Darkest Before Dawn (KGI #10)(30)

“What kind of military unit doesn’t even have a helicopter? How were you supposed to get out, much less get me out?” she demanded, incredulity evident in the question. “You think we’re just going to drive out of here?”

And then her brow furrowed as if she’d realized something else. The woman asked too many damned questions, instead of showing some gratitude that he’d prevented the *s tracking her from capturing her, and he was starting to get pissed. Were it not for him getting to her when he did, even now she’d be suffering horribly and would face days, even weeks of endless pain and agony. The conscience he’d severed from his mind whispered deep inside that he was going to subject her to the same fate. He was only delaying the inevitable, and worse, instilling false hope that her ordeal was over. And that just made him angrier. He didn’t bother to hide it from her either.

Before he could voice his anger, she plunged ahead as if not understanding the danger of stroking his ire.

“And days? I would have been over the border in another day, two at the most, and I was walking. We’re driving. It should only take hours!”

He curbed the harsh edge of his temper—barely—but he still sounded pissed when he spoke. “What I think is that you’re spending far too much time asking pointless questions and looking a gift horse in the mouth.”

He’d been unwinding the binding on her knee all the while she’d been raking him over the hot coals, and in his annoyance he pulled too forcibly at the last strip covering a layer of some kind of muddy goop that had pasted the bandage to the bare skin around her knee. The cloth yanked free, taking a thin layer of scab with it. Blood immediately welled and Hancock swore under his breath. He hadn’t meant to hurt her, goddamn it. He had to gain her trust without divulging anything more than necessary, not act like the terrorists chasing her was a preferable option.

She flinched but then bit into her lip, the white edges of her teeth barely visible. Her face lost color, making the dye rubbed into her skin appear even darker and unnatural against such paleness.

Hancock cursed again under his breath and simply held out his hand for the swath of cloth Mojo was already extending. He dabbed at the fresh blood and then took the bottle of hydrogen peroxide Mojo handed over next and lifted his gaze to Honor’s.

“This is going to hurt,” he said, his voice an apology for already inadvertently hurting her.

“I’ll get over it,” she said, her gaze going stony.

Still, she closed her eyes and swayed precariously when Hancock dribbled the liquid over her entire knee, using the cloth to absorb the rinse. She looked like she was listing to the side and Mojo must have thought so too because he palmed her upper arm, his huge hand dwarfing her delicate bone structure, and steadied her, holding her up and in place.

“Thank you,” Honor murmured, never opening her eyes.

“Bad mojo,” Mojo said, shaking his head as he looked at the swollen knee Hancock was being a lot more careful with now.

“A New Era controls the airspace here,” Hancock found himself explaining. As if she deserved answers. Fuck. It was as close to an actual apology as possible without actually telling her he was sorry. He continued, though his voice was still tight with anger. No longer at her, though. At himself for feeling the need to explain himself to anyone. And for taking out his anger and frustration on her. Hurting her unintentionally. “They have weapons capable of bringing down a fighter jet. A chopper would be child’s play for them. We have to circumvent their area of control, and it’s wide and growing wider with every day, before we can risk traveling by air. So until such time as it’s safe, we’ll be traveling on the ground.”

“But why are we moving away from the border?” she asked, no accusation in her voice this time. Just genuine puzzlement.

Maybe he should just wash his hands of her and make Conrad take over the job as her babysitter. She clearly wasn’t intimidated by Hancock, which pissed him off and bruised his male ego more than he’d like to admit. Conrad, however, hated everyone and didn’t bother to pretend otherwise. He gave his loyalty and regard to his team. No one else. And Hancock was the only other person in the world Conrad took orders from and followed. He hadn’t been any happier than Hancock about being sent like f*cking errand boys to round up a woman who’d ended up taking up far too much time and effort on their part.

“Let’s pretend for a moment that you got lucky and were able to get past the men surrounding the village waiting for you—which you wouldn’t have. But suppose you did and made it to the border, where you assumed you’d be home free. You would have been nailed within a mile of crossing into the next country. A child could have predicted your destination. The shortest distance between two points, your attack and what you perceived as freedom, is a straight line. The nearest American presence. And once past the border you would have thought you were home free when in fact, apart from the fact that A New Era’s minions are everywhere, a huge bounty was placed on your head, along with the fact that you were heading to the border being broadcasted far and wide. Any number of people would have been lined up, lying in wait, only too eager to hand you over to the enemy.”

Anger simmered in her eyes and her features tightened. Her fingers curled into tight fists atop her thighs, and he had the passing thought that she was tempted to punch him. He almost laughed.