by Zoe Dawson
Then he had to witness that EDL son of a bitch with a knife against Neve’s body.
He shook himself. Flashbacking Marines were dead Marines, and they sure as hell weren’t any good to anybody else. He couldn’t talk to her now. There was—too much—too much to process. He let her go, and she almost tripped over one of the slim benches before she settled down. He didn’t even think about what he must look like with the dirt smeared on him, his over-the-top commando attitude and his gruff, demanding voice.
He just needed her not to say a word or he would explode.
He was losing it, and now was not the time, and this was not the place to be losing anything.
Rock got in, settling both their packs for even weight distribution, then started up the outboard, the sound loud in the dark night.
As they cut through the gloomy brown water, he scanned the area while Neve gathered her long, straight dark hair and quickly braided it, then looped it up and secured it with another holder. Movement was sporadic, the flutter of birds moving from branch to branch, monkeys doing the same, and he could see only the tremble of bushes and trees, like short, quick bursts of air. He followed it and saw a dark, slim body rife with sharp, white teeth slide into the water.
He looked behind them. His senses were heightened and pulsing. He wasn’t sure if it was the EDL he’d left behind massing to follow and find them that made the hair lift on the back of his neck or some other danger he couldn’t see.
The hidden sniper’s ability to find what he was looking for was something that was just innate. He’d made a career out of it. He knew the woman had to have hitched a ride upriver from Yaviza and that the small village was rife with untrustworthy lowlifes. He chuckled at the story that some chica had handcuffed an unruly guy to a bed, one he demolished and had to pay the hot-under-the-collar cantina owner restitution for. He was beginning to like Michaels, a hazard in his line of work.
He watched silently as Russell “Rock” Kaczewski, former Marine, handcuff still dangling from his wrist, dragged the woman—the beautiful, plucky Petty Officer Neve Michaels—along behind him. A fierce, protective look contorted his features as he got into her face and she stumbled into the piragua. Even in the dense overgrowth, unseen, the watcher felt Kaczewski’s anger singe the air.
Trouble in paradise, my friend?
The sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, he rose as they motored off. They had been unaware of their shadow just steps away. Immediately he followed, sliding down a hillside on the sides of his boots, then hit the ground running, hoping to intercept them when they ditched the boat. Kaczewski couldn’t afford to stay on the water. Too open.
But the watcher grinned. It would give them a nice head start.
He pushed himself, his night-vision goggles allowing him to bat at obstructions, jump debris. He grabbed a vine and swung over a creek, hitting the ground, taking a few steps, then stopped.
Closing his eyes for a moment, he listened, separating his breathing and heartbeat from other details—the scent of disturbed earth, the buzz of insects stirred from hiding, monkeys swinging above him. He tipped his head, his gaze sliding over the ground, and he could feel it before he saw the snake wiggle out and shimmy across the undergrowth. The soft whirr of the motor stopped, and he turned in that direction.
“Olly olly oxen free,” he murmured, then took off as the jungle swallowed him whole.
Chapter Six
At a sharp bend in the river, the trees and overgrowth thick, Russell steered the canoe to the bank and cut the motor, so he didn’t have to yell above the noise. Neve looked over her shoulder at him with a frown.
With the motor quiet, the sounds of the jungle took over the pitch-black night. But with foresight, he’d brought a pair of night-vision goggles. They were neatly tucked into his pack. But with the instincts of a cat and the glow of the moon, he could see well enough.
It was more important they get off the water.
“What are we doing? The boat will be faster.”
“And easily visible. I took out a lot of the EDL. They aren’t going to let that slide, Sister.” He’d overheard what the EDL thug had said to her as he was slicing off her clothes. Posing as a nun. Ha. The only holy he could think of belonged with hell, as in “holy hell.”
“It was a good cover,” she grumbled.
He bit his tongue, even drew blood. He wasn’t going to have an argument with Neve in the middle of a hostile jungle when they were still in the open and exposed on the water. He wanted to yell at her, but that would have to wait. “Don’t talk, Neve.”
“What is it you want me to do then, Russell?” she asked, her voice sugar sweet when there was nothing but annoyed woman behind every word. “Your wish is my command.”
“Sure, it is,” he said, his tone dry before he could keep his mouth shut. He clenched his jaw, then shook his head when she opened her mouth.
Right now, they were up to their armpits in alligators—literally.
They’d pissed off the EDL.
Was she seeing how many crazy, ruthless bastards she could get to come after her? And he had no doubt they were going to be beating every inch of this jungle looking for them.
She already had a whacked-out gunrunner after her—the very reason she’d used to betray him not once, but twice. Used his attraction to her, his concern about her, against him. Drugging him when all he wanted was to help her and then manacling him to that bed. A rush of heat traveled through him in a wave of renewed anger.
Military ops were second nature to him, eliminating the enemy was cut-and-dried. Even after being out of the Marines for five years, he’d never neglected his training. He was still strong and honed. Neve was a damn rescue swimmer. She saved lives, for freak’s sake. She didn’t go gunning for ruthless bastards who would mow you down one minute and calmly go and eat a sandwich afterward. But she’d held her own. He admired her don’t-mess-with-me attitude, though he’d met a few men who were far more brutal.
Guns and drugs and thugs—all over the world, those three things were twined together tighter than the knots on a dropped noose. Nowhere thicker than here in the Darién. It was like walking through a live minefield naked with a fever.
The EDL camp had been full of them, and if he hadn’t insisted on following her, she would have been hurt bad, as bad as a woman could be hurt. It made him want to jump in the river and wrestle a caiman. He let out a puff of air. She had no idea how pissed he was right now.
“Get your pack on. We’re getting off the river. It’s not a defensible position and much too exposed.”
She reached down angrily and grabbed her pack, sending the narrow canoe rocking.
“Gently,” he growled, and she stood still for a moment until the rocking abated, then reached again for her pack.
She slipped her arms through the straps, glaring at him. Well, the feeling was mutual.
He would get through this, cowboyed up, swallowing the hard ball of rage sticking in his throat to lie like a forty-pound weight, ignoring the edge of fear licking at his emotions.
He reached carefully for his own pack and slipped it on without so much as a ripple in the water around them. Then he reached down and pulled the rip cord on the motor and started it again.
He got close to her, the tickle of her hair soft against his cheek. “Get on my back,” he said.
She gave him a skeptical look, and he used his thumb to point above them where a sturdy branch jutted over the water.
As Neve looked up, comprehension dawned on her face, but it was with a dose of apprehension. He nudged her with his hip as he turned and, without saying anything above the roar of the motor, she jumped on his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. He took a moment to get used to the weight of her, which barely registered. With a slight bend in his knees, he exploded out of the canoe, kicking at the motor with his boot as he grasped his hands around the branch.
The dislodged boat wobbled a bit, then motored out from under them until it disappear
ed around a bend. He could only hope it would go for miles before running aground.
He did a chin-up, his feet dangling above the settling, choppy water.
On cue, creatures slithered into the river with most likely a meal in mind as Rock moved along the branch, hand over hand.
“Oh, God,” she said breathlessly. “I really don’t want to get wet, and I left my gator knife in my other pants.”
He was not going to be amused. He was still too annoyed; nothing had been resolved between them. For all he knew, she could pay lip service to him and then hightail it away from him as soon as an opportunity arose. He wasn’t going to take any chances of her fooling him again.
She clung to his wide shoulders, her legs tight around his waist when the sound of cracking coming from his right-hand side splintered the night.
“Grab the branch, my right!”
Neve never hesitated. She loosened her hold and latched on to the limb, barely getting her delicate hands around the thick bough.
Several caimans floated below them with anticipation, their teeth gleaming in the moonlight. Rock swung himself and hooked his legs on the branch. Then, hanging by his legs, he reached for her, helping her get a better handhold, then a foothold on the branch.
She let out a breath and he grabbed her bag, pushing it into the foliage. He shushed her. They held still as seconds later, two canoes laden with armed men slid over the glassy water. Right past them. They waited until the others were downstream a bit, then Rock moved painfully slow to avoid shaking the trees. Neve was closer to the trunk and started inching her way to the center.
She gripped the trunk of the tree like a lover as Rock worked his way toward her, his size not giving him many options. Then he was in the branches with her.
“Now what?”
“Shimmy, shimmy cocoa pop your way down the trunk. I know you’re damn good at that.”
She looked at the ground. Several feet below, it was a soggy, watery mess and several yards to higher ground.
“That looks like a surefire ankle break if we’re not cautious. I’m up to here on rest and relaxation, so be careful.”
If she broke her ankle, this was going to go downhill faster than a speeding locomotive with no brakes.
“That’s the watchword, babe. Be careful of our friends at our six who want to have us for dinner.”
She whipped to the right. The caimans watched them with dark, beady eyes. “I’d taste really bad,” she said. “Much too tough.”
“I can’t shoot them, or we’ll have the EDL here, as well as our uninvited guests.”
“You really know how to bolster someone’s confidence,” she said caustically.
He’d instructed her to the point that she looked up at him with pique. “Would you like me to sit on that branch and coach you while you inch down a thick trunk, trying with all your might not to fall to your death? I’d be happy to oblige.”
“Got it,” he said, his brows shooting up and a smile curving his lips against his will. “Shut the hell up. Proceed, ma’am.”
She rolled her eyes. “Ma’am, my ass.” Then she looked back at the caimans. “Really, I’m so tough, you’ll break a tooth.”
He watched as she concentrated, every muscle tense as she worked toward the ground, her gaze flicking to the gators floating in the water a few yards away. When her feet touched the ground, she carefully walked across the soggy earth.
It was his turn, and Rock used his boots and gloved hands to slide down the trunk. He saw that Neve had gotten bogged down, and he waded through the knee-deep, algae-covered vines and water plants to cut her free with the machete.
Wrapping his arm around her narrow waist, he hauled her to higher ground. He didn’t pause or let her catch her breath. “The gators are licking their chops.”
They ran, pushing through the underbrush, water flowing off their clothes.
Then Rock came to a dead stop as Neve plowed into him.
Every sense was tingling, and he turned in a circle, his eyes trying to penetrate the thick growth around them. Everything in him said there was someone there, watching, listening.
She went to protest, and he covered her mouth, bringing his finger to his lips. Her eyes went wide, and she froze.
Then the moment passed, and Rock had to wonder if he was paranoid. He didn’t think so. He grabbed her arm and hacked at the heavy growth with his machete. A mile away from the river, he slowed and signaled her to stop.
“We need to get some rest. Let’s make camp over here. He went to a deep, shadowed undergrowth and cleared an area. Creatures rustled the bushes as they vacated the spot. Rock pulled off his pack and delved in for his lightweight two-man tent. He quickly assembled it and then rose. “I’ll get some water.”
“I’ve got a lightweight stove and meal packs.”
“Me, too. We’ll use yours first. I’ll be right back.”
When he returned, she’d laid both of their sleeping bags on the floor of the tent. He didn’t say a word, and didn’t invite dialogue, but busied himself with purifying enough water for them to drink, then warmed a precooked meal pack, spaghetti and meatballs. As far as he was concerned, it was tastier than Meal, Ready-to-Eat, or MREs, as they were known in military speak.
Afterward, they removed their wet boots and socks to allow them to dry and settled in the enclosed tent. She pulled the holder out of her hair, and it tumbled like a fall of ebony to the middle of her back.
She looked down at his wrist, and when he followed her eyes, he saw she was eyeing the silver handcuff lying on the dark sleeping bag and he asked, “Do you have a key for this?”
“Yes. I—”
“No, no conversation, no talking, no nothing, just give me the key,” he growled, his jaw firm and tight.
She stared at him a moment and looked like she was going to argue, but he narrowed his eyes and she wearily sighed. Digging in her cargo pants pocket, she held it up to him. He unlocked the manacle and before she could protest, he placed it around her wrist.
“Russell,” she huffed, jerking at the cuff.
She’d proved damned resourceful up to now, and he was done with chasing her. All he wanted to do was get to Ammon Set, put a bullet in him and get her out. “Go to sleep, Neve,” he said as he opened, then locked the other cuff around the loop of tough nylon at the top of his sixty-pound backpack. “This is just insurance that I know you’ll be here in the morning. I’ll take the first watch.”
She scowled at him, then promptly turned over and gave him her back. Unfortunately, she had to snuggle against him because he was using his rucksack as a pillow. He didn’t give a damn as he stared out through the mesh openings in the nylon, effectively keeping out the bugs, but giving him a full clear field of vision. Stretching out his legs, he reached for the weapon he’d pulled out, the deadly sound suppressor already screwed onto the barrel. He set it and a couple magazines of ammo on his lap.
Now that they were safe, he could finally breathe.
After a few moments, his gaze settled on her and traveled over her thick, dark, stick-straight, silky hair. She was a solid, midsized woman, sleek muscle from her shoulders to the rounded muscle of her calf, with luxurious, bold, sloe-black eyes. His hands almost itched with the memory of her tight, firm shape under his palms. He wanted to explore her thoroughly.
He dragged his gaze from her to the jungle, shoring up his guard. No involvement with Tristan’s little sister, especially now that she’d made it clear she found it very easy to betray him. He was a fool for even letting his thoughts go down this road. She was determined to see the world, and he was rooted on home soil. Neither one of them would budge.
But that didn’t matter. He already had his heart involved here, and it hurt more than he could say that she’d dismissed his help more than once.
His anger had banked into a slow simmer. He wasn’t ready to let go of it and let her make her explanations or whatever she’d been about to say when he’d cut her off three times now.
His marriage had been unsatisfying and uneventful. When he received the Dear John email from her, Diane’s cheating hadn’t even been a blip on his radar. The divorce papers came soon afterward, and he’d actually celebrated by screwing the first woman who was willing, laughing at himself for staying faithful to someone who couldn’t care less about him. He and his wife weren’t compatible, and she hated that he was gone so much. After that, he’d slept around, and that contented him. Then, he’d gone on leave with Tristan and ended up in Dutch Harbor, in his best friend’s home, where he’d met Neve.
He would never forget it. He’d been up early, so excited about being in Alaska and dying to see the crabbing boat and the town that he couldn’t sleep. There had been a noise, the stairs creaking, and he had expected Tristan, but instead, she had emerged and taken his breath and his sanity.
Her hair had been really long then, down past her hips. It had been right before she’d enlisted in the Coast Guard, just twenty and halfway through her college degree. She had ditched schooling for swim fins.
He could remember it like it was yesterday how she’d met his eyes, so firm and bold, and he’d been lost. So beautifully dark. He wondered if she recalled it like he did.
Neve’s hand shifted to his stomach, and Rock’s muscles instantly flexed. He moved her hand away from the danger zone and tried not to think about her touching him with nothing between them. He wondered how long he’d last without tasting her again.
