Jeff scowled as the beautiful, raven-haired CIA officer huddled in her airplane seat, hugging herself. He poked his head into the cockpit long enough to snarl a destination at the pilots, and then he fell into the seat across the aisle from his rescuer.
He couldnt believe shed shot at the Ethiopian Army on his behalf. Hed been sure when shed pulled out her gun it was with the intent to kill him. He would never forget grim determination in her eyes as she had shoved him out of harms way. As if she could actually protect him from anything. It was laughable, really. But her impulse sent a ripple of warmth through his gut, nonetheless.
Bad idea to think about his gut. He became aware of the pain ripping through it until he was nearly crazed with the hellish agony consuming him. It took every ounce of willpower he possessed not to scream aloud.
Buckle up, he gritted out at the woman.
Her hands shaking so badly she could barely follow his command, she managed to get the seat belt fastened around her lap. He followed suit, although he highly doubted it was necessary in his case. Probably not worth finding out the hard way, though.
He threw his head back, closed his eyes and gave himself up to the ever lurking, ever patient pain. Just a little while longer. Hed almost made it home. Soon. Soon hed be able to give his body what it so desperately cravedwhat every last cell was begging for, and would keep begging for, until the pain drove him mad or killed him.
Doc Jones would fix him up, though. Hed finally get some relief from the beast consuming him from within. And then maybe the beautiful woman beside him would quit looking at him like he was some kind of monster.
A groan escaped his throat.
Jennifer watched surreptitiously as the man across from her moaned in what sounded like tortured agony. He thrashed about, and she prayed he didnt accidentally stick his fist through the window beside him. He looked strong enough to do it.
Under normal circumstances, she might try to assist him. To hold his limbs down gently so he didnt hurt himself in his apparent delirium. But the idea of laying her hands on the monster across the aisle was repellent, not to mention terrifying. She had no intention of coming within arms length of him. At least not without a taser on its highest setting in her hand.
She eased her cell phone out of her pants pocket and dialed a phone number quickly. She spoke in a bare murmur, I have the American prisoner, but El Mari is dead.
Navy Commander Brady Hathawayhe supervised military operations run out of H.O.T. Watch while she was in charge of all civilian intelligence operations in the surveillance facilityexclaimed in surprise. What the hell happened?
Rich Boy got away from his guards and all but tore the Ethiopians head off with his bare hands. Who is this guy?
A shocked pause was her only answer. Then Hathaway replied, I have the same file on Winston that you do. Private prep schools. Harvard math undergrad. Masters in microbiology from MIT. Jet-set lifestyle since collegebeaches in Monaco, skiing in St. Moritz, fast cars, yachts, beautiful women. Classic spoiled, rich kid.
He violently murdered a man tonight. What the heck am I supposed to do with him now?
I wouldnt bring him back to the States. Our extradition treaty with Ethiopia will get him sent right back there to face murder charges, and I dont think that would make Leland Winston very happy. Go ahead and take him to Paradise Island for debriefing like we planned. Meanwhile the powers that be can sort this mess out.
Paradise Island also had the advantage of being close to the volcanic island in the Caribbean that housed the H.O.T. Watch facility. Normally, Paradise was a private getaway for H.O.T. Watchs staff when they needed a break from their high-stress jobs, but it occasionally doubled as a debriefing site.
Brady spoke again. Ill do some more digging and see what I can find on your prisoner.
She caught a flutter of the Americans eyelids. Awake, was he? Well, then. She murmured aloud in a theatrical whisper, News flash. I think I may be the prisoner.
What? Brady squawked.
A quick movement made her look up sharply. It was the American. Holding out his hand expectantly, calloused palm up. The veins in his wrist were big and prominent. But then she already knew the guy was incredibly strong. It took tremendous strength to break a mans neck the way he had.
Without answering her colleague, she laid her cell phone in Winstons outstretched palm. She stared in shock as he crushed the thing in his fist, the plastic case shattering and the metal motherboard nearly folding in half.
No doubt about it. He thought she was the prisoner.
She forced herself to look him in the eye. She expected to see the same wildness from the road, the same murderous madness. But the blue eyes that stared back at her looked reasonably sane. At least for now. Was the guy schizophrenic or something?
Why did you kill El Mari? she ventured to ask.
He was an animal. A butcher.
That was almost comical coming from him. She thought back frantically to her hostage training. Her best bet to stay alive was to get on this mans good side. Convince him she was a person with thoughts and feelings, and not some object to be crushed like her phone and cast aside.
Would you like me to get that collar off of you? she asked.
Surprise flickered momentarily in his cobalt gaze. Maybe even a hint of warmth shone there. The American was becoming more human by the second.
He slid out of his seat and knelt in the aisle beside her, offering her the back of his neck. Temptation surged to clobber him as hard as she could across the base of his skull. Except she wasnt at all sure she could hit him hard enough to knock him out. And if she failed, hed do the same to her that hed done to El Mari. Or worse. Memory of his ridiculously muscular body smashing hers flat flashed through her mind. She shuddered.
Nope, her best bet was to befriend this psychopath for now.
She laid her hands on the buckle, but jerked them back when the American groaned in what sounded like intense pain.
Continue, he ground out.
What had the Ethiopians done to him? They must have tortured him brutally for even her lightest touch to hurt so badly. Ill try to be gentle, she murmured, but this buckle is really stiff.
The thick leather was almost too rigid for her to undo. But finally, the tail of the buckle gave way and slid free of the metal. The collar fell away from him. She kicked it toward the back of the plane in disgust. No matter how crazy this guy was, nobody deserved to be treated like an animal. His neck was raw and bloody where the collar had been.
Let me get the first aid kit and clean up your neck. That must hurt.
One corner of his mouth turned up sardonically. She wouldnt exactly call it a smile. The distant relative of one, maybe. It was a start, though. As gently as she could manage, she swabbed the raw flesh ringing his neck. As the filth surrendered to her gauze pads and peroxide, his dirt blackened skin took on a pink and mostly human hue. She worked her way around to his heavy, dark growth of beard. She estimated he hadnt shaved in several months.
How long were you in Ethiopia? she asked.
He shrugged. Not the talkative type. Or maybe hed just gotten out of the habit. If hed been in solitary confinement for a while, he might not have had much opportunity for conversation with other humans. In her experience, once freed, such prisoners either wouldnt shut up at all, or they became intensely taciturn like this man.
How long were you in Ethiopia? she asked.
He shrugged. Not the talkative type. Or maybe hed just gotten out of the habit. If hed been in solitary confinement for a while, he might not have had much opportunity for conversation with other humans. In her experience, once freed, such prisoners either wouldnt shut up at all, or they became intensely taciturn like this man.
Jefferson Randall Stanley Winston. The name didnt fit him at all. He ought to be called something like Gorilla Man. Or Jungle Giant. She snorted. Or Sasquatch.
Aloud, she asked, Did the Ethiopians hurt you?
He frowned as if he wasnt exactly sure how to answer that.
She rephrased, Did they torture you?
In a manner of speaking.
What the heck did that mean? Care to elaborate?
Nope.
She tried a different tack. Your grandfather arranged for your release. Hes been very worried about you.
That elicited a completely indecipherable grunt from him. Could be disgust, could be gratitude. No way to tell. Sheesh, talking to this guy was like conversing with a brick wall. Okay, Plan C. Where did you tell the pilots to take us?
He didnt even bother to acknowledge that one.
Ohh-kay. Do you have any other injuries that need tending? she tried.
He made a noise that might almost be a snort of humor.
She gave up. If he wanted to talk, he would clearly do it in his own time and on his own terms. Normally, she would get a man like this a good meal, let him take a shower and sleep a little, and then shed sit him down and debrief him on what exactly had happened to him. But how she was going to get this guy to talk was a mystery to her.
She watched him through slitted eyes as he leaned back in his seat once more and seemed to all but pass out. Exhaustion, maybe? Except it looked more like he was bearing incredible pain in stoic silence. What was up with that?
What was up with everything about this man? What in the hell had happened to him?
Chapter 2
Just a little while longer. The plane would land in Bermuda where hed told the pilots to go, and he would finally get the drugs his body was screaming for. And then, blessed relief. The pain would recede. It never went away entirely, but it would retreat into tolerable background noise. Until then, though, his entire skeleton ached as if every bone in his body was shattering into a million pieces. To call it excruciating didnt even begin to do it justice.
He was no doubt scaring the hell out of the woman across the aisle, but he was in too much pain to care. A need to do violence, to lash out against the agony eviscerating him from the inside out, nearly overcame him. He clenched his fists until he feared he might break the bones in his hands.
Finger by finger, he forcibly unfolded his hands until his palms pressed flat against his thighs. He could do this. He could survive this nightmare. Just a little while longer.
The womans eyes popped open as the sound of the engines changed pitch and the plane began its descent into Bermuda. Leland had a beachfront mansion there where Jeff could stay. More importantly, Doc Jones could fly there with his drugs relatively easily. He envisioned the hilly island in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean bristling with gracious, white stucco homes. He had good memories of summers there as a kid. It would be nice to be surrounded by familiar things again. It had been a long time. The past few years had been pretty crazy, culminating in the disaster in Ethiopia.
The plane bumped onto the runway and a groan escaped from between his tightly compressed lips, in spite of his best effort to restrain it. It was probably a perfectly fine landing, but even the lightest jarring sent daggers shooting throughout his body.
He glanced outside as the airplane came to a stop and frowned. Heavy tropical jungle? Since when did Bermuda have such vegetation? Alarmed, he surged out of his seat.
A pair of ominous, metallic clacks froze him halfway out of his seat. He looked toward the cockpit where both pilots, grim-faced, pointed heavy-gauge pistols at him. A glance to his right showed that the woman had joined them in aiming her sidearm at him.
Well, well, well. The lady had teeth, after all. Reluctant admiration coursed through him. Unfortunately, his soft tissue was as susceptible to lead as the next guys. He subsided in his seat cautiously.
Welcome to Uncle Sam Airlines, Mr. Winston, the woman bit out. We do not necessarily fly the Friendly Skies. This is my plane and my crew. And you are my prisoner, not the other way around. Is that understood?
She had guts to stand up to him like this. Hed be amused if he wasnt hurting so damned bad. But the prospect of having to wait even longer for his drugs threatened to swallow him in panic. He was out of strength to hold on. Out of endurance. Out of time.
With a roar, he surged up out of his seat. But the woman was surprisingly fast. She ducked down the aisle and out the door before he could lay a hand on her. One of the pilots passed her something as she raced by the cockpit, but he couldnt see what it was.
He followed her outside and came up short as she aimed a double-barreled shotgun at his chest. Her black gaze, leveled at him down the length of the weapon, was lethal. What little sanity he had left recognized death in her eyes. He pulled up short.
Need us to restrain him, maam? one of the pilots asked from the doorway of the plane.
Her gaze remained locked on him. She spoke slowly, as if she doubted his ability to understand her. He supposed he couldnt blame her for that. Lets establish a few rules of engagement right up front, shall we, Mr. Winston? If you will give me your word of honor that you will not harm me in any way, I will swear not to sedate you or physically restrain you. But, if you break your word, I will not hesitate to do the same. Nor will I hesitate to kill you if it becomes necessary. Is that clear?
Crystal, he answered wryly.
Do you give me your word? she demanded.
He studied her curiously. She was a courageous woman to face him like this. But, then, she probably didnt realize exactly how courageous since she had no idea who he waswhat he was. I give you my word.
Say it. What do you swear?
Another wave of pain slammed into him and he ground out from between clenched teeth, I give you my word I will not harm you.
She spoke to the pilot still hovering in the door. If youll off-load my bag for me, Captain, Ill let you be on your way.
Are you sure you want us to leave, maam? We can stay here until more backup arrives to, uhh, help.
No. The two of us will be fine. We have an understanding. I need you to go.
Jeff wasnt sure whether to be complimented that she trusted his word of honor or to despise her naïveté.
All right. The pilot sounded deeply doubtful. Smart man.
The woman stood statuelike and continued to point the shotgun at him as her bag thudded to the ground, the jet behind them cranked up its engines and taxied off. He glanced away from the woman and her shotgun long enough to watch the white jet accelerate down the runway and lift off into the afternoon sky.