Ruthless Game (23 page)

She saw his jaw harden. His eyes went so bleak and cold she shivered. There were depths to Kane she didn’t know yet. He looked unyielding, but he took a step toward her, wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck, forcing her to step into him. She smelled him, that faint masculine scent that was all outdoors and predator. The scent enveloped her. Her heart skidded to a halt and then began to pound. He lowered his head and took possession of her mouth.

Her body, of its own accord, melted into his. She felt every single weapon imprinted on her skin, but most of all, she felt the explosion of heat from his mouth to hers. Fire raced down her throat and entered her bloodstream, melting her from the inside out. When he lifted his head, she stared at him a little dazzled, uncertain what to think or even how to think.

“Get the baby ready to leave. Follow the tunnel to the end and check out the Humvee in case we need it. Pack supplies and everything warm you can for Sebastian. Choose weapons we both can handle with as many rounds of ammo you can find for them. Don’t forget water.”

“What are you doing?”

“Whatever is necessary. You’re a soldier. Figure it out.” He turned and left her standing there, her heart pounding.

There was no arguing with him. She recognized that now. He’d been malleable and sweet, but only up to a point. Kane had his own brand of honor, and no one—not even her—was going to deter him when he felt he was right. She should have known. She recognized a dangerous man when she saw one, and she had chosen him in part because he was dangerous—she knew if she got away from Whitney, Kane would fight with his last breath to keep her safe. Now that she’d seen what that entailed, she couldn’t very well be angry at him.

She ran to the door, stopping him right before he opened it. “Kane.”

He turned to look at her with his piercing, implacable eyes.

“Be safe. Come back to us.”

“No worries, sweetheart.”

Kane flashed Rose a smile and slipped out into the night where he belonged. There was freedom in darkness. He was born to rule the night. He looked up at the night sky. Stars were everywhere, and he could see the thick swirling ribbon that was the Milky Way. The tight knots that had developed when Rose argued with him unraveled, and everything in him settled. This was his world. He was familiar with it, comfortable in it. This was where he belonged.

Now that he’d made up his mind, there was no hesitation. Rose couldn’t live with Fargo’s actions, and that meant both Carlson and Fargo died tonight. Carlson had to go first, because no matter how good a soldier Rose was, she was first and foremost his woman, and that meant he protected her whether she liked it or not. That was the biggest part of his personality, and she’d better understand it wasn’t going away because she was a capable—even brilliant—soldier. He would never knowingly expose her to danger and certainly not a week after she’d given birth.

He shook his head at the peculiarities of women. He would never understand Rose, not if they lived together a million years, and he could see that she was having the same problem understanding him. Was it like that with all men and women? Or just men like him? He could be a first-class bastard if the situation called for it. He didn’t have a lot of experience in relationships. He’d avoided entanglements until he’d seen Rose looking at him through her window. She had become his princess in the tower, and he was the white knight to the rescue.

Kane began to run, the easy, steady pace he could keep for hours if need be. He was familiar with the terrain now, having gone over it three times in every twenty-four-hour period for a week. He knew every boulder and shrub. He knew every patch of saw grass and the dark, rich patches that indicated an underground source of water.

He approached the enemy camp from the south, staying downwind. He could see a faint light but couldn’t see the source immediately. Dropping lower, so as not to skyline himself, he slowed his pace, moving with stealth as he stalked his prey. The overpowering stench of blood hit him as he reached the top of the slope overlooking the base camp.

Carlson and Fargo had tucked their camp between slopes, enabling them to have a fire when they wanted to, as well as shelter. Unless you came right up on them, the site was impossible to see. Empty bottles were strewn around on the ground. This was no soldier’s encampment, rather it looked like a couple of men enjoying a vacation.

Great globs of blood left a trail in the sand, dark, obscene smear marks that led toward the faint flickering light. An agonized scream, animalistic, impossible to identify, sent chills down Kane’s spine. He’d seen men tortured and had been on the receiving end a time or two and knew that sound. Laughter rang out, then the low murmur of a voice.

“Hey, don’t die on me. It’s going to be a long night before the real entertainment gets here. You’re helping me out, suffering for a good cause and all. A little pain is good for the soul. I need something to make me feel good. My little whore of a woman is about to have another man’s baby, and I’m pissed.”

The terrible squeal came again, more animal than man. The sound made the hairs on Kane’s neck stand up. The stench was awful. Carlson was a sadistic bastard. If torturing a man—or an animal—made him feel better, something was seriously off about the man.

A part of Kane had actually felt a little sorry for him. He knew what it was like to crave Rose, to think about her night and day, to dream of her when he managed to close his eyes and nothing—no one else—was going to sate the ever-present hunger for her body. Kane knew he could have sex with hundreds of women, and none of them would ever satisfy him again. He’d accepted that premise when he’d signed on to be paired with her. Had Carlson had a choice as well? It didn’t matter now. All that mattered now was stopping the son of a bitch.

He dropped even lower, topping the slope. Rocks surrounded a small fire. A makeshift rack made of two thick sticks with a third suspended between them hung just to the left of the fire. Two coyotes hung there, still alive, panting and shuddering in pain. Blood dripped steadily into a dark, blackened pool beneath each of them. A crude arrow protruded from each body.

Carlson had obviously done this many times. Neither arrow had struck anything vital but had incapacitated the animals. A third coyote lay stretched out in front of Carlson, pinned through his body with a circular wooden stake. The animal continually tried to crawl away, only to be held back by the stake. Every movement had to be causing excruciating pain. Carlson crouched over the animal, poking at it with a knife. Several patches of fur were missing. If the animal bled too much, he cauterized the wound and waited a few minutes to start again. Clearly he was skinning the animal alive.

He poked the coyote again and laughed harshly when the creature snapped at him, the air, and finally his own leg. “I can’t have you trying to bite me, now can I?” Carlson murmured. “I wonder what will happen if I just take this one eye right here?” He plunged the tip of his knife into the flames and waited until it was glowing hot.

Sickened, Kane eased himself into a good position and put his rifle to his shoulder, finger on the trigger as he took aim. As Carlson leaned in to take the coyote’s eye, Kane shot him through the back of his neck. It was a kill shot, pure and simple, and Kane didn’t miss. He shot the coyote, putting him out of his misery, and then shot the other two that were hanging, waiting to be tortured.

He eased his body back and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d run across a few sadistic men in his time, but this man had all the makings of a killer. He was practically bathing in blood. Did Whitney know? Had he delved into Carlson’s background? If he had, he would never have allowed this man to create a child with Rose. Whitney wanted soldiers. Men loyal to their country. Men willing to fight for a cause, not kill indiscriminately.

He had to cover his tracks, leave the body where it lay, so Whitney wouldn’t be able to know for certain who had killed his man. Whitney wouldn’t hear from either of them late the next evening, and he would send a team to collect Rose.

Kane took care of his rifle first, as always, and then blew sand across his tracks as he made his way back toward town. Once away from the actual camp area, he didn’t worry about his tracks. He began to run, using his steady, ground-eating pace. Fargo had a good head start on him and he would be moving fast, wanting to kidnap a woman while it was still dark and get back to camp before anyone was the wiser.

He worried about leaving Rose and the baby alone for so long while he covered the miles to the town. The sand seemed to stretch in front of him forever. He had a good sense of direction, but without a GPS or the stars, he might have had a difficult time locating the town. He expected to overtake Fargo. His entire unit was abnormally fast runners, even in full combat gear. Few could match them. He definitely should have caught up with Fargo.

The fact that he never came up on the man meant either of two things: Fargo had taken a different route, or one of his gifts was his speed. Whitney had enhanced their physical capabilities by playing around with their DNA—something that was never part of the original contract for psychic enhancement. Had he done the same to his soldiers, even knowing they were psychologically flawed?

Kane swore softly, swerving to find a dark patch of richer sand and dirt so he could crouch low and give it some thought. If Fargo had already made it into town, it would be stupid to follow him. There were too many ways the man could slip past him in such a wide-open desert. He swore again as he cast back and forth for signs that someone had followed this route into town. It was the most direct route, and he couldn’t imagine that there was any reason for Fargo to take any other.

If Fargo managed to slip past him and make his way back to the base camp, he would find Carlson and the dead coyotes. “Damn it!” he said aloud. If he’d just done what he thought was best and stayed with Rose and the baby, waiting for Carlson to make his move, he would know she was safe. As it was, he had no hope of finding Fargo in the vast desert.

The only thing left to do was to return to the base camp and hope he beat Fargo to it. Why in the hell had he ever allowed Rose to persuade him against his better judgment?

Resolutely he turned back and began to trot across the rolling sand. He’d have to stake out the camp. The unfortunate woman Fargo returned with would have to be dealt with after the fact; it couldn’t be helped. He couldn’t prevent Fargo from grabbing her, but the man wouldn’t have a chance to use her unless he took the time to stop along the way. And was he going to force her to walk across the desert?

Kane stopped abruptly. No way would Fargo do that. He had to have a vehicle somewhere, which meant ... He groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. What the hell was the matter with him? Of course they had someone in town. Whitney would have sent at least one, possibly two to back them up, to watch over them. He
expected
them to screw up. He was documenting everything in his microworld of experimentation of the human spirit. Who was watching the watchers?

“Stupid, stupid mistake,” he hissed between his teeth and set out running back to Rose.

He didn’t have to worry about burning himself out with running for miles. His lungs and heart were made for running. He covered the ground fast, not bothering to look for Fargo. They were in trouble, no doubt about it, and the only concern was to get out of the trap they were in.

As he neared the subterranean house, he used telepathy.
Rose! Answer me now. Are you okay? Have you been attacked?

The lag time before he felt her stirring in his mind seemed forever. His mouth went dry and his heart pounded, not from the run, but from very real fear. Was he too late? Had someone already attacked the house?

Everything’s quiet here, Kane. What’s wrong?

Inside the kitchen I’ve been constructing a baby seat for Sebastian. It’s as good as we can get for his protection. Did you get the supplies into the Humvee like I told you?

Of course.
She was obviously on the move, he could tell by her voice and the distraction.

Rose dragged on her jacket and a belt loaded with weapons and ammunition, put the baby in a front pack, and caught up her gun.
I’m dressed and have the baby. Going into the kitchen now.

Kane circled the house and continued on toward the back entrance where the tunnel emerged.
I’m clearing the back, so don’t shoot me. Get the baby secured, put the weapons where I can easily reach them. You’re the driver. We’re going to blast out of there and hightail it away from the town back toward the border.

We’re you able to free the woman?

Of course she would be asking him that. She’d been a prisoner, and had he not accepted Whitney’s proposal to be paired with her, eventually they would have forced someone on her. She didn’t want another woman to suffer at the hands of a brutal man. He couldn’t blame her, but right now, he had to think about Rose and Sebastian.

No, Fargo had too big a head start.

He could feel her in his mind, quiet. Thoughtful.
If Fargo reached town and more than likely went to a bar to drink, that’s where he’d grab the woman. But how was he planning on getting her back to his camp?

Oh yeah. That was his woman. Intelligent all the way. Fargo sure wasn’t going to be dragging a woman across the rolling hills for miles. He would have a vehicle, one that was more than likely stashed for them when they had to go into town for supplies. Diego Jimenez had done that very thing, keeping his truck in a garage just waiting for him.

Kane answered her the only way he knew how, with the truth.
I think Whitney has at least one man observing Fargo and Carlson. He expected them to fail. He put all their weaknesses right in front of them. Booze. Women. You. That’s what Whitney does, Rose—it’s what amuses him. He finds a man’s weakness, and he exploits it to see if he can put him in situations that force him to either succumb to the weakness or overcome it.