True Peril

by Veronica Forand

  “No.”

  “Where are the men who took you from the village?”

  “Dead.”

  “You killed them?”

  She nodded. Her gaze dropped to the ground. Most people never recovered from such a nightmare. Yet she’d not only lived through the ordeal, she emerged from the jungle healthy and armed.

  Impressive.

  He’d placed the odds against her, but now that he saw her in person, he’d have changed his bet. He approached her with caution. Her finger rested just outside the trigger, in a position a skilled shooter would feel comfortable with.

  She peered up at him. “I’m glad you’re here. I didn’t know how I’d get down from the mountain. Is Jenny all right?”

  “Worried about you.”

  “What about Natalia?”

  “I don’t know anything about her, except she’s probably alive thanks to you. Did they hurt you?” He placed a calming hand on her shoulder and slipped the gun out of her hand.

  “No.” She eyed the weapon, but didn’t reach for it. Not that she’d be capable of taking it back from him.

  “I’ve been listening to the group’s radio all night. They’re coming back. For me.” A tear rolled down her cheek. She ignored it and looked toward the hut. “I didn’t mean to kill them.”

  “Kill or be killed.” He urged her toward the Land Cruiser with a soft hand still on her shoulder, trying to ease the wretched emotions that would brand her view of the world forever—the same emotions that tortured his soul every night. “You survived a kidnapping by two moronic men. Don’t feel guilty.”

  “You’d have killed them?”

  More than killed them. That’s why he hid away in an office now. If anyone had threatened to rape a young girl in his presence, he would have flayed their skin and stuffed it down their throats before ripping their hearts out. “I wouldn’t have been as merciful as you.”

  Chapter Two

  Trista followed Dane to a dusty black SUV hidden a few hundred yards from the hut. Her steps were not exactly bouncing. Could more fighters catch up to them? The men from the Red Hawks had been so brutal, killing Natalia’s father, almost raping her. She had no choice but to kill them. The spray of their blood, the cries of agony played over and over in her head, a continuous loop guaranteed to destroy her mind. Nothing would ever be the same. Ever. The night in the jungle had wiped out the rest of her sanity.

  She studied the confident man rummaging through the bags in the back of the vehicle. Jenny’s brother? She’d mentioned that he sold UAVs—Unmanned Aerial Vehicles, or drones—and that he was over protective. Perhaps it was the night she’d just spent warding off insects in the jungle, but she’d never been so glad to see a person in her life. His looks were an added benefit.

  He pulled out a bottle and handed it to her. Water rushed down her throat and relieved the dryness she’d experienced after finishing her supply the night before. She then poured some over her face to remove the awful smelling mud and dirt she’d coated herself with to blend into the jungle.

  “You traveled all the way up here to see Jenny? I’m impressed.” She dried off with the bottom edge of her shirt. The fabric caught on a scab on her arm. Blood dripped to the ground. She pressed her fingers over the wound and handed him back the water.

  He ignored her offer and, instead, lifted each of her arms and inspected the wounds on her elbows. His light brown eyes narrowed—really intense brown eyes. “I try to check on her as much as I can.”

  “It’s a pretty dangerous region with rebels sneaking around and law enforcement rarely making a visit.”

  “That makes it even more important I visit.” His voice, low and full of testosterone, hit her in the most sensitive area of her heart. Someone who cared. She’d give her right arm to have even one of her four siblings care enough about her to send a Christmas card.

  He picked up her pack from the ground and pulled out the other gun and the radio she’d taken from the men to monitor their comrades’ movements.

  “Yours?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “We’ll need to get rid of them.” He slipped everything back inside, including the other gun.

  He grabbed another backpack from his truck and rummaged through it for a few moments. He held out a moss green sundress she recognized from Jenny’s closet. “Throw this on. We need to bury your clothes as well.”

  No use arguing. She did need to lose the blood-stained clothes. “Can I have some extra water to clean up with?”

  “Only use one bottle in case we’re delayed driving back. And hurry up.”

  He stepped away so she had a moment of privacy. A very short moment—within a minute, he was telling her to hurry up. Exhausted from the ordeal, she almost told him to leave her alone, but the water invigorated her. It motivated her. It brought back her immediate need to leave the area.

  By the time she’d changed, she felt a hundred times better. One drive down the mountain and she could take a long, hot shower and fall into her bed.

  In the distance, a new rumble echoed up the mountain—the sound of a truck. Shit. Her body tensed. They wouldn’t have time to drive away without announcing their presence.

  He placed his finger to her lips to stop her movements and then motioned toward the jungle. “We need to get out of here.”

  “Where are you going?” She didn’t want to hike back into the jungle. Too muddy, not enough food, and way too many insects. Too bad she’d soaked her jeans while washing up. A clean sundress was not optimal for this type of journey.

  “I’m assuming the rebel group found the bodies in the hut. If they’ve radioed their base already, no one will be moving in a vehicle for fifty miles in either direction without a fighter searching every crevice for anyone who might have killed the two rebel punks. I don’t want to take that chance. We’ll stay in the jungle tonight and then drive back down in the morning. And if we still can’t then, we’ll walk.”

  Walk? Her body wouldn’t budge. The blisters on her heels told her to stay put. Dane’s arm, however, prodded her forward, forcing her to move.

  They traveled in silence for a few minutes. His pace was quick, but not too fast. She could keep up if she didn’t think about sleep or food.

  “Trista’s a pretty name.” He walked ahead of her, his voice floating back and luring her forward with the smooth, husky sound.

  “Trista means sad. Not exactly inspiring.”

  “Is that why you never smile, because of your name?”

  “I smile—”

  “Liar. I saw the pictures on the wall at the schoolhouse.” He glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

  Trista rolled her eyes. “Maybe I don’t have much to smile about. What about Dane?” she asked, trying to rid her mind of all the ways he could make her smile. “Were you named after a dog?”

  “A great dog.” He turned toward her again, and his insanely sexy grin grew bigger.

  “Lucky you.” She held back her own grin so he didn’t think he was getting to her, because he was really getting to her, in a weird attracted-to-the-rescuer kind of way.

  At one point Dane stopped and placed the bag with her old clothes, the two guns, and the radio under the root of a large tree. Then he covered it with dirt and debris. The loss of her weapons didn’t make her feel any safer, but if caught with rebel firearms, they’d have to explain how they got them.

  They continued a mile or two into the forest. Her steps slowed, and she fell farther behind Dane.

  “Are you okay?” he called back.

  “Better now that I have company, but I need some sleep, some water, and something to eat, or I won’t have the energy to walk more than a few miles.”

  He lifted his pack off his shoulder and pulled out more water and a few bananas. “Keep these with you.”

  His kindness strengthened her will. She stored the supplies in the small pack he’d given to her, and picked up her pace. “I’ll try, but it’s been hard forcing food down with
the bloody images of those men haunting me.”

  Her thoughts flashed back to the expression in Mateo’s eyes when he realized she’d shot him in the chest. The kid, no older than eighteen, died without ever really living. He’d been brainwashed into a life of murder, probably before he’d turned ten years old. And then her mind jumped to the other fighter. Pedro. He’d roughed her up, but he didn’t have to die, especially by a bullet to the head. She was supposed to rescue these guys, not gun them down.

  They would have raped and killed me. I didn’t have a choice.

  A tear fell down her cheek, and she lost her appetite again. Her feet slowed until she stood still and stared through a blurry haze at the ground.

  Dane walked toward her. “Come here.”

  She wiped her damp face and sniffled. “What are you doing?”

  “How can I help you get through this?” He spoke with a seriousness bordering on military.

  She couldn’t help it—she laughed. “You’ve already solved all my problems. I feel perfectly fine now that my prince has rescued me.”

  His frown actually cheered her up some more.

  “So I’m your prince? I can accept that.”

  “Actually, you’re not my type.” Although he’d be perfect for a lazy weekend at the beach, indulging in fantasies.

  He threw up his arms in mock horror. “Is that a rejection? Damn, I’m losing my touch.”

  He propelled her on, in his control freak way. But his confidence calmed her.

  From Jenny’s description, Dane seemed country club perfect, like her own family. Possessed of pretty boy looks, rarely away from his office, rarely in anything but a suit or golf shirt. He probably had fashion models calling him all the time to go out. Men like that never interested her. They could offer her nothing she desired. Yet, here he was in the middle of a forest helping her. And the golf shirt had been replaced by a flannel shirt that rocked his muscles. He appeared almost badass. That was a type she could appreciate.

  They walked farther into the thick trees and located a narrow path. He stopped for a moment and stared at her.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Come closer?”

  “Why?”

  He stepped behind her and clasped her by the shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” Before she could react, he pulled a blade out of nowhere, grabbed her ponytail, and cut it off.

  “What the hell?” She yanked away from him. “Are you insane? You come one step closer to me, and I’ll do the same thing to your throat.”

  “You killed two men. Someone besides me knows this as well. You need a disguise. I can’t color it, but at least it will be shorter. Come here so I can even it out.”

  She stayed a few feet from his reach. “And the reason you couldn’t tell me your intentions?”

  “I figured it would be easier.” He shrugged as though severing a ponytail from another person was not a big deal.

  “I’m not an idiot. And I don’t appreciate being treated like one. If we’re going to be traveling together, we’re equals.”

  The right side of his mouth lifted in a half smile, as though he was trying to hold back a full grin. “I don’t usually work in a team, but I’ll try to respect your opinion. Now come here so I can fix your hair to look like a style someone would actually want.”

  Trista allowed it because it was already too late to stop the assault on her formerly nice hair. She didn’t want to know what he was doing, because clumps fell on the ground around her, and she couldn’t imagine losing that much hair without going bald. Yet, this low didn’t affect her as much as it might have the day before. Her feelings had been numbed so much in the past few hours that the loss of her hair didn’t matter as long as she was alive.

  He shoved the pieces he’d cut off into a hole and covered it with dirt and leaves. Her hands rubbed through the finished style. It felt like Jenny’s short and wispy hair, but probably not as cute.

  They walked side by side for a while. The heat made the hike more difficult. At least she had company now.

  Dane paused for a moment. His muscles seemed tense. Before she could ask him what was wrong, he shoved her off the edge of the trail. She plunged down the muddy ridge. Several rocks rose up out of nowhere and struck her in the hip, on her back, and once in the head behind her ear. Her yell was absorbed by the flight of a flock of birds surprised by her crashing through their environment. She landed at the edge of a stream, unable to catch her breath and aching from the impact.

  Dazed and confused, she opened her mouth to demand an apology and a rope. Before she uttered a word, she saw Dane up on top of the ridge, faced away from her, his arms raised in the air as a man in camouflage clothing searched him and forced him to the ground.

  He’d saved her life.

  And sacrificed his.

  Covered in dirt and as still as the stone that had bruised her back, she blended into the forest floor and waited for the men to leave. She remained unmoving and silent until she could no longer hear the soldiers pushing Dane farther away. Step by step, she climbed back up the hill to the path. Without a thought to her body’s need for rest, she followed their tracks through the jungle.

  …

  How the hell did this go so bad, so quickly? Dane struggled to keep his gaze away from the bottom of the ridge, where Trista was no doubt cursing him out. If she had a brain, she’d refrain from screaming out his name. People, however, rarely did what they should. After several minutes with his face in the dirt and no female charging up the hill, Dane realized she must have seen the other men.

  The three rebels took his backpack, phone, and his gun, leaving him with nothing but the knife in his boot and a feeling of dread. He didn’t want to play Rambo today. He just wanted to return to San Francisco, sit in his office overlooking the bay, and spend the night with a beautiful woman by his side. Instead, he was stranded in Columbia under armed guard, worrying about a traumatized woman who needed a hot shower. Dumping her off in the middle of the jungle wouldn’t endear him to her, but she’d be better off away from anyone who could connect her to the murders. And he wanted her safe above all else. Damn morals.

  After what seemed like a two-hour march straight uphill, they arrived at an active compound hidden in the low clouds of the mountains. Soldiers were everywhere. Mostly young, all male. He needed to wait for more secluded terrain to make his move.

  He surveyed the area, looking for an opportunity to escape. Small houses created a neighborhood atmosphere tucked under some trees on the edge of the fields. Two men and a woman worked in a poppy field, a crop studied extensively at Quantico by new recruits. The plants had not yet matured, so there was no sign of flowers or the pods where the milky sap would ooze out after being sliced by a sharp knife. In a few months, the field would be full of rebel fighters turned farm workers. They’d harvest the crop for heroin to be sold for a fortune in the United States or Mexico.

  His escorts pushed him into the largest building, a glass and cement structure that appeared to be part home, part fortress. The extravagant decor and furnishings appeared out of place in the harsh mountainous region. A mini palace, funded by drugs. An older man, mid-fifties, wearing a loose linen shirt and black tailored pants, sat next to an exotic and breathtaking woman. This man appeared arrogant and untouchable, Dane’s favorite personality. Men like him were predictable, with the right incentives.

  “Liliana, leave us,” the man told his companion in Spanish.

  She stood and peered over her shoulder at Dane. The man cleared his throat, and she sauntered away, her white skirt swaying in the same rhythm as her long dark hair.

  Dane, accompanied by two armed guards, walked with the calm facade he’d developed for unpleasant situations. After a nod from their leader, his escorts backed up against the wall and watched in silence.

  “You are in my territory. Are you lost?” the man asked in Spanish.

  A businessman would fetch a high ransom as a kidnap victim,
although both of Dane’s employers, Pelican and the U.S. government, would refuse to pay. His status, if revealed, as a CIA operative guaranteed Dane would be tortured and then murdered. He had one more option—an identity that would assure him safe passage and allow him to find Trista again.

  “I was checking out the area,” he answered in his best Spanish, his American accent laced throughout. “I have an order to deliver some goods through Ecuador, and this seemed the safest route.”

  “Order?” The man shifted in his seat.

  This could backfire, but Dane had to use the biggest weapon in his arsenal. He kept his expression unreadable and stared straight into the man’s soul. If he hesitated, the guy would know he was bluffing.

  “I work for Simon Dunn.”

  His captor took a moment and then reacted with widened eyes. “And you are?”

  “Dane O’Brien, his assistant.”

  He nodded. “Welcome, Mr. O’Brien. I am Juan Carlos Gomez. It’s an honor to have someone from Mr. Dunn’s operation here. How may I assist you?”

  Simon Dunn, Dane’s best friend, acted as one of the most notorious arms dealers in the world. He was credited with burning to the ground a mansion on the Right Bank of Paris with the occupants in it. The U.S. and U.K. governments also linked him to an explosion that blew up a military base in North Korea, killing an unknown number of soldiers. His legacy made him one of the most feared men on Earth. Dane was one of only a handful of people who knew the real Simon Dunn, an embedded operative attached to MI6. Simon used every means available to keep arms from flowing to enemies of the U.K. His tactics were so fine-tuned, his targets often called him to commiserate over the loss of guns and ammunition in government raids arranged by Dunn himself.

  Simon and Dane had spent their early careers assisting each other on international assignments and competing with each other for the foreign beauties who often crossed their paths. Simon, now married with a baby on the way, wanted Dane to leave his observational role and become active in his operation. Dane, however, preferred his easy assignment cataloguing drone shipments to third world countries. Killing had been too easy for him in the past. He feared that part of him that would kill anyone or anything when pushed to the wall.