by Trish Loye
You.
He didn’t say anything, though. He took a moment to just feel the warm wind brush past his face, the verdant smell of the humid, dense greenery, and the pain that throbbed in his leg. He let out a slow breath, centering himself. He still felt the pain, but he wouldn’t let it dominate his thoughts or actions. Questions about Quinn became just a buzz under his skin, like an itch, but one he could ignore. “I’m trying to figure out the safest way for us to search. I think you should wait by the jeep.”
“And let an injured man hobble through the jungle on his own?”
He wasn’t going to have any molars left when this op was done. He pushed out another deep breath. He hadn’t really thought she’d stay behind, but it had been worth a shot. “Fine. But you listen to me when we’re searching. Chances are Pérez’s men are still combing the area. And if the situation’s too hot, then we pull the cord.”
She bit her lip, but then sighed and nodded.
Well, thank God, Red had a bit of sense. If they had to bail, he’d get the do-gooder somewhere safe and come back to search tonight. Alone.
Marc directed Quinn to drive to the southeastern edge of Pérez’s compound. That had been the way they’d been heading when things had slid into the realm of SNAFU. Quinn parked the jeep off the side of the road, but not before she’d turned it around on the single-lane road so that they faced the way back to the highway and safety. “In case we need a fast escape.”
Marc frowned. Her army training must have been extensive.
She caught him watching her and shrugged. “I like to read thriller novels.”
He raised his eyebrows, but she’d turned away, surveying the impenetrable wall of jungle ahead of them. So the do-gooder secretly wished she was a spy. “Great,” he muttered. “Just great.”
“We need a path or something,” she said.
She wanted a path? He refrained from making any comment. Barely. “Do you have a machete?” He knew approximately where he’d set Bishop down. It would be tough going, but he could get them back there.
“Yes.” But she didn’t go to the back of the jeep. Instead she moved farther along the road.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for a path,” she said.
He looked in the back of the jeep and spied a machete. “Why do you think there’ll be a path?”
“It’s logical, isn’t it?”
Her chipper tone made his skin prickle. “Please,” he said in a dry voice. “Enlighten me.”
“That soldier brought you out of here. He either used a path or made one.”
He studied her even as she studied the jungle, sliding still farther down the road. “Why are you so certain he came out this way?”
“Well… It makes sense… since it’s close to a back road and also close to town.”
He had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Her logic was a bit of a leap.
“Don’t you think?” she asked, swinging toward him with a smile on her full lips.
Spirals of her golden-red hair had slipped free of her braid and framed her face. He couldn’t stop the half-smile that tugged at his lips. She was fucking beautiful.
He took a step toward her. Pain shot from his leg and brought him back to his senses. This woman wasn’t just a do-gooder wannabe spy. She was a distraction. A distraction he couldn’t afford.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “Is your leg bothering you? Why don’t I search on my own?”
That was not happening. He growled and reached into the back of the jeep. “Look for a damn path. I’m getting the machete.”
“Your knickers are twisted really tight, aren’t they?”
He could hear the damn laugh in her voice. He dropped the machete and swung back to snarl at her when she waved at him. “Found it.”
Wait. What? How the fuck had she—
She disappeared down the path, and he cursed as he had to hobble after her. Didn’t the damn medic care about Pérez’s men roaming the jungle?
She was going to get them both killed.
8
Quinn trotted down the path she’d taken last night to get Marc out of the jungle. She went fast enough for him to curse and struggle to keep up. Not fast enough to put them in danger, but just enough so he couldn’t keep asking questions.
She should have thought up a plausible reason for looking for the path on the way over. She must have sounded like a complete idiot to Marc. Not that it mattered what he thought. But for some reason, trying to direct Marc to the search area while pretending not to know anything was a struggle for her today. She wanted to blame lack of sleep, but knew that wasn’t it. Going without sleep wasn’t anything new. Something about Marc made her edgy and unfocused. From now on, she’d be on guard against him. She’d use him to help find Anna and then send him on his way.
And you really think he’ll go?
She’d make him. The mission came first, and this irritating soldier from who-knows-what-country wasn’t going to compromise it. And she had to remember that she couldn’t take him at his word that he was American. He’d spoken Russian in his sleep last night. Who knew why he wanted to find Anna?
Quinn slowed as they approached Pérez’s compound. Marc caught up and tapped her shoulder, and though it made her want to grit her teeth, she smiled and let him take the lead. She’d make up an excuse of some sort if she had to redirect his search.
The jungle was anything but silent around them. Insects whirred and clicked, birds cawed and called, and small animals rustled through the undergrowth. As long as the snakes and spiders kept their distance, she’d be happy. The air held a humid thickness that clung to the skin and seemed to slow their movements.
She pulled her Glock from the holster at the small of her back. It shouldn’t compromise her cover and she didn’t like the idea of being near Pérez’s compound without it. Marc frowned, but didn’t say anything. Smart man. He already had his out as they stalked forward.
He stopped and fingered some broken branches. A barely discernible trail led away from the path they were on. This must have been where she’d broken through the jungle last night.
Marc nodded at her trail, a question in his eyes. Was he asking her opinion? She nodded back, and he went down it, his limp not slowing him at all.
They stayed silent, communicating with hand signals. Nothing too complicated so she wouldn’t give herself away, and she bit her lip and had to stop herself from pushing past Marc. She still didn’t trust him enough to drop her cover, so Marc had to lead the search.
A few minutes later, they neared the spot where Marc had fallen. Something large dashed through the underbrush and away. Quinn gasped. Her pulse settled quickly, but the smell of rot hit her. A body decomposing in this wet heat.
She peeked around a tree and saw him. One of the soldiers from last night lay sprawled on his back, his stomach partially eaten. Her gorge rose. At least he’d been dead before the jaguar or whatever it had been had started feasting. Hopefully.
She waved at Marc. His face tightened when he saw the body, obviously thinking of Anna.
Please let Anna have escaped that fate.
Marc slid through the jungle like one of the cats that belonged here. Quinn crept after him. He knelt and picked something up. A radio. From the looks of it, it had taken a round. He dropped it and moved on.
He made quick work of tracking his way back to Anna’s location. Quinn’s heart beat harder the closer they got. Would she be alive, hidden beneath the fallen log? The ragged edge of the fallen tree was ahead. Quinn almost pushed Marc aside to get to it, but she stopped at the last moment. Marc studied her, not the surroundings.
Shit, she wasn’t doing a very good job of holding her cover. She blanked her face and raised an eyebrow. “Is this where you last saw her?”
He gave a sharp nod and then moved to the fallen log. She didn’t give a sigh of relief but followed him, her muscles tense. A beast of some kind screeched nearby, as if angry someone was interrup
ting its dinner. Would she see Anna’s lifeless form lying against the tree?
Marc stopped by the log and cursed.
Quinn darted to his side, her heart pounding.
Nothing.
Anna wasn’t there.
“Stay here,” Marc said quietly. He prowled into the jungle.
Where could the agent have gone? If Pérez hadn’t found her, and her body wasn’t here, then where was she? Quinn scanned the area. A bit of metal gleamed from the mud of the jungle floor. She knelt for a closer look.
A casing.
A 9mm casing to be exact. The same as the weapon she’d left with Anna. Quinn scrounged around; her fingers dug into the mud and rotting leaves, beetles scurrying away from her. Four casings. There had been ten rounds in the mag. She chewed on her lip. Either Anna had been taken before she could use the last bullets, or she’d managed to get away before using the rest. Her shoulders slumped. Based on Anna’s injuries, the likelihood of her getting away on her own was slim.
So where the hell was she?
Marc stepped in front of her, and Quinn stood, opening her hand to show him the casings without being asked. The noises of the jungle seemed to cloak them in a cacophony of sound.
Crack!
Wood splintered on the tree by Quinn’s head.
Marc shoved her down, covering her body with his.
Mud squished over her front, and a black millipede the length of her hand crawled in front of her face and away. She shuddered. At least it wasn’t a scorpion.
Crack!
This shot hit a tree to their left. The shooter must not be able to see them anymore.
“Stay down,” Marc murmured in a low voice. “Head back to the car. If I’m not there within three minutes, then go without me.”
“I won’t leave you here,” she said. “I have a gun. Let me help.”
“No,” he said harshly. “I don’t want to worry about you. Just go.”
She couldn’t argue without dropping her cover, so she wiggled through the mud, avoiding the millipede until she could crouch behind a tree. Marc nodded and went in the opposite direction, toward the shooter. No way was she letting him go off alone to face this threat. There could be more than one hostile, or it could be a trap.
She started after Marc, moving to the right of him, so they’d flank the shooter. She purposely let Marc catch a glimpse of her when they were too close to the shooter for him to do anything but scowl at her. He shook his head a bit but kept going.
That’s right, soldier. You’ve got my help whether you want it or not.
The jungle had gone silent after the gunshots. Quinn crept through the undergrowth, going slow to avoid making any sound and listening intently. It wasn’t long before she lost sight of Marc, but she knew he was out there, backing her up.
A whisper of sound came from ahead. Quinn froze, hardly breathing as she listened.
A click. Another whisper.
Someone was ahead and had a radio. She couldn’t make out the words. He had to be calling for reinforcements. They needed to neutralize him and evac. She got low and moved forward, slowing even more. Any sound would draw the shooter’s attention.
Quinn crawled through the muck, trying to ignore the insects that skittered out of her path. A branch cracked to her left. She stilled and waited. Boots appeared in her vision. The shooter. He moved back toward where they’d been. Branches swished and snapped as he walked. Either he didn’t have a lot of experience in the jungle, or he was extremely cocky. Probably the latter. This man didn’t care whether anyone heard him. He had backup coming, and he had a weapon.
Cocky and not very smart.
Quinn waited until he’d passed, knowing Marc would do the same. Then she stood, keeping a tree between herself and the shooter. Movement drew her eye. Marc stepped out of hiding long enough to motion her back.
He was trying to protect her. She gritted her teeth and nodded, playing her role. She wouldn’t step in unless Marc needed backup.
Marc took aim. His gun barked, and something heavy fell not far from them.
“Why did you follow me?” Marc said in a low voice as he stepped out from his spot and moved toward the downed shooter. The man lay facedown in the mud, a bullet wound in the back of his head. No need to check for a pulse. From the look of the wound, if they rolled him over he’d be missing most of his forehead.
Quinn shrugged in answer to Marc’s question. “I didn’t think you should go alone. I’m a decent shot. I thought I could help.”
He gave her yet another scowl and half stomped, half limped back to the area they’d left Anna the night before. “You thought wrong.”
“You might have needed help,” she persisted, for some reason determined to make him see that even as Dr. McKenzie she could be useful. “You’re injured.”
“Look,” he knelt down and studied the casings she’d dropped when the shooting had started, “you’re inexperienced. With a weapon in your hand, you’re just as likely to shoot me or an innocent as you are the guys we’re after.”
“But—”
“Any time a gun is in your hand, you have to be prepared to use it.” He sighed and looked up at her. “You’re a medic, Red. You might have shot that man back at the clinic, but you’re not a real killer.”
“And you are?”
“Yes.” He stood, scanned the area once, and started back toward the jeep.
It burned her how he categorized her, how he categorized himself. “People don’t have to be just one thing.” She walked after him. “They don’t have to be just a medic or just a killer.”
He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyebrow arched. “I’m pretty sure that the two are polar opposites,” he said. “They usually don’t fit together.”
She was both and she was still a good person. No matter what Marc thought. She swatted a palm frond out of her way. “Not all killers are bad.”
He snorted and held aside a tangle of vines for her to duck under. “Are you defending me or just arguing to be contrary?”
“I’m not defending you,” she said. That would imply too many things, but most of all a connection between them. And that couldn’t happen.
“Contrary then. I thought so.”
She almost snarled. “Can you move faster? He made a call on his radio. Backup is probably coming.”
“So very contrary.” He smirked.
The urge to bare her teeth and punch him wasn’t part of Dr. McKenzie’s makeup. Her cover was a do-gooder like Marc called her, not a fighter. She could show temper but not too much, so she shoved her feelings down. She had to focus on what they were here for.
“The woman we’re looking for,” she said, “what do you think happened to her?”
Marc’s face fell, and for a second it seemed he might be disappointed she didn’t keep up her side of their verbal sparring. But then his face and voice became smooth and professional. “She fought back,” he said. “The casings prove that. But we only found four.” He brushed aside branches, and the narrow path opened before them. They started down it. “If she’d died out here, they would have found her body. So either she crawled off somewhere else and died, or she’s out there and needs help.”
They were silent for a minute before Quinn spoke. “What’s your gut feel on this? Do you think she’s alive?”
He glanced back at her, his blue eyes intense. “Her injuries were severe. She couldn’t walk on her own. But there were only four rounds fired from a weapon. Either she was overpowered, in which case Pérez wouldn’t be looking for her, or she crawled off to hide in some godforsaken spot and died alone.”
She swallowed. Neither option was good. Pérez’s men hadn’t found her, which meant Anna had died out here, alone and unable to help herself.
“We don’t have time to search for her body,” he said roughly. “But as soon as I deal with you, I’ll come back and track her down.”
Deal with her.
She almost snorted. Marc didn’t realize that she
would be the one dealing with him.
Quinn’s face was tight as she drove along the back road. Marc sat in the passenger seat, needing to give his leg a break. The skin had pulled and tugged at the stitches with each step. And now it felt swollen and hot. Pain lit up his leg with each movement. His head protested too. He’d definitely gotten a mild concussion last night.
He gritted his teeth. The key was to focus on something else. Anything else.
His gaze landed on the mud-splattered redhead beside him. They’d need to hide that hair once they hit the city. The red-gold of it was a flag, drawing the gaze, and the little curls that escaped her braid made him want to tug on them, to stretch them out and then see them spring back. Her hair complemented her golden skin. The freckles just made him want to touch.
Gorgeous.
He tore his gaze away. She was the epitome of a nice girl. A do-gooder—a freaking medic helping out a third-world village. It didn’t matter how long and shapely her legs were in those pants. Nice women couldn’t handle the reality of his life. They thought he was a hero of some sort and he wasn’t. Ilona had proved that. Heroes don’t fall in love with the enemy and then let them die.
He dug his fingers into the armrest. Steady. He gave a side glance back at the nice girl beside him. No. He couldn’t be interested in her. Not for more than a night of fun. They almost always wanted more than one night. And that didn’t interest him. She didn’t interest him.
At all.
Get a grip.
He studied the single-lane road ahead. Quinn drove south, away from Pérez’s compound, turning onto another gravel road and heading deeper into the wilderness away from the highway. She turned again onto an even narrower road. He gripped the dash as they bumped along, his aching head and leg protesting all the movement.
“Where should I take you?” she asked.
Now she was asking him? “Don’t worry about me. We’re getting you to the embassy.”
She glanced at him. “You don’t have an RV?”
Her easy use of the military term could be explained away because she’d been an army medic, but he still filed away the occurrence in his memory. Something was off about Quinn, and he was going to figure out what it was. “I missed it,” he finally answered. “I do need to let my people know I’m okay.”
