Because of his recent wounds and undoubted pain, Leah insisted they take regular breaks to rest. He didn’t argue, but gave away his tension by regularly pushing a button on his watch to check the time. She didn’t bother asking how long they’d been on their way, and he didn’t offer the information. The day’s stresses had caught up with her ages ago—and if she found out that was really only half an hour ago, she might scream—but really she was grateful to be so tired; she couldn’t do any concentrated worrying. She just followed in Spencer’s wake, knowing at least that she wouldn’t tumble into another hole unless he did first.
The ground was soft and uneven, though. Squishy in places, more from the depth of the moss and decomposing organic matter. They clambered over and walked around fallen trees, some that might have come down last winter, others already rotting and serving as nurse logs for saplings. In some of those places faint rays of moonlight found them, and she glimpsed tiny distant stars. Much of the time enormous trees reared above them, blocking out the sky. She had a vague memory of Uncle Edward talking about some true old-growth forest close by and wondered if that was what this was.
It might be, because at some point the walking became easier since they weren’t having to fight the ferns and salmonberries and who-knew-what that scratched and tripped them. The darkness was almost absolute, the boles of standing trees enormous. Not that the ground didn’t remain uneven, the extreme dark hiding obstacles that would cause Spencer to growl under his breath before he helped her around or over them.
She walked right into him when he stopped.
“I’m beat,” he said. “I suggest we get on the other side of this log and try to sleep a little.”
Since she was very close to sleepwalking, Leah thought she could do that. And she knew Spencer must be dead on his feet to actually admit to needing a rest.
They had to go around this time. Taking her hand, he guided her. The trunk must have been six or eight feet in diameter. Even decomposing, it reared above her head. On the back side, he advanced slowly before stopping, seeming to feel his way. “This looks as good as anyplace.”
Looks? She couldn’t see a thing, but she wasn’t about to quibble, either.
Once she’d squatted and then plunked down, she tried very hard not to think about what insects inhabited a rotting log. Would there be snakes around? Not poisonous ones, she was pretty sure. Her hand bumped something that sort of...crumbled. Recoiling, she made out a lighter shape against the dark backdrop of loam and moss. Mushrooms. Now, those could be poisonous, but she didn’t plan to eat one.
She heard a groan as Spencer carefully lowered himself beside her. Oh, heavens—she should have helped him. Given the possibly broken wrist, he wouldn’t lean any weight on that arm, and the gash in his thigh had to hinder him.
Too late.
“God, this feels good,” he said after a minute.
“Uh-huh.” Except she felt herself listing sideways until she came up against his big, solid body. “Can we lie down?” She was slurring.
“We can.”
They shifted, she squirmed, he wrapped her in his arms and they ended up prone. He spooned her body from behind. His arm made a perfect pillow. Her eyelids sank closed, she mumbled something that was supposed to be “good night” and fell asleep.
CRADLING THIS WOMAN he suspected he loved, Spencer wasn’t as quick to drop off to sleep.
When things went to shit, it happened fast.
If not for the damn fight, he’d be in a lot better physical shape and thus more confident that he and Leah would make it safely out of this densely wooded, uninhabited forest. If he’d had even ten or fifteen minutes’ warning, he could have filled a pack with food, first-aid supplies, flashlight and more. As it was, they were screwed if either of them so much as developed blisters on their feet. His boots protected his ankles, while Leah’s athletic shoes were fine for walking, but wouldn’t keep her from turning an ankle.
They just about had to move during the daytime rather than at night even though they might be spotted. Especially given their physical condition, they had to be able to see where they were stepping. In fact, they were lucky no disaster had already occurred with them blundering around in the dark.
He cast his mind back to that brief encounter with Dirk. Spencer had had no idea he’d been seen pocketing the key. If it had been anybody but Dirk...if Dirk had told Higgs, or when he saw Spencer at the Jeep had opened his mouth and yelled... No point in going there now.
He hoped Dirk had kept his mouth shut and did find a way to take off.
His thoughts jumped again.
How the hell had that idiot Fuller stumbled on the photo?
He actively tried not to be photographed. With the press sticking their noses in everywhere, he’d been unable to completely evade them given that he had to testify in court. Most outlets were good about not publishing those pictures, but he knew of a couple that had made it into newspapers or TV news stories. There were undoubtedly more online. In fact, the one Tim Fuller had described in Leah’s hearing had to be one of those.
His ascendancy in Higgs’s estimation had rubbed Tim, in particular, wrong for months. But had he made mistakes that gave away his law-enforcement background? Spencer shook his head slightly. He had no idea, and at this point that was irrelevant. Permanently irrelevant, if he declined to go undercover again.
Tim had to have sensed/heard/seen something to make him do that kind of online prowling. Or, hell, had he contacted a friend who was more of a computer wizard? Maybe, Spencer concluded.
For all that things had gone to shit, he and Leah had made their getaway and, right now, were fine. They wouldn’t starve to death in the next two or three days.
The tricky moment would be when they had to approach a road.
He nuzzled Leah’s silky hair and let sleep claim him.
HIS BODY’S DEMAND awakened him before Leah had so much as moved. In fact, it didn’t appear either of them had made any of the restless shifts in position normal to sleepers. Her head still rested on his biceps; he still spooned her.
He’d have enjoyed the moment if he didn’t need to empty his bladder, and if his body wasn’t reporting multiple other complaints. His shoulder ached, his arm was stiff, his wrist felt broken, his thigh throbbed and his whole left side was on fire. In a general way, he felt like crap. What if he was coming down with a cold or the flu?
Stuffing a groan back down where it came from, he gently shook Leah. “Time to rise and shine.”
She whimpered, stirred and whimpered again. “I’m stiff. Although I don’t know why I’m whining. You’re the one who is injured.”
He didn’t say so, but he dreaded getting up.
Leah did get to her hands and knees, then to her feet. She suddenly said, “I need—” and bolted for a nearby tree.
Since he’d rather she not see him dealing with his infirmities, he got up, too, in slow increments. Water or no water, he was taking one of those damn pills. Just as she reappeared around the tree, he shuffled toward a different one.
There, he used the facilities, then did some stretches before returning to Leah.
“Turns out GrubHub can’t find us to deliver that Denny’s breakfast,” he said. “Guess we’ll have to do without.”
Her smile rewarded him. “There are berries ripe, if we can find a clearing.”
“Stumble on one, you mean.”
“At least we can see.”
That was an improvement, he’d concede.
He started out. He got the pill down, but was left with a foul taste in his mouth. Walking loosened muscles, and the pill did some good, too, but he felt as if someone was stabbing his thigh with a red-hot poker. All he could do was block out what he couldn’t change and go on.
By the time sunlight made it to the forest floor, it was diffuse, soft, even tinted green-gold. He still had to watch carefully for the best places to set down his feet, which made for slow going. Common sense did battle with a sense of urgency; what if finding out they were being dogged by the FBI inspired Higgs to launch an early attack?
Helplessness didn’t sit well with Spencer, but practically, there wasn’t a damn thing he could do to prevent any immediate action Higgs took. He doubted a bomb had actually been built, but the debacle during the Boston Marathon had demonstrated how much damage could be done by really primitive bombs. He was afraid Ken Vogel, with his bomb squad experience, could put together any number of lethal explosive devices even without input from a budding physicist with an interest in nuclear fission.
Until he got his hands on a phone, he had no way to alert his office that the operation had blown up on him.
Then focus on the moment. Except for my aching body. Best not to think about that.
Deciding it was time for a short break, he spotted a moss-covered rock more or less the right height to let them sit.
Once they did so, Leah looked at him with worry in her eyes. “What do you think they’re doing?”
“Right now?” He checked his watch. “Struggling upriver to the wreck. That’ll take them at least a couple of hours from the best place to leave vehicles.”
“And then?”
Trust her to echo his concerns.
“I think there are two logical options for Higgs. One is to pack up and leave, probably have the others disperse until he can line up an alternate place for them to train. The other is to go for an immediate attack.”
“Immediate?”
“Once he realizes we’re on foot, he may decide to have the men hunt us for a day or two. Catching us would solve their problem with timing.” He didn’t have to say, executing us. “Otherwise, he could pull together a plan for an attack that might not be quite as spectacular as he intended, but those rocket launchers alone give him the firepower to threaten a gathering of politicians or even the president himself.”
“You know him. Which is more likely?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Dispersing. He likes the pieces to fit together. He’ll want the big bang, so to speak. To accomplish that, the attack was to take place on a lot of levels. Bomb or bombs, rocket launchers, snipers picking off counterattackers or survivors trying to get away. Maybe even sending in a squad of men who don’t have the range to be snipers to mow people down.”
Leah looked more horrified by the minute. “That’s why he wanted you.”
“He needed a sniper to train others. That’s what I was doing.”
The urgency tapped on his shoulder, and he rose to his feet. “I’ll stiffen up if we stop for long. Let’s get going.”
They continued in silence, Spencer straining to hear any sounds unnatural for the forest. Every now and again, a bird would flit by, most unidentifiable, a few common enough he recognized them, like the crow and later a jay, although that had unfamiliar coloration. They weren’t plagued by a lot in the way of insects. Mosquitoes and even flies would prefer moist areas, butterflies open meadows with flowers. The rotting logs were no doubt rife with crawly things, centipedes, sow bugs and the like. Nothing that stung, as far as he knew.
And, on a glass half-full note, it wasn’t raining. He knew from experience that rain wasn’t uncommon here even in July and August. Some water to drink would be welcome; in fact, thirst was increasingly making itself known. But getting wet and having to keep going, pants chafing their legs, even socks soaked, that could be miserable.
“I hear something,” she whispered.
He stopped and cocked his head. Speak of the devil. That had to be running water.
He turned, held a finger to his lips and progressed with even greater care. The small stream they found took enough of a tumble over rocks to have caused the delicate rippling sound. A deer that had been drinking saw them and bounded away.
“Oh, my.”
“This water will likely make us sick,” he told her, dredging through his memory. “Giardia is the problem, as I recall. If we could boil it...”
She wrinkled her nose. “No stove handy.”
“Nope. I don’t think symptoms will catch up with us for at least a week or two.” He hoped that recollection was accurate. “We’ll need to ask for treatment once we have a chance to see a doctor.”
If she doubted that time would come, she didn’t comment.
Spencer splashed his face to cool it, and wished for a water bottle, too.
If wishes were horses...
His head had begun to throb. He debated taking the last pill now versus waiting, deciding on the latter. He might need it more come morning.
LEAH’S STOMACH GROWLED. She pressed a hand to it, hoping Spencer hadn’t heard. He had enough to worry about, and given the toll his injuries took, he needed fuel for his body even more than she did.
He’d gotten quieter as the day went on, too. Pain tightened his face whenever he didn’t remember to hide it. The flush she saw on his lean cheeks above dark stubble made her more uneasy. Even with all the willpower in the world, pushing himself to get back on his feet as soon as he did couldn’t have been good for his recovery. She’d known all along that his risk of infection was high. She’d been able to don sterile latex gloves, and the gauze, scissors, needle and suturing material were sterile, too. Unfortunately, the blade of that black-handled knife Joe had used on him wasn’t. Then there were the dirty shirts used to stem the bleeding. This was an awful time for the infection to appear. Dumb thing to think—was there a time that would have been good? If only there’d been antibiotics in that first-aid kit, or Spencer had stocked them along with the pain meds.
He was capable of going on with a fever, at least for now, Leah convinced herself. But what if they hadn’t found their way out of the wilderness two days from now? Three?
He did go on, and on, hours upon hours, until her thighs burned and she’d quit thinking about anything but the next step. She’d thought of taking the lead but decided against it. With Spencer in front, he was more likely to stop when he needed it, while she might misjudge his stamina.
Just then Spencer stopped, Leah stumbling to a halt just before she walked into him. Blinking, she realized the light had changed without her noticing, deepening into purple.
“We risk getting injured if we continue in the dark,” Spencer said, his voice rough. “I’m sorry we didn’t come across any berries.”
She took the hand he held out. “Going without for a day or two isn’t that big a deal. Isn’t fasting supposed to be good for you?”
“I’ve read that. I’m not convinced.”
“Me, either.” Studying him anxiously, she said, “I should look at your wounds while there’s still some light.”
“Why?” He let her go and lowered himself to another mossy piece of ground with a few pained grunts he apparently couldn’t hold back.
“Why? Because—” She didn’t finish.
“I’m not sure we even dare wash the wounds out in a stream,” he said wearily. “What if that introduces different microorganisms into my body? And, in turn, I’d be introducing bacteria into the stream that might be deadly to fish or mammals downstream that drink out of it. What’s more—” he continued inexorably “—we have no supplies to rewrap my wounds and especially my ribs.”
The ribs might be hurting him more than anything, she realized. The binding did offer some support. Yes, she could tear her T-shirt into strips, say, but the knit fabric would be too stretchy to provide the same kind of support.
“I’m sorry.” She sank down beside him. “I wish I could do something.”
“I’ll be okay. I just wish—” He shook his head as if regretting having said that much.
“Wish?” Leah prodded.
“I was sure I’m not leading us astray.”
“Short of your watch converting into a compass, I don’t see how you can know. You’re not Superman, Spencer.” Then she stopped again and frowned. “Why am I still calling you that?”
“You don’t have to.” With a sigh, he rolled his head. “But I might not answer to Alex.”
“Really?”
He managed a smile. “No, I’m kidding, but I’ve even been thinking of myself as Spencer. It’s like... Do you speak a foreign language?”
“I’m pretty fluent in Spanish.”
“You think in it when you’re speaking it, right?”
“Yes.”
“When I go undercover, I immerse myself to that extent. I’m not Special Agent Alex Barr. I am Spencer Wyatt. I can’t slip.”
“I can see that,” she said slowly, even as she wondered how he could possibly do that. He’d said something once about not being sure who he was anymore, and how he’d done things, bad things, he didn’t name. Not raped women, she felt certain. If he’d beaten men to death, or shot them, she believed he’d had adequate provocation.
Apparently losing interest in the subject, he said, “I think I’d like to lie down.”
He let her help him, which said a lot about his condition. He encouraged her to join him, and soon they were curled up together. As the temperature dropped with nightfall, he had to be cold on top of everything else—unless he was burning up, of course. Leah rubbed his bare arms and lifted his hands to her skin beneath her sweatshirt. That he didn’t protest told her how lousy he felt.
She kept thinking about a man who’d spent—she didn’t know—much of the past several years, at least, undercover with violent fanatics who wanted to remake the country into their twisted ideals. She hadn’t heard any slurs from him, as she had from some of the other men, but he must know all the right things to say to allow him to blend in.
How jarring it must be to return to his real life, whatever that was. An apartment? How homey was that, when it stayed empty for months on end? He presumably had no pets, he’d said he wasn’t close to family and she didn’t believe he had a girlfriend or fiancée waiting patiently for him. Spencer Wyatt—no, Alex Barr —wasn’t the kind of man to make promises to one woman and have sex with another.
Feeling him relax into sleep, she thought, I do know him. Of course I do.
He’d been willing to give his life for her. That said enough about him to erase even fleeting doubts.
Hunger pushed off sleep for another while, but she was exhausted enough to drop off eventually.
Waking suddenly, the darkness unabated, she lay very still. What had disturbed her...? The answer came immediately. A wave of convulsive shivering seized Spencer. His back arched and his teeth chattered before he could clamp them shut.
Terrified, she realized there wasn’t a single thing she could do except hold him, and keep holding him.