Rogue Soldier (6 page)

The farther north they got, the sparser the vegetation became, the trees shorter and shorter, offering less and less protection against the Arctic winds. They had seen no sign of the wolves or any other wildlife for some time.

“Chopper,” Mike called out, and they jumped at the same time, threw themselves under the nearest scraggly bush, and scooped snow over their bodies.

The chopper came low. The short trees allowed it as close as twenty feet.

“Don't move,” he said, and closed his eyes against the snow that the rotor blades stirred up.

The icy crystals burned his cheek. Now that he wasn't moving and generating heat, his body cooled quickly. The parka and his sweater were wet around his neck, where some of the snow had gotten in and melted. He opened his eyes to a slit and glanced over
at Tessa to make sure she was okay. She lay still, facing away from him.

The chopper hovered above. Could the men see their tracks? Mike swore under his breath. They'd been careful to disturb the snow as little as possible while they'd walked, moving along the natural curve of snowdrifts where their shadow would cover the snowshoe prints. The wind was blowing, too. Not enough to cover the tracks completely, but enough to soften them, to smudge them so they wouldn't stand out.

A minute passed, and another, then the chopper banked to the right and disappeared over the trees.

“They're not giving up, are they?” Tessa stood and shook off the snow. “I wonder if they got the other warheads.”

“I'm thinking, no.” He straightened the backpack he'd borrowed from the cabin, then fixed his left snowshoe, which had gone askew. “They must have expanded the search area. The last I talked to the Colonel, the CIA was searching way east of here.”

He followed Tessa's gaze toward the north where the sky was already darkening—too early. It was barely past noon.

She glanced back at him. “Maybe it will pass us.”

He hoped it would. Because from the looks of it, what headed toward them was a hell of a storm.
Damn. They didn't need another delay. “Let's cover some ground.”

She didn't have to be told twice.

They pushed forward at a good clip, neither of them caring now about getting sweaty. They had to go as far as they could before the storm hit. These Arctic blizzards could rage on for days.

He focused on nothing but placing his feet onto the snow at the best angle for speed, scanning their surroundings for shelter, something that would block the wind from the tent. The trees were thin and sparse, alders mostly, not much in the way of a windbreak.

The first squall reached them before they got half a mile. It whipped the existing snow around for a while, then the clouds opened and added fresh material.

They'd passed boulders the size of houses all through the morning, but nothing now, of course, not when they needed it. Damn, the wind was getting strong. They had gone on too long.

“The tent.” Tessa had to shout even though she was next to him. The storm whipped the words from her lips, so he could barely hear. She dropped the carrying case to the ground and struggled with it.

He helped to loosen the string, threw himself on the billowing material of the tent as the wind ripped it from his hands and almost took it away. He stood on it with one foot while clearing snow with the
other. The frozen ground was a few inches down. He worked up a good sweat by the time he beat the first stake in with a rock Tessa had found for him.

Once all the stakes were in, they set up the fly, despite how difficult it was under the conditions. It domed the tent, helping to better deflect the wind.

“Get in.” He pushed her through the opening and practically fell in after her, zipped the door tight. He felt better adding their bodyweight to the tent and not relying solely on the stakes. With the ground being as hard as it was, he hadn't gotten them as deep as he'd wanted.

Damn, it was cold. The storm had brought the icy air of the Arctic.

He opened the backpack and tossed one of the sleeping bags to Tessa. Despite the cold, they were much better off inside their shelter than outside. Here, at least, they didn't have to contend with the windchill factor. The sides of the tent moved around, struggling to take flight. He rummaged around for the candle, then stopped. No sense lighting one until the wind died down, it would just be knocked over or blown out.

For once, she didn't have to be told to cozy up to him. He sat on his sleeping bag with his legs spread and she sat between them, her back pressed against his chest, dragging her sleeping bag over them for cover.

“Was it this bad in Siberia?”

Worse, he nearly said, before changing his mind. “No.”

In Siberia, his life had been the only one in danger. This mission had higher stakes. He hated to see Tessa in jeopardy. He would have faced any hardship as long as he knew she was somewhere safe.

“I hate sitting around,” she said, and he grinned in the dark.

She wasn't the patient kind. He couldn't blame her; he was the same.

“The storm is coming from the north,” he said. “I doubt any ships will be leaving port in this weather.”

She didn't respond.

“I'm worried about the dogs,” she said after a while.

He pulled away to take off his parka now that they'd warmed up a little. They couldn't sit here fully clothed. They needed an extra layer when the storm stopped and they had to leave the tent.

“It's not in their best interest to abuse the animals.”

She shrugged off the sleeping bag they used for a blanket, and took off her own coat. “They don't need them in Nome.” She pulled the cover back on.

“They'll probably sell them or trade them for supplies.”

“Or abandon them on the side of the road.” Her voice held a fair dose of concern. “They might want
to make as little contact with the locals as possible. They wouldn't want to be remembered.”

“Like an abandoned dog team sitting for days in front of the general store wouldn't draw attention? People would remember who rode the sled in.”

“You're right.” She took a deep breath.

“I bet we'll see those dogs in a couple of days.”

“I hope so.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “We might not make it out of here alive, there's a load of nuclear weapons headed out of the country for who knows what purpose, and your biggest worry is the dogs?” He was just teasing. Actually her big heart was one of the things he admired most about her, the way she thought of and went to battle for just about anyone.

“We got ourselves into this mess. The huskies didn't ask for any of this.”

“When we find them and take care of the smugglers, we'll adopt the dogs. How about that?”

She didn't respond, but he felt her shoulders relax against him.

The wind whistled outside, the frozen snow hitting the tent from the side making the pattering sound of raindrops. They were stuck here for a while—nothing he could do to advance their military mission. Might as well start pushing for his other ob
jective. It was time he started to get Tessa thinking about the possibility of being with him in the future.

“I bet those puppies would be just fine someplace like upstate New York. God knows, the place gets enough snow.” He ought to know. He'd spent more than one Christmas break there with his grandparents. “Ever thought about where you'd settle down if you got the urge?”

She stayed silent.

The main thing was not to get discouraged. She had allowed him that kiss the day before. More than allowed. For a few moments she had responded, the glimpse of her old passion blowing him away. He had every reason to be optimistic.

He nuzzled her cheek. He had a couple of ideas on what they could do for a little extra heat.

She turned her head from him.

“You know, you're a hard woman to forget,” he said with an effort. It didn't come easy for him to admit even the slightest weakness.

“I'm sure you gave it your best try.” Her voice was as cold as the air around them.

“I did,” he admitted, and when she pulled away, he added, “I never could succeed, though.”

He reached out and drew her back into his arms, turned her head so he could brush his lips against hers. She didn't pull away, but neither did she respond,
not even when he shifted her until they were face-to-face and tasted her more fully, deepening the kiss.

She tasted so good. He wanted to taste her everywhere, promised himself he would, no matter how stubborn she was. He was plenty hardheaded himself, and single-minded, too, when it came to achieving his aim. He would not rest until he broke through the last of her defenses and made her admit that she needed this as much as he did.

He found the zipper on her parka in the dark and pulled it down enough to sneak one hand in. His bare skin soaked up her heat as he moved forward, mad for the feel of her, to glide his fingers over the body he wanted more than anything to belong to him. He cupped her heavy breast and groaned into her mouth, pushing her back to the ground, blinding need flooding his body until he forgot the storm around them, everything but Tessa in his arms again.

His muscles tightened, hardened. Almost there. He grabbed for the zipper on her pants. He'd waited a long time for this, too long. He had planned on taking it slow. Who had he been kidding? He couldn't, not the first time. It wouldn't matter. She had to be as ready as he was. She had never minded mindless, flesh-pounding passion. He remembered well how she used to meet him thrust for thrust.

His heart sang, his body just about burst with lust.
He could think of nothing but sinking into her softness, having her slim legs wrapped around his waist as he drove himself home, plunged into her over and over again, made her forget the past three years, made her unequivocally, forever his.

He dragged his lips from hers to travel her face, to cover with kisses what he could not see in the dark.

Her cheek tasted wet and salty.

It sobered him in an instant, the wave of lust riding his body screeching to a painful halt. “Tess?”

He reached up to her face, his fingertips confirming the tears. Hell, he'd seen her in just about every state, but he had never seen Tessa Nielsen cry. It scared him as nothing else could.

“Tess?” He sat up and pulled her with him. “What's wrong? Talk to me, honey.”

The mad desire in his belly turned to concern. What was wrong with her?

“You broke my heart,” she said in a hoarse whisper.

The pain in her voice slammed into him like a battering ram.

He'd broken her heart.

“I'm sorry,” he said, unable to come up with anything else.

Cold air wedged between them when she pushed him away. He reached after her but then let his hands drop.

He'd broken her heart.

And here he'd been thinking all he had to do was to fool around with her a little, seduce her some, tell her how much he had missed her, remind her of the good old times. He hadn't, not until this moment, realized how much he had hurt her, or considered that he might have hurt her beyond what could be undone. It scared the soul out of him.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Her voice sounded steadier now.

“I'm sorry.” God, it seemed that was all he could say lately, and it was woefully inadequate. “I'll quit it,” he said with sudden determination. “I mean, you don't have to worry about me. I'm not going to push you anymore. I've been a jackass.”

She didn't say anything to that.

“I'm not gonna touch you ever again, if you don't want me to.” He heard the catch in his own voice. “Just let's get through this, okay?”

“I'm a big girl. You don't have to worry about me.” The irritation in her voice switched on his own.

He felt mad at no one in particular, bereft, bewildered. “Fine.”

“Fine,” she snapped back.

“Man, I feel like I'm in kindergarten,” he said, disgusted with himself.

“Are you calling me childish?” That cold tone had returned.

He wished they could see each other's faces. “I was calling myself immature.”

“That's the first thing we've agreed on in a long time.”

He was frustrated enough to want to pound something. It occurred to him that she might feel the same, that it might help her to get all that anger out. “Would it help if you hit me?”

A second of silence passed. “If it did, I sure as hell wouldn't need your permission.”

Sounded like she was working herself up to a good righteous anger, part of it probably because she was embarrassed at having been caught crying. She took great pride in being as tough as nails. Losing it had to shake her as much as it shook him.

The best course of action seemed to be to keep his mouth shut. Why was it that he could be as smooth as the Arctic ice with any number of women, but when it came to Tessa, he could never quite find the right words to say?

He had broken her heart.

He had the mad urge to punch his own lights out.

Mike closed his eyes, willing himself to relax. They were safe, no one would hunt them in this weather, be it the four-legged enemy or the two-legged kind. He
wasn't tired, but he hoped he could sleep. He needed the unconsciousness of dreams, needed his mind to be away from this tent, from Tessa, from the realization that he might have lost her forever.

 

T
HE STORM RAGED
well into the evening, burying all but the very top of their tent. Getting out proved to be a tricky and messy business, snow pouring in as soon as Mike unzipped the entrance. It was like digging out from under an avalanche. But the necessity of team work at least broke the uncomfortable silence between them, even if all the conversation they had was “hold here,” “hang on,” “push harder” and the like.

“We should walk through the night,” Tessa said. “We need to make up for lost time.”