So he watched the pretty lady of the cove, the huntress who didn’t know she was brave. The warrior who’d faced a hostile business world without being sucked into its cynicism. The tender woman with the spear who was quickly becoming his whole world.
No way!
Shannon caught the movement to her left out of her peripheral. Something rustled just beyond the bushes. Then silence. It was him. That darn cat thing. He’d returned, and he was creeping in for another easy catch that she’d worked for. He thought he was pretty clever.
Well, two can play this game, Mr. Wildcat. I’ve got news for you. I’m hunting you, too.
She took two cautious steps toward her furry foe, crouching low, her arm cocked, and her trusty spear poised to strike and strike hard. Now we’ll see who’s the better hunter.
The lacy fronds at ground level moved ever so slightly. She froze. He knew she was there. She allowed a smile at this feline’s curiosity. Not this time kitty-cat. It’s you or me, and I’m...
Two dark eyes stared out from beneath the leafy undergrowth. Human eyes. A man’s blackened face pressed through the leaves. Bare shoulders supported by bloody arms and dirty hands followed.
“It’s a... It’s a...” She couldn’t get the words out. Shannon spun around, and ran face-first into Adam’s rock-solid chest.
He shoved her behind him. “Donavan?” he rasped, his head cocked as he set her aside. “What the—”
“Donavan!” Izza charged past them, splashing through the cove and dropping to her knees beside the man. “Where’ve you been? Oh, my hell, you’re...”
He collapsed against her. “Water,” he croaked.
Shannon ran and retrieved a plastic bottle filled with fresh water. Charging back through the cove, she handed it to Adam and stepped back. He’d already rolled Donavan to his side and cradled him in his arms while Izza checked him for injuries.
“Here you go, buddy.” Adam held the bottle to Donavan’s cracked lips.
Donavan drank greedily, squeezing the bottle tight and sucking it dry. When empty, he sagged against Adam. The man was filthy, covered with sores. He stared at her, then Izza, and finally returned his gaze to Adam. “He’s got... the drones.”
The shiver she’d gotten from the spider was nothing compared to the chill that sluiced over her rattled nerves. The drones. The solar-powered, forward-thinking, decision-making Hummingbird Hawks. Pterodactyls. Hunter killers. Even Adam had called them killer bees. And they were there on the island. With Ramsey.
“Where?” Adam asked. “Where is he?”
“The caves...” With a groan, Donavan clutched Adam’s bicep. “He’s coming for her.”
Adam brushed a gentle hand over Donavan’s cheek. “Come on, buddy, take it easy. What caves?”
Donavan blinked desperate eyes at Adam. “She’s not... who we think she is,” he ground out.
“Who isn’t who we think she is? Shannon?” Izza asked, her palm to Donavan’s forehead. “Come on, big guy. You’re burning up with fever. What are you trying to tell us?”
With a groan, he went limp before he could answer.
“Help me move him,” Adam ordered.
Shannon sprang into action. She lifted one of Donavan’s legs, and Izza the other while Adam carried him by the armpits, and together they transferred him through the cove to where Connor lay sound asleep. Once on his back again, Izza busied herself undressing Donavan, while Adam checked for injuries. They looked like they knew what they were doing, so Shannon stayed out of their way.
“He’s been undercover,” Adam said. “That’s why we couldn’t find him. He used some kind of reddish tint, berry juice maybe to camouflage his body. That’s why he’s so dirty. The streaks on his face are ash, probably from a campfire.”
Shannon rubbed the goosebumps off her sore arm. They had a campfire. Could Donavan have entered their camp without them knowing it? While they were sleeping? Had Ramsey?
“Adam.” Izza sat back on her legs, pointing to a nasty black line on Donavan’s upper thigh.
“Damn,” Adam muttered. “He’s been shot.”
“Creased.” She traced the two-inch long wound with her fingertips. “It’s not septic yet. Shannon, get the first-aid kit. I need more water, too.”
Glad for the opportunity to help, Shannon ran to the stream for more water. It took a few minutes to stoke the embers in their fire pit and get the water boiling, but the moment she’d sterilized one of the Swiss Army knives, she handed it to Adam.
Deftly, he opened the wound with one quick flick of his wrist. Donavan didn’t move. Izza cleaned and flushed the wound, while Shannon folded one of the linen napkins from the Gulfstream for a bandage.
Half asleep, Connor raised to one elbow. “What’s going on? Crap. You found Donavan?”
“More like he found us,” Adam muttered. “He’s been shot. Give me a hand. I need to stitch this wound.”
Connor joined in, and Shannon was amazed at how well these three agents functioned as a team. One minute Adam was giving orders, the next Izza. Even Connor offered up a terse “Hold him still, damn it.” In no time, Donavan’s wound was stitched and dressed.
Adam convened a team meeting at their friend’s side. He motioned for Shannon to join them, so she sat cross-legged next to Izza. Adam cut to the chase. “Ramsey has the drones. If he knows how to activate their homing stations, we’re in trouble.”
“Do you think he can, though?” Connor asked. “How would a security guard know how to control that level of technology?”
“There’s no way to know for sure, but once their batteries are fully charged, yes. Ramsey’s perfectly capable.” Adam looked to Shannon. “That takes what? Seventy-two hours for a full charge?”
She nodded. He’d taken command without a word, and Connor and Izza let him. There was no arrogance or condescension in Adam. He was gathering his forces, not stepping on them. Shannon listened while he led. He seemed to be a natural-born leader.
“Wait. He’s got to have a visual feed to see what those drones see, doesn’t he?” Izza asked.
“He’s got a laptop. I saw one in the cargo hold,” Adam replied.
“But even a laptop needs a power source, unless it’s solar-powered, too.” Connor looked to Shannon when he said that. “Well? Is it?”
She shrugged. “I honestly don’t know, but it makes sense. My father developed the solar-energy technology the drones run on. If he can do it for drones, why not computers?”
“Then we need to acquire that laptop,” Izza continued.
“Agreed,” Adam shot back. “How?”
“That’s why Donavan was out there,” Connor said thoughtfully. “He must’ve intercepted Ramsey after we crashed. Maybe witnessed the murders and followed him.”
“And Ramsey took a shot at him,” Adam added. “Donavan mentioned something about caves before he passed out. I know we didn’t cover the entire island, but did you see any cave while we were scouting?”
Connor shook his head.
“Then it’s got to be subterranean,” Adam said quickly. “Izza...” He paused, looking at her long and hard, like he couldn’t decide what to say next.
She must’ve read his mind. “We go out two by two, Adam. You know the rule. No one hunts alone. Not even for a bloodsucker like Ramsey. No.”
He sighed, and Shannon understood his dilemma. There were only two capable covert operators right now—Izza and Adam. Connor might be feeling like himself at the moment, but Adam didn’t trust him alone with Shannon. No, Izza needed to stay with Connor to keep him calm, and she, Shannon, was pretty much deadweight. Adam had already made sure she understood she wasn’t to go anywhere by herself.
“There’s something else.” Shannon bit her lip. Instantly, all eyes were on her, but her friends needed to know. “I didn’t find out until the night before we took off, but these drones were built with artificial intelligence.”
“They what?” Connor asked. “They have a brain?”
“Yes.
Each of them has a fully functional microprocessor. It’s how they can be programmed to work together. Like you guys. Like a team.”
“Ha,” Izza snorted. “More like a hunter-killer team.”
“Are you telling us they know how to think?” Connor asked.
“And make decisions,” Shannon answered.
Adam stared at her before he blew out a deep sigh. “Damn. That’s bad.”
“We’re sitting ducks,” Izza breathed a low growl. “He’s got four armed drones with lasers that can vaporize us on sight, and we’ve got nothing but a couple knives and a gun.”
“I know the code to shut them down.” Shannon blurted it out before another word was spoken. Again, three sets of piercing eyes drilled hers. Connor shot a dark glance toward Adam. He probably still thought she was working with Ramsey, but right now, she didn’t care what Connor thought. Adam had faith in her.
He proved it when he brushed his hands on his knees and stood. “Then it’s settled. You’re coming with me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Adam would’ve preferred Izza’s company over Shannon’s on a covert operation. Izza knew black ops down to her soul. She could and had taken on bad guys twice her size and made them cry for their mommies. She just didn’t know drones.
But then, gearing up to go dark used to mean strapping on NVGs, as in, night-vision goggles, loading up a dozen flash bangs, as many clips or magazines as he could carry, maybe a garrote, and always—as in always—a sharp knife and another gun or two. Make that three. Maybe a compressed parachute if there were any chance things might take an aerodynamic spin.
Tonight, it meant that Shannon dressed in one of Izza’s black TEAM shirts and zero-dark-thirty cargo pants, while he smeared soot from the campfire over his face and down his neck and arms. It was interesting that Izza had brought work clothes on what should have been a second-honeymoon, but that was Izza. Always ready for trouble.
While Shannon changed clothes, Adam made a muddy concoction of berries and ash. He smeared his bare chest, his arms, up his neck and face while Connor covered his back. No skin must show. Not tonight.
Then it was Shannon’s turn to get dirty. Any surface or flat plane of her bare skin, any part of her that would catch moonlight, had to be concealed. She held her breath and trembled beneath Adam’s fingertips. It would’ve been a whole lot nicer if he’d been doing something a little more intimate than covering her with cinders. Like coconut-scented suntan lotion. Whipped cream. Sweet chocolate syrup. Maybe some honey. Anything but getting her ready to go undercover for her first black op.
Big, scared eyes blinked up at him while he applied ash to her forehead and down her nose. “I can do this, you know,” she declared bravely.
He nodded in the affirmative, fighting the urge to dip his fingers below the collar of her T-shirt and cup the soft, sweet mound of her breast. That was the kind of dirtying-up he and she should be doing. Drawing closer. Talking. Touching. Exploring each other’s bodies instead of infiltrating a dangerous killer’s lair.
With no time to second-guess his decision to take her with him on the hunt for Ramsey, Adam sat her down between Connor and Izza, and together, they’d bombarded her with one piece of black ops advice and know-how after another.
At last, he felt sure she understood how every breath and sound might be the difference between life and death. How buddy teams moved in sync, never alone.
At least, she’d heard enough to be minimally capable. There was no other way. They didn’t have the luxury of time. The drones had to be disabled.
“What are you thinking?” Connor asked quietly while Izza checked Shannon’s paint job one last time.
Adam lifted his chin at the jungle. “The usual. We’ll stick to the edge of the jungle. Keep a low profile. Find the bastard.”
“Just recon?”
“Maybe more. Depends how many we find with him. If Ramsey’s alone out there…” Adam let Connor fill in the blanks. When Ramsey moved, Adam intended to follow. If the gods of war and chaos were on his side, he intended to give Ramsey his fancy knife back, too.
“She’s no operator,” Connor murmured, his gaze fastened on the women. “It might be better if you stick to the jungle and don’t engage. Track him to his camp if you can. See how many are working with him. Then tomorrow we leave Shannon with Donavan and the three of us go after Ramsey.”
Connor actually made sense. As much as Adam needed to locate Ramsey, he needed to take care of his team more. “Agreed,” he said softly, scanning his partner one last time. Shannon had donned Izza’s black canvas sneakers. She’d have decent foot protection in the jungle. No flash of white showed anywhere. Good girl.
“I’ll be waiting for you,” Connor declared at their departure, his hands on his hips. His eyes seemed clear for a change, but something in Adam refused to change the roster and take Izza instead of Shannon just because Connor was having a good night. Call it male ego. Call it jealous pride. Adam wanted Shannon at his side, and no one else’s.
“Take care of him, Shannon,” Izza said, with a firm nod. “He’s our best flying squirrel.”
“Look for us at dawn,” Adam answered. “If he’s prowling our camp at night like I think he is, we should at least know where he’s holed up and how many he’s got with him. Take care of Donavan.”
“You got it,” Connor murmured. “Later.”
Adam stepped out with Shannon at his six.
The moon was high in the east. Creeping from shadow to shadow, Shannon did a good job of keeping up and keeping quiet. He recognized the banana tree where she’d encountered her spider. If they could get past this shadowy den of a thousand screams, they could make it anywhere. She stiffened when it came her turn to pass. That was all. No gasp, and no scream. Good girl.
They were well past the spider tree when a small creature scurried through the brush beside them, then stopped. Adam halted and signaled Shannon to do the same. A frightened animal might squeal, squeak, or raise an alarm. Before he moved another foot, that creature needed to decide there was no danger in the jungle tonight and to walk away. It didn’t. The darn thing was curious.
It rustled closer until it stopped at his boot. Small, short-eared, and bright-eyed, a sliver of moonlight made the creature visible in the dark night. A long snout pointed up at him. The thing was friendly. It sniffed the cuff of his jeans, but when it rested a paw on his boot like it meant to climb aboard, it was time to discourage the little guy.
Adam would’ve moved his foot to scare it off, but the nervy rodent did a quick about-face and shook its tail. Damned if it didn’t pee on his boot before it squeaked and disappeared back into the brush. He was officially marked territory. Adam’s heart flew homeward to Seamus. The goofy dog would’ve had a field day chasing the pesky rodent.
Stealthily, they skirted the island, a boot-shaped piece of rock and sand with a narrow spur that jutted into the sea at the southwest side. The jungle was alive with insects, a good indicator that all was well. Nature tended to quiet down in the wake of large predators, and Adam banked on that tonight. All five senses were hyper alert and tuned to the slightest signal, a brush of skin or clothing against leaf, the snap of a twig or the crush of sand or gravel beneath a heavy foot. But no such noises came to him.
Shannon proved as silent as he was, maybe more so. He could hear and feel the throb of his pulse. Not hers.
On the opposite side of the island, he called a rest stop within the temple columns of another Banyan. Shannon didn’t say a word, looking out at the deserted beach and the waves rolling to shore. The quiet moment begged a kiss, one he considered giving her, but that kind of thinking got an operator in trouble. He pushed the temptation off.
There was still no sign of Ramsey. Nothing to indicate any human being had been there. No campfire. No marks in the sand. Just the great wide Pacific aglow with moonlight. Adam jerked his head toward the jungle. Shannon offered up one quick nod and followed. There was more than one way to skin a cat, and if
they had to sit all night to wait Ramsey out, Adam intended to do it.
Deeper into the jungle they went. When he figured they’d gone far enough, he signaled Shannon to lower into position. Gradually, she crouched to her knees. He signaled her to sit. She didn’t bat an eye, but sat cross-legged. Now for the hard part—keeping still while the jungle life investigated you.
He’d done this long before he was ever a military operator. Deer hunting in his home state of South Carolina with his dad had taught him plenty about lying still in the mud while centipedes, ants, and spiders checked him out. It had been a tough lesson, but it paid off. The best time of his life had to be the day he’d shot the two-hundred-and-five-pound, ten-point velvet buck. Talk about beginner’s luck. He’d just turned sixteen. It was his first deer. Nearly his last.
Adam and his dad had lain for hours waiting in the muck for the chance. In a county full of large corn, soybean, and peanut fields, it was just a matter of time. Sure enough. Lying there on his belly, all smelly, itchy, and wishing he could swat the pesky flies and ticks off his neck and face, along came the granddaddy of all deer. Even though his heart was pumped full of ‘Wow!’ Adam had done everything just right, exactly what his dad taught. Be patient, Son. Be still. Don’t get all excited. And most of all, don’t shoot until your target’s close enough. Words of wisdom Adam lived by still.
He remembered the day perfectly, a clear blue and downright chilly morning. Ever so slightly, he’d raised his bolt action Winchester M70, the one he’d gotten for Christmas the year before. The mythical creature advanced. Adam’s teenage heart very nearly stopped, it was ramped up so high on adrenaline. What would all his friends say? He would have been a hero if he’d shot the monster buck. So cool!
But a funny thing happened. Liquid brown eyes looked straight into his soul, and Adam’s heart failed. He’d never considered the personal cost of taking a life until then. This benign creature lived in the same wonderful world he did. It drank from the same cold streams. It breathed the same frosty air. And it had survived to ten-point maturity because it was the wise one in the forest. Not Adam. He was just some punk with a gun.
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