“First the father, then the mother, now the boy? How much?”
“Name your price. Extra if you kill anyone who is with him.”
The hoarse cackle on the other end of the line chilled even Zasha.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?” 2-Stroke demanded while Chry held the gun in her unsteady grip. Chry was shaky, not sure she could hit the woman even from this close a distance. She was a lovely girl, long blonde hair, pale skin, and deep blue eyes. She was dressed in soft black pants and a black leather jacket with a multicolored scarf around her neck.
“Black is night until dawn is bright,” the woman said.
Chry dropped the gun to the bed as if it were just too heavy to hold. “She’s CIA,” she whispered, clutching her side and moaning as pain radiated from the bullet wounds.
“What?” 2-Stroke asked. “She doesn’t look old enough—"
“It wasn’t me originally. My mother was the recruit. I took over when she died. She gave me all the information. My name is Marta Primorac. My mother’s name was Sara.” The woman ignored him and rushed to the bed. “What has happened to her?”
He finally lowered the gun and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.
“She was shot.”
“She needs a doctor, hospital.”
“No,” 2-Stroke said, coming over to the other side of the bed so he could face the woman. “We’re being hunted, and they will check there. These are the type of people who know how to get answers and won’t hesitate to hurt people to get them.”
“I see. Then the consulate is your only choice.”
2-Stroke nodded.
“They’ll be watching it. Getting there is going to be impossible.”
2-Stroke smiled. “I don’t believe in impossible. But until Chry can move, we’re not going anywhere. She needs antibiotics.”
“That’s going to be tricky but let me see what I can do.”
She pulled out a phone and 2-Stroke’s eyes brightened. “Can I use that? Is this a secure line?”
“Yes, it is, and of course.” She handed it over.
Chry felt the edges of her consciousness gray, and a dull, hot throb of her pulse made her sigh softly. She was getting a fever. Her wound was infected.
“LT?” 2-Stroke said into the phone and tapped the speaker.
“Neo? Where are you?”
“In Banja Luka. We’re in a CIA safe house.” He rattled off the address.
“Understood. What do you need?”
“A doctor. Chry’s been shot. It’s a through and through, but she’s got a fever. She needs antibiotics.”
“2-Stroke, it’s so good to hear your voice. You are so badass to escape. Not a surprise,” Dodger said.
“We had help. If it wasn’t for Darko’s nephew, Alek, we’d be dead. He saved our lives, risking his own. I have no idea what happened to him.”
“Saint has him, along with your brother, Aella, and two Tier One operators. He’s a bit banged up, but they’re in Banja Luka.”
“My brother…is here? And the others…that is great news.” His brows rose, his shoulders tightening. “They were there…at the river. Tell me I didn’t hurt anyone.” He rubbed at his face and Chry reached out and clasped his hand. He looked down at her, his expression strained.
“No, you didn’t. They are all well and whole.”
“That’s good, but right now my priority is Chry—”
Dodger said, “I know a—”
2-Stroke interrupted him. “Guy? Dodger, you know someone in every country.”
“It’s not a guy. It’s Mouse’s sister, Anika Radan. I saved her from human traffickers back before I was a SEAL. She married a Bosnian. They met in vet school. As far as I know, they use the same drugs for animals that are prescribed for humans. She will help you.”
“That’s good, but can you send Saint to us? He’s the closest person we have to an MD. He can help Chry.”
“I’ll send word to them. You hang tight. We’ll get her patched up.”
“Thank you, LT,” 2-Stroke disconnected the call after Dodger gave him the address for Anika.
Marta said, “I will go.” She reached down and clasped Chry’s hands. “You will be all right,” she said. “We will take care of you. The CIA saved my family, and we have dedicated our lives to maintaining safe houses in the surrounding area. You are safe.”
“Thank you,” Chry said. “Please be careful. The people hunting us are ruthless.”
“Aren’t they always. I will be cautious.”
She left and Chry turned to find 2-Stroke standing there looking down at her with the most concerned look on his face.
“I’ll be all right,” she said.
He nodded. “I’m counting on it.”
She reached out and he took her hand, folding down to his knees beside the bed. “But if I’m not…please don’t do anything stupid.”
“What? Like go off the deep end, forsake the SEALs and the US, and hunt Darko and Zasha down and make sure they never take another breath? You think that might be stupid?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“I can’t make any promises,” he said, and the stark look in his eyes made her realize that she had to do everything in her power to get well. But even now, she was getting warmer, thirstier.
“Water, please,” she asked.
He reached for the bottle on the nightstand and brought it to her mouth. She drank quite a bit, the wound in her side sending out more waves of pain. She gasped softly.
“She should be here any minute,” he soothed. “I should have mentioned we needed some morphine too.”
She nodded. “That would help a lot. Getting shot sucks.”
“Yeah, as a former recipient of a bullet, I can agree. High velocity rounds hurt even more. My advice is to dodge better next time.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Is that SEAL humor?”
“Maybe,” he said, the corner of his mouth hiking up. She could still tell he was exhausted. She reached out and snagged his shirt. “Come and lay down with me. You look as tired as I feel.”
“Your injury—”
“I’ll be fine. I want to feel your warmth,” she admitted softly. She shivered, then wanted to kick off the blankets. She was both cold and hot.
He came around to the empty side of the bed and carefully got on the mattress. Sinking down beside her, he slipped his arm under her neck, then moved closer until he was pressed against her side.
She closed her eyes, drawing a long, shaky breath, going momentarily out of focus and loving the comfort he provided. Deep down, she was scared. She was in a foreign country, hunted by ruthless people, no medical care available, and she’d been shot in the side. She had no idea what kind of damage had been done. The possibility of death had haunted them now for more than six weeks. The stress of it took its toll for both of them. They had survived, but she had to wonder if this was the end of the road.
He rose up and touched her forehead. “You feel warm.” 2-Stroke was so even-keeled, especially when he was in SEAL mode. But his voice this time was full of concern. There was movement and the sound of running water. Then when he knelt back down beside her, he began wiping her face with a cold, damp cloth. “You have a fever.”