by Pamela Clare
The jerk drew his hand back as if to strike her, but a shout from the wounded man stopped him. He lowered his hand, backed away.
Startled, Kristi looked down, found her patient watching her.
“He will not harm you.” The man’s face was lined with pain. He, too, was thin, but older than the men who’d abducted her, his short dark hair and trimmed beard shot through with gray. “Help me.”
Kristi knelt beside him, pressed her hand to his forehead, doing her best to collect herself. She was a nurse. He was a patient in need of her help.
You can do this.
“You’ve got a fever. I need to check your wound. May I?”
“Yes.”
Kristi removed the bloody bandage, relieved to find neither gangrene nor red streaks on his thigh. “You’ve got an infection. The bullet is still inside the wound. I will need to take it out. It will be painful.”
“Do it.”
She summoned her courage, met his gaze. “If I help you, do you promise to let me go, untouched and unharmed?”
She had never played hardball as a nurse, never made a patient’s treatment contingent on how that person treated her. But this was about survival. She didn’t have a lot of options here.
“Yes. Yes!”
“Okay, then I will help you.” Kristi glanced around. “I need light. It’s too dark in here. It would be easier for me to work if we could raise you up off the ground.”
The man shouted at the others behind her. They lifted and carried him outside to a rough-hewn table roughly the size of a picnic bench, Kristi following behind with the duffel bag.
She glanced around, her stomach knotting. They were deep in the forest. Worse, there were no other women in sight.
Focus.
She set the duffel bag near his feet, took out some gloves and the IV kit. “Do you have a name you’d like to be called?”
“Jidda.”
“Jidda, I’m going to hook you up to some intravenous fluids and antibiotics. I’ll need someone to hold the IV bags high above you so the liquid can run into your veins. The fluids will make you feel better, and the antibiotics will kill the infection.”
She wasn’t sure any of this made sense to him.
Jidda spoke to the men, and one stepped forward.
Kristi went to work setting up the IV, checking Jidda’s hand and arm for veins. “You’ll feel a stick.”
Jidda didn’t so much as blink.
She set up the IV with lactated Ringer’s, piggy-backing the antibiotics onto the fluids. Then she took out the Versed and a syringe, measuring out just enough to knock him out for about thirty minutes. “It’s going to be very painful when I take out the bullet. This medicine will make you sleep so you don’t feel it.”
She injected the medication into his IV and watched his eyes drift shut.
The next morning, Malik stood with Isaksen and Segal in the hallway outside Conference Room 2 at Cobra HQ, the three of them speaking so as not to be overheard. “If Cobra doesn’t get the assignment, I’m flying to Lagos myself.”
“Alone?” Segal glared at him. “Brother, that’s crazy.”
Isaksen shook his head. “You think you can walk into a Boko Haram camp or a den of Fulani bandits and take them on yourself?”
“What would you do if it was Samantha?”
“Samantha and I are getting married. You and Kristi haven’t talked for a year.”
Shields came around the corner, leaned close, lowered her voice. “Good news. It wasn’t Boko Haram.”
Relief washed through Malik, almost knocking him on his ass.
Not Boko Haram.
He started to ask how Shields knew that, but she stopped him.
“Tower is right behind me,” she whispered.
The conversation over for now, Malik and the others followed Shields into the conference room, where Dylan Cruz, Nick and Holly Andris, and Quinn McManus were already waiting. Cruz had served with DEVGRU—Seal Team Six—and was Malik’s closest buddy in the company. Andris had joined Cobra after a career with Delta Force. Holly, Andris’ drop-dead gorgeous wife, had done secret work for the CIA. Quinn McManus, a redheaded Scot who’d fought with the British Special Air Service, was Shields’ husband.
Cruz gave Malik a fist bump. “I heard, brother. I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” Malik took a seat.
Tower walked in, followed by Gabriela Marquez Cruz, another defector from the CIA and now Cruz’s wife. “It looks like we’re all here. Let’s get started.”
He sat at the head of the table, while Gabriela, with her big brown eyes and long dark hair, went to sit by her husband. Somehow Cruz had talked her into marrying him after the two had escaped a drug cartel in Venezuela, where Gabriela had been working undercover as a nun.
Yeah, that mission had been a clusterfuck.
Tower punched a button and Javier Corbray’s face appeared on the wall-mounted flat-screen. “Good morning.”
“Morning? It’s almost noon.” Corbray, also a former SEAL, grinned. “This assignment to Burkina Faso is pretty basic.”
Malik willed himself to focus. Cobra would act as security for a delegation of executives from a US mining corporation that was hoping to develop Burkina Faso’s vast manganese deposits. The trip would include two scheduled visits to the proposed mining site. They would spend the remainder of the week in meetings with government ministers in Ouagadougou.
“Shields has a risk assessment prepared for us.” Corbray handed the floor to her.
Shields went over the very real dangers this trip would pose due to the constant threat of terrorism. “The two trips to the mining site will be the most perilous. We have strongly encouraged the mining company to travel via helicopter, and they have agreed. Traveling via armored vehicle comes with too high a risk of ambush and abduction.”
Abduction.
Just like that, Malik’s concentration shattered, his mind ricocheting to Kristi. He fought to rein in his impatience while Shields finished the risk assessment and Nick Andris, who had just been promoted to operations manager, went over the security strategy in detail. But there was only one thing Malik wanted to hear.
What was Cobra doing to free Kristi?
Finally, after more than an hour, they moved on.
Tower’s gaze met Malik’s. “I’m sure by now most of you are aware that Kristi Chang, the RN who cared for Isaksen at Amundsen-Scott when he was shot, has been abducted. Corbray, Shields, and I have been on the phone with the State Department, hoping to get our guns into this fight. At this time, the US officials are working through other channels to secure Ms. Chang’s release.”
“What does that mean?”
“They’re hopeful Ms. Chang will be released without further bloodshed,” Corbray said. “Boko Haram has denied involvement. Witnesses said the men who took Ms. Chang forced her to steal medical supplies. They think she was abducted by bandits for her nursing skills. They expect a ransom demand and want to see how this plays out.”
Malik gritted his teeth to keep from shouting, helpless rage churning inside him. “So, that’s it. We wait.”
Tower nodded. “I’m afraid so. I know that’s not what you and Isaksen wanted. We’ll keep this on our radar. If there’s a chance to get in on a rescue operation, we’ll take it. You have my word on that.”
Malik nodded. “I appreciate that.”
But this meant that Kristi would be a captive for weeks, perhaps months, or even longer. Kristi with her sense of humor, sweet face, dark silky hair, and dangerous curves. He could see her smile, feel her soft skin, hear her voice.
The men who’d abducted her had killed the security guards. Though it would be in their interest to keep her safe, that didn’t mean they wouldn’t starve, torture, or rape her in the meantime. The last time Cobra had been in Nigeria, Malik had heard a radio report about four hostages taken from a seminary. Their ransom had been paid in full. Despite that, three had ended up in ICU, and one had been murdered.
&
nbsp; “I request permission to take an immediate leave of absence, sir.”
Tower glared at him. “You think you can go after her alone? Request denied.”
Malik knew what he had to do.
He stood, cutting off whatever Tower had been about to say. “You’ll have my resignation within the hour.”
Ignoring the astonishment on everyone’s faces, he left the conference room.
Kristi sat with her back against the mud brick wall of the little hut, Jidda sleeping on the mat beside her. She hadn’t dared close her eyes last night, even with the scalpel hidden in the pocket of her scrubs. She’d been afraid that the men who shared this hut with Jidda might take advantage of his drugged state to assault her. She also hadn’t relished the thought of lying amid rodent droppings, which in this part of the world, carried some terrible diseases, including Lassa Fever.
Six other men slept in here, their bed mats rolled up during the day. Jidda had told her that he was their leader, but he failed to say who they were. She had figured out that they weren’t Boko Haram when several of his men had crossed themselves just as she’d begun to extract the bullet. They must be bandits. They roved the forests, stealing cattle, kidnapping people for ransom, robbing, raping, killing.
At least she had her IUD. No matter what they did, she wouldn’t get pregnant.
She hugged her arms around herself, hollow with hunger and aching with thirst.
If she’d known she was being abducted, she would have tried to bring food and water for herself, not to mention doxycycline to prevent herself from contracting malaria. The medication was probably out of her system by now, making her vulnerable.
Had she truly believed they would drive away with the stolen medical supplies and leave her behind? She ought to have known by the questions the asshole had asked her and the way he’d looked at her that he’d had plans for her.
Are you a doctor?
No, I’m a registered nurse.
You take care of the sick?
How stupid could she be? Fatally stupid it seemed.
If she came down with malaria out here, she would most likely die.
Yeah, if they don’t kill you first.
Jidda had promised to let her go unharmed, but she had no idea whether he would keep his word. For him to have any chance at that, he had to survive.
She crawled over to him, pressed her palm to his forehead. His fever had gone down, but that could be from the ibuprofen and acetaminophen and not the antibiotics. She’d pulled a bullet and a piece of fabric out of his leg. There’d been a lot of pus, so she’d wet a four-by-four piece of sterile gauze and tucked it into the wound to keep it open so that it could drain. Then she had wrapped his thigh in sterile plastic wrap.
Jidda’s eyes fluttered open. “It feels better today.”
“That’s the pain-killers. I need to check it again, and I’ll need more boiled water.” Her stomach growled loudly enough for Jidda to hear it.
“Have they brought you no food?”
She was glad he asked. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday, and I’m so thirsty.”
“I will have them bring you food and water from the river.”
She shook her head. “I can’t drink river water. It must be boiled for at least three minutes, or it will make me sick.”
He frowned, then called out a name. “Peter!”
The man who’d abducted her appeared in the open doorway.
So that was the bastard’s name.
Jidda spoke to him in angry tones, then switched to English. “Bring our guest something good to eat, and boil more water for my leg and some for her to drink.”
“Fetch and boil water?” Peter glared at Kristi. “Am I a woman? Get Obi to do it. It is not my job to make her comfortable. She is our captive, nothing more.”
“Your job is to do what I tell you to do.” Then Jidda switched into his other language, a rush of angry words spilling out of him.
Looking sullen, Peter left to do as he’d been asked.
“What is your name?” Jidda asked.
“Kristi Chang.”
He repeated her name. “You are Chinese?”
“My ancestors were from China.” Her mother’s family had been in the US for generations now, while her father had remained in the US after coming from Beijing for medical school. But Kristi wouldn’t explain. “I was born in the United States.”
“Ah.”
She rose onto her knees to check IV bags, which now hung from a peg they had hammered into the crumbling mortar. She’d brought enough IV antibiotics for about forty-eight hours. After that, Jidda would be on oral meds only.
God, she hoped that would be enough.
If it wasn’t, if this infection got out of control…
“I’m going to check your wound now.” She peeled back the plastic, saw that the wound was draining well and less inflamed than it had been yesterday. Thank God. “I need to change the gauze again.”
He nodded, familiar with the routine.
She put on sterile gloves, took out the old gauze, and replaced it, Jidda grimacing as she worked. “Sorry. I know it’s painful.”
She wrapped his thigh in plastic once again.
Peter returned, set an aluminum coffee pot of steaming hot water down beside Jidda and handed Kristi a wooden bowl of spiced rice and vegetables called jollof, fried strips of plantain on top. “Eat with your hands.”
Kristi loved jollof, the scent making her mouth water. “Thank you.”
Peter grunted, glared at her, and then left the hut.
“Eat,” Jidda said.
Beyond manners or caring what anyone thought of her, Kristi scooped the hot rice with her fingers and shoveled it hungrily into her mouth.
3
Malik led Kristi to his room, the two of them wearing only towels from the sauna.
She took hold of his towel, yanked it off, dropped it to the floor, her gaze moving over him, appreciation on her face. She slid her hands up his bare chest. “Damn. I want to play with you.”
“Sounds good to me.” He returned the favor, tugging off her towel, letting it fall.
God, she was beautiful—full breasts, a slender waist, thick dark curls between her thighs. He’d already seen her naked body when they’d joined the 300 Club, but that had been in the dark and in freezing temperatures. Now, he was free to savor her.
An annoyed voice came over his radio, interrupting them. “Jones, this is Isaksen. Turn off your fucking camera.”
Shit.
Kristi jumped, covered her breasts. “You’ve got a cam in here?”
“Yeah. Sorry.” He walked over, turned it off. “It’s for security.”
She wasn’t supposed to know that. He would have to move it—and avoid bringing her here in the future.
Kristi laughed. “I guess that was my porn debut.”
Sexual need thrumming in his veins, Malik turned back to her.
But she was gone.
Malik’s head snapped up, adrenaline bringing him awake.
He raised his seat to the upright position, looked out the window, and saw the dense green of Nigerian forests below. He was almost there.
Isaksen had insisted on paying for the ticket. “She saved my life. Let me do something.”
“Thanks, man.”
Isaksen had stitched together a string of one-way flights to get Malik here—Denver to D.C., D.C. to London, London to Cairo, Cairo to Lagos. Lagos to Abuja. Ten hours of layovers and twenty hours in the air. It wasn’t as nice as traveling in Cobra’s private jet. That much was for damned sure.
Malik had used the time to study the intel packet Shields had put together for him.
She’d caught him in the hallway on his way out, handed him a manila envelope. “This is everything I could work up on short notice. I hope it helps. I activated one of Cobra’s assets on the ground there. You remember David Ayodele Olatunji?”
“Of course.” Cobra had worked with him on all of their Nigerian ops. “C
ool guy.”
“He’ll meet you at the airport in Abuja. He’ll have weapons for you and transportation. He’ll also take care of all the paperwork—credentials, firearms permits.”
Malik had been touched and surprised. “Thanks, Elizabeth.”
“Take these GPS tags. If you tuck one in your clothing, we’ll be able to track you if you go missing.”
Malik had taken the small plastic case from her. “Are you going to get yourself in trouble by giving me these?”
“Let me worry about that. I want you to come home alive with Kristi. You know how to reach me. Call or email if you need anything. I’ll send you any new intel that comes my way and assist however I can in my downtime.” Then she had hugged him. “Good luck, Malik. Be careful.”
But Tower had been another story.
Malik had gone to his office to turn in his resignation.
Tower had unleashed on him. “Do you have any idea how risky this is? You’re a kickass operator, a true warrior, but you could end up dead on this one. You won’t have backup or air support or even an eye in the sky. There will be no one to watch your six, no one to pull your ass out of the fire, no medic standing by.”
“I know.”
“Damn it, Jones! Just wait! Wait until we get back from Burkina Faso. I’ll do everything I can to get Cobra into this fight, but I need more time.”
“Kristi might not have time. What if the State Department still isn’t interested then? I’m sorry, sir. Working for Cobra has meant more to me than you know, but I can’t abandon her.”
For a moment, Tower had said nothing, the tension thick between them.
Then he’d picked up Malik’s letter of resignation. “I’m not accepting this—not now. If you cause an international incident or get arrested, I might have no choice.”
“Understood.”
“Make sure your vaccines are up to date. Come back in one piece, and we’ll talk about your future with this company.”
It was more than Malik had expected.
But the real surprise awaited him when he’d climbed into his car.
