No Turning Back (6 page)

The speech, delivered while standing on shaky legs, left him queasy as hell. He gagged, and when the doctor thrust an empty bowl in front of him, vomited up his breakfast. When he finished, the pain in his head almost laid him out flat on his back. Sweating, he wiped his clammy forehead with his shoulder.

The doctor gave a resigned sigh. “You're in no shape to go anywhere, let alone after a terrorist, and you know it.”

Luke glared at him and concentrated on staying upright. “Just get me the damn paperwork.”

Baghdad, late evening

Sam crept back to her hidey-hole a few minutes after eleven that night, completely exhausted. She was so tired she almost gave in to the tears clogging her throat, but choked them down. Crying wasn't going to help anything, and it wasn't going to change the fact she was still alone and on the run with the prospect of another sleepless night ahead of her, jerking awake at every tiny noise because it might mean someone had come to kill her. It was definitely not going to free her cousin, or magically make Ben appear in front of her to gather her up in his strong arms and make it all better. She blew out a breath and forced the wistful thoughts away.

The streets were relatively quiet, the marketplace with its tiny shops and restaurants all but empty except for a few male patrons. Keeping her head and face pulled deep inside the shadows of her headscarf, she made certain to keep out of the light, ears pricked for any suspicious sound. Her eyes restlessly scanned for other movement.

Having moved south away from Sadr City and the heavily Shi'a populated areas of Baghdad to avoid any sightings by the Mahdi Army, she'd worked her way into the comparative safety of the Sunni region. She planned to keep traveling southeast until she neared the Iranian border, if she could stay free that long. Her tail was still out there somewhere, but she didn't know who or how many. As it stood now, she couldn't risk depending on anyone for help until she knew exactly what the Islamic group holding Neveah wanted from her.

The very real possibility that it might be Farouk Tehrazzi made her feel sick.

The light-skinned, green-eyed Islamic militant mastermind had far-reaching tentacles, even into the mountains of Afghanistan where his adopted grandmother had been born. The same grandmother he'd had his bodyguard behead because she'd betrayed Bryn McAllister's location in the Syrian desert.

Right after the bombing of the US embassy in Lebanon he'd orchestrated.

Sam's blood ran cold at the thought. She'd seen the photos of the poor headless woman and her husband. If he could do that to his own family, what could he do to her cousin? Taking Nev and sending Sam the photo of her bound and helpless had the trademark psychological torture Tehrazzi was infamous for. She shivered, feeling very small and alone.

Skulking about in the shadows wasn't easy for her, but if she was still breathing, then she figured she must have been doing a decent job of it. Nearing her safe place for the night— an unoccupied shelter she'd scoped out at the market earlier in the day— she shifted the strap of her backpack on her left shoulder, very aware of the cold pistol muzzle digging into the small of her back at her waistband beneath her robe. She doubted she'd hit what she was aiming at if she had to use it, but a chance was better than nothing.

With a final surreptitious glance around to ensure she was alone, she slipped through the beaten-up door and made her way to the far corner of the tiny room. Inside, she dropped her bag and slid down against the grimy wall with a weary sigh. Only a dilapidated table and two chairs graced the center of the room, a small counter with a hot plate and kettle on the far side. A tiny, grungy bathroom sat to her left, giving off the foul smells of stale urine and unwashed facilities.

Letting her head fall back, she closed her eyes a moment and took stock of the situation. Six days. That's how long she'd been on the run, alone and looking over her shoulder with every step. She'd only slept about twelve hours total, grabbing whatever she could to eat and drink along the way, which hadn't been much. She was hungry and tired, footsore and scared out of her mind. To be honest, she didn't know how much longer she could keep this up, even if she managed to elude her pursuers a while longer. Her body wasn't going to be able to sustain this kind of stress and deprivation.

Don't think about that right now. You have to eat, get some sleep. You need to stay sharp.

She'd allow herself to sleep for a few hours. Early in the morning, she'd have to try and find another internet cafe or somewhere she could recharge her BlackBerry in case the kidnappers made contact again. She had to have a way of finding out what Nev's status was. With any luck, she might find a clue or something that would help her figure out who had her, and where they were hidden in Afghanistan.

And maybe Ben had sent her something. She hoped so. Alone in the dark of night with nothing to comfort her, she found herself thinking about him, conjuring up her memories of his smile and the way he teased her. She was attached to him in ways she didn't fully understand, but that didn't lessen her feelings for him. Was he searching for her right now? The thought eased her somewhat.

Her stomach let out an angry growl. She fished in her pack for her compact reading light and set it beside her before turning it on. She pulled out an orange and wolfed it down, then a piece of bread. Man, what she would have given for a plateful of spaghetti with meat sauce, loaded with parmesan and a side of garlic bread. If she made it out of the Middle East alive, that was the first meal she was going to have when she got back home to Virginia.

Squelching a wave of self-pity, she reminded herself things could be way worse. At least she was safe for the moment, had enough food to keep her going, and no one was holding a gun at her head, waiting for the moment to pull the trigger. Neveah wasn't as fortunate. Sam didn't know what kind of conditions her cousin was being held in, but she knew it couldn't be pleasant. She was counting on the kidnappers needing to keep her cousin alive, hoping they would try and use the fact that she was an American doctor to get the US government's attention. For a ransom of some sort, or media exposure for their plight. The alternative was unthinkable.

Sam forced the last bite of stale bread down her tight throat. Pulling a thin sweater from her bag, she extinguished the reading light, plunging the tiny room into darkness and settled on the dirty floor with her lumpy pack as a pillow. Shivering in the cool night air, she closed her eyes and sent out a prayer that all this would be over soon.

Hang on, Nev. I'm coming.

She'd start by getting over the Iranian border someplace and then make her way overland to Afghanistan. Then she'd hit Kabul. That's where she'd start her hunt. On her own, or maybe with one of her teammates if she decided it was worth the risk to contact them. She wasn't sure how she was going to get there, or what she was going to do once she did, but... Somehow, she would get there and find a way to free her cousin. Nev would have done nothing less for her.

The next morning, Ben went through the market one last time hoping to find Sam, and had to hold down a growl of frustration when he came up empty. He'd gone to the alley she'd sent the latest text from. She'd left nothing behind except that signal and vanished like smoke. He was disappointed, but not surprised she hadn't left any further clues for him to follow. Although why had she let them trace it at all, if she'd turned it off before they found her? She'd asked for help, he'd answered by telling her they would if she came in, and then hadn't heard anything back. Why was she still running?

It bothered him that she'd disabled the tracking device. It smacked of subterfuge. Since he knew firsthand how good she was with electronics, he had to assume she hadn't done it by accident. They were dealing with one smart lady.

He and Davis had been out here for hours now, trying to find any sign of her, but so far they'd both come up empty. Why wouldn't she have just come to the TOC, or called one of them to meet her and escort her there? Why all this paranoia, unless she was guilty? Even Rhys didn't have an answer for that, and he had an answer for everything. Almost always the right one, too, which annoyed the ever living shit out of Ben.

His phone beeped. He snatched the thing from his belt and waited for the text message to show up. The digital display hit him like a punch.

Will come in. When and where? S.

Thank
Christ
. Letting out a relieved breath, he dialed Rhys back at the TOC. “Hey,” he said when his brother picked up. “Sam just texted me. She's going to meet me. Can you trace the signal so I can find out where the hell she is?”

“Just a sec.”

Watching a robed woman pass with three youngsters in tow and a baby on her hip, Ben could hear the keyboard clicking away in the background. His gaze darted around. Come on, he thought. Just one break.

“Got it. Ready?”

“Yeah.” Yet as Rhys relayed Sam's location, Ben's heart started to pound. “Christ, I'm about two blocks from there,” he said, already running in that direction. The market was crowded, slowing him down, but once people saw him coming wearing a tense expression they made room real fast. He had to find Sam before she took off and got lost in the sea of people. Surveillance and counter-surveillance were two of his specialties, so if she was out here, he'd find her eventually.

Dodging a truck full of fruit, he tore around the last corner and scanned the alley where she'd sent the text from. No Sam.

Swearing, he whipped down to the next intersection and searched up and down the street. He caught sight of a woman struggling as a man dragged her into a waiting car. His heart hammered. She was the right height, the right build to be Sam, and it was too much of a coincidence she would be accosted in that location. Then she screamed. In English.

“
He-e-elp
!”

“Sam!” he yelled, but she couldn't hear him.

She flailed against her attacker, but he manhandled her toward the back of the vehicle. Fear for her made Ben's stomach knot.

“Jesus.” He sprinted down the street, trying to get the license plate as the man shoved her into the backseat and the car took off. Davis’ voice came through the earpiece in his left ear. “I see them. Pursuing on foot.”

Ben kept running, praying he'd catch up at a light, and hit speed dial to contact Rhys. A cab wouldn't help him in this traffic— he'd spend most of the trip sitting at lights. So he kept running. “Track this plate number,” he panted and recited it, thighs burning as he raced after the car. “They've got Sam.”

Rhys’ voice was calm and steady. “Her phone is still transmitting a signal.”

“What?”

“I said— ”

“I heard you.” He moved like a blur, thighs pumping. When would Sam have had time to turn it on? Not in the middle of being abducted. She must have enabled it before. He lost sight of the car as it turned the corner and sped away. Ben stopped, trying to catch his breath. If she'd left her phone on, it meant one of two things. She'd either activated the tracking device intending to contact them but had just been abducted in broad daylight and needed his help ASAP, or she'd deliberately lured him this far and arranged it beforehand, then put on a show for his benefit because she knew damn well he'd try to help. Which meant she was leading him into a trap.

Both options were bad, but he'd rather take the risk of being jumped than leave her with whoever had just taken her. He couldn't abandon her if there was a chance she was innocent. Ben kept going. If it turned out she was trying to get him killed, well...

They'd find out he wasn't an easy target. And then he'd deal with Sam himself.

By the time the car slowed and turned into a driveway, Sam's whole body was shaking. Cold sweat dampened her armpits and her breath shuddered in and out. The man who'd grabbed her off the street pulled her out of the car and up the walkway of a sand-colored middle-class looking house with an iron security gate. The driver followed and shut the door behind them with a thud.

The man had taken her gun, first thing after she'd been shoved onto her face in the backseat. He'd searched her bag too, but left her phone in it. That meant the transmitter was still on. She prayed someone was following the signal right now.

Sam glanced around the bright, elegantly furnished rooms, looking for a way out. Were they going to kill her? The man jerked her arm higher up behind her back, and she sucked in a breath at the jolt of pain in her shoulder, automatically going up on her toes and moving forward to lessen the pressure.

“Sit there,” he said, giving her a shove.

Sam dropped into the leather chair and kept her eyes glued on her two abductors. What were they planning to do to her? They stood near the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across their chests, their expressions bored, like they did this every day. She took a quick glance around, noting the sliding glass door that led out to some sort of patio.

You're crazy. They won't let you get two feet before shooting you through the heart.

Well she wasn't going to just sit there, was she?

“Miss Wallace.”

She swung her head around as another Iraqi man appeared from the stairway. He was maybe in his sixties, with a round face, a short salt-and-pepper beard, and eyes dark as a shot of espresso. He sat across from her, his manner relaxed and not the least bit threatening. Still, her stomach tightened. What did he want from her, and what was he going to do to get it?

“I have a message for you.”

Oh God.

Trying to stop trembling, she pulled herself up straight and gave him her best glare. “Let me go. Right now.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling as though she amused him. “You shall leave after I deliver the message. There is no need to fear, so long as you do not repeat it to anyone else.”

Like hell there wasn't.

“No one here will hurt you. I am merely the messenger.”

Right. Did he really think she would believe that? Sam raised her chin, narrowed her eyes. She'd be damned if she'd let them see her cower like a frightened animal. “So what's the message?” It didn't come out quite as demanding as she'd have liked.