Jessica Andersen - Manhunt in the Wild West

Fax stayed tense as he followed orders, fearing that al-Jihad was playing him, that the bastard knew what he’d done and was teasing him with the illusion of success. But the terrorist leader returned to the van a few minutes later, and on Fax’s next trip into the cave, he saw that Chelsea remained just as he’d left her.

He and Lee finished unloading the other bodies, opening up each of the bags so the scent would attract scavengers, in hopes that they’d deface the bodies, further complicating forensic analysis when the dump site was eventually found. At least that was the terrorists’ theory. In reality, the homing beacon would have Jane’s people on-site in a few hours.

Once the job was done, Fax hung back in the cave.

“Move it,” Lee snapped when they both heard an impatient horn beep from the direction of the road. “The cops’ll get the roadblocks up soon.”

“I’m right behind you,” Fax said. But as the other man hustled down the trail, Fax stayed put.

Moving fast, he pulled the jacket and heavy sweatshirt off the dead morgue attendant, and packed them around Chelsea’s limp body. When that didn’t look like it’d be enough, he whispered, “Sorry,” and pulled the attendant’s still-warm corpse over her as added insulation. It was too cold and her vitals were too depressed for him to worry about niceties. If Jane took too long to respond, Chelsea could freeze to death.

Hopefully, though, Jane would send someone right away. The responding agent could then administer the counteragent to the death-mimicking drug, collect the GPS beacon and info pellet Fax had planted on Chelsea, and phone in an untraceable tip that would lead the locals to the location. The agent would undoubtedly also reset the scene, making it look as though her survival had been accidental rather than intentional.

With no way of knowing where al-Jihad had eyes and ears, they had to be careful not to make it obvious that the terrorist had a traitor among his small crew.

“Just hang on for a few hours, Chelsea,” Fax said quietly, his words echoing in the cave. “Help should be on its way soon.”

Then, knowing he’d done the best he could for her, he paused at the cave mouth and looked back at the six bloodied bodies, five of which weren’t going to wake up ever again.

“Collateral damage,” he murmured. Uncharacteristically, he found himself regretting that he couldn’t have saved the others, hadn’t even tried. And, as he walked into the sunlight, he found himself wishing that he believed he was going to live long enough to see pretty Chelsea Swan again, under better circumstances.

But as soon as he caught himself thinking along those lines, he squelched the emotions.

There was no room for softness around men like al-Jihad, and Fax had a job to do. That took priority, period.

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