“Greg, this place isn’t an impenetrable fortress, it’s a shoddily guarded illegal refinery. We can save—”
“You are my wife!” He cut me off with a harsh whisper. “If they capture you and dig at all they’ll find out you’re ex-CIA.”
I could only stare at his outline as I tried to rethink my strategy, find a way to maneuver around his unexpected reticence.
But before I could find the right words, he continued, “I’m not sacrificing you for strangers. I wouldn’t sacrifice you for the Dalai Lama or the Pope or Steven Hawking. Those old enlightened wankers can fend for themselves, as can the others. We’re leaving. Now.” He reached for my hand, apparently his strength returning in full force.
“You wouldn’t be sacrificing—”
Greg turned me, backed me against the wall, and placed his hand over my mouth, his voice—though still a whisper—deepened. “Fiona, nod yes or no. Is there anything I can say to change your mind about rescuing the other hostages?”
I couldn’t see his eyes, just the shadowy silhouette of his large frame and unshaven jaw hovering over me.
I shook my head no, because there was nothing he could say to change my mind. I was confident—more than confident—we had a clear shot out. I needed him to listen to reason.
His hand slipped away from my lips and his voice was angry, tight when he next spoke. “Okay. You said the east side is clear. But how do we transport eight people?”
“There’s a trail through the jungle, a straight shot north to the main road. It’s only six miles.”
He leaned back a few inches. “You have a weapon for me?”
I withdrew the SIG DAK from the back of my belt and handed it to him, hilt first, along with two additional magazines.
Greg snatched my offering and paced away from me toward the small sheath of light in the center of the room. He checked the chamber and placed the extra magazines in his back pocket. “What about you? What are you using?”
“I have a SIG X-Five and—”
“I didn’t hear any shots.”
“No, I didn’t use it. Drew lent me one of his prototype dart guns. I’ve been using that so far.”
“A dart gun?”
“Yes, it’s for subduing bears and other large game. I equipped it with livestock-grade Ketamine.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Again, Drew. I flew out of Knoxville. Everyone thinks I’m in Tennessee visiting Ashley.”
He nodded once and stalked back to me. “So you’ve been drugging the guards?”
I shrugged, shifting on my feet, feeling antsy. This could all wait. We needed to get moving. “Knocking them out then drugging them, yes. It’s fast acting, they’ll be out for hours. But we need to—”
“Let me see it.” Greg tucked his DAK in the back of his pants and held his hand out between us.
“Greg.” What the hell was he doing this for?
“Give it to me.”
I huffed as I withdrew the petite apparatus from the holster at my thigh and handed it over, trying not to growl my impatience. “Why are you stalling?”
“How does it work?” He turned it over in his hands, angling it toward the light, giving me his profile.
“It has a chamber for three darts.” I pointed to the cylinder where the darts were housed.
“Only three?”
“Yes. Like I said, it’s a prototype. I’ve used seven and have ninety-three more rounds in my hip holster.”
“It’s safe? They’ll wake up?”
“Yes, it’s safe.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Greg. I’m sure. Now we need to get going.” I reached for the prototype and he held it away, out of my grasp.
“How do you fire the dart?”
“You have to be close, and it has to hit a major artery if you want it to work quickly. Otherwise it can take up to a minute. Like I said, I’ve been knocking them out then administering the drug after to buy us additional time, so we can all escape. The red button releases the dart.”
Greg shivered. I felt it and saw it, just before he whispered, “How close?”
“Very close. A foot or closer. It works best if you can press it against the person’s skin. But you should give it to me, I’m much faster and—”
I didn’t see him move, probably because I wasn’t expecting it. But I did feel the small sting of the needle as it entered my leg, straight into my femoral artery.
I opened my mouth in surprise, but had the wherewithal to stifle my gasp before it escaped. Greg’s hard features filled my vision. I could suddenly see him clearly, as though someone had flipped on a light. He glared at me with unrepentant resolve. He looked mean. I hardly recognized him.
“Greg? What did you—”
“I’m sorry, darling,” he said. He didn’t sound sorry.
Yet his arms wound around me and he brought me to his chest with infinite gentleness. I felt his hand stroke lovingly from my neck to the base of my spine before I went numb. The sound of my blood pumping filled my ears and drowned out any additional apology or words he may have offered.
By the count of ten, the room tilted.
Time slowed.
I blinked.
And everything faded away.
CHAPTER 9