plan was to reach the rendezvous point and radio his contact to pick them up. If he couldn’t reach the site, he’d call in a bypass so the truck would drive on without alerting the terrorists to the location.
Whitney’s delays had already endangered the mission. Soon he would be left with plan B. Instead of bringing MacNair’s daughter home, he’d simply keep her alive until a second rendezvous could be scheduled.
If she didn’t screw that up, too.
“This is the time to run.” Gambling their lives on her cooperation, he released her and scooted to the farthest end of the rocks. “Stay right behind me.” She was already clinging to the back of his jacket when he turned to give his next command. “Don’t fall down.”
Ignoring the questioning look on her face, he took her hand and sprang to his feet. Keeping low to the ground, he sprinted for the trees, drawing Whitney along behind him. After only a few steps she extended her legs to match his stride, and Vincent quickly realized he had no need to compensate for her speed. She very nearly outdistanced him.
They had barely reached the cover of the trees when the alarm sounded.
“Rashid!”
Three shots fired, followed by a rapid discussion shouted back and forth in Chilton’s native language.
Inside the treeline, Vincent shifted directions and headed up the mountain. He felt the jerk of Whitney’s arm at the sudden alteration of course. But within moments she fell in step beside him again. The confusion and shouting from the cabin bought them precious seconds.
He found the path he’d marked earlier. It led to a boarded-up mine shaft. The slope steepened by several degrees and Vincent leaned forward to take the climb without breaking his pace.
“Where are we going?” Whitney’s breathy query broke the frantic sound of stamping feet and scrabbling bits of gravel breaking loose to roll down the incline behind them.
He released her hand to leap across a three-foot-wide crevasse that split the path. He paused and turned, waiting for her to make the same jump. She balked at the other side. Her chest rose and fell, breathing deeply, in time with his own strained breath.
Vincent swore as she planted her hands at her hips and demanded a response. “I asked where you were taking me.”
He had no time to explain his plan. He spared her an answer before turning his attention back to the zigzagging climb to the top of this crest. “Away from Chilton.”
They were at least ten minutes out. He had to cut time somewhere. He hit the trail at a faster pace. He heard her make the leap behind him. Good. She was moving.
“That’s not much of an answer.”
“Don’t talk. Save your breath.”
A heavier tread in the underbrush below them caught their attention. Chilton’s men had found their trail.
“Is that—”
“Move it.”
He went back to grab her hand and pull her along at his speed. They doubled back on a hairpin turn and her slick-soled riding boots slipped on some loose gravel. She went down hard on her knees and left hand. With his help, she quickly regained her footing. A spot of creamy white on her pant leg indicated she had ripped her jeans, and probably cut her knee in the process.
But with Chilton closing in, they had no time to stop and play doctor. “Hang in there, Ms. MacNair.”
He wasn’t a big one for encouragement, but he needed her to keep up. The brightness of the moon worked against them in the woods. Its iridescent light created deceptive shadows that assailed them from all directions, playing havoc with Vincent’s own internal compass. But Chilton’s men had no such handicap. The beam of their flashlights bounced through the trees, illuminating leaves and rocks and even their path like all-seeing eyes.
But the mine shaft should be close now, almost straight above them. Yes.
Changing his strategy, Vincent spun around and retraced their last few steps. He pulled out night-vision goggles from his jacket pocket and slipped them over the top of his head. He had the original trail memorized, could probably find it with or without a light. But covering new ground required he be able to see.
He went back to the steep sheer slope that went straight to the top of the plateau. Looking up, he saw that a few small trees managed to cling to the rocks. And traces of abandoned birds’ nests indicated tiny ledges and crannies in the rock itself. About twenty feet to the top. The drop-off below them was another hundred feet or so. But with Chilton’s men closing in, he decided they had little choice.
Whitney tugged at his jacket and pointed to the swaying lights coming up the path. “Hello, spaceman. Bad guys coming.”
Vincent wrapped his hands around her slender waist and lifted her off the path.
“What are you doing?” He set her toes on a four-inch ledge, and she automatically grabbed hold of the tree root in front of her face so she wouldn’t fall. “Romeo?” Her voice held hardly any tone, an indication of her shortness of breath. He’d pushed her hard and she’d hung in there with him.
He was about to push her harder.
“Climb.”
With his greenish night vision through the goggles showing him the way, Vincent guided Whitney’s hands to the sturdiest grips, and slowed his pace to make the climb beside her.
He changed his grip to her shoulder to keep her from moving when Chilton and his men ran past directly below their feet. Chilton shouted orders in his native tongue and his two men responded with clipped words and phrases. The terrorists continued up the winding path that took them farther away from their position. They’d reach the top about the same time, but Vincent would be closer to the road. That still left him with a slight advantage.
He urged Whitney to resume the climb. “Do you know what they’re saying?” she asked.
Damn, but the woman loved to talk.
“Chilton doesn’t want you dead.”
“That’s nice.”
He didn’t want her dead yet. Vincent didn’t share what other promises of violence Chilton had in mind for her in the meantime.
“He wants me dead, though.”
“Not so nice, hmm?”
A third of the way from the top she slipped. The root she clung to began to peel away from its thin layer of dirt. Vincent nabbed her by the wrist to keep her from falling. She cried out in pain, but quickly turned her face into her upraised arm to muffle the sound.
Vincent bided his time while she hugged the rock, alternately wanting to hurry her along and to ask what he’d done to hurt her.
“Whit?” Maybe by now she was too weak and too frightened to answer.
After a moment she wrapped her fingers around a more secure grip and pulled herself up to the next ledge. When they reached the end of the steep shortcut, he hoisted himself up and over to the top of the plateau. He was winded from the exertion, but reached out to pull Whitney up beside him.
She rolled over the top edge and curled into a ball, her energy totally spent. Her breathing came in shallow gasps that echoed in the night air. He needed to quiet her down. Chilton’s men would be close now. But when he knelt behind her and touched her shoulder, she winced. She pulled her hands into her waist and curled up even tighter, making it impossible for him to assess her condition.
“You are injured.” She clearly needed time to rest if she was to go any farther. He listened for the sound of Chilton’s men in the distance. He could give her a minute. “Stay here.”
A nearby break in the trees hid the entrance to the boarded-up mine shaft. Vincent pried off a board at the bottom and tossed it aside. He reached in and pulled out the black nylon duffel