Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series)(41)
Already his gaze was up and sweeping the area, those cold eyes taking in the minutest detail. There was only a nearly imperceptible twitch to his jaw that betrayed his unease and how on guard he was.
“Are you sure she should get out here?” Conrad asked, turning his gaze on his team leader. “We can always find a place in the desert and let her squat where no one is around.”
Hancock shook his head. “I need to know if we’re met with suspicion. I and the others will be closely watching as you and Honor go in to see what attention you gain. I need to know if they’ve been tipped off and know who you are.”
“And if they are?” Honor asked in a strangled tone. “Isn’t this basically setting me up as bait? Like leading a blindfolded cow to slaughter?”
“Yes,” Hancock said bluntly, no apology in his voice. “But you aren’t being meekly led to your demise. My team and I will protect you. I need to know who is enemy and who is oblivious to who you are and most importantly where you are.”
“I wish I had your confidence,” she muttered. “It’s easy for you to say when you aren’t the sacrificial lamb.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” he corrected. “You, they want alive. Me and my men? Not so much. Completely expendable. And we’re all that stands in the way of them getting their hands on you. So yeah, we’re definitely taking the bigger risk here.”
She was instantly ashamed at the selfishness of her thoughts. It made perfect sense now that he’d laid it out as matter-of-factly as he had. She’d never approached it from his mind-set, and it made her feel like a spoiled diva whose needs took priority over all others, at all costs. Even as the sobering thoughts dug into her consciousness, she sent Hancock a look of apology he couldn’t possibly misconstrue. But there was no acknowledgment—or condemnation, for that matter—in his eyes. But then he hadn’t pointed out the fact that he and his men were at greater risk than she was to take her down a few notches. He’d merely stated a fact in that unruffled manner he had perfected.
They pulled up to the tanker on the periphery of the village, the one that had the clearest escape route should the shit hit the fan. Conrad immediately herded Honor from the vehicle, and she was careful to keep her head bowed in a posture of submissiveness and remain a step behind and to the side of Conrad as he hurried her into a crude hut used as a washroom.
First he went in and checked to make sure no one was inside. Once satisfied it was empty, he gave Honor firm orders to get her business done as soon as possible and meet him at the entrance, where he was pulling guard duty to make sure no one intruded.
She wasted no time, fighting with the heavy burka and squatting carefully over the disgusting hole in the ground that was already filled with human waste. She breathed through her mouth so the foul odor didn’t fill her nostrils, afraid her stomach would revolt and she’d waste precious seconds throwing up.
It was uncomfortable as hell, bent at an awkward angle, holding the folds of her garment up so they didn’t get soiled in the process. Her knee protested holding herself as steady as possible while she went about the business of relieving herself.
By the time she’d peed about two gallons, both legs were shaking and her hurt knee was buckling incessantly, causing her to balance precariously on her good leg. She hastily washed up as best she could with the discolored water in the washbasin against the wall and didn’t even speculate on its cleanliness. It would only freak her out more than she already was.
She returned to where Conrad stood, his stance impatient even as his wary gaze constantly scanned the entire area. When he completed a sweep, he began all over again, never taking his eyes from the goings-on around them.
He glanced her way when he caught sight of her and dipped his head in the direction of the military vehicle where Hancock was finishing up the refuel. She fell into step behind him, and as Conrad continually did, she too kept a watchful eye on everyone in her sight line.
When they turned around the outhouse, Honor nearly froze. Only her rigid control prevented her from reacting to the sight of an armed man in fatigues lifting his assault rifle and pointing it at . . . Conrad.
Shit!
She couldn’t just act like she hadn’t seen it, and she had to act fast. Completely disregarding Hancock’s—and Conrad’s—strict instructions to not draw undue attention to herself, she launched herself toward Conrad as though she had fallen.
She crashed into the unsuspecting man, and the adrenaline surge that had spiked through her veins gave her much more strength than she thought she possessed. Conrad went sprawling just as a volley of bullets peppered the area right where Conrad had been standing a fraction of a second earlier.
Tensing, expecting pain from one of the bullets that had surely struck her, she hunched in on herself even as she dropped like a rock. Which was stupid because she and Conrad both needed to be on their feet so they could make their escape. But self-preservation ruled and she acted instinctively to prevent herself from getting killed. Even though she hadn’t been the intended target.
Vicious curses from more than one location blistered the air, and Honor suddenly found herself roughly dragged to her feet, thrown over a shoulder and flopping like a fish out of water as Hancock sprinted toward the waiting vehicle.
Conrad had already regained his footing and was two steps ahead of Hancock and Honor. Hancock forcibly threw Honor into the backseat before he and Conrad dove inside. Their doors weren’t even shut yet when the vehicle lurched forward, tires spinning momentarily as the driver floored it.