Only the newcomer wasnt Lee. It was al-Jihad himself.
The terrorist leader stood silhouetted at the cave mouth, a lean, dark figure whose presence was significantly larger than his physical self.
A shiver tried to crawl down the back of Faxs neck but he held it off, determined to brazen out the situation and keep himself in the killers good graces. Gesturing casually toward the woman, he said, Shes all set. Want me to go help Lee with the other guards?
Al-Jihad moved past him without a word, gliding almost silently, seeming incorporeal, like the demon he was. Crouching down beside the womans motionless, blood-spattered body, he touched her cheek, then her throat, checking for a pulse.
Fax forced himself not to tense up, reminded himself to breathe, to act like the cold, jaded killer Abbys betrayal had made him into. Only the thing was, something had changed inside him. Hed been playing the role of convict for so long itd become second nature to hold the persona within the prison, but he found he was in danger of slipping now that they were outside those too-familiar walls.
Hell, face it; hed already slipped. There was no rational reason for him to jeopardize his position by faking the womans murder. The ampoule of the death-mimicking meds hed tucked into a false, X-ray-safe compartment inside one of his not-quite-prison-issue shoes was supposed to be a safety net, a way for him to fake his own death if the need arose. Similarly, the GPS homing device hed activated and placed in her coat pocket was supposed to be used only if he thought he was in imminent danger of being killed, and wanted to make sure Jane could find his body.
Sure, hed also planted a message on the woman, information he needed to get to Jane. But he couldve gotten the info to her in other ways, ones that wouldnt have used up so much of his dwindling bag of tricks.
So why had he gone all out to save a woman whose name he knew only because hed palmed the ID tag off her scrubs?
Reaching into his pocket to touch the plastic tag, which read Chelsea Swana lovely name for a lovely womanhe thought he knew why hed endangered himself and his mission for her. It was the freckles. Abby had had freckles like that, back when theyd been high-school sweethearts, before hed done his stint in the military, blithely assuming things would stay the same while he was gone.
Back when Abbyd had freckles, their biggest problems had been arguments over which movie to see, or which radio station to play as theyd tooled around town in his beat-up Wrangler with the soft top down. Eventually, though, shed outgrown her frecklesand him.
Chelsea Swan reminded him of those earlier times. Good times. Times that might as well have happened to someone else. But because they hadnt, and because she looked like the sort of person who ought to have more good times ahead of her, hed dabbed blood over her scalp and face to simulate a head wound, and hed used his meds to make her body play dead.
Question was, would it be enough to save her?
Al-Jihad stood without a word, and gestured for Fax to return to the vehicle. Go help Lee.
Fax stayed tense as he followed orders, fearing that al-Jihad was playing him, that the bastard knew what hed done and was teasing him with the illusion of success. But the terrorist leader returned to the van a few minutes later, and on Faxs next trip into the cave, he saw that Chelsea remained just as hed left her.
He and Lee finished unloading the other bodies, opening up each of the bags so the scent would attract scavengers, in hopes that theyd deface the bodies, further complicating forensic analysis when the dump site was eventually found. At least that was the terrorists theory. In reality, the homing beacon would have Janes people on-site in a few hours.
Once the job was done, Fax hung back in the cave.
Move it, Lee snapped when they both heard an impatient horn beep from the direction of the road. The copsll get the roadblocks up soon.
Im right behind you, Fax said. But as the other man hustled down the trail, Fax stayed put.
Moving fast, he pulled the jacket and heavy sweatshirt off the dead morgue attendant, and packed them around Chelseas limp body. When that didnt look like itd be enough, he whispered, Sorry, and pulled the attendants still-warm corpse over her as added insulation. It was too cold and her vitals were too depressed for him to worry about niceties. If Jane took too long to respond, Chelsea could freeze to death.
Hopefully, though, Jane would send someone right away. The responding agent could then administer the counteragent to the death-mimicking drug, collect the GPS beacon and info pellet Fax had planted on Chelsea, and phone in an untraceable tip that would lead the locals to the location. The agent would undoubtedly also reset the scene, making it look as though her survival had been accidental rather than intentional.
With no way of knowing where al-Jihad had eyes and ears, they had to be careful not to make it obvious that the terrorist had a traitor among his small crew.
Just hang on for a few hours, Chelsea, Fax said quietly, his words echoing in the cave. Help should be on its way soon.
Then, knowing hed done the best he could for her, he paused at the cave mouth and looked back at the six bloodied bodies, five of which werent going to wake up ever again.
Collateral damage, he murmured. Uncharacteristically, he found himself regretting that he couldnt have saved the others, hadnt even tried. And, as he walked into the sunlight, he found himself wishing that he believed he was going to live long enough to see pretty Chelsea Swan again, under better circumstances.
But as soon as he caught himself thinking along those lines, he squelched the emotions.
There was no room for softness around men like al-Jihad, and Fax had a job to do. That took priority, period.