Rogue Soldier (3 page)

She had trouble digesting the information. He had put everything on the line for her. She didn't know what to do with that thought, where to fit that knowledge. If he still cared that much for her— No. She wasn't going down that road ever again.

“So where did you go AWOL from?” The best way to stop him from getting to her was to keep him on his toes about his own business.

“We're going to have to go around that.” He pointed at the forest of alders and spruce in front of them that reached like a finger into the frozen landscape to the north.

He was ignoring her question. She'd pretty much
expected him to do just that. There was nothing she could do to make the man talk, if he didn't want to.

“Gee!” She turned the dogs to the right when they were still a good fifty yards from the trees, taking advantage of both the flat terrain and the windbreak the woods provided.

Ten minutes passed, then half an hour. She was thirsty, but not enough to stop and melt snow. Night would fall soon; darkness came by 3:00 p.m. this time of the year. They would have to stop and make camp, anyway. Had the cloud cover not built back up, the snow would have reflected enough moonlight to go by, but that was not the case.

Mike pushed off his hood and turned his head to the sky.

She did the same and heard the helicopter, slowed the dogs, fired her gun and waited. Sound carried incredible distances in the silence of the snowfields. The rumbling of the chopper weakened. Damn. The rescue team was heading away from them. Then the sound picked up again. The helicopter came over the top of the trees in a couple of minutes.

Mike was already on his feet, waving.

The Apache—CIA logo on the side—lowered between them and the trees, the noise scaring the dogs. She brought the sled to a complete halt and got off, followed Mike who was already running for
ward. She would have to ask the pilot to turn off the rotors or she'd never get the huskies on.

The chopper hovered in place. Mike was slowing in front of her, held up his hand as if in warning. She knew how to approach a landing helicopter, for heaven's sake. The training they'd received together hadn't been that long ago. She ignored him.

Snow swirled around them as the chopper's blades stirred up the air. She put her head down and stopped, waiting for the bird to set down. The bullets that hit around her took her by surprise.

What on earth? She threw herself to the snow and looked around. Did the gun smugglers catch up? She glanced up, expecting to see the chopper covering them, but instead, the man she spotted in the open door was aiming at Mike.

Nobody else on the ground, but them. No smugglers. She scanned the area behind her. They were clearly the ones under attack from the CIA chopper.

It didn't make any sense. This was supposed to be the rescue team. Mike had called in their location.

He seemed to have recovered from his surprise before she did and was shooting back, making the bird pull up sharply and bank to the right. Then her training and instincts finally kicked in and she sprinted for the woods.

She stopped halfway there, hesitated, looked back
to the dogs. She'd left her rifle on the sled. If she could get that and the huskies… Mike was running, too, twisting now and then to squeeze off another shot, jumping over piles of snow as he went.

“Come on!” he shouted as he passed her.

They were close to the woods, twenty yards, ten, there. They didn't stop for a while, spurred on by bullets hitting the trees behind them.

After a minute or two, the shooting stopped.

“We have to go back and get the dogs.” She was breathing so hard, she had to bend over. Sitting in a research trailer month after month, doing nothing but data analysis, had softened her.

“They're not interested in the dogs. They made it plenty clear that they want us.”

“What's going on?”

“Damned if I know.” Mike ducked behind a boulder and leaned against it, making room for her. He pulled the phone from his pocket, but it rang before he could dial.

“We're under attack.”

He listened and swore alternatively, then after a couple of minutes held the cell phone away from his ear and shook it, pushed some buttons, listened again, slammed it into the snow. “Battery is dead.”

“Extreme cold will do that. What did you find out?”

“It's classified.”

“Like hell it is.” She wanted to shake him. “Tell that to someone whose ass is not getting shot up by our own government. I already saw the warhead, Mike.”

“I don't know everything.”

“Give me what you have.”

He still had the gall to think about it before he finally nodded. “Apparently, a cache of warheads near where your research station was parked was broken into.”

“There are no military installations anywhere around here. Roger and I have been through the area a hundred times.” She tried to think of anything that looked even remotely suspicious, but there had been no manmade structures at all, just open snowfields.

“Underground bunkers most likely. Apparently the U.S. warheads were supposed to be destroyed under the disarmament agreement after the cold war, but they somehow
disappeared
from the list and were forgotten.” His words were underscored with a thick tone of irony.

“How does that have anything to do with us?”

“Some gun dealer got wind of it, and a few warheads were stolen. The whole environmentalist-extremists slash Alaska-pipeline tale was a cover so the CIA could close the area for a massive manhunt.”

She stared at him as understanding dawned on her. “It would look bad for the U.S. Government if it turned out we're hiding stockpiles of nuclear weapons that violate international agreements.”

“Right.”

“But why are they after us? You and I didn't steal anything.”

“Looks like that's not how the CIA interpreted things. You left with the weapons dealers. At one point your research station was almost on top of the bunkers. And I'm here against orders. They figured out that we knew each other in the past.”

Wait a minute— “Go back to the bunkers part.”

“The Colonel said—”

“That's what the readings were about,” she blurted, interrupting him.

“What readings?”

“We were doing all kinds of experiments, taking dozens of readings on air, dirt and melted snow every day. We would settle into a spot, work for a week or two. When we were done with our work, we would move fifty miles to the next observation point and start over.” They drove the trailer on the tracks for the big moves, but for everyday stuff they used the sleds to get around. “Then all of a sudden, a couple of weeks ago an order came in to do a reading for radiation.”

“Did you find anything?”

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Roger thought maybe they had some intel on nuclear testing in Russia and worried about the winds. We had very strong winds out of the west at the time. The strange thing was, we were told not to put the reading in the observation log, and that there was no need to repeat it again.”

“So whoever is selling the warheads is in a high enough position to ask a favor of the U.S.A.C.E. He wanted to make sure there was no radiation leak before he sent his men in there.”

“Somebody in the army?”

He shrugged.

“And the CIA suspects us. It's ridiculous. We can explain.”

The expression on his face was hard, the thin set of his mouth making her uneasy. “We are not going to get a chance to make explanations, Tessa,” he said. “I know the guy in charge of the operation, Brady Marshall. He's a cleanup expert if I've ever seen one. He's heavily into leaving no witnesses.”

His brown eyes burned into hers as he shook his head.

“There's more,” she said instead of asking.

He exhaled, his breath forming a small cloud in the frozen air. “We had some disagreements when I
was working for the agency. He hates my guts. I came across information that implicated him in some serious stuff. I didn't blow the whistle, but—”

“But if he takes you out, he can stop worrying that someday you will.”

He nodded. “Sorry.”

“Sorry for what?”

“You might have been better off taking your chances with the smugglers and working your plan.” He sounded miserable.

She took a deep breath.

“Okay, I'm only going to say this once, and first I want to emphasize how much I don't want you to try anything like this in the future.” She held his gaze. “I'm glad that you came and got me.”

He blinked. “What? Have I gone mad from exposure already? Am I hallucinating?”

She couldn't help cracking a smile as she punched him in the shoulder.

The sound of the chopper taking off reached them. It was coming closer. She stumbled and fell headfirst into snow when Mike shoved her under a large hemlock and dived after her.

“A small warning would have been nice.” She cleaned the snow from her face as they lay side by side without moving.

The chopper hovered for a minute or two then
began circling, and after a while they heard the noise of its motor fade into the distance.

“It might be better if we stay out of the open for now.” He crawled out first.

She ignored the hand he extended to help her. “I'm not leaving the dogs,” she said, and as soon as she was on her feet, she started back the way they had come.

“That's not what I meant.” He followed.

She slowed when they were close enough to see the edge of the woods. An ambush could be waiting for them out there. She moved with care, expecting at any moment a hail of bullets. Mike was as vigilant as she, communicating with hand signals. They passed the last couple of yards in a crouch, creeping from tree to tree.

They shouldn't have bothered. The chopper had left no men behind. There was nothing in front of them at all—the crate, sled and dogs gone. A single flare stood stuck in the snow, bleeding red smoke toward the sky.

“They'll be coming back for us.” Mike kicked it over and buried it. “We're not going to make it to the village over open land.”

“They took my dogs,” she said, stunned, fury filling her.

“They're not going to hurt the dogs. They only took them to make things harder for us.” He put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off. He shrugged. “What do you know about this area?”

The bastards took her dogs. A couple of seconds passed before she could focus on Mike's question.

“There are a few families who live this far up. Trappers. Most of them go into the towns for winter. A couple of them stopped by the research station over the summer. These people cover ground like you wouldn't believe.”

“We'll go over the hills then. We'll either run into someone or reach a town sooner or later.”

“Let's go.” Determination filled her, anger giving her strength.

They were in the Alaskan wilderness without shelter and supplies, winter quickly approaching; the CIA was on a search-and-destroy mission to round them up; and for all they knew, the gun dealers were still after them, too, wanting back the warhead.

Nobody could ever say life was boring with Mike McNair around.

 

W
HEN HE CLOSED HIS EYES
, he could see the gently swaying palm trees on the hillside in Belize, where he had put money down on a house. South America seemed like an excellent place to disappear to—great climate, plenty of English-speaking people, and yet far enough from anyone who might figure out his role in the weapons heist.

“The Boss,” his codename for the mission, leaned
back in his chair. The warheads had reached port. It wouldn't be long now before they crossed the Bering Strait and arrived at the next station before their final destination. Once the crates were in Siberia, he would breathe easier.

There had been some minor glitches along the way, but nothing they couldn't overcome. It would be no more than two or three days until delivery, and when Tsernyakov got his warheads, he would release payment.

Belize: sunshine and long-limbed women with soft, tanned skin, and the money to afford them. And why not? Hadn't he sacrificed enough to deserve that?

He would have to fake his death, though, before he left. It wouldn't do for the law, or his “business” partners, to come looking for him. A fire perhaps—a body wouldn't be too hard to arrange. Or he could go out on a boat and pretend to be washed overboard. He put his feet up on the edge of the hotel room table and went over the list of possibilities.

The wife would get his life insurance and was welcome to it. She could go nag someone else for all he cared. The kids, both from her first marriage, had barely tolerated him anyway. He was nothing but the man who held the wallet, someone to go to for new shoes and tuition for soccer camp.

He closed his eyes and pictured an azure-blue sky
above, could almost feel the soft, warm breeze on his face. The house had a veranda overlooking the pool. There were people around the pool in his fantasy—he would have plenty of friends. A tall girl of about twenty came up the veranda stairs with a martini.

“You need company?” she asked, her full lips turning into a suggestive smile. Her long hair spilled down her naked back, a few strands escaping to the front to curl around magnificent breasts that were left exposed for his hungry gaze.

He nodded as he took the glass, watched her push his legs apart and get ready to satisfy him. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

Crunch, swish, crunch, swish.
He would have given just about anything for a pair of snowshoes. Mike ignored the cold slush that had gotten into his boots. His gaze strayed to the low ridge ahead of them. They had been walking toward it for hours, yet it still seemed the same distance away, their progress hampered by the difficult terrain. He glanced back at Tessa who kept up without complaint. She walked with her head down, focusing on where she put her feet.

They pushed on, searching for shelter, a suitable spot to sit out the night.

“Here,” he said finally, just as the last of the grayish light slid off the sky.

They were in front of a “wall” created by the root mass of a fallen tree. He cleared as much snow as he could out of the hollow the roots had left behind in
the ground, and lined it with hemlock branches, the result looking like a giant dinosaur nest.

“Welcome to the Fresh Air Hotel.” He grinned at Tessa, wanting to lighten the mood.

“What, you didn't reserve a room with a hot tub?” She was already picking up wood for their fire.

He went to help her. “The place is booked solid. We were lucky to get any room at all.”

“Hmm.” She gave him a fake grumble. “Remind me not to let you plan any more vacations for us in the future.”

As hard as they tried, their jokingly spoken words didn't quite cover their unease. He was alert to the slightest noise around them, and from the way she stopped every few seconds to survey their surroundings, he knew Tessa was, as well. There were wolves out there. And possibly bears, too; winter had barely started. Nature had its own stragglers.

He dumped an armload of branches and went back for more.

Once they had enough wood, it didn't take much to get a good fire started. Although the kindling hadn't been as dry as he would have preferred, the alcohol acted as a decent accelerant. Their spot was sheltered from the wind, and they sat between the tree and the fire, the root wall behind them reflecting the heat back, so they were warm on both sides—
as comfortable an arrangement as anyone could hope for under the circumstances.

He dumped the contents of his tin emergency kit at his feet, careful not to lose anything, then filled the tin with snow and melted it over the fire, giving Tessa the water. He melted another batch and drank next. They had to take turns, each getting a few swallows at a time.

After they rested a little, they collected more wood, enough to keep the fire going for the night.

“Wish we had that fur cover,” she said, dislodging the snow that had caked on to the bottom of her boots.

He wished for a number of things, none of which he cared to share, pretty sure she wouldn't appreciate them. Instead he moved over to a tall pine and dug in the snow under it until he found a good handful of cones. Tessa helped him defrost them over the fire. They ate pine nuts, not enough to fill them, but sufficient so they wouldn't have to go to sleep with that gnawing feeling of hunger inside.

He sat cross-legged and patted his thigh. “Come over here. You can use me for a pillow. I'll take first watch.”

They couldn't both sleep. Somebody had to stay awake to feed the fire. Without it, they'd be frozen by morning. And they needed it for reasons beyond heat, too. The flames would keep away predators.

She hesitated, but seemed to reach a decision at
last and curled up next to him with her head on his thigh, facing the burning logs. “Wake me in a couple of hours.”

He looked away from the silky red hair that spilled out of her hood and over him, feeling his pants shrink a size smaller. Offering himself for her pillow seemed a less-than-brilliant idea now. He had thought only of her comfort, that he wanted her near. He hadn't thought it through to what the sight of her head in his lap would do to him. At least he didn't have to worry about falling asleep on his watch. He was way too uncomfortable to nod off.

A wolf howled deep in the woods, and another answered. He pulled his gun closer, ready for anything, the memories of his trek across the Siberian tundra rushing over him. For once he welcomed them, glad for a moment of distraction.

He had sworn he would never go near snow again as long as he lived. But then he'd found out about Tessa. He'd been alone in Siberia, but had his full pack with all the survival gear anyone could wish for. Right now, he had nothing but Tessa. All in all, a good trade. The fire lit her face, played on her long eyelashes. He put his left arm over her shoulder in a protective gesture, but she immediately shook it off.

“Keep your hands to yourself, buddy.”

The woman was nothing if not stubborn.

“Come on now, lass. I dinna mean harm. Don't be scairt. I promise not to eat ye 'less things get real desperate,” he said in his best highland brogue, trying to warm her to him by joking, but she didn't respond.

He'd let her get the bluster out of her system. She would come around.

Soon her breathing evened, and her face relaxed. She had to be as exhausted as he was. The cold took a lot out of a person, and they hadn't had enough to eat to replace the lost energy. He would try his best to shoot something tomorrow. He wasn't picky. A muskrat would do.

He reviewed their situation, planned for the upcoming days as best he could, while listening for any sounds of predators on the ground or choppers in the sky. The dark didn't mean they were safe from detection from above. Even if he kicked snow over their fire at the first sound of a helicopter, the CIA had plenty of night-vision equipment.

He woke her at midnight, to get his own rest and because she would have had a fit in the morning if he hadn't.

She blinked slow and long, nodded. She didn't offer her lap as his pillow.

 

S
UNLIGHT REACHED THEM
at about ten in the morning, and even then they did not see the sun, only its gray
reflection in the sky. They had been walking for hours by then, catching a lucky break with a bright moon and temporarily cloudless weather. They kept going, hungry, bundled up against the cold, hoping to find a road they could follow to civilization.

Mike shot a snowshoe rabbit a little after noon. They gutted and skinned the animal quickly, before it had a chance to freeze. Neither wanted to waste daylight, but they agreed on stopping long enough to make a fire and roast the meat.

The going was slow over the rough terrain, darkness coming too soon again. They'd been following a semifrozen creek. Tessa stepped out of the woods and stopped at the edge of a clearing, squinted her eyes.
Wait a minute—

“Heard something?” Mike came up behind her.

She shook her head and pointed. “Over there.” She moved toward what she had first taken for a giant snow-covered boulder. She could make out some evenly spaced logs, the slope of a low-pitched roof. She felt shaky for a moment, unsure whether from excitement or exhaustion.

“A cabin!” Mike fought his way toward the buried structure, pushing the snow aside.

He cleared a door by the time she caught up with him, grinning from ear to ear when he aimed the gun at the padlock. The shot echoed through the forest.

“I wonder how far that carried.” She glanced at him with a twinge of unease.

He shrugged. “If the CIA is around, they are in a chopper. If they are close enough to hear a shot we'd be able to hear the rotors. I don't think they have a good enough location on us yet to send in a ground team.”

“People live in these parts. Not everyone goes south for the winter.”

“Good. If one of the neighbors comes over to investigate, he can help us figure out the fastest way to the nearest town.”

He kicked the door in, and a good pile of snow went with it. She stepped forward first, peering into the darkness, moving to the right and staying still until her eyes got used to the dark.

The one-room cabin was small, ten by twelve maybe, with a sleeping loft above the general living area. There was wood stacked in the kitchen next to the iron stove, canned food on the open shelves. She went to light a lamp and turned it up, while Mike cleared the snow from the vinyl-covered plywood floor and closed and barred the door behind them.

He flashed her one of those sexy grins that used to get her every time. “Didn't I tell you we'd be fine?”

“If I recall correctly, you said you wouldn't eat me
until all other options were exhausted.” She was still not completely immune. She couldn't help grinning back.

“Well, we're not out of the woods yet.” He wiggled his dark eyebrows and snapped his teeth.

She threw her glove at him and gave him the iciest glower she could muster, not an easy task with heat spreading through her body at his lighthearted banter and the playful look in his eyes.

He caught the glove and stalked closer. “Let me at least take a look at what I won't be having. You have to take off those frozen clothes and get your circulation moving. I can help.”

She'd just bet he could. Her body was squealing, “Yes, please!” Fortunately, she was smart enough to ignore it. She put the stove between them.

“It's not going to work.” She couldn't count how many times he had charmed her like this, or when all else had failed, tackled her, bringing them both to the ground, tickling her until she let go of whatever she'd been mad about. “We need to start a fire,” she added in a voice of measured reason.

He lifted his hands in capitulation. “I'll do the fire. Why don't you scare up something to eat?”

True to his words, he had a fire going by the time she wiped the frost off the cans, figured out what was what and opened two beef stews with a knife, since she couldn't find the can opener. She dumped the
contents into an iron skillet and set it on the stove, stepping around him as he was trying to coax the small flames to grow.

God, it brought back the past, the two of them working together like this. She moved away to put a little distance between them, pushing back the memories that rushed her. They'd had some good times; she couldn't deny that. But had it been as special as her mind was now making it out to be? Was it only that he was her first real love, her first lover? That was it, she was sure. Every woman must have a special place in her heart for her first. She shouldn't make too much of the feelings that had risen from the past to confuse her. She made a point of turning her back to Mike and busied herself in the kitchen.

Within minutes it was warm enough to take her parka off, then her mukluks—the sealskin boots that had kept her feet warm and dry. She got up to stir the food but he beat her to it, so she sank back onto the overturned bucket she used for a seat.

He tasted the stew. “Almost.”

He'd undressed, too. He looked good, even with his dark hair all mussed, or maybe especially because of that. It lent a boyish charm to the man whose towering height and wide shoulders would have been intimidating otherwise. His body had grown leaner
since she'd last seen him. His impressive muscles were still there, but he had lost a lot of the roundness and softness. He looked harder, edgier, more dangerous—very much like one of those highland heroes on the covers of her mother's historical romances.

His cinnamon eyes locked with hers as he extended the wooden spoon toward her. “Want a taste?”

She pushed to her feet before she knew what she was doing and walked away. Not that she could go far. She reached the other side of the cabin in a half-dozen steps. “No,” she said. “Thanks.” She grabbed the notched ladder and climbed to the loft, the space so low she couldn't straighten.

She shouldn't be thinking about Mike now. She needed to think about how they could get out of Alaska.

Open shelves covered the walls around her, a large bed of furs in the middle. She should have brought the lamp. Pictures were tacked here and there to the shelves, of a family she could barely make out.

A large chest stood at the foot of the bed. She hesitated for a moment before opening it, then she was glad she did. She must have emitted some sound of triumph, because Mike called up to her.

“Find something interesting?”

“A CB radio.” She was already hauling the thing out of the chest and bringing it back down.

“That's my girl.” He closed the stove's door and
came to her, cleared room on the table. “Put it over here. There must be an antenna on one of the trees.”

They were saved. The tension went out of her all at once. When he lifted his hand for a high-five, she smacked hers into it, excited and filled with hope. They'd done it!

He turned the radio on. No sounds, no flashing lights. She reached for the volume button and twisted it all the way to the right. He flipped through the frequencies as they held their breath. Nothing.

The CB's battery was dead.

 

M
IKE ATE TOO FAST
, impatient for the stew to cool, and burned his tongue. Damn. Tessa shook her head as he sucked in air through his teeth. She stirred her meal, got a spoonful, blew on it for a while, then tasted it tentatively. Smart woman.

“Best stew I ever had.” The corners of her mouth turned up before she swallowed the glob on her spoon whole.

He was about to crack a joke when the sound of a chopper came from above. It was moving on, not pausing above them as far as he could tell. Still, they couldn't stay here for long.

“We should leave in the morning,” Tessa said, voicing his thoughts.

Her blue eyes seemed to dance in the firelight
that glinted off her reddish brown hair. Her curls tumbled to the middle of her back. He would have given anything to be able to run his fingers through them just now.

He used to joke that her red hair was a warning flag to alert the unwary to the fire she had inside. She might have been a small package—only came up to his chin—but she was no pushover. She was feisty as anything, bullheaded, but with a heart as big as the endless landscape that surrounded them—a heart that had once belonged to him.