Chapter two

Something about the way she said freedom caught Jack's attention. Gently, he moved the hair obscuring her face and tilted her chin up so he could see her clearly.

And couldn't breathe.

"Laura?"

She stared at him, her eyes wide. Her lips moved but there was no sound. Jack stepped away from her, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Mr. Bristow, there was an accident." Flashing lights, a sympathetic voice, Sydney, wide-eyed and confused.

She reached for him, then dropped her hands.

"Agent Bristow, Laura was never Laura." Suspicious whispers, stares, less sympathetic voices.

"Jack . . ." The word was barely a whisper.

"Jack, Irina Derevko died in that river." Arvin, walking him out of the cellblock, speaking low, giving information he was not supposed to share.

He grabbed her by her shoulders, pushing her roughly against the wall. He forgot how sympathetic he'd been when she was just a nameless, faceless woman. It was different now that he was looking into the eyes of his traitorous bitch of a wife.

"You're supposed to be dead."

She blinked. Either he didn't see the tears on her cheeks or he didn't care. His grip tightened and she drew a breath. "Kill me, then."

He pressed the gun to her head. She closed her eyes. His hand trembled and he moved his finger from the trigger.

"I should just leave you here."

"No!" She tried to wrestle the gun from his grasp, but he was stronger. She gave up, sinking to her knees. "Kill me instead. Please."

He had never seen her this defeated, and wondered how long it had taken them to break her. Laura had always been strong.

Irina, he reminded himself, but strangely, he couldn't grasp his previous anger. He couldn't stand to see her beg.

He put the gun in his waistband and helped her up. "I'm not going to kill you."

"Do you hate me that much?" She met his gaze, and her eyes were shadowed in a way Laura's had never been. She smiled, but there was no warmth in it. "I suppose you do."

He didn't answer. All he knew was that he couldn't leave her here. He opened the door, then picked her up and started walking.

"I don't know where the mines are," she said.

Great, he thought, but said nothing.

Irina never would have imagined that one day she would be riding piggy-back on Jack as he navigated their way through a minefield. She leaned her chin on his shoulder, closed her eyes –

-- and they're in the garden on a Saturday afternoon. Jack sprays the hosepipe in her direction, she throws a glove at him. They smile. She hops on his back and they head to the bedroom --

"What day is it?" she asked.

"June 16."

"June?" There was a strangled sound at the back of her throat. "Seven months. Please stop."

He did. She slid off his back, knelt on the ground, and vomited up bile, since her stomach was empty. A moment later, she felt his hand on her shoulder. Her first reaction was to flinch, and she hated herself for the weakness it showed. To his credit, Jack said nothing. When she finally stood up, he was looking back in the direction they had come from.

"Are we out of the minefield yet?"

"I don't know."

He turned for her to get on his back again. Once she was comfortable, he resumed walking.

"You're not afraid you'll step on one?"

"If I do, it won't matter to either of us."

They continued in silence for a while longer, then she said, "If you thought I was dead, you couldn't have been there for me."

"No."

That one word hurt more than she'd expected it to. All those months of hoping and praying and wishing for the impossible . . .

Yet, here Jack was, with her, and they were walking away from the prison.

"I'm sorry," she said.

They fell into silence again. Even if they died tonight, at least she'd apologized.

She woke up to an explosion, and had to quickly grab for a better hold before she slipped from Jack's back.

"Jack?"

"I thought I'd create a diversion. Let them think we didn't make it."

She didn't realize how tight her grasp was until Jack said, "Irina, I can't breathe."

"Sorry." She eased her grip. "Are you okay? I can walk, I think."

He waited a moment before answering. "I'm fine." Another moment. "You hardly weigh a thing."

She said nothing. Then, "You've lost weight, too."

"Yeah." He sighed, and she expected him to continue, but he didn't.

"What happened to your hand?" It wasn't the first time she'd noticed the bloodied material, but she hadn't dared ask before.

"I killed a guard."

She gasped. Then, her voice soft, "Good." A beat later, "So, assuming we make it out of this alive, what are you going to do with me?"

"I don't know." The words sounded choked.

Irina didn't ask anymore questions. She rested her head on Jack's shoulder again, and dozed.

It seemed as if he'd been walking forever. Every step was a risk, a chance he could step on a mine and blow both of them up. He wondered if the Russians had bought his earlier ruse, and wondered just how they had managed to get this far without a single misstep.

He needed to rest.

"Lau – Irina?"

She mumbled something he couldn't make out.

"I'm stopping for a while."

She slid off his back and he took the opportunity to stretch.

"I'm hurting you," she said.

He just gave her a look that said, well, yes. "It's almost morning."

"We should be fine once we cross the border into India."

"It would help if we knew where the border was."

She smiled, then collapsed.

"Irina!" He caught her.

"I don't suppose you have any water?"

He shook his head. Then, a flicker of suspicion flared in his brain. "When was the last time you ate something?"

"Umm." She leaned against him. "That's a very good question."

"Okay. Get on. We're moving again."

"Your back," she protested.

"Irina, now is not the time to argue."

She nodded. When he needed to help her back into position, he realized how quickly her strength was fading, and increased his pace.

He had no idea what he was going to do with her once they reached safety, but he was not going to let her die out here.