by Ronie Kendig
“Cowboy, taking fire!” a voice hissed through the com piece in her ear. “Midas, how’s the objective?”
She angled around to see Canyon partly on his side, weapon drawn and aimed behind them.
Light twinkled in the night: muzzle flash. Even a hundred meters off, it was weird and discordant with the danger it signaled.
“Alive,” Canyon said through gritted teeth as he pushed with his legs and rammed his back into her. He kept pushing backward, and finally Dani rolled onto all fours.
“Keep it that way,” Frogman hissed.
Crack! Crack!
Rocks pelted her face.
Way too close. They had to get to cover or they’d be dead.
“Up! Move!” Canyon snapped.
Her pack jerked up. The straps strained and yanked her backward … up the hill. Dani scrambled to her feet and launched herself in the direction Canyon led.
“Cowboy, kill me some rebels, man.” The voice—had to be Frogman’s—sailed through the coms.
A sudden thrust sent her spiraling toward a cluster of trees. Fingers raking rough bark, Dani swallowed the yelp crawling up her throat. Canyon pressed her back against a tree and covered her with his own body. He peeked out.
A whiff of cordite stung her nostrils.
Canyon’s hand came back and grabbed her again. Whipped her to the side. Her legs tangled in the roots of the tree. She stumbled. Tripped over an exposed root, but an invisible force kept her upright.
Canyon spun, pulled her into his arms. They went down, rolled. When she felt gravity clawing at her, she dug her fingers around the drag straps of Canyon’s vest.
They tumbled. Down … down. She flipped. Her fingers ripped from the nylon. She rolled more. She tucked in her arms, anything to avoid snapping an arm or hand. Momentum slowed until finally she thudded against something solid.
Silence dropped like a vacuous concussion after a detonation. Dani blinked. Tried to gain her bearings. Movement to her left froze her.
“Don’t move,” Canyon whispered, his mouth suddenly against her ear as he once again pinned her.
Gee, ya think? Only then did she notice he’d drawn his weapon again and aimed it back up the hill. Waiting. Watching.
“Cowboy …” came the stiff warning from Frogman. “I don’t like swiss cheese. Got it?”
“Target one acquired.” Calm, smooth words. “Target down.”
Dani let out a small breath.
“Target two acquired … and down.” Quiet bathed the night. “Midas, you have a tango coming up on your—”
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat.
In a split second, Dani registered four things: the brilliant flash of the muzzle, the way her hearing felt ripped out, the man looming ten feet away, and the report of yet another assailant.
Their attacker dropped forward, his body somersaulting down the incline. Straight toward them.
Dani rolled away—away from the guerilla and away from Canyon. Her gaze locked on the face of their attacker. Like so many faces she’d seen while Bruzon kept her locked in his facility.
She whipped her weapon around and fired.
“Tango down,” Canyon said with a grin.
“Frogman, two meters from your seven.”
An almost inaudible thwat drifted on the warm, thick wind that rustled the leaves overhead.
“Clear,” again the calm voice came.
“Regroup.” Terse and stiff. Frogman.
Pack pressing into and arching her back, Dani stared up at the silent dance of the canopy. It afforded brief glimpses of the heavy clouds cluttering the sky. Looked like … “Rain.” Oh no. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?
Canyon stood over her. “What’s wrong?”
“Rainy season.”
“Midas, what’s your twenty?”
Canyon grabbed Roark’s hand, tugging her upright with him. “Bottom of the ravine, twenty yards down and east.” He guided her back up the steep hill, using trees, twigs, and roots to pull themselves along. “En route.”
“Roger.”
At the crest of the hill, he crouched and surveyed the area. The team stood, weapons at the ready, shifting, probing, expectant.
He whistled.
Two shifted toward him, the bore of their weapons vanishing against the black uniforms. An answering whistle gave him the clear to move into the open.
“Anyone hurt?” Cowboy asked.
“Negative,” Canyon said as he and Roark rejoined the team.
“Let’s move out. Time’s short.”
As if in response to Frogman’s announcement, the sky dumped its bounty. Rain pelted them, chilling and drenching.
A growl emanated from the side. “You got to be kidding me,” Legend said, irritation skidding across his dark face.
“Dude, you knew it was coming,” the Kid said.
Legend scowled. “It could’ve waited till we left.”
“Move, people!”
Back on track, the team trudged through the downpour. Roark had been right—the rainy season had come. Canyon had felt it in his bones since they’d dropped onto the side of the mountain. It’d be too much to ask, of course, that they have clear skies and unfettered success. Easy didn’t cut it when dealing with special operations and elite soldiers like Nightshade.
All the same, the rain would aid them—less likely to encounter patrols and less likely to be heard. Besides, on a time-sensitive mission like this one, they couldn’t take cover and wait it out. Every second mattered. He couldn’t help but think how this terrain reminded him of …
Canyon squeezed off the thoughts. Shoved them down into the foxhole where he’d buried them and stole a look at Roark. Tough. Determined, yet vulnerable. She had training and skills, but part of her was still broken. Head down, she trudged onward, shielding herself from the downpour.
He had to hand it to her. She’d gutted it up. Set aside her fears. Okay, maybe setting them aside was going too far, but she buried the hatchet and boarded that C-130. Now, eight hours later, she’d hiked halfway up the mountain she’d vowed never to set foot on again.
It’s why he’d tripped up and kissed her. That dogged determination. Resilient. Focused. A bit of pride seeped through the sodden clothes to his heart. Knew she had it in her.
Man. He’d spent the last several klicks thinking about the very woman Range had set his sights on.
Canyon huffed. Why? Why’d it have to be Roark that his brother had fallen for? Why’d it have to be Roark that he had fallen for?
Legs sloshed through the mud.
Roark was slowing down.
Her foot dropped into a hole, and she wrenched to the side.
Canyon caught her arm. Drew her up out of the sludge. She gripped his forearm and got her footing. “Doing good.”
Seemingly unconvinced, she nodded as rain dropped into her eyes and set off again.
Range doesn’t deserve her.
Stifling the thought, he pulled up the rear. If Frogman didn’t call a short break soon, he’d have to insist on one or Roark would collapse. She might be tough, but she was also still recovering. She’d been emaciated when Range had pulled her from the water. Though she’d filled out, she probably still wasn’t the woman who’d entered this jungle nearly twelve months earlier.
Another dozen feet and the team slowed to a stop. So had the rain. Wait. No. Canyon glanced up, surprised to find an overhang protecting them from the drops that battered the rest of the jungle.
“Take ten,” Frogman said.
Tucking themselves farther into the cleft, the team took cover from the rain.
“That is some nasty stuff.” The Kid plopped down and shook his head hard. Water whipped in every direction.
“Dude, we don’t need your backwash.” Canyon angled toward Roark and propped himself against the back wall of the pseudocave. He nodded toward her pack. “Grab a bar and take a sip.”
Roark obeyed, nibbling on the end of a protein bar. Weariness dug at her grease-painted face
. No … not weariness. Cracking open a green glow stick, Canyon slumped next to her. Took the bar from her hands. Chomped into it.
Her eyes widened. “Hey!” she said in a tight, controlled whisper and snatched it back.
Grinning, Canyon chewed. He leaned closer and whispered as she bit into the protein bar, “Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”
After another bite, she darted him a glance, and it was as if the sun had broken through the storm clouds—she smiled.
Yeah. That’s what he wanted. A smile. To know she still had it in her. To know that defeat hadn’t latched its wicked talons into her soul. He eased his shoulder against hers in a nudge.
Caramel eyes came to his. Dark brown hair plastered her cheeks. A rogue strand clung to the curve of her neck. Even looking like a drenched cat, she was gorgeous. Back on task, Midas. “How you holding up?”
She licked her lips and swallowed. “I’m here.”
“About three more klicks to the vehicles. Should help, make things quicker.”
“And drier.”
He nodded. Head against the rocky face, he closed his eyes. Focused on the mission. Not on the beauty sitting next to him. But even with his visual cues cut off, he could feel her. Hear every breath. The rustle of her wet clothes as she shifted. The light pressure of her shoulder against his.
She had no clue how much that knotted up his mind. Smoothing a hand over his head gave him reason to remove his arm from touching hers. He rested his elbow on his knee and kept his eyes closed. He’d promised himself he’d get this mission done, get her home safely … to Range.
Canyon balled his fist.
Weight bumped his right oblique muscle—actually, his Interceptor vest that protected that muscle. He glanced over his bicep at Roark. His gut cinched. She rested her cheek on her arm that wrapped around her knees—all placing her within two inches away of his nose.
Eyes fastened to his, she watched him. Intently. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
“You first.”
A breathless laugh. So, he’d been right—she wasn’t okay. Then again, who would be in this dripping jungle, slogging toward peril?
The ominous green hue of the stick played tricks with his mind. Her eyes weren’t just brown—or caramel. The caramel color had flecks of a darker brown. Intriguing. High cheekbones. Coral-colored lips. Soft lips. That curved into a smile.
Dude, you’re staring! Canyon blinked. Adjusted the straps on the pack that didn’t need adjusting. Retied his boots.
The order came to move out, and with it came the rain. As if it’d waited for the team to return to its mercy. He’d never seen the intensity of a storm like this. Not with this much rain. Not this constant. Within a mile of the village, an itch started in his boots and shoulders. Blisters. That’d make the journey interesting.
“All stop.”
Canyon came up on Squirt, Legend, and Frogman huddled near a stump. The others gathered round, including Roark, who hovered to his right.
Squirt peered through a pair of binoculars aimed toward the congested village. “They’re there.”
“As planned.” Frogman traced a finger along a map pressed over his knee. “Head northwest—stick to the trees. We’ll rendezvous here.”
On the other side of the village.
Frogman and Squirt jogged south a dozen feet, then burst across the open field toward the village, zigzagging from one point of cover to another. Finally they vanished into the crowd of shacks.
“Let’s move,” Cowboy said.
Silently the remaining six slunk around the perimeter of the open field that separated trees from the tangle of cement buildings, laundry strung from roof to roof, and kept the team from exposure.
Attuned to Roark’s movements, Canyon worked his way to the rendezvous point with precision, ears trained on the swish of the tree limbs, the creak of the Kid’s boots. Twenty minutes found them laid out flat on the ground, hidden from view by the natural slope of the land. Darkness draped over them like a wet blanket.
The throaty—and noisy—rumble of a diesel cracked the stormy night. Canyon peered down the scope of his M4. Two metal hulks lumbered out of the small town. A flicker of light from the interior of the first vehicle—an old Jeep Forerunner. The other, a beat-up Hummer.
“That’s them,” Cowboy said. And with that, they crawled toward the road.
Though the vehicles slowed they did not stop. Canyon grabbed Roark’s hand and sidled up next to the Hummer. He ripped open the rear passenger door and swung her toward it. She clambered into the darkness. Canyon dove in after her.
Dry. Warm. Stale. He wrinkled his nose.
“Aw man,” the Kid said from the right front passenger seat. “This thing stinks.”
“It’s dry and it runs.” Squirt glanced in the rearview mirror, the light of the instrument panel glowing against his greased-up face. “Might want to buckle up.”
Canyon glanced over his shoulder. Lights fractured the night, jouncing in hot pursuit.
CHAPTER 13
Somewhere in Miranda, Venezuela
Ping! Tsing!
“Down!” Canyon grabbed her head and shoved it forward.
Wind ripped at her—and only then did she realize the window had rolled down. She peeked up and her breath backed up into her throat. Canyon leaned out the window, his M4 aimed at the vehicle behind them. Between the wind and the rain and the speed of the Hummer, she was amazed he could maintain his grip on the weapon.
Shots riddled the night.
The Hummer trounced and pitched. Dani slipped to the floor and braced herself. The din of the elements almost devoured the report of his weapon.
Ping! Ping! Thud-crack!
Glass dribbled down on her with fat drops of rain. Canyon slid back into the Hummer, groping in the dark for something.
“What do you need?” she shouted.
He straightened, something in his hand. Clink! He stretched an arm out the window and flung the object. “Frag out!” With that, he dove down—at her.
Brilliance ripped the night in two.
“Hang on!” Squirt shouted.
The Hummer’s back end lifted.
“Whoa-whoa-whoa,” the Kid yelled.
Gravity yanked them back down. Canyon’s head rammed into her cheekbone. The vehicle fishtailed. Straightened. It pitched and bounced. Seconds stretched into long minutes as they huddled on the floorboard, sans flying bullets and panic.
“Nice work,” Squirt said. “It’s clear.”
Canyon eased up, pulling his weapon to the ready as he peered out the back window. He finally slumped onto the console seat, still watching their tail. Dani dragged herself onto the slick seat, brushing glass out from under her. A piece sliced her hand. She hissed.
Canyon frowned but then shoved his attention back to the road. Scowling. The knotted brows, the thinned lips—even with green and black paint covering his face, she could tell he was ticked.
“Squirt,” Frogman said through the coms. “Everyone in one piece?”
“Roger that. Thanks to some handy grenade throwing by Midas.”
“Hooyah,” Frogman said. “Let’s make tracks.”
They seemed to have accepted their success, moved on from the pursuit. Everyone but Canyon.
Dani reached across the seat and touched his hand.
He flinched but didn’t look.
“What’s wrong?”
His gaze dropped down and to the left, but not at her. “Nothing. Get some shut-eye.”
He was hiding something from her. She’d just have to trust that if Canyon thought she needed to know something, he’d tell her. Though she wanted to do anything but sleep, the lure of the suggestion pulled at her mind. She hadn’t gotten much last night, on her soft, thick mattress, worrying over this mission.
“You’re strong, Roark.” How many times had she repeated his words over the last two weeks since he’d admonished her in the bathroom of his moth
er’s home? Nobody had believed in her the way he did. Well, maybe her mother. But she was gone. Her father didn’t have the first clue about her or her feelings. He was more in tune with his constituents and polls for his veep bid.
Why was love always messed up? Her mother and father had more of an arrangement than a marriage. Alexandra married prestige and money.
And yet, Dani clung to the hope that she could have a real marriage. Where she loved him and he loved her, they had common goals and dreams, willing to work through the good and the bad to come out stronger in the end. And the man who so perfectly fit the template of the type of man she wanted to marry sat right next to her.
Only … he wanted to trade her to his brother.
35,000 Feet Above North America
“I did not expect you to call so soon, mi amigo.” Humberto took a long drag on his cigar and allowed the thick odor and heady revelation to encircle his mind. “What of my package?”
Amazing the way so many had yielded to him since his dramatic takeover. He had one goal left now: dictatorship. With the arsenal sitting under his skyscraper, total power was guaranteed. In time.
“On its way.”
“So soon?” Another puff as he stared out the small framed window of the Lear. “I am not in the country.”
“That’s not my problem.”
Humberto chuckled. “Actually, it is. We had a deal.”
Silence gaped.
“You want your little problem taken care of, then mine must be taken care of también.” He smiled. He had this man wrapped so tightly around his fingers he couldn’t breathe without permission. “Remember, my friend, what will happen if you do not cooperate.”
“And remember,” the tone seethed with hatred, “what will happen if you don’t stop her.”
“You dare to threaten me? Without me, you are dead. Your career is dead. What of that pretty wife of yours?”
A quick intake of breath.
Humberto let his pulse even out. “I see we still understand each other.” He’d have to send the colonel to find her. Kill the others. “I will contact you.”
Miranda, Venezuela
“It’s screwed up.” When the others gawked at him, Canyon balled his fists. “Think about it. We got nailed as soon as we hit the ground. They were there waiting for us. Knew exactly where we’d insert. That’s not coincidence. No way.”
