by Ronie Kendig
Maut came forward. “He seized Tortia and kissed her.”
Awa’s rage grew. “You must take her at once. Her honor!”
Bayani jumped up. “No.” He stepped between Awa and the dark man. “I won’t let this happen.”
My husband stared at Bayani. “What do you mean? He must take her. You know—”
Bayani glared at the dark man. “He has no honor. He’s leaving at first light.”
CHAPTER 15
Wedged between the back and front seat, Canyon waited. Expecting the jolt that would launch him into next week. He anticipated what would happen. How he’d need to act. “Loosen yourself from the belt!”
Roark fumbled to get free.
CRACK!
Whiplash had nothing on this. His head felt as if a sledgehammer had rammed it backward while his body went forward. Crack! Fire leapt through his skull at the impact.
Like a missile fired, they shot off the cliff. After the initial jolt—nothing. Absolutely nothing. No movement. No deafening scream from Roark. No roar of the elements. Silence. Freakish silence that snatched courage from his chest one beat at a time.
Until the unmistakable sensation of a twenty-foot free fall.
Exhilarating.
Terrifying.
The Hummer’s front end flopped down. An anvil slamming toward the water. Despite it being water, at this speed and distance, it’d feel like they hit concrete.
Feet braced against the front seats, he peered down the length of his body. Over the front seats. Past the dash. Out the windshield. A churning river of brown writhed as if in anticipation of their plunge.
His senses snapped to life. A roar punched him in the chest. No, not a roar. A scream. Short but sharp. Roark! She clamped her mouth shut and grabbed her shoulder. The belt had tangled around her wrist. Probably pulled her arm or shoulder out of socket, maybe tore the cuff or ligaments.
“Roark?” The howl of the elements swallowed her name.
He stole another peek at the river. Despite feeling like minutes, the time it took to penetrate the water was only seconds. Hummers didn’t float, but their sealed interior would keep them buoyant. But going straight in? They’d submerge. They’d bob back up, right? Whatever happened, he’d have to act fast.
Water rushed them.
Smack!
The impact threw him into the front seat. He flipped. His face hit the console between the front seats. Pain darted across his cheek. Water gushed around him, swirling and taunting. He strained to keep his chin above the H2O. In the din, he heard Roark coughing and gagging.
He pushed himself backward, toward the sound, toward Roark, battling the powerful force of gravity and the weight of water. Reorienting himself, he twisted around.
Water, tepid and hurried, seeped through the back window. As long as it held—
Crack!
The windshield gave. A torrent of muddy water shoved him back down, feeling like a sucker punch to the chest. Tempted to gasp, he had to bite down hard, remind himself he’d drown. He launched upward, breath held.
The SUV bobbed upward. He squinted through the now-grimy windows. Trees waved in the distance.
Canyon swished around and locked on to Roark, who shoved dark hair from her face and sputtered. “You okay?”
More coughing. A strained, “yes.”
The SUV bobbed downward again. “We need to get out of here.” Then lifted and tilted back, leveling out. Their gear … Oh man. Gear. They didn’t have any gear. He’d unloaded the supplies from the Hummer before the mudslide. What did he have with him? Think! Mentally he traced the pockets. Paracord, SOG knife, waterproof matches, rudimentary first-aid kit.
Swollen and enraged at their survival, the river tossed the vehicle around. Canyon pressed himself toward Roark. Slumped against the seat, she clamped a hand over her right shoulder, face screwed tight. Her long fingers tracked down her arm to the belt that still held her in its tangled grasp.
As he sloshed closer, water splashed his face. More tumbled through the back. Still contorted, her face betrayed the agony that stretched her lips taut. He drew out his SOG and sawed through the belt, freeing her arm.
Amid the torrent racing past them and the thrashing inside, he thought he heard her yelp as her arm flopped down. She gripped it tightly and grimaced.
“You okay to swim?” He tucked the knife back in his pocket.
“No … no,” she said with a whimper.
She wasn’t focused on survival. He gripped her face with both hands. “Roark.”
Wild, frantic eyes. “He can’t find me …” she mumbled.
“Look at me!”
She blinked. Focused.
“We have to get out of the Hummer.” He wrangled out of his paracord survival bracelet and unthreaded it.
“Why? We’re floating.”
“Water’s coming in. The Hummer will sink.”
She looked around, comprehension dawning on her face. “What’re you doing?”
“It’s twenty feet of paracord.” He strung it out, then knotted it around the carabiner before tethering himself to her.
“Together?” Straightening, she winced as her gaze hit the rapids outside. “Is that a good idea?”
“Dangerous but it’s better than getting separated.” Or losing you. With her shoulder injury and the distant expression in her eyes, he wasn’t sure she could manage the rapids on her own. At least this way he could drag her to shore if need be. “There.” He tugged to test its integrity. “Ready?”
“Okay.”
Canyon gripped a portion of the window that swung inward and ripped it free. After flinging it toward the front of the vehicle, he crawled through the gaping maw in the back. The steel frame sandwiched his body, rubbing along his spine, then he dragged his legs out. He wedged a boot along the bumper, the other a few inches away. Braced, he turned and motioned to Roark.
She reached for him with only her left hand. He’d had a dislocated shoulder more than once. He wasn’t sure if the thought of her in pain or the thought of having to pop it back into place was worse. Hand coiled around her belt, he maintained the grip as she scooted into place, shifted around.
“Got it?”
Roark nodded as she clung to the vehicle, again favoring the arm. One wrong jolt and she’d pitch into the frenzied waters.
Still holding her, he scanned the tree line. They were closer to the southern portion of the river. A tree limb hung over the water, dipping its branches into the tumbling chaos. Almost as if waving us to safety. “There,” he shouted over the tumult. “Aim for that.”
She nodded and turned, digging her fingers along the drag straps of his pants.
“On three.”
Her gaze traced the waves.
“Roark.” Between the pain he knew to be blinding and her fear of the river, he understood that she didn’t answer. But they didn’t have time for this. “Roark.”
Resolve slid into a hard edge. A nod.
“One … two …”
Bam!
Roark flipped backward. Off the car. Broke their hold.
Even as the tether yanked him into the water, Canyon saw that a tree had slammed the Hummer out from under them. He turned the flail into a determined dive, reaching for Roark.
They sunk into gurgling, roiling water.
Canyon kicked back up. Breached the top and hauled in a long breath. The cord pulled taut. He grabbed it, tugging. Soon it slackened.
Waiting for her to surface proved excruciating. “Roark?” Glancing behind didn’t help. “Roark!” To the side—nothing. Couldn’t be more than fifteen feet away, considering the length it took to tie off. He treaded water, waiting, his heart in his throat.
The cord tightened again.
His chest spasmed—she’d gotten too far away. He’d have to go in and find her. After a deep breath, he dove forward.
Thrashing stopped him. Arms. Hands. Flashes of her face above the water. Then a wave dunked her again. Her yelp clawed at him. C
anyon lunged for her, his arm slapping the angry water. He caught an arm. He dragged her up.
Roark popped up. Agony rippled through her face. Gagging and crying, she struggled to keep her head up. Using the paracord, he pulled her closer. To him.
An arm coiled around his neck. She buried her face against it. Coughing. Whimpering.
“It’s okay; it’s okay. Just hold on. I’ll get us out of here.” Holding her with one arm, he used his right for long strokes, watching the dangling limb wave them to the bank. Though he’d like to think they were safe, this river had a demonic force behind it. They weren’t safe till they got to shore. Then they’d have other things to counteract that notion of “safe.”
Halfway across the river, Roark released him.
Canyon hesitated, then saw her swimming on her own. Yeah. She was tough. Killer survival instincts. It’s what he loved about her.
Liked. He liked that about her. A mental snapshot of her and Range the night of the Coast Guard gala smacked his thoughts straight. No, not mental snapshots—the photos his mom had propped on the mantel already.
Roark would never be his. Get used to it.
Battling the water was the easy part. Battling the horrific memories of captivity with Bruzon nearly drowned her. Each swell that drenched her had brought different thoughts—the dogs that chased her off the cliff. Bruzon’s foul liquor breath. The choppy sea that nearly sent her to its depths.
Then Canyon was there. Holding her. His strength reassuring and commanding as he guided them to safety. When she’d finally told herself to gut it up and pushed off him to swim on her own, she’d seen pride in his expression. At least, that’s what she thought it was.
“Grab it!” Canyon’s voice sounded hoarse and distant.
She looked up just in time to see a branch dangling overhead, as if to say “here, catch hold.” Without thinking, she reached up—
Fire-hot pain spiked her shoulder. She dropped her hand and gulped the cry. Carefully she used her left hand. The slick foliage made a solid grip nearly impossible. She sloshed. The water swept her under the branch. Past it.
“No!” She groped for the branch, fearful she’d miss it and be pushed farther away.
Something wrapped around her waist. She looked down and found … boots. What …?
“Roark!”
She peered over her shoulder.
Canyon, muscles bulging as he held on to the limb, locked his legs around her waist. “Grab hold!” With one hand he pressed a long branch toward her. “Now!”
Grinding her teeth through the pain, she caught the lifeline. Then flipped over. No matter the pain, she had to hold on with both hands. “I’m good.” The pressure around her waist lessened.
Once Canyon released her, she hooked an arm over the big limb and shimmied her way over toward shore. The pelting rain and gnashing teeth of the water nearly made her slip, drop into the river. But no way was she going back down there. She swung her gaze back to the five-foot span to the shore. Toeing the slick grass, she tried to gain solid footing. Her boots kept slipping. She’d have to swing onto shore.
Swallowing the acidic taste on her tongue at the idea of how much that would hurt, she balled up her courage and threw it into the fray. Pain ripped through her, nearly blanking out her mind. She bit through the agony and swung. One … “Aught!” Two … She yelped. Launched herself.
Her boots hit. Slid. Dani pitched herself forward. Dug her fingers into the soggy earth. Once convinced she was not sliding back into the river, she flipped over, holding her arm still, and gasped for a decent breath. Wouldn’t worry about the pain till she was sure he’d made it safely.
Halfway across the big limb, he alternated his arms monkey-style. He dropped next to her, legs bent. Finally, he slumped to his knees on the bank, the ground making a squishing noise in response.
Head dropped against the ground, she groaned. She wanted to curse him for making it look so easy. Beside her, she heard his deep breaths. Good. She was beginning to think he was Tarzan with the way he’d manhandled the elements of nature. The mudslide, the river, the branch. As easily as he’d tackled her during the football game with his family. Wow, that seems like eons ago.
“How’re you?”
She craned her neck to where he lay next to her, about a head higher. “Alive.”
He rolled and pushed onto his knees again. Quietly he worked, untethering them. “We need to get out of sight.” He wrapped the cord twice around his waist before scooting closer. Taking her hand in his, he gently placed the other palm against her shoulder.
She sucked in a breath, frantic at what she saw in his eyes. “What’re you doing?”
“Assessing your injury.”
Trust him … trust him … But the pain level rose with each manipulation. She winced and cringed but tried to keep the intensity from her face.
“Dislocated.” Canyon shifted closer, still kneeling as he hovered over her. “Ready?”
Horror strangled her response. All she could offer was a heck-no-I’m-not-ready-but-I-don’t-really-have-a-choice nod. She’d seen this before. It wasn’t pretty. Stomach knotted into a tight coil, she closed her eyes.
Cupping her elbow, he tightened the grip on her hand. He lifted her arm parallel to her body and turned it inward, across her stomach. Then drew it back out—straight across.
Pop!
Daggers shot through her arm. She arched her back and screamed—
A hand clamped over her mouth.
The pain faded with her muffled scream. She blinked back tears as she looked up at Canyon. Through the patches of greasepaint still on his face, she saw raw worry.
“Better?”
Nodding seemed the right answer. She stared up through the tree limbs where the first rays of dawn peeked through the leaves. Leftover rain dribbled from the swaying branches and splatted against her face.
“We need to head into the trees. Ready?”
She pulled herself up, the ground suctioning her drenched clothes. “Yeah.” Though aching and sore, her shoulder only hassled her with an aching throb as they trudged up the slick incline away from the river.
As they hiked Canyon seemed unfazed, alert and tackling the jungle. As if none of that had just happened. No terrifying plunge down the side of a mountain in a mudslide. No diving into the river and nearly drowning. No swimming through angry waters. Remembering it exhausted her, weighted her courage and limbs. But Canyon … he seemed made for this.
“I think I’ll call you Tarzan.”
He paused, for the two seconds it took his gorgeous blue eyes to track over her. The fading paint made him appear mysterious and fierce. Though he looked like he wanted to say something, he grunted and started walking again.
“Are we heading back to the team?” “No.”
Was he kidding? Dani scurried up beside him.
“No?”
Without answering, he wound through the trees. Over brush and roots. His wet pants swished loudly, emphasizing his movements. Just like hers. Matter of fact, if they kept this up for long, she’d have a blister or two in a few unmentionable places.
“Where are we going?”
“Out.”
She grabbed his arm and hauled him around. “Stop and tell me what’s going on.”
Frowning, he considered her for a second, then scanned the trees. Muscle taut beneath her hand, he didn’t move or look at her again. “What do you want to know?”
“You’re wired so tight you’re rigged to blow. Why?”
He huffed. “We have no supplies, no radio communication, no weapons, and—” His mouth clamped shut, eyes darting back and forth.
What was he seeing that she wasn’t? “And?”
“We’re in guerilla territory.”
CHAPTER 16
Lambert Residence, Maryland
3 May
We’re in a boatload of trouble.”
“I’m seeing that.” Olin glanced at the news footage of the mudslide in Miranda, Venezue
la. Awfully close to the team’s position.
“We’ve lost the medic,” Max shouted, the din of rain and thunder making it hard to hear him. “And the girl.”
Olin’s knees weakened. He slumped back against the kitchen wall and gripped his head as he clutched the secure satellite phone to his ear. “What do you mean, ‘lost’?”
“Went down with the mud. Lost line of sight in the trees.”
Olin grabbed the thin threads of hope. “You … then they might still be alive?”
“Yeah … maybe. I don’t know.”
Swallowing hard against the daunting news did little to dislodge the lump in his throat. Danielle dying down there … He couldn’t let that happen. Jacqueline would never forgive him. Then again, he’d never forgive himself.
And the mission. If they got her and Wolfsbane back alive, without the proof of the facility or WMDs, Danielle would still face federal prison. Or death.
Crack-rumble-crack!
“We’ve tried to find them but no-go.”
“Have you compromised your position?”
“No, sir. It’s lonely out here.”
“Then proceed with the mission.”
“Sir?”
“You heard me, Alpha. Get it done.” He hated the cold, callous tone, but it was important.
A long stream of static filled the connection.
“Roger. Out.”
Stumbling forward, Olin reached for the cold, marble counter. He leaned against it, phone cradled in his hand, and propped his forehead in his other. He couldn’t lose her. Couldn’t let this mission fail. The ramifications were too big. Quickly he dialed the number of a Special Forces group down that way.
When the line connected, Olin folded his emotions neatly into the foot locker of familiarity in mission planning. “Colonel Hamer, I need a favor.”
Somewhere in Miranda, Venezuela 4 May
Squish!
Dani cringed. Not at the sloshing of the mud around her boots, but the telltale wetness that just erupted in her sock. Burning along her heel was now saturated with a warm, gooiness. Blisters. They were forming around her toes, ankles, and collar. But stopping meant surrender.
