Harlequin Intrigue June 2015 - Box Set 2 of 2: Navy SEAL NewlywedThe GuardianSecurity Breach

by Elle James

  Out of the corner of her NVGs Tracie saw a big green blob not ten feet from where they crouched on the ground. She eased down to her belly, making herself as much a part of the jungle floor as she could.

  “Damn, he’s got NVGs,” Rip said quietly.

  Tracie held her breath, waiting for all hell to break loose.

  The man passed by their location and continued on, making a turn at the far end of camp. He had his NVGs tilted upward. A lucky break for their little party. Tracie released the breath she’d been holding and started to rise to her knees.

  “Stay put,” Rip said. “There’s another one coming.”

  The next man didn’t have NVGs but he carried what looked like an automatic weapon with a long banana clip.

  Once again, Tracie sucked in a breath and held it. The man headed their way was closer than the first and he kicked at leaves as he walked, appearing bored and slightly resentful at having to pull guard duty.

  “We’ll stay here until the camp settles.” Rip lay on his belly, probably conserving his strength.

  Tracie lay as flat as she could, but her heart pounded so hard, she would be worn out before they moved into the camp. Inhaling, she eased the air out of her lungs, willing her pulse to slow. After a few minutes, she had control of her excitement.

  * * *

  SHE WASN’T SURE how long they waited, an hour, maybe two, before the camp grew quiet, the vehicles’ engines had cooled and the camp residents had stopped moving around. All except the men pulling guard duty.

  Rip rose to his knees. “I’m going to get closer. Everyone stay here until I give you orders otherwise.”

  “But—” Tracie started.

  “You promised to do as I say,” Rip reminded her.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then don’t argue.”

  She clamped her lips shut. Carlos and Julio hadn’t argued. Feeling like a child who had been reprimanded, Tracie lay back down and watched as Rip low crawled into camp.

  She didn’t like the idea of him going in alone. What if he ran into trouble? Who would have his six?

  No one.

  For an excruciatingly long time, she lay counting the seconds. Rip hadn’t said a word, hadn’t let them know he was okay and most of all, hadn’t told them to join him.

  The only thing that made her feel better was that camp was still quiet, no one had raised an alarm. So, Tracie waited as instructed, chewing a hole in her lip, praying Rip was all right.

  * * *

  RIP MADE IT all the way to one of the tents without incident. So far so good. He was glad he’d made the others wait in the woods. Infiltrating the inside perimeter with one person was hard enough. Taking four in would be impossible.

  A guard had been deployed outside the tent he’d identified as the one that could contain the evidence he was looking for. The man had started his sentry duties standing and had eventually squatted and then sat. Now his head was tipped forward and he snored with a light whistling sound.

  When he was certain nothing was moving, Rip eased his way around the outskirts to the back of what he had tagged as the supply tent. Slipping his knife from his boot, he slit a one-foot long gash in the canvas and pushed it aside, peering in through his NVGs, while his ears perked for any sounds from behind.

  Nothing moved inside the tent and it was filled with crates and boxes stacked three deep in some places. Careful not to make a sound, he crawled beneath the canvas and into the tent. Using the crates for cover, he eased his way to the front of the tent to confirm that the tent was empty of personnel.

  Near the entrance, one of the crates was set aside, the lid loose on top.

  Rip listened for the whistling sound of the guard snoring. For a long moment, he heard nothing, then the soft whistle came to him through the canvas.

  Careful not to make a sound, he eased the lid off the crate, lifting it toward the entrance, propping it up to block any light he might have to shine down into the crate.

  As dark as it was outside, it was even darker inside the tent. The NVGs only did so much. He had to see more. Shifting the goggles upward he shone a red penlight into the crate. Clothes and cans of vegetables lay jumbled on top. As he dug deeper, his fingers hit the cold metal and hard plastic of M4A1 carbine rifles.

  Easing one out of the crate, he laid it on top of the clothing and held the pen over it, clicking the end to take a photo. Looking closer, he saw that the weapons didn’t have serial numbers on them.

  On the manufacturing plate where they usually were, the metal was smooth, as if it had been ground down and repainted, the paint color a slightly different shade from the rest of the stock. Even the horse emblem identifying the manufacturer had been removed. It wasn’t a clone of the M4A1, it was the real deal, modified to hide that fact.

  If this was all they had to go on, they didn’t have anything.

  Disappointed, Rip laid the weapon back in the box and moved the lid back in place. As he settled the wood over the crate, his fingers slipped and the top landed with a soft whomp.

  The guard outside the tent flap door, snorted awake, muttering curse words in Spanish.

  Rip ducked behind a large wooden crate just as the tent flap was thrown aside.

  Peeking through the gap between two crates he could see the guard enter, weapon first. He shone a flashlight around the interior, pausing on the crates behind which Rip hid.

  His breath caught in his throat, Rip froze.

  A shout went up outside and the guard spun and ran out of the tent.

  As soon as the tent flap fell in place, Rip leaped to his feet and ran to the doorway, edging the flap to the side enough he could see what was going on.

  A truck rumbled into the camp, headlights illuminating all the tents. A dozen men emerged, rubbing sleep from their eyes and carrying some of the weapons supplied from the crates.

  Delgado hurried by Rip’s tent, shouting orders. He had to have come from one of the tents next to the one Rip was in. Only three tents had been erected on this side of the compound. One on the very end and four across from where he hid. He could see the one on the end, but not the ones beside him, narrowing the possibilities.

  While the men gathered around the truck, Rip slipped out the hole he’d cut in the back of the supply tent and ran to the one beside it, hoping to find any information regarding the shipment of weapons—a cargo manifest, contact name of the shipper, anything that would help them trace the weapons back to the seller. He tried to listen for any sounds of movement inside the tent, but the commotion outside drowned out anything inside. As he inserted his knife to tear a hole, he prayed the noise from the truck engine was sufficient to mask the sound of ripping canvas.

  When he had a gap big enough, he lifted the flap and peered inside. Half a dozen pallets were spread across the floor along with clothes hanging from a line struck from pole to pole. It appeared to be the equivalent of a portable barracks for the terrorists who trained there.

  Delgado held more of position of authority than a lowly grunt.

  Rip moved on to the next tent. A loud crash and the sound of splintering wood sounded in the center of the compound, a man cried out and others shouted all at once. Whatever they were unloading from the truck must have crashed onto one of the men.

  The confusion would be enough to allow him to check out the next tent. Quickly, he moved into position behind the next tent, slit a tear in the back and peered inside. A makeshift desk had been erected with paper scattered across the top. A cot stood in the corner with mosquito netting hanging from the roof down over the cot. Nothing moved inside the tent.

  Rip crawled through the hole and, keeping low, moved toward the desk. Quickly, he snapped pictures of the documents, one after the other until he had all of them. He found a battered briefcase on the floor beside the desk and flicked th
e clasps open.

  A moan behind him made him freeze. He turned to find a woman lying among a pile of blankets on the floor of the tent. She lifted her head and frowned at him in the dim light that shone through the canvas from the truck outside.

  “Who are you?” she asked in groggy Spanish.

  He replied in Spanish. “No one, go back to sleep.”

  Her frown deepened. “You are not Carmelo.” She straightened, pulling the blankets up over her naked body.

  Her scream sliced through the night, piercing Rip’s eardrums.

  Throwing the briefcase in front of him, he dove for the slit in the back of the tent, managing to get through before the first man entered the tent behind him. He scooped up the briefcase and ran as fast as he could, the darkness hampering his progress and making him second-guess where he was going. Keeping the light from the truck in his peripheral vision, he circled the camp, watching for the men guarding the perimeter.

  The screaming didn’t stop until he was halfway around the camp. He heard a shout near the point he’d left Tracie, Carlos and Julio and prayed they hadn’t been discovered.

  Hunkering low, he moved more slowly toward their position. Before he got within fifty yards, the whole world erupted in a fiery explosion.

  Chapter Thirteen

  When the truck lumbered into the camp, Tracie could no longer stand by and do nothing. “What if he’s trapped somewhere that he can’t get out without alerting them to his presence?” she whispered to Carlos.

  “He will get out.”

  “We could set up a diversion just in case.” Julio patted the plastic explosives he had tucked into his vest earlier.

  “No.” Carlos remained firm. “He’ll let us know if he needs help.”

  Julio pointed to a beat-up van parked near the edge of camp, closest to them. “I could be there, set a charge and get back before Rip returns. And no one will see me.”

  Carlos shook his head, the movement slowing as if he was considering the suggestion. “Remote detonation? I don’t want to kill our guy.”

  A cold chill slithered down the back of Tracie’s neck, in direct contrast to the sweat dripping off her brow. “I say let Julio go for it.” She positioned her nine-millimeter in front of her. “I’ve got your back.”

  Julio stared at her, his brows twisting. “You sure you know how to use that thing?”

  “I’ll show you just how well if you make another comment like that.”

  Carlos chuckled softly. “Go.”

  Julio slipped into the night. Once he left their position, Tracie didn’t see him again until he slid beneath the van and then only because she knew he’d be there. The headlights from the truck provided just enough illumination to see when he finished and rolled out from under the chassis.

  Back into the night, he moved, virtually invisible until he slipped up behind Tracie and Carlos.

  Tracie started, rolled onto her back and aimed her pistol at the man.

  On his knees, Julio held up his hands. “It’s me. Don’t shoot.”

  “Give me a little warning next time.” Her heart hammered against her ribs. “I almost shot you.”

  Julio lay on the ground between them.

  “Did you see Rip?” Tracie half hoped he had and then again that he hadn’t. If he’d seen him, how many terrorists would be able to see him?

  “No.”

  A scream rose above the noise of the truck’s engine.

  Tracie watched as the men behind the truck ran for one of the tents on the other side of the camp.

  “We’ve got trouble,” Julio said beside her.

  “What now?” Tracie asked.

  “The sentry with the NVGs is headed this way. And I don’t mean sliding by us, he’s headed right for us.”

  “Back up, slowly, stay low,” Carlos warned.

  “Damn, he’s coming faster,” Julio said. “Can I shoot him?”

  “No!” Tracie said as quietly as she could. “If we fire a weapon, we alert the others to our presence.”

  They had backed away several yards when the man headed their way shouted.

  Julio stopped moving and pulled out the detonator. “Time to blow.”

  Tracy and Carlos covered their ears a second before Julio hit the switch.

  A loud bang shook the ground and the night sky lit up like the Fourth of July. The sentry hit the dirt and covered his ears.

  Carlos dropped his hands from his ears and grabbed Tracie’s arm. “Let’s move.”

  The initial explosion was followed by a secondary explosion as the van’s gas tank erupted in a fiery ball, spewing fuel into the air, catching the nearby tents and some of the men on fire. Gunshots were fired and the whole camp churned in turmoil.

  Carlos tugged Tracie’s arm. “Come on!”

  She dug her heels into the ground. “Not without Rip.”

  “He’ll come when he doesn’t find us where he left us.” Carlos dragged her away from the burning camp.

  Again Tracie dug her heels in the dirt. “I’m not leaving without him.”

  A shout sounded behind them.

  A bullet whizzed past Tracie’s head and hit the tree in front of her. She quit fighting Carlos, dropped to her hands and knees and crawled across the ground. When she reached a massive tree trunk, she rolled behind it for cover.

  More shouts rose from the fire at the center of the compound. Fortunately, most of them were battling the blaze and unconcerned about one lonely sentry, fighting a battle all on his own.

  Tracie aimed her weapon at the man racing toward them and almost pulled the trigger when a rectangular object flew out of the trees and hit the guerilla in the side of the head.

  He slammed against a tree trunk and sank into a heap, the rectangular object skidding to a halt on the ground beside him.

  A dark silhouette detached itself from a nearby shadow, bent to scoop up what appeared to be a briefcase and ran toward them.

  Her heart pounded even harder—Tracie would recognize that form anywhere.

  “Rip!” She staggered to her feet and threw her arms around his neck.

  He dropped a quick kiss on her lips and said, “We have to get out of here.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you, buddy.” Carlos raced for the river.

  Rip, holding the briefcase in one hand and Tracie’s hand in the other, ran after him.

  Julio brought up the rear, covering their six.

  When they reached the overhanging tree where they’d left the boat, everyone tumbled in while Rip pushed off the shore and settled in next to the motor.

  Tracie peeked over the sides and spotted the man Rip had knocked over with the briefcase.

  He stood on the shore beside a tree and raised his rifle, letting loose a short burst of bullets. The rounds plunked into the water close to the raft.

  “Get down!” Rip cranked the motor, grabbed the till and angled it toward the shadows along the far shore, which wasn’t far enough for Tracie’s tastes. The rubber raft puttered down the river at the pace of a snail’s crawl.

  Carlos aimed at the man on the shore and fired, but the pistol’s range wasn’t nearly as far as that of the M4A1. Their attacker was quickly out of their weapons’ range.

  More bullets pelted the water and one ripped into the little boat’s hull.

  Air hissed out of the tear and one of the compartments gradually deflated, slowing the boat even more. Tracie pinched the rubber over the hole in an attempt to slow the collapse. Water trickled into the bottom, but they continued downstream moving farther and farther away from the shooter.

  Tracie looked ahead at a bend in the river and prayed they’d get there before another bullet sank them completely.

  As they rounded the corner, the shooter fired again, mis
sing the boat.

  Rip grunted and hunched forward.

  “Rip?” Tracie rose up, grabbed Rip’s shoulders and leaned him upright. Her right hand came away warm and sticky.

  “I’m okay,” he said through gritted teeth. “He just nicked me.”

  “Yeah, right,” Carlos reached into his vest and pulled out a pouch. “That’s a self-aid kit. As long as it didn’t hit an artery—”

  “It didn’t,” Rip said. “I’m fine.”

  “As I was saying,” Carlos eased his way to the back of the boat. “Apply pressure to the wound to stop the bleeding. I’ll take the till.”

  “I’ve got it,” Rip groused.

  “He’ll live,” Julio said. “As grumpy as he is, he’ll live.”

  “I told you I was fine,” Rip forced a tight smile.

  “Bull.” Tracie tugged at his good arm. “Let Carlos steer or you’ll run us into the trees.”

  Rip let Tracie drag him into the center of the raft. She dug her fingers into the hole in his shirt and ripped it away from his shoulder. Tearing open the pouch Carlos had given her, she found a folded wad of gauze and adhesive tape. “Looks like the bullet went clean through.”

  “Good,” Rip said, his voice tight. “At least they won’t have to dig it out.”

  Tracie pressed a wad of gauze to the front wound and taped it tightly in place. She did the same for the exit wound. When she was done, she used her hands to scoop the rising water and blood out of the boat.

  Rip leaned close to her. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. And by the way, you make a terrible patient.”

  “You make a sexy nurse with black lipstick.”

  “Well, don’t get used to it. I prefer you intact.”

  He chuckled. “I prefer you the same way.” With his lips next to her ear, he whispered, “And naked.”

  Julio coughed and spluttered. “TMI, buddy. I didn’t have to hear that.”

  Tracie’s cheeks burned and she was glad the trees hid them from the starlight at that moment. Carlos steered them into the tiny cove they’d departed from what seemed like days ago and could only have been a few hours.