He ran with his charge in his wake, telling himself the others were safe. He wouldn’t know for certain until they reached their own helicopter several miles away and entered coverage zones where he could communicate with them.
For now, he could think only of getting T. J. Burke to safety.
Ten minutes later, he felt secure enough to turn his senses back to the man. Burke was keeping up with him. The rhythm of his feet said he was running faster than Harres to make up for the difference in the length of their legs. So not only an agile and ready fighter, but in great shape, too. Good news. He hadn’t been looking forward to hauling the guy to the sand car if he collapsed. But it was clear there was no danger of that. Burke was pacing himself superbly. No gasping, just even, deep inhalations and long, full exhalations.
And again something…inexplicable slithered down Harres’s body as those sounds seemed to permeate the night, even with his own ears being boxed by the wind. The sensation originated from somewhere behind his breastbone and traveled downward, settling low, then lower.
He gritted his teeth against the disturbance as they reached his sand car. He jumped inside the open-framed, dune-buggy-style four-wheel vehicle. “Get in behind me.”
Without missing a beat, Burke slid behind him on the seat, spread his legs on either side of Harres’s hips, plastered his front to his back and curled himself around him as if they’d been doing this every day.
A shudder spread through Harres as he revved the motor. In seconds, he was hurtling the sand car over the dunes, driving with even more violence than the urgency of the situation dictated.
He drove in charged silence, catapulting the car over dune edges, crashing it in depressions, spraying sand in their wake and pushing the engine to its limit. With every violent jolt, the man’s arms tightened around his midriff, his legs grabbing him more securely, his cheek pressing deeper into his back until Harres felt they’d been fused together.
His breath shortened by the moment as the heat of the man’s body seeped through every point of contact, pooled in his loins.
Adrenaline. That was what it was. Discomfort. At having someone pressed so close, even in these circumstances.
Yes. What else could it possibly be?
In minutes, the crouching silhouette of his Mi-17 transport helicopter came into view. It was the best sight Harres had ever seen. He’d not only managed to reach their way out, but now he could get the man off of him.
He screeched the sand car into a huge arc, almost toppling it before bringing it to a quaking stop by the pilot’s door.
He wrenched Burke’s hands from his waist and leveraged himself out of the car in one motion. The man jumped out behind him, again with the stealth and economy of a cat, then waited for directions.
He took in details now that his vision was at its darkness-adapted best. With his windswept golden hair and those iridescent eyes, Burke looked like some moon elf, ethereal, his beauty untouched by the ordeal—
His beauty?
“Jump into the passenger seat and buckle yourself up.” He heard his bark, knew all his aggression was directed at his insane thoughts and reactions. “I’ll stuff the car in the cargo bay—”
The crack of thunder registered first.
Second, comprehension. A gun’s discharge.
The shock in the man’s eyes followed.
Last, the sting.
He’d been hit.
Somewhere on his left side, level with his heart. He had to assume not in it. He didn’t feel any weakening. Yet.
Someone had slipped his men’s net, had managed to sneak up on them. This could be the last mistake he ever made.
He exploded into action, charged the man to stop him from taking cover. They had no time for that.
He shouldn’t have worried. Burke was no cowering fool. He was bolting to the helicopter even as more and more gunshots rang around them. He now knew the shot that had connected had been random. That was no sniper out there. That still didn’t mean whoever it was couldn’t hit a huge target like the chopper.
In seconds they were in their seats and Harres had the monster of a machine roaring off the ground, levitating into the sky.
He pressed the helicopter for all the altitude and velocity it was capable of. In less than a minute he knew they were too far for anyone pursuing them on foot or ATV to even spot anymore.
Only then did he let himself investigate his body for the damage it had sustained. It had no idea yet. All it reported back was a burning path traversing his left side back to front just below his armpit. Flesh wound, he preferred to assume. Maybe with some bone damage. Nothing major. If no artery had been hit.
But the idea of losing blood too fast and spiraling into shock gave way to more pressing bad news. The chopper was losing fuel. The pursuer had hit the tank.
He eyed the gauge. With the rate of loss, the fuel wouldn’t take them back to the capital. Nor anywhere near the inhabited areas where he could make contact with his people.
He had to make a detour. Head for the nearest oasis. At fifty miles away it was still four hundred and fifty miles closer than any other inhabited area. The inhabitants hadn’t joined the modern world in any way, but once he and Burke were safely there, he would send envoys on horseback to his people. The trek would probably be delayed by a sandstorm that was expected to cut off the area from the world soon, a week or two during which his brothers and cousins—the only ones who knew of his mission—would probably think him dead. When weighed against his actual survival, and that of his charge, that was a tiny price to pay.
His new plan would be effective. Land in the oasis, take care of any injuries and contact his people. Mission accomplished.
Next minute, he almost kicked himself.
Of all times to count his missions….
The leaking fuel wasn’t their only problem. In fact it was their slighter one. The damage to the navigation system had taken this long to reveal itself. The chopper was losing altitude fast. And there was nothing he could do to right its course.
He had to land now. Here. Or crash.
He turned to Burke urgently. “Are you buckled in?”
The man nodded frantically, his eyes widening with realization. Harres had no time to reassure him.
For the next few minutes he tried every trick he’d learned from his stint as a test pilot to land the helicopter and not have it be the last thing he did in his life.
As it was, they ended up crash-landing.
After the violent chain reaction of bone-powdering, steel-tearing impacts came to an end, he let out a shuddering breath acknowledging that they had survived being pulverized.