Chapter 2

Authors Note: I am SO glad that all of you liked the first chapter! Yay! I wasn't sure how everyone would take to Sable coming in, but so far nothing bad. ( No title so far either though, sorry to say. I can't just leave it as 'untitled' forever though.) Damn it. Don't worry, I update at least once every two days. As soon as a chapter's done, I start writing another. Like now, I'll write this one. . . have something to eat maybe, and then start on another. Lol. All these ideas are circulating in my mind and if I don't write them then it'd kill me because then they'd be lost. Thanks again for the reviews!

So apparently 'over before he knew it' meant a seemingly never-ending round of torture that made Ajedrez's fade from memory. Despite the pain, the thing that bothered him the most was that he couldn't see what she was doing, what scratches she would have to stitch up next.

It was some measure of comfort that he had at least a small idea of where the needle would go next. Sable rested her hand below the wound she worked on as warning. She might have the reputation of a real ball-breaker, but she was known for taking care of those who needed it. If they didn't die in her company first.

Ajedrez had been his only slip-up in twenty or so years. Members of the CIA had always been granted a brief reprieve here and there from his hostility. While he'd felt a bad vibe from her, he'd passed it off as unimportant. Forgoing safety for ambition, that mistake would never be made again.

Sable was as careful as she could be. The stitches were perfectly precise and the equipment as sterilized as she could get it. Whomever had done this to him were sadistic son of a bitches, not that she didn't know that already.

Small arrow marks curved their way up the skin of his ribs. All marks pointed toward his eyes, if they scarred he would have memory of that day forever. But then again, they had made sure of that in more permanent ways.

They must have dislocated his shoulder. Traces of bruising and puffiness were still around the shoulder bone. From the looks of it, they had done that at least twice. Dislocated it, waited until the flesh inflamed and then relocated it just to repeat the process again. Sands must have been in agony, just having a shoulder set minutes after the injury would have been painful. He was lucky there was no lasting damage.

To be honest, she wasn't sure why Sands trusted her. Okay, so maybe not trust, but he was vulnerable this way. It was something she knew he hated. No time to dwell on that now, being sidetracked was not a good idea. They might have transportation back to the States, but until then she would stay alert and be on guard at all times.

She didn't know if there were any more enemies around them, nor whom exactly they could count on. As a result she wouldn't depend or ask anyone for anything. Something she was used to. Nothing else mattered but what she could do and what she couldn't do. What wasn't possible was made possible and no one dared to get in her way anymore.

"That it?" Sands asked hoping she couldn't hear the hoarseness of his voice.

"Yeah, you'd better rest before the fever comes back again." She'd felt his temperature drop as she had worked. As he stopped fighting against the pain and relaxed it gave his body time to heal.

"Any chance of you resting with me?"

"Not a chance in hell." Sable brought the needles and bloody towel to the sink. There was no room service here so there wasn't a possibility of anyone finding them.

"It would be good for. . . recovery."

Sable grinned as she filled a cup with bottled water. She rationed it, too much would result in stomach muscles cramping. There was no telling how long ago he had eaten and she didn't want to risk causing him further pain.

"You'll get better," she pressed the glass into his hand, "or else the CIA will be out of a 'plus one' plane fare."

"Can't have that," his voice was much stronger now, the deep timbre she remembered.

"Who else would stand up to Arnoldo?" Sable untied her long black hair from the ponytail it was in now. She hated having her hair up.

"Fuck-mooks," as much as he hated admitting it, sleep was becoming an issue. The demand of his body for rest was overwhelming.

"I opt for guard duty. I slept on the plane anyway," she took the glass and he heard her sit down somewhere to his right.

"Great," Sands tried to get comfortable but he couldn't. Not until-

"Oh, sorry. Forgot to return these to you. Left'em behind when you left." She knew what he'd been searching for, an observer would never have known. He had gone still, quiet, as if smelling the air for oil and metal. Sable could relate, she didn't sleep well without her weapons, either.

Sands felt the cool polished metal under his fingertips. He located the barrel, grooved bullet canisters, and then the trigger. There was no safety lock on these. Only one person had ever handled them, he was damn lucky that she had thought to bring them. The gun was fully loaded, he could tell by its weight. Their familiarity brought him the first measure of comfort that he'd had in a long time.

Sable knew the moment he was asleep. His breath evened and his chest rose and fell with every deep intake of air. Most men looked peaceful as they slept, not Sands. He still looked deadly even when partially drugged, injured, and altogether out-of-it.

She couldn't shrug the fact that he was blind. The memory came back of the training session that would be forever imprinted in her mind. The lesson was how to attack while handicapped; the developing of the five senses.

Sands had been fifth on line for the lesson. She could smell the crispness of the air, feel the anticipation and apprehension emanating from the other men and women. The tenseness of their muscles as they waited their turn.

The room was halogen lit, the walls seemed to glow a faint blue behind their black suits. This had been the session that would either make or break a future agent. How well they could handle under stress, their ability to improvise. . . all essential qualities that they couldn't learn. No, these skills had to be imprinted already.

Then it was Sands' turn. She heard snorts from the men behind her, none of them thought he would last the first two minutes. Even through training Sands had been the way he was now. He stood up to the officers, took the physical toll that training detailed, but he never complained. He had never once complained about anything.

He'd made smart-ass remarks that had the lieutenants ready to strangle him, but never once a complaint.

She was tough, that was why she knew she would be able to pass the training and move on to become a damn good agent. When she and Sands were partnered up for one of the exercises, they both knew instantly that they were evenly matched.

Satisfaction lit his eyes then as mutual understanding was shared. They would be first in this or die trying. Shackled together in complete darkness, they had to make their way across a room filled with obstacles. They were timed and their peers watched from a room above able see everything perfectly. None of them would have offered to be his partner, she had never been afraid of him. Apprehensive, cautious, but never scared.

They had made it, their time faster than any of the other's. The only reason why was because neither of them were afraid to take an injury on the way. The other men took care not to have their ankles cut on the rocks and hidden traps along the way. She and Sands had ignored the pain and blood that flowed freely down their legs. They would heal, the mission had to be completed.

She drew her mind back to the image of Sands standing alone in the middle of the room blindfolded. Trained officers would attack him in different ways, the purpose of the blindfold was to teach the rookie how well his instincts were tuned and their maneuverability.

Sands had disabled the men and taken on a lieutenant before ripping the black bandanna off and staring around the room with a feral expression. He'd hated every minute, so had she. The feeling of vulnerability, unease, it had left a horrible taste in her mouth and she had vowed never to be as helpless as she had then.

She would never forget the look on his face or the darkness of his eyes.

"Never again," he had said. Not even Arnoldo wanted to cross him on that statement. The lethality and perfection of that one performance was plenty for them. They all knew that he would have killed the men without a backwards glance, that was how close to the edge being blindfolded made him.

He'd been ranked number one. Never had there ever been someone able to beat his two-minute, thirty-five guy timing.

Sable herself had only taken out twenty. Working on it, she could now handle twenty-seven. While blindfolded, it was not something she would readily go through again. But for Sands. . . that was his life now.

Three more days, just three until she got back to the US headquarters and left him in the capable care of their medical base. She would walk through the doors, hand him over, and walk back out to salvage whatever was left of her vacation. The hesitation she felt about leaving him would fade, he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Empathy had no place in her world.

Back to air-conditioning and cooler weather, cable television, drinkable water, and real ice. A shower in which red equaled heat, blue meant cold; apparently that didn't apply in this hotel.

She wasn't unused to roughing it out, but she damn well liked knowing when someone was coming after her. She liked to know when she was being hunted. There was a decided lack from both, here. Whomever was Sands' enemies were now hers. They wouldn't care that she was just an agent to bring him back to the States. She had to take into mind that they wouldn't hesitate to blind her or kill her should he have something they needed.

Oh yeah, the CIA owed her extra pay for this assignment. At least she had the peace of mind that Sands was as proficient as he had been then. He was as deadly without sight as he was with it.

If anyone were to come after them they had a strong force to reckon with. She didn't plan on leaving anyone alive, no matter what the CIA had ordered. No one told her what to do. Someone threatened her, they were taken care of.

A renegade agent, her psychological files said she was borderline homicidal. Arnoldo had stepped in and called it all bullshit. She was about as crazy as he was, or so he had said. Whatever, she had a job to do and it would be done.