Duncan whimpered and lifted the rifle to aim toward the bobcat. It had already slunk back into the forest, the fog dropping that shadowy veil. Diego took the opportunity to climb the tree. The moment he was in the branches, he froze, exactly the way the great horned owl did, his body appearing to be part of the tree should Duncan look up again.
Duncan retreated, step-by-step, until his back was against the solid trunk, his wary gaze fixed on the spot where the bobcat had disappeared. So close to him, Diego could see how badly the soldier was shaking. He had been the most aggressive, yet he was the one truly falling apart. He had no business being amped up. Diego couldn’t imagine what his psychiatric evaluation had been like, but those in charge of the laboratory should have known better.
Duncan had easily shot his friend in the head because he didn’twant to be bothered to wait for him to die. He didn’t want to expend any time trying to make him comfortable while he was dying. Duncan’s life was all about Duncan. As a rule, the teams were a brotherhood, but Duncan didn’t fit into that unless he was the leader and he could have all the attention.
Diego watched him for a few moments as Duncan switched his attention back and forth between where the bobcat had disappeared and Pete. Each time he put his attention on Pete, he stroked the trigger of his rifle. Diego would have bet a month’s pay that he was considering shooting Pete and cutting the rope that would allow Terry to make his way back up to the ridge.
Diego inverted, moving like a lethal, hunting leopard down the trunk of the tree in complete silence. He didn’t so much as disturb a leaf. Fear had a smell to it, and Duncan stunk of it. He was continually squirming, twitching, and turning his head from side to side in quick, jerky movements.
Diego found a pattern in the way Duncan’s neck twisted and turned, moved forward and then back. Using the strength of his legs to hold him, he waited for Duncan’s head to come toward him. Striking quickly, he wrapped one arm around Duncan’s neck and placed his other hand on the back of the head, tilting it forward to control him as he applied pressure to the neck. The force was great enough that it instantly cut off the blood supply to the brain. It took nearly ten seconds for Duncan to go limp.
Diego eased him down to the ground and covered his mouth and nose with his hand, cutting off the air supply. Duncan’s body reacted to the lack of blood to the brain and now the lack of air. Diego was relentless, waiting patiently, keeping his body in the shadow of the tree. The fog thickened. Silence reigned. Even after he was certain the life was gone from the soldier, Diego waited a few more moments, checked him and then disappeared into the fog, retreating to the edge of the trees, where he could watch Pete.
Diego had a decision to make. He didn’t kill innocents. Not that he thought Terry was all that innocent. More than likely, he was a man similar to Diego. Still, Terry seemed to have a code. He knew Duncan had planned to kill him. Pete most likely knew it as well. They had plotted to kill Leila. Terry was the only voice of objection. Did Diego kill him simply because he was part of the unit under orders to retrieve Leila? That didn’t sit well with him.
Movement caught his eye, and Diego watched as Terry pulled himself over the ridge and sat for a moment, catching his breath.
“I take it Gerald is dead,” Pete greeted, sounding resigned.
“They’re all dead, and so is Gerald. Someone cut him all to hell with a blade. Thighs, armpits, throat. If it was Leila, she had to be extremely fast. Gerald was no slouch.”
“You sure she cut him to pieces? He was right there in front of us. I had my eyes on him. At least I thought I did.” Pete rubbed at the bristles on his jaw. “Snake bites, owl attacks, what the hell is going on?”
“I don’t know if it was Leila,” Terry admitted. “But whoever killed Gerald did it right under our noses.” He sat up straighter and looked around. “Where’s Duncan?”
“Bobcat scared the piss out of him,” Pete said, a sneer in his voice. “He would have run like a rabbit if he wasn’t afraid of being alone.” He jerked his head in the direction of the tiny clearing. “He made sure he was safe. I don’t think either one of us is safe from him though.”
“He knows I’m not going to allow him to kill Leila.” Terry made it a statement. Daring Pete to contradict him.
Diego could see Terry was ready for action. Concealed from Pete, Terry had wrapped his fist around his knife and gently, stealthily drew it from the leather scabbard on his belt.
Pete sighed. “I knew that was going to be a problem for you. Damn it, Terry. She’s bad news. If she did this”—he indicated thedead men in the gorge—“we’re in trouble. If they all died trying to get her back, how do you think two of us have a chance to bring her in? Think about it. If we get her in our sights from a distance, shooting her would be a mercy for all of us. I need to get back to the lab and get my injuries taken care of as quickly as possible.”
Diego found it interesting how Pete could sound so reasonable. Maybe he believed what he was saying. He didn’t make a move against Terry. It was possible Pete’s enhanced instincts allowed him to realize the danger he was in. He also didn’t believe Pete. Pete wanted Leila dead. Why? What was it that made these men want to kill her? Did she know something about them they wanted to keep hidden?
Terry nodded slowly and glanced toward the tiny clearing. The fog continued to swirl through the trees and across the rocks. “I think it would be a good idea for you and Duncan to get back as soon as possible to rendezvous with the helicopter to get you out of here. I’ll see if I can pick up any tracks. If I can’t, I’ll double-time it to catch up with you.”
Pete nodded and rose. “I think that’s a good plan. I’ll see what Duncan has to say. He wants out of here, so I can’t imagine him objecting.”
It was Pete’s voice, so reasonable and cooperative, that told Diego he planned to murder Terry. Pete sauntered over to the clearing, his large frame disappearing and reappearing in the swirling mist. Diego moved with him, circling around, never taking his gaze from his target. He was four feet from him when Pete stopped abruptly, his entire body stiffening.
“What is it?” Terry asked, letting Diego know the soldier hadn’t taken his eyes off his companion.
“I think he’s dead, Terry.”
“Dead?” Terry echoed.
Diego didn’t blame Terry for thinking it was a setup.
“Yeah,” Pete snarled. “Dead.”
Terry remained silent, a good tactic, Diego thought. He wasn’t a man to make quick decisions. He assessed a situation thoroughly before he made a move.
Pete took a couple of steps toward Duncan’s body. Duncan looked small, crumpled on the ground. There was no doubt he was dead. Pete looked around, looked up into the tree and then crouched down to examine the body.
“I’m not sure what killed him,” Pete announced, “but he’s still holding his gun.”
Diego watched as Pete bent over Duncan’s body and removed a revolver from his boot. He checked it and then reached behind him to shove the weapon into the back of his belt. Before he could stand, Diego was on him, plunging a knife into the back of his neck, severing the spinal cord. Pete went down face-first as Diego slipped into the shadows.
