessing. With a shrug, she began to tightly wrap Matt’s arm, working quickly and focusing on her task. That was until a grunt from him broke her concentration.
“What? Too snug?” She began to unwrap the makeshift dressing until he placed his fingers under her chin and lifted.
“I should have killed the bastard for hitting you like that.” The pad of his thumb brushed over her abused cheek.
“I think you punished him sufficiently.”
He shook his head. “I thought I’d feel different afterward.” His voice carried a trace of bafflement.
“Don’t you?”
“Not like I expected.”
She used the last strip to hold the others in place and tied it in a knot.
“You’re amazing,” he said.
“I know.” She smiled at him, then inspected her handiwork. “Not bad for a field dressing. Now let’s get out of here.”
Matt grabbed her with his good arm and pulled her up to his chest. “That’s not what I meant.”
She swallowed hard, and her gaze traveled from his eyes to his lips. The arm that held her tightened and she pressed closer, softening in crazy anticipation. The world fell apart around them, and she no longer cared. Not when his lips lowered to hers, not when his kiss promised oblivion.
Her arms curled around his neck, and she used the kiss to tell him what she shouldn’t say. How a world without him was desolate and empty. That beyond all else, she loved him. That she wanted nothing more than to—
“Honestly,” Jason interrupted. “I’m all for lovemaking, but now really isn’t the time. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re under attack and half the buildings are on fire!”
Miranda crashed reluctantly back to earth. Sounds of battle returned and Matt released her. She stepped aside, shaken. She’d like to know how he did it. How a simple kiss could make her forget they were in the midst of a war zone.
He hadn’t forgotten. She could actually see him switch gears, one moment tender and loving, the next hardened IDS agent.
Nik, Jason, and Hank were dumping their trussed-up prisoners inside the nearest shack when Matt joined them.
The guys dropped into a quick huddle, and she stood guard as they discussed strategy. Right now they were alone, but that wouldn’t last long. The sounds of battle grew closer. Shouts escalated. More gunfire. She swiveled to determine the threat, her inner alarm bells shrieking.
Men were backing their way through an alley between shacks, firing at an advancing enemy.
“Ah, guys,” Miranda said with mounting unease, “time to go!”
The first bullet slammed into the shack above their heads. They sprang into action, running with an all-out burst of speed, zigzagging between burning buildings. Bullets flew all around them, and they constantly changed direction to avoid both sides of the war.
It didn’t take long for Miranda to figure out they really had no plan at all. They were just running, looking for God knew what. And they found it minutes later.
Breaking free of the camp, they sprinted for the desert, but an ominous roar of engines signaled a new menace. Several trucks sped around the perimeter, racing across sand and brush with no regard for the fragile ecosystem.
Too many steps from the dubious safety of the buildings, they were open and vulnerable. They swerved and started back, but they were spotted, pinned down by the high-beams of a monster truck. Brakes locked and the machine skid sideways, its big tires throwing a cloud of sand and dust outward twenty feet or more.
Doors flew open and men jumped out armed with assault rifles. They were surrounded.
* * * *
Christ Almighty. They just couldn’t catch a break. Matt stared out at the darkened wilderness beyond and ground his teeth in frustration. A few seconds more and they’d have disappeared into the void. Now they faced a new enemy who climbed out of an oversized truck, his identity hidden behind a glare of lights.
Matt pulled Miranda behind him and squinted to try and bring their latest threat into focus. It didn’t help. Not until the guy rounded to the front and leaned against the hood of the truck.
Then Nik recognized him, too, and they both cursed.
“Going somewhere?” the man asked.
“You should have listened to me, Weston.” Matt was beyond angry and why not? Things were rapidly going from bad to worse. “Why the hell aren’t you gone?”
“Did you actually think I’d allow you to upset my plans?”
“We already have,” Matt replied. “Bessault’s beaten.”
That set Weston to laughing. “Bessault is a thorn in my side. Tonight is about eliminating him. You just made my job easier.”
“Is that what this is about? Erasing your link to a major arms dealer?”
He shrugged. “Those who live by violence die by violence. He can’t go to trial.”
“What about those who profit from violence?” Miranda said as she stepped up beside Matt. She had turned rigid with a head of indignant steam. “You’re every bit as guilty working from the shadows.”
“Keep your judgments to yourself, lady. You’ve no idea how much I’ve done to improve Botswana’s standing in European markets. The benefits far outweigh whatever methods I used to get there.”
“Is that how you salve your conscience?” she asked.
“Scruples have no place in political affairs.”
She gasped in outrage, and Matt heartily agreed. “Bullets change the course of governments faster than politics, is that it Weston?”
As if on cue, another barrage of gunfire sounded behind them. Bessault may have been bound and gagged, his men scattered, but the battle was far from over.
“Your time in Parliament is through.” Nik sounded equally disgusted. “IDS holds an extensive profile on you. Even if you manage to dispose of us, you will never serve Botswana again. Your career is at an end.”
“Enough money can fix anything,” Weston replied, unconcerned. “And right now I have a cache of weapons I’ve sold twice and enough diamonds to fire a laser beam to the moon.”
“You’re not going to get away with it,” Matt said with confidence. He’d make damn sure of it.
“I already have. Tomorrow morning the news will cover the story of two rival warlords who died battling for supremacy. They will lament the loss of IDS agents caught in the middle, and I, of course, will make a statement commending your bravery. Not bad for one night’s work.”
“Not so fast,” said someone from the shadows.
They all turned toward the voice to watch a very angry Bessault slither from behind the truck. One arm dangled useless at his side, but the other held a semi-automatic. Rugged mercenaries backed him up with equal, if not better, firepower.
Damn it to hell. Matt had hoped the bastard would’ve stayed trussed up a while longer.
Weston’s men were outnumbered, and they reluctantly lowered their weapons.
“Nice double-cross you had planned.” Bessault’s expression held death for the Under Secretary. “But you’ve already lost. Or haven’t you noticed that your friends here already blew up a third of the weapons?”
Weston’s eyes shot toward Matt, and he shrugged nonchalantly.
That set Bessault laughing. “The diamonds are long gone as well. Neil left with them at the first sign of trouble.”
The pendulum swung, and blood drained from Weston’s face, leaving him visibly ashen.
Sounds of the battle intensified. A few screams, spurts of rapid gunfire, the crackle of burning and crashing lumber. The compound was being destroyed.
Bessault knew it, too. A sharp order from him, and his men pushed them forward again, heading them back into the fight.
Burning debris and dead mercenaries had a way of robbing even the smallest thread of optimism, and the sight highlighted the harsh reality of their predicament. But Matt had one more ace up his sleeve.
Time to throw their preconceived last-ditch plan into action. As the group started up a short alley between shacks, Matt began grumbling, loudly. He punched at the air, doing anything he could to become the center of attention. Including an argument with good old Hank.
“You should’ve stayed in California!” he snapped.
“Why?” Hank snapped back. “So you could steal my fiancé?”
That finally caught their guard’s attention.
“If she was happy, she wouldn’t have left,” Matt continued.
Hank shoved Matt with just a little too much enthusiasm, but he’d overlook that right now. They resorted to name calling—idiot brain, cocky twit, and imbecile.
“Knock it off. Both of you.” Miranda had unwittingly helped their plan.
“Shut the hell up!” one of the guards yelled.
“How about we trade places, dickhead,” Matt replied. “See if you like walking meekly through this hellhole.”
“Stop antagonizing things,” Nik snapped.
“Stop being a wuss,” Matt snapped back.
Nik didn’t miss a step and turned on him with fury. He yanked Matt up by the lapels of his jacket and shook him like a dog. “You should have listened to me. If you had, we would not be marching to our deaths right now!”
“Stop it!” Miranda screamed. “You’ll aggravate his wound.”
Bessault gave the signal Matt waited for, and when a couple of his men jumped in to break it up, Nik and Matt turned on them, throwing punches and going berserk.
Chaos erupted as more guards jumped into the fight. They stood no chance of winning, and Matt gained a few new bruises for the effort, but breathed deep a sense of victory. Becoming properly subdued, he allowed himself to be shoved back into motion.
Miranda, however, was furious.
“What’s the matter with you two?” she quietly snapped as she walked beside him, inspecting fresh blood on his bandage. “So help me God, if I get the chance, I’m going to—”
Matt smiled when recognition dawned on her face. The additional aches and pains he suffered were well worth the hope he saw flicker back to life in her eyes.
Jason was gone.
Forced to stand beside Bessault as he shouted orders for his men to divide up, they watched half move to finish loading the two remaining trucks, while the other half rounded up surviving opponents and locked them into one of the empty shacks.
Matt hoped to God that whatever Jason was up to, he did it quick. Time wasn’t something Weston, his men, and the opposing team had to spare. Sympathy for them was misplaced. They were all players in a dangerous game, and death a risk they willingly took. But damn. Shoving men into a shack that was being doused in gasoline went beyond ruthless. It was sadistic.
And Bessault appeared to be enjoying the play of brutality. He stood there cradling his injured arm, wearing a smile that could only be described as evil. Men fought against their captors, only to be subdued with blunt force and thrown into the fuel-soaked prison.
Why they weren’t shoved in with them was a mystery Matt didn’t want to fathom. He feared they were being held for a special kind of hell and pulled Miranda protectively to his side. A shudder went through her and, for a brief minute, he allowed regret to take control.
If he’d been stronger, everything she’d endured over the last hours could’ve been prevented. But he’d taken one look at her and had become a man lost. And because he had indulged his fascination with her, she was now exposed to ruthless men like Bessault.
His arms tightened around her, and she rested her head against his chest. One thing was certain—as long as there was life in his body, she wouldn’t die on the sands of the Kalahari. He’d protect her until his last breath.
The ground beneath them began to rumble.
Matt stiffened and Miranda lifted her head to stare behind him.
The rumble grew louder and turned into the full-fledged roar of an engine. A dark SUV running full-throttle flew from between two shacks, aiming dead on for one of the military trucks. Men scrambled to avoid being run down, and the careening vehicle slammed straight into a loaded cargo truck. It exploded into a ball of fire, ammunitions, and screaming wheels.
Matt wasted no time in using the distraction. He grabbed Miranda’s hand and ran. Nik and Hank followed right behind them, but they didn’t get far before the sound of screaming wheels escalated again.
A second SUV came into view, flying their direction and scattering a pack of armed mercenaries in the process. When it reached them, the brakes locked up in a spray of sand and smoke.
“Get in!” Jason yelled.
They needed no urging. With a swiftness born of gunfire, they jumped inside, and Jason slammed the gas pedal before the doors even shut. Dirt flung from the back tires and blasted their assailants.