Code of Honor

Chapter Thirty-one

“Pat them down,” Jones said to whoever was behind Cam.

The gun barrel in the small of Cam’s back shifted away, and someone quickly and efficiently checked her legs and torso for a backup gun, then did the same with Dunbar.

“They’re clean,” a gruff male voice announced.

“Out the back.” Jones gestured toward the kitchen with her Glock as Cam and Dunbar walked toward her with another militiaman right behind them. She pushed open the kitchen door, and a redhead who didn’t look more than twenty, dressed in combat gear and carrying an assault rifle, pointed them down the aisle of a long, narrow kitchen.

The bartender lay face down on the floor in front of a chipped cast-iron stove. Cam couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. Beside her, Dunbar weaved unsteadily. “Can you make it?”

“I’ll make it,” Dunbar said through gritted teeth.

They proceeded in single file out the back, across the rickety porch, and down three wobbly steps to the lot behind the tavern. Mounds of dirty snow ringed the small parking area.

“Into the woods,” Jones said from behind Cam, and they followed the redhead up a shallow embankment to what looked to be a twisty deer trail wending into the trees, the snow trampled flat by the passage of many hooves. Neither Cam nor Dunbar was dressed for hiking. Dunbar slipped on the snowy slope, and Cam grabbed her to keep her from falling.

“I’m all right,” Dunbar said, but her face was as white as the surrounding snowpack.

Cam had no doubt if they were forced to leave Dunbar behind, the militia would dispose of her, and she had no intention of letting the agent fall. “You’ll make it.”

They stumbled through towering, dense pines for twenty minutes, as near as Cam could estimate. Perhaps half a mile. No wonder she hadn’t seen any signs of an ambush. They hadn’t come by the road. Two others, a man and a woman, fell in with them en route, automatic weapons at the ready. They made no attempt to hide their faces, which meant they planned to execute their captives when they were no longer of any strategic value, or they were confident their stronghold was unassailable.

Eventually they emerged into a small clearing where a Humvee awaited. A huge Dumpster with a sign reading Caution, bear feeding area took up the rest of the space. They’d walked into the back end of what was probably a campsite, almost certainly deserted this time of year. The redhead opened the rear of the Humvee and motioned them in. Cam half lifted Dunbar into the compartment, and she collapsed against the sidewall instantly. Cam pulled off her topcoat and threw it in before climbing in after her. Two of the four kept their weapons trained on them until Jones came around the side and climbed into the backseat. As soon as she knelt on the rear seat with her weapon trained on them, the others piled in, and the Humvee pulled away.

“I want to look at her wound,” Cam said.

Jones appeared to deliberate.

“She’s of no value to you dead.”

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” Jones said in her persistently casual tone, “because I really don’t want to have to kill you.”

“What do you want?” Cam asked, gripping the neck of Dunbar’s sweater in both hands and pulling hard. The material frayed around the bullet hole, and she was able to tear the material enough to see the wound. An entrance wound the size of a quarter in Dunbar’s upper arm bled slowly. A larger ragged exit wound high on the back of her shoulder streamed copiously.

“I just want you to keep us company for a few days,” Jones said. “Until we can trade you in.”

Cam looked over her shoulder. “For Jennifer Pattee?”

Jones smiled. “You’re quick.”

“Now that I see you in person, the resemblance is clear. Sisters?”

Jones’s mouth hardened. “She’s one of ours. That’s all that matters.”

“Got a med kit in this truck? Letting her bleed out is not going to serve any purpose.”

“She’ll keep for a while.”

Cam unbuttoned her shirt, stripped it off, and folded it into a makeshift field dressing. She pressed it firmly to Dunbar’s shoulder. “Can you hold pressure on this?”

“Yeah,” Dunbar said, gripping the shirt. Her eyes were glazed, but she was sitting up under her own power, which was as much as Cam could hope for.

Cam’s T-shirt wasn’t much of a barrier to the cold, but she leaned back against the side of the Humvee and folded her arms, contemplating Jones. She couldn’t be much older than Pattee, and she had the same burning fervor in her eyes as her sister. They had to be on the way to the compound, and once they got there, their options would be limited. But they’d be better than they were right now, with a zero chance of escape. Cam settled down to wait. They’d be missed soon enough. Discovering their location in the heart of this wilderness might be more problematic.

*

Loren hadn’t slept, replaying her conversation with Sky over and over. She should have insisted on providing backup. She should have kept her mouth shut about her feelings—as if Sky had given her any reason to think how she felt mattered, anyhow. Sky had come to do a job and that was what mattered, all that mattered to her. They’d gotten into their roles, sure, and why not? No rule against physical attraction, or acting on it, for that matter. But Loren was the one who’d lost sight of reality. Maybe she’d been living in a shadow world so long, she couldn’t tell the difference any longer.

And now Sky was out there alone.

She’d tried drowning her self-recriminations in a long hot shower, but as soon as she’d finished, she’d started watching the clock. She’d expected Sky to call an hour ago. No matter what was going on between them, Sky was a professional, and she would’ve kept Loren in the loop. When she didn’t call, Loren got dressed, climbed on her bike, and rode to Sky’s motel. Sky’s rental car wasn’t there. The meet had been almost three hours before, and Sky should’ve been back by now.

Loren straddled her bike, the engine rumbling, and considered options. She couldn’t call Sky on the phone in case the meet had gotten complicated and she was in the middle of something. She could use the number she had to reach her handler in event of trouble, but she figured that number would go to Sky as well. She had a backup number she’d never used, but she suspected that would go to Sky’s task-force partner. She’d try him if she didn’t hear from Sky soon, but first, she’d take a look for herself. She wheeled her bike around and headed for the Timberwolf Bar and Grill.

*

Sky shut her eyes and fought to keep the nausea at bay. The throbbing in her shoulder accelerated into a gut-wrenching stab of pain every time the Humvee hit a bump, which was every other second. Her head spun and her mind kept sliding away into a gray fog, where time morphed into one long trail of agony.

“How are you doing?” Loren asked.

No, not Loren.

Loren was gone.

Loren had said…she’d said…why had Loren walked out, left her?

“Dunbar,” the voice came again, sharper. Command voice.

Sky opened her eyes. Cameron Roberts’s eyes were winter gray, hard as ice. Sky’s blood surged, her mind cleared. “I’m a little fuzzy,” Dunbar said in a whisper.

“Let me check the wound.”

Roberts lifted the makeshift bandage from her shoulder. She was gentle but unflinching.

“Looks like the bleeding is slowing. How’s your hand?”

Sky flexed her fingers. The movement propelled searing shock waves through her arm. “Not so good.”

“Numb?”

“I wish.”

“That’s good, then. The nerves are okay.” Roberts pressed the folded shirt, soggy now with blood, back against her shoulder. “Keep holding. And I need you to stay awake.”

“I will.”

Roberts settled back beside her. Sky concentrated on staying awake. She had to stay awake, because if she didn’t, they’d get rid of her and Roberts would try to stop them. She wasn’t going to let that happen. She had to hang on. Couldn’t let them use her against Roberts. Had to protect the mission, protect Loren.

Loren would miss her. At least Loren wouldn’t know where to look. At least she’d be safe.

*

Cam estimated they’d been riding an hour when the Humvee bounced off the highway onto an uneven trail. The windows were smoked and she couldn’t see much outside, except that they were in a dense forest. They appeared to be climbing, and the Humvee was cold. Beside her, Dunbar shivered. “I’m going to get my coat and put it around her.”

“Slowly,” Jones said.

Cam pulled her topcoat over Dunbar. “You with me?”

“Yes,” Dunbar said. “Better.”

“Good.” Cam settled back, and ten minutes later the Humvee stopped. Jones kept them in her sights while the others piled out. The rear door opened.

“Climb out,” Jones ordered.

Cam helped Dunbar down from the vehicle and jumped out beside her. The camp was dark. All she could make out was a ring of buildings with a few lights showing through windows here and there. There could be a hundred militiamen in the place, or ten.

Jones appeared beside her and motioned to the left with her gun. “That way.”

“If you’ve got a field hospital, she—”

Jones kicked Cam behind the knee and she went down, barely managing to catch herself before she fell flat. Small stones cut into her palms. Jones crouched beside her.

“You’d do well to worry about yourself.”

“If you expect to trade us,” Cam said, slowly pushing to a kneeling position, swallowing her rage, “it would probably be a good idea to keep us healthy.”

“I didn’t say I was going to trade both of you.”

“I don’t take you for a fool, and two hostages are always better than one.”

Jones pushed the barrel of her Glock under Cam’s chin until Cam had to lift her neck to ease the pressure. “And you might be wiser to stop giving orders. You’re nothing here. You’re no one.”

Cam remained silent. Jones seemed rational, but she didn’t want to push. What she needed was to remain as unfettered as possible, and antagonizing her captors would not accomplish that. She needed to get a sense of the physical space, of how many militiamen were billeted here, and find a way to communicate with someone she trusted. And she had to keep Dunbar from becoming a casualty. “You’re calling the shots here. I just want to get her some medical help.”

Jones stood. “Take them to the infirmary. Put a guard on the door and outside the windows. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Cam got to her feet, satisfied she’d won a small victory. Dunbar needed attention, and as long as they were together, she had a better chance of keeping her alive. And she’d learned that Jones could be reasoned with.

The infirmary turned out to be a single-story building little bigger than a garage, with two narrow beds, a single window above them, and a locked cabinet against one wall that probably held supplies. Their guards ordered them to sit on the beds. Dunbar slumped down facing Cam across the narrow aisle. Dark shadows of pain and fatigue rimmed her eyes, but her gaze was remarkably clear. She was tough. The guard by the door was a woman of about thirty with short blond hair and flat green eyes. She held her weapon with easy familiarity and regarded them with cold disdain. Cam considered rushing her and estimated she’d be wounded or dead before she reached her feet.

A few minutes later, Jones walked in, strode to the gray metal cabinet, unlocked it, and removed a field pack. She tossed it to Cam. “You should know what to do with this. Go ahead.”

“Lie down,” Cam said to Dunbar, who looked as if she was going to resist. “Go ahead. We need to get this cleaned up before you get infected.”

Dunbar lay back against the thin pillow, wincing as she angled onto her right side so the wounded shoulder was elevated. Cam opened the field pack on top of the plain metal table that stood between the two beds. The guard kept her weapon trained on her while she worked. Jones stood at the foot of Dunbar’s bed, her arms crossed, watching. Cam cut Dunbar’s shirt up to her shoulder and peeled it back from the wound.

“Do you have any local anesthetic?” Cam asked.

“If we did, I wouldn’t waste it on her.”

“Go ahead,” Dunbar said, the muscles around her mouth tight with strain. “I’ll be fine.”

Cam opened the Betadine pack and pulled out the swabs. “I’m sorry.”

Dunbar’s jaw clenched as Cam carefully cleansed the entrance and exit wounds, but she didn’t make a sound. Cam paused, giving Dunbar time to breathe. “I’ll have to clean inside the track to make sure there’s no foreign material from your clothes in the wound.”

“I know.”

Cam soaked the last swab in the remainder of the antiseptic and carefully worked it into the wound. Dunbar went rigid, her neck arching, sweat trickling down her temples into her dark auburn hair. Finished, Cam discarded the swabs, applied clean gauze, and wrapped a circular bandage around Dunbar’s upper arm. She leaned back on her heels and looked at Jones. “What about antibiotics?”

“Maybe, if you cooperate,” Jones said.

Cam rose. “What do you want?”

“The name of someone with the power to make decisions and get me what I want. Someone who isn’t afraid to break rules.”

Cam almost smiled. “Lucinda Washburn.”