“You can’t leave me behind!”
“I can and I will, if I have to break your neck to keep you from following me.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” His voice was flat, unemotional, but even in the darkness she could see the faint flicker in his eyes. She looked behind her, at the crumpled body of the pot smoking soldier, his head at an odd angle, his eyes open and staring.
“Oh, God,” she whispered, horrified. What had seemed a strange kind of nightmare was suddenly, terribly real. “Did you kill him?”
“No, the tooth fairy came along and took care of him.” He stared down at her for a long moment, and she wondered whether he was thinking about how easy it would be to break her neck. He wasn’t the kind of man who was troubled by moral qualms.
And then he turned. “Come on,” he said. “Keep up, do what I tell you, keep your mouth shut, and if you lag behind I’ll leave you.” He was already moving down the narrow path again, so fast that her words of gratitude were eaten up in the night air. She took one last look at the dead man lying in the dirt, and on impulse she leaned down and closed his eyes, making the sign of the cross as she’d seen Father Pascal do. She wasn’t Catholic, but doubtless the dead man had been, at least in the early part of his life, and she could give him some brief benediction before she took off into the night after his murderer. All the while wondering if she was trading danger for outright disaster.
Right then, she
didn’t care.
So what the fuck was he doing, taking her with him? He’d always been a bleeding heart. Isobel Lambert would laugh if she saw him now. Except that if she knew, he wouldn’t be here.
If Dylan and Froelich got the message they’d probably be waiting for him down by the bridge. They should have managed to sneak out hours ago, as soon as they saw the sign he left. The Guiding Light knew that neither of them were much of a threat – they didn’t have the cojones to try to escape. But the so-called rebels didn’t realize that Finn MacGowan would do almost anything for money at this point, reverting to survival mode and throwing all his idealist crap out the window. It was a dog eat dog world. So why had he told the bitch she could come along?
Maybe it was that simple. He wanted to get laid, and she was there. He was saving her life – she owed him, and he knew he could collect. She was pretty enough, from what he could see in the almost moonlit night, though right now he’d fuck any female between the ages of twenty and sixty who wasn’t a nun. Which wasn’t a given. She hadn’t given him a direct answer earlier.
“You’re sure you’re not a sister?” he tossed back at her, his voice little more than a growl on the night air.
She was closer than he thought, making decent enough headway on the steep hill. “I’m an only child.”
Stupid, he thought. “I’m asking if you’re a holy nun.”
“I told you, I’m not a nun, holy or otherwise.”
Okay, she met the criteria for fuckable. “Then what are you doing in this hellhole?”
“I’m an aid worker. Volunteer.” Her voice only wavered slightly.
“And what stupid-ass organization sent you into a war-torn country with a history of kidnappings?”
He heard her hesitation. “The Pennington Foundation.”
He snorted in disgust. “So you bought your way in here? You got a death wish, lady?”
“I wanted to be somewhere I could make a difference.”
“Doesn’t seem like you made much of a difference with Carlos there. He’s planning to rape you any which way to Sunday, and I’m thinking he’s been dreaming about it for a long time. You could at least have cut your damned hair.”
“What’s wrong with my hair?” She sounded bewildered, which pissed him off even more.
“You’re a baby in a nest full of rattlesnakes. Don’t you know any better? Blondes are prime targets. In fact, that’ll be a fucking beacon if anyone trains a light in our direction.” He pulled the grungy kerchief from around his neck. He’d washed it out in a nearby stream any number of times, but that didn’t make it any cleaner. He turned, and she almost barreled into him.
He caught her before she smacked right into him, grabbing her by the arms. It had been thirty-four goddamn months, and he didn’t need her any closer. “Here,” he said, shoving the kerchief into her hand. “Cover your goddamn hair.”
“Is everything goddamn and fucking?” she said in her cool voice as she tucked the kerchief around her head. “This thing doesn’t have bugs, does it?”
“Bugs are the least of your problems. I’m in a bad mood. After you’ve been here a while you’ll know why everything is goddamn and fucking. Are you sure you’re not a fucking nun?”
“Not a holy one, not a fucking one,” she said. “I’m a teacher.”
“Christ,” he muttered.