Chapter 8
8
The van bumped over an even worse road than they’d been on previously, Helen and her colleagues getting jostled around a lot. This particular village was deeper into the southern part of Luzon, still in the Ambong territory, the largest and most populated island, but a trek from Manilla. Dr. Bacunawa had warned them that the New People’s Army may be active in the area, but the Ambong twins would ensure their safety.
It was imperative that they get to these out-of-the-way communities to stop the spread of TB. They were going to establish a camp in a central location, making it easier to treat people in the outlying towns. While Manila and some of its suburbs were urban, the people who populated the southern part of the island were farmers, growing either staples like rice and coffee, or fruits like bananas, mangoes, coconuts, and pineapple. Other sectors included livestock, tourism, mining, and fishing.
She was no longer just a nurse doing her job. She was undercover…a CIA NOC, and she intended to fulfill that requirement with every fiber of her being. Bailee had told her that it was a matter of not only protecting and preserving the Philippines but about global security and the very health of not just relationships, allies, and enemies but ecosystems. She was locked in. The burden and the responsibility of being a major factor in saving so much meshed with her very purpose in life. She wouldn’t fail her country or the SEAL team that was putting their lives on the line.
Bailee had also given her the gist of the situation. D-Day was posing as Graham Butler, a notorious gunrunner, and a hard, no-holds-barred man with Buck and Zorro as his sidekicks, using their call names. He was working to procure a deal for weapons of mass destruction that were allegedly in the hands of the Ambong twins, who were actively selling them. They suspected the twins had brokered a deal with the New People’s Army. Bailee had said the NPA operated in central and southern Luzon, Palawan, the Visayas, and eastern and northwestern Mindanao with cells in Manila and other metropolitan centers. She had shown Helen a picture of their leader, General Nimuel Alonto.
The group was the armed wing of the Communist Party of the Philippines, and their goals were to overthrow what they considered the democratic Philippine puppet government, establish a communist state, and expel US influence from the country. The NPA employed guerrilla tactics, including ambushes, bombings, assassinations, extortion, and kidnappings.
Helen remembered that peace negotiations between the NPA and the government had stalled a few years back, and the NPA had been designated as a terrorist group, along with the CPP, by the Filipino government, the United States, the European Union, and Japan.
She wouldn’t let down her country or the people of this country. She certainly would work hard never to let down D-Day. His scent, the imprint of his body, and his soft plea wound around her. The memories of him were so potent, she had to take a stabilizing breath.
They reached their destination. The large white trucks following were filled with sturdy tents, equipment, and medicine. As soon as the vehicle stopped, people exited the van and trucks to construct the camp.
Helen got lost in the preparations, sweat pouring off her as she stopped hammering a tent pole support and straightened to wipe her brow. A deep voice from over her left shoulder said, “Such beautiful woman should not do hard labor.”
She turned to find Taer Ambong standing way too close to her. Dredging up a smile, she swiped at her brow again.
“Beautiful?” she scoffed with a laugh. “Right now, I’m a sopping wet mess.” She scowled at him. “You know, you can drop your backwards English. I have a feeling you use that to disarm people.”
His brows rose and a smile slipped across his handsome face. “You’re not only beautiful but smart too,” he said in perfect, cultured English, his accent lending a lilting sound to her native language.
“If I was smart, I’d be in air conditioning, sipping a cool drink right now.”
“Allow me to provide you with refreshment. Unfortunately, air conditioning is still in progress,” he said, eyeing her equipment. “But perhaps, my men can take over while you and your people rest for a moment.”
She smiled, gratified that it was so easy to slip into this role, and the fact that Taer wasn’t exactly the man she’d thought he was at first glance. It made her curious, but cautious. She couldn’t actually like the enemy, especially since she would have to play him. It was a fine line.
“Let me clear it with my?—”
“That is already in progress.” He stepped aside to reveal Greg and Lando conversing, and Greg nodded as Lando led the way over to a shaded area near the thick jungle to some chairs. “Shall we?” He offered, taking her arm. She allowed contact but was soon walking on her own. When she reached Greg, he was in conversation with Lando, and she took one of the chairs as he bent down to a cooler and pulled out a bottled drink—Cali, a non-alcoholic, malt-based, fruit-flavored drink with a slight fizz. This one was pineapple. She eagerly took it once he popped off the top, taking a swig, and sighing as the cool, tangy liquid slid down her throat. “Better?” he asked with a smile, the light in his eyes making her uncomfortable, but she pushed it away.
“Much. Thank you.”
He took up his own drink and settled next to her, taking a long swallow off his bottle. “So, why are you here, Helen?”
She swallowed hard, tense for a moment. “What do you mean?”
“What is your purpose?”
She relaxed back into the chair, taking another drink, and said, “To help people. That’s all. We as a group are dedicated to the sick and injured. We care for people affected by conflict, disease outbreaks, natural and human-made disasters, and exclusion from health care in any country who needs us. We provide medical care, advocate for patients, stay neutral, and act in a patient’s best interests, regardless of race, religion, gender, or political affiliation. The neutral part stuck in her throat, but she had justified her involvement solely on the enormity of the threat. She reasoned that she was advocating for patients in advance to stop what these young men were about to do.
“That’s admirable,” he murmured.
She looked around at the progress the twins’ followers were making with the camp. It was phenomenal, but they were used to this kind of heat. “How about you?” she asked, indicating the camp in front of them. “Why are you helping us?”
He leaned toward her, his eyes growing serious. “Lando and I grew up here. Our father was a fisherman, and our mother tended the home. We are of these people, and we care what happens to them. Some of our proceeds go to help. We are aware what we do is regarded as heinous by many of our communities, but it is a reality of life here. There are others who would prey on them, but even though they fear us, they are grateful for what we provide.”
That surprised the hell out of her. She hadn’t expected that kind of an answer, and although she was sympathetic to any kind of suffering, she couldn’t condone what they did for a living, and she certainly would never condone WMDs. How could those possibly help anyone?
The sound of rotors beat against the sky, like a pulsating heart, a sultry wind rustling through the trees as she looked under the shade of the foliage and saw that black helicopter swooping across the cloudless blue like a dark bird of prey.
D-Day.
She braced herself against seeing him again, especially after what they had done last night. Her whole body tingled with the memory. The chopper landed and D-Day, Buck, and Zorro exited, but she could only focus on him.
“Ah, the gunslinger is back,” Taer said with disdain, but there was a healthy dose of respect in his tone. The kind of inherent respect that predators had for each other, knowing that they were their match or surpassed them in threat. But gunslinger was the right term for D-Day. Although, she suspected Taer had meant to say gunrunner. “Don’t worry, Helen. He will behave himself or I will see to it.” His words set off her heart as it suddenly jammed against her ribs, hammering frantically as fear churned through her. One misstep and it could all turn so bad. They had this deadly dance to play out, and it would have to look good.
She was aware he was a SEAL, but she’d never seen him decked out in all his gear, and it was a sight to behold. He was dressed for the jungle in multi-green colored fatigue pants that molded to his lower body, and she was quite aware of what he looked like beneath the garment. Delineated perfection, all that muscle bisecting in his abs, hips, and legs, and his generous…ah…meltingly male endowment.
Beneath a military green T-shirt, a tactical vest wrapped around his wide chest. His eyes were straight ahead as he walked, navigating the uneven ground without even checking where he was placing his feet. He appeared at ease despite the fact that a high-powered automatic weapon with a scope dangled from one of his hands. Helen took stock of the various weapons holstered or sheathed on his muscular frame, noting the machete secured at his back, and the sidearm strapped to his thick thigh, along with the handle of a long knife tucked into the front of the vest. This wasn’t your everyday knife. It was a combat knife, and it was meant to be used on…people. In his other hand, he carried a huge backpack.
There was something about the way warriors moved…six feet of pure predator, the hawklike gaze and chiseled cheekbones, the lean angle of his jaw. Yeah, he’d lost weight, and her heart twisted at the sight. She could barely handle it. Swallowing against the sudden tightness of her throat, Helen shifted, working at keeping her internal thoughts secret.
He, Buck, and Zorro approached. She met her brother’s eyes, but they were hooded. He and Zorro looked as dangerous and tough as D-Day. Stopping in front of Taer, he nodded to the warlord. His eyes flicked to her.
“Didn’t expect to see you again, love,” he murmured, managing to slide that menacing tone into his voice as if it was as easy as breathing. The Australian accent was flawless…and sexy on him. God, who was this man? She wanted to peel the layers off him to get to his core, then break all of that down until she was as intimate to him as his own thoughts. It shook her hard how he moved her to think these kinds of crazy thoughts. But it didn’t make the longing any easier to control. “But you take serendipity as it comes, yeah?”
“I’m not your love.” How wrong were those words, but she again shied away from any of those thoughts. She had to keep her mind on this confrontation.
Taer laughed.
D-Day gave her a mocking smile. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” he said, then looked at Taer as if she had been dismissed. “We have business to discuss.”
Buck stepped up to her. “Get lost, bitch,” he growled.
“Watch your mouth,” Taer growled back. “Thank you for the conversation, Helen. It’s best if you get back to your camp set up.”
She nodded, gave Buck a caustic glare, and lifted her chin. “Thank you for the shade and the drink.”
Greg was also evicted as Lando bid him to leave. He came alongside her. “Who are those guys?” he asked.
“Gunrunners,” she said, taking another long look at D-Day. “He’s their leader, Graham Butler.”
“I’m getting a very bad feeling about all of this,” he whispered, throwing another look at the SEALs and the warlords. “They don’t like each other.”
That was an understatement. For the rest of the day, she focused on getting the camp ready for patients tomorrow. But by the time the sun set, and darkness had fallen, Helen was exhausted, hot, and filthy. Luckily the showers had been set up inside an enclosed tent—no more than a box with a partition of wood. She grabbed her shower kit and a towel from her tent, then opened the flap and ducked inside. No one was in there, and she set the sign to occupied, and stripped down, hanging her clean clothes on a hook beside the farthest stall. She entered the wooden box and turned on the water. It was tepid but felt so good as the persistent heat of the jungle had reduced down to a steamy bearable temperature. She washed her hair, her body, and was rinsing off when she heard a rustle, then turned to find D-Day entering the tent. Her heart gave a hard, heavy thud, her nipples tightened, and her stomach fluttered, all of that energy narrowing down to the triangle between her legs. He was stripped to the waist, his lean, powerful torso glistening with sweat. He had clean clothes in his hand along with his own kit.
“Have you gone mad?” she hissed.
“Don’t worry. Buck and Zorro are outside. The twins left about thirty minutes ago. We’re tracking them, so the coast is clear. They will make sure we’re not bothered. We just need to talk.”
She raised her brows, her eyes running down his body. “Is that all?”
He gave her a wicked, torturous grin. “Your brother is right outside, Helen, and technically we’re both on a mission.”
“So, he doesn’t have to know what we’re doing, and there’s nothing to do right now about the mission.” She shrugged. “Didn’t you say we’re supposed to talk? We can multitask,” she murmured. “Besides, showering together will save water, and if you wash my back, I’ll wash yours.”
D-Day stared at her across the partition. “Now who’s gone mad?”
“I’ve been mad for you from day one, handsome, and you know it. So, stop protesting and worrying about my freaking brother, like a good little boy scout. Get out of those damn clothes and get over here. After that dramatic entrance, I’m unable to keep my hands off you.”
“Hellion fits so goddamned well,” he growled, but reached for his boot laces and toed out of the tan boots, then undid his gun belt, draping it over the unused stall, stripping off the camo pants, taking his briefs with them. His erection jutted out, thick and hard, the tip slick with moisture, indicating his desire.
She pushed the door open, and his hot blue gaze raked down the length of her as scorching as a flaming ocean. Her breasts swelled beneath his stare, her nipples tightening to the point of pain, and a liquid kind of heat settled between her thighs.
“This is going to have to be quick, and”—he emphasized the word—“ quiet .”
He turned to secure the stall door, and she watched the muscles in his wide back flex and roll.
She nodded, knowing it wasn’t going to be an easy task. She felt suspended as she reached out and set her hands against his hot, damp skin, his chest expanding at her touch. There was something so fascinating about the heat and hardness of a man’s chest, but she bit her lip remembering how he’d said he was using the gym to get through the day, escaping into sweat and burning muscle to try to keep from thinking about her, wanting her. D-Day, as formidable as the assault on the Germans that had saved the Allied war and kept the world safe from Nazi aggression.
She stepped into his arms, and he made a very soft sound as he crushed her in a hard, fierce embrace, his hand roughly tangling in her wet hair, stunning her with the rush of wanting.
He brushed his mouth across hers, the raw surge of desire always the same—intense, uncontrollable, ravaging. She opened her mouth, needing the feel of him, the life of him. D-Day shuddered, grinding his mouth against hers as he crushed her even tighter. Her breath catching, she swallowed the moan she couldn’t utter.
She instinctively parted her legs so he could touch her intimately and appease the hard, demanding ache he’d created from the moment she’d set eyes on him. He didn’t hesitate to push his fingers deep, deep inside her body. She bit back another moan and arched her hips, then gasped when he dipped his head and sucked hard at her nipples, his mouth wet and hot, using his free hand on the stiff crest that wasn’t being worked by his demanding mouth. While his fingers pumped rhythmically inside her, she sent her hands into his shaggy hair and writhed against him as he drew out the breath-stealing pleasure, until she was panting and whispering his name. He sucked her harder, her nipple aching and burning with a frenzy of heightened, delicious pain. He rubbed her ruthlessly, until, with a soft exhalation, she came in long, hard shudders that seemed to go on forever. Her release was so strong and intense, her body seemed to become one endless wave of pleasure.
He pressed her back, his fierce expression and his tight jaw was nothing to the hot blue of his eyes. “God, I want you endlessly,” he whispered raggedly, his breathing hard and fast. He said it in despair, as if she was something he’d never be able to have. Not in the way that mattered the most.
But she knew she already belonged to him—her body, her heart, and even the very depths of her soul. But he had to believe it for himself and accept that he was worthy of her unconditional emotions. That was something she couldn’t force on him.
She framed his face so he had no choice but to look down at her and see the sincerity in her eyes, and the emotion she knew was reflected in her expression. “I crave you endlessly,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened as he lifted her like a feather and growled, “Wrap your legs around my hips and hold on. She needed no urging as she slipped her legs around him. He shoved into her, hard, his gaze turning hot and hungry as her body closed tightly around him. He pulled out of her slightly, dragging the length of his dick against her still-sensitive flesh, as if he was trying to draw out her pleasure. His jaw hardened against a groan, she was sure as he shuddered and thrust back in just as hard and deep this time. It was torture to feel this good and unable to make a sound, but her arching hips told him what her mouth couldn’t.
“More,” she murmured huskily. “I want all you have to give, every fucking drop.” Physically and emotionally, she was his, he just didn’t know it yet.
He sank back in, grasping the solid partition at her back, withdrew, and surged deep again, his strokes lengthening, his pumping hips gaining momentum. His thrusts grew urgent and demanding, giving her no quarter. Friction, pressure, and heat fused together in waves of sensation, until her entire attention was focused on the connection of their bodies and the impatient, restless need swelling inside them. His stance was all flexing muscle, his heavy shoulders beneath her arms, his back beneath her palms, his hips where her legs were wrapped, and the thick, powerful flexing of his buttocks as he pumped into her.
Their gazes were fixed on each other, his breathing shallow as his climax washed over him, that jaw clenching, his face contorting as he arched against her hips, pulsing hot and hard inside of her, shuddering from the sheer force of his orgasm.
She clasped him tight, knowing that no other man would be able to make her feel this complete, this kind of intimate connection, this sweet, stunning joy. Panicking at the thought of losing him in so many ways, she instinctively knew he was it, that no man could ever give her what he gave her.
He then whispered to her that they were leaving in the morning to seal the deal with the twins, but he would be back, and she had to stay strong and on her toes. Once they got the shipment to the Ambongs, they were going to get the information they needed to end this mission.
She nodded as they dried off and got dressed. Before he left, he framed her face in his hands, seized her mouth with his, as if his next breath of air could only come from her. His kiss was deep and voracious, and laced with a desperate kind of passion she could taste with every sweep of his tongue and the aggressive way he’d possessed her body.
The next day, she woke to the sound of those chopper blades, but by the time she got out of her bunk and to the flap of her tent, the sleek black bird was in the distance. Her heart tightened.
“Glad they’re gone,” Greg said, and she turned to see him watching that dark speck disappear. She nodded, even as her heart worked at keeping everything concealed. He would be back. That was a given.
After breakfast, they set up in the big tent as people started to arrive. They worked all morning to screen patients and then prescribe the correct treatment. For active TB patients, a regimen of four drugs—isoniazid with rifampin, pyrazinamide, and ethambutol taken for six to twelve months was prescribed, for latent TB, short-course treatment for three months with isoniazid plus rifapentine, and the drug-resistant patients got a regiment with a combination of pteromalid, and linezolid.
Greg and the Filipino doctors were so gratified that so many people had turned out. They wanted to go from village to village in the interim to make sure everyone who needed treatment got it.
For the next two days, they did just that, feeling as if their intervention was working very well. As they were returning to camp, the road was blocked by vehicles. Their driver got out but was immediately slammed in the face with the butt of an automatic weapon. Someone started yelling at them in Tagalog, and it was so rapid and angry that Helen couldn’t make out what he was saying. When they didn’t respond, one of the men grabbed her and dragged her out of the van.
Another man came up to her, grabbed her by the hair and shouted, “Who are you?”
“American medical workers,” she replied as her scalp burned. Behind her, she felt a spike of fear run through the group. It was in their eyes and on their faces.
He smiled and shoved her toward another man, going for the van. Suddenly, he dropped to the ground, and gunfire ripped around her. She ducked behind the van, keeping her head down until the men who had accosted them were neutralized.
She wondered if it had been D-Day coming to their rescue, but when she looked toward the thick jungle, it was Taer Ambong who emerged with his brother just behind him. He heard the small ripple of commotion when the medical team recognized the warlords. Somewhat friendly faces.
The twins were arguing, but she had no idea why. Monique, Drs. Aquino, and Bacunawa came out of the van and tried to see to the men littering the road, but the men with the twins pushed them back. Monique argued, and one of the men slapped her across the face.
Taer came up to her. “Are you all right?” he asked, genuine concern in his eyes. Lando was looking at her with an angry scowl. Suddenly, one of the men lifted from the ground and pulled the trigger of the pistol in his hand, only to be shot dead. The medical team huddled together as Taer made a sound of pain and he collapsed to the ground.
Lando rushed over and knelt, speaking rapidly in his language as blood started to seep into the lower part of Taer’s shirt. She and Greg went immediately over to him as Greg lifted the blood-soaked material to inspect the wound. Lando turned to look up at her. “This is your fault,” he shouted, the anguish for his brother threaded through his words. He turned to his men and told them to get a litter ready.
“Get the med kit,” Greg said, his voice grim. “Quickly.” Helen ran to the van and retrieved the medical supplies. She returned to Greg as he worked on Taer, his hands moving so fast.
“We need to go,” Lando growled. “The fighting is moving this way.”
Greg looked up. “You need to get him to a hospital. He’s in bad shape.”
“No time now. You will tend him.” Two men grabbed his arms. “You are coming with us.”
Greg reeled back, desperation and fear on his face. “I don’t have the equipment I need. This is insanity.”
Lando grabbed her arm and started to drag her toward the jungle. Fear rising in her, she pulled back, her breathing coming in labored gasps as she was unceremoniously tugged forward. She started to fight. “What are you doing?”
“You’re coming to help the doctor,” he snapped, telling her that he wasn’t bluffing or going to give them any quarter.
Then she realized she was getting an opportunity to do what Bailee had asked of her, she stopped fighting, but Lando’s next words made her blood run cold. “You will save my brother, or you both will die.”