Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
“They’re up there, I can feel it.” Mya’s voice was soft and shaky as she huddled against the limestone wall inside the cenote while Oliver stood at her side, looking somewhat annoyed. Sydney was pretty sure he was still pissed off that her friend had risked her life and, by extension, all of theirs, by agreeing to meet with her cartel contact on her own.
Sydney looked away from the two of them and fixed her attention on the opening they’d all jumped through five minutes earlier. Soaking wet and utterly exhausted, they were lucky to have found a small ledge of dry land off to the side of the river while they waited to see if they’d be followed.
“Maybe it’s not them up there,” Oliver whispered, keeping his voice quiet to prevent any echoing inside the cave. “It could be those Mayan ghosts Beckett mentioned earlier.”
Sydney was in a lunge-like position, bow in hand, prepared to send an arrow if anyone dropped through the hole. The idea of shooting a weapon while treading water was less than ideal, but at Oliver’s joke, she stole a look at him from over her shoulder.
Was Oliver looking to usurp Jack’s position as comedian of Falcon, or simply using comic relief to cut through a tense situation like she’d witnessed a lot of the guys do during her time in the Army?
Yeah, that’s probably it. In his own weird way, Oliver’s trying to calm Mya. Especially given that their current situation was at least an eight out of ten on the whiskey-tango-foxtrot meter—military-speak for WTF.
As Sydney swiveled her gaze back to the hole, she couldn’t help but think of Levi. He knew she hated hearing him curse, so whenever they had a disagreement, rather than saying the acronym, he’d protest, whiskey-tango-foxtrot, Mom . She shook her head and smiled as she pictured her son. He knew damn well it was hard for her to keep a straight face and be upset after that.
“What do you think? Is it the baddies or our ghosts?” Oliver asked playfully, wiggling his fingers toward Mya.
“Don’t be a dick,” Mya warned. Sydney didn’t look back again, but she knew her friend was more than likely elbowing Oliver in the ribs. “I know you’re mad at me. And I deserve it.”
“One second,” Sydney interrupted whatever back-and-forth the two of them were about to engage in. “They’re leaving.” Relief settled the butterflies in the pit of her stomach, and she repositioned herself alongside Beckett, sitting with her legs over the ledge.
“Thank God,” Mya replied as Sydney rested her bow on her thighs.
“Either they don’t believe we’d ever jump down here,” Oliver began, “or they’re more afraid of this place than Mya.”
Mya huffed out a frustrated breath, which could have been for any number of reasons, but the most likely contender for the top spot? Oliver Lucas.
“In all seriousness,” Beckett spoke up, “if you had met with that guy alone tomorrow as planned, you would have died.” He certainly wasn’t one to sugarcoat things. But for whatever reason, when he’d spoken, his gaze was fixed on Sydney, not Mya.
“I can’t even begin to imagine if you’d . . .” Oliver let his words trail off, all traces of humor disappearing as genuine concern settled in his tone.
Sydney had read Oliver wrong. He wasn’t using comedy to cut through tension or piss off Mya. No, it was because he’d have lost his shit just thinking about what might have happened if Mya had been alone for the meeting with her cartel contact.
“I chose Tulum because it’s relatively safe,” Mya revealed. “Aside from an uptick in carjackings between here and Cancun, I thought I’d be fine.” She shrugged. “This would have been our fourth meeting in Mexico, and clearly, I’m still alive.”
“Yeah, you were lucky those first three times,” Oliver hissed.
“And lucky again this time, I guess.” Mya released a shaky breath, which had Sydney twisting around to check on her. “But you should never have been in danger because of me. I’m sorry.”
“Mya, this is what Oliver and I do. This is normal for us.” Sydney shot her teammate a quick look, unable to read his expression in the dim lighting. “But I don’t want this to be the norm for you. Whether you work with Falcon or stay with Mason and his guys, you’re not a field agent. Or an operator.”
“I was a reporter. I get it.” Mya’s shoulders fell as she covered her face with her palms. “And I’m sorry. I won’t do something like this again.” She lowered her hand to focus on Sydney, “You have my word.”
“All that matters right now is that you’re safe,” Sydney responded softly, doing her best to tap into the part of her brain that she reserved for her son. The emotional side. “Well, we’re almost out of the woods.”
“Figuratively. And hopefully soon, literally,” Oliver piped up.
Sydney faced the water again, curious what Beckett was thinking about since his only contribution to the conversation had been lecturing Mya about how she would have died tomorrow were it not for . . . well , what happened today. And thank God they’d been there with her.
Could Mya have been right with all her talk about the power of thought earlier on the beach? Who was that author she was talking about?
“So, what’s the plan?” Mya asked, followed by the sound of a hard slap as if Mya had swatted Oliver.
Sure enough, when Sydney checked on the two of them, Mya was on her feet but crouched so she didn’t hit her head, and Oliver was in the same position but with his hands in the air in surrender as if saying, Okay, okay. You don’t need me.
“Should we swim until we find a place we can exit?” Mya asked, moving to where Sydney sat next to Beckett.
“That’d be my choice, but it’ll depend on whether the throughway is high enough for decent airflow so we can keep our heads above water as we swim,” Beckett said while Oliver removed the magazine from the rifle along with the round in the chamber. “We won’t know until we try.”
“Right, makes sense.” Mya peered at Oliver, who was now discarding ammo into the river before chucking the rifle in as well. “What are you doing that for?”
“I don’t think we need this,” Oliver responded. “As much as I hate littering, it’s preferable to some adventurous kids discovering this thing sitting here on the ledge.”
Beckett nodded in agreement and then, without another word, dove headfirst into the water. After a couple of seconds, he popped up to the surface, swiping one hand through his hair. He’d lost his hat at some point on their run, same with Oliver. “Only about fifteen feet deep right here. I assume that will change at some point,” he shared while treading water to remain afloat, “but I doubt we’ll be doing any standing in this river.”
“Okay.” Sydney turned to Mya and set a hand on her forearm. “You good?” Her friend was a strong and confident woman, and Sydney didn’t mean to treat her like a child, but Mya was out of her element.
“I’ll keep hold of you,” Oliver offered, and Sydney waited for the objection to come.
“I can swim. Thanks,” Mya quickly responded. “I just prefer to see what’s around me in the water. And there have been a few attacks by saltwater crocs in recent years, so it’s a legitimate concern.”
“Wait, wait.” Oliver held both palms up and peeked over the ledge toward Beckett. “Crocs?”
“There are no crocodiles in there.” Sydney rolled her eyes. “And Oliver’s not scared. He’s just being an asshole.”
“Let’s go.” Oliver held his hand out for Mya, but she knocked it away.
“Not your greatest fan right now,” Mya said as Sydney jumped in, clutching her bow tightly in the process. “You didn’t need to put your big, filthy hand over my mouth when we jumped,” Sydney heard Mya add once she’d risen back to the surface and neared the edge, waiting for Mya to jump into the lukewarm water.
“I’ll hold that for you,” Beckett offered. Sydney looked his way, deciding whether to be insulted or grateful.
“I’m good,” she decided. Sticking with stubbornness.
“All right. I’m going in. So, if you want to stay on the ledge alone while we swim, go for it.” Oliver jumped into the water, and Mya grumbled something before swinging the shoulder strap of her purse around to position the bag at her back. Sydney was surprised she’d managed to hang on to that thing the entire time.
After a few quiet minutes of swimming and, thankfully, enough oxygen and light to keep them moving, Mya rasped, “Oliver, tell me that’s your leg touching me.”
“Not my leg,” Oliver returned, and Mya squealed, launching herself straight at him, dragging them both below the surface for a moment.
Sydney swam in place, waiting for them to come back up. She was more fatigued from a few minutes of swimming than the days she hit the gym back home.
I need a vacation from my vacation. Well, she supposed, she was technically working now.
“Damn, Mya,” Oliver sputtered when they resurfaced, Mya’s chest tight to his, her arms tangled around him, clinging on for dear life. “I was joking.”
Mya hissed and leaned back enough to gently whack him on the chest before pushing away completely. “Jerk.” She started to swim again, and Sydney found herself exchanging a quick eye roll with Beckett as though they were the only two adults down there.
Once Oliver and Mya were ahead of them, Beckett swam next to Sydney and whispered, “Were those two ever . . . a thing?”
“No, but I think they’re attracted to each other,” Sydney stated what felt like the obvious.
“That’s your definition of attraction, huh?” A light laugh from this growly-grumpish man, while in a cave and running for their lives, was the last thing she’d expected.
“It’s not the kind I’m used to, but I think it’s Mya’s style. The love-hate thing.” She took a moment to shake out her arm, tired from holding the bow while swimming, and before she could continue moving, Beckett snatched it from her hand.
“If you insist on keeping this with you, then it’s my turn to carry it.” He lifted his chin, a silent directive to keep swimming and not argue.
Sydney didn’t usually tolerate men bossing her around, nor did it often happen, but for whatever reason, she kept her mouth shut. Because her arm really was fatigued, and her fingers were cramping.
“How’d you become so proficient with the bow, anyway?” Beckett peeked back at her while swimming. “Last I checked, they’re not standard issue in the Army.”
She thought back to the first time she’d held a bow at the age of nine, and how she’d been a fan from the moment her first arrow struck the target. “My ancestors were, well . . . I come from a long line of archers. My grandfather wanted to ensure he passed along the skill to me before he,” she said around a swallow, “died.”
Beckett stopped swimming for a moment to peer back at her and frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. He lived a long life.” She smiled at the memory of her grandfather. She’d give anything for him to have seen Levi grow up. He’d been a hardworking and energetic man. Always saw the good in people. Looked for the silver linings in all aspects of life. He would’ve made a great role model for Levi. Not that Seth was a bad father, but . . .
Shit, were there tears in her eyes? She dove under the water to hide the emotions that had pushed through at such an inopportune time, and when she rose to the surface, she motioned for him to continue swimming.
Beckett hesitated as though waiting for her to add more to the story, so she swam up alongside him and added, “My grandfather didn’t come from money. Not like me, I should say. But if it weren’t for his influence and how he raised my father, I highly doubt my dad would’ve turned an idea into a multi-billion-dollar business.”
“Your grandfather sounds like he was a good man.”
“He was,” she softly said.
“Hey, I see light.” Mya’s words had Sydney tucking away her memories so she could focus again.
“As long as you don’t mean the light, as in the staircase to Heaven, then we’re good,” Oliver joked. He was a battle-hardened paratrooper from the 82nd Airborne, but right now, he reminded her of her son.
Boys.
“You think these vines can be used as a rope to climb out?” Mya asked.
“Tug on them and see. If you fall, I’ll catch you. Promise.” Oliver swam beneath the beam of light pouring in from the large hole above. No visible ladder, so she doubted this was one of the cenotes visited by tourists.
“Smartass.” Mya grabbed a handful of vines and tugged. “Seems secure, but you may want to check, Syd.”
“That can be our way out, then.” Sydney swam over to check the vines. It appeared to be about a twenty-five-foot climb up the wall. “We can wait here until Gray texts. He should be able to reach us, but I’ll message him to double-check.”
“We can wait on that dry ground over there,” Beckett announced as Sydney grabbed on to a handful of vines and braced the soles of her sandals against the rock wall. Hoisting herself up, she channeled her rock-climbing know-how.
With multiple vines clutched in both hands and a firm grip, she ascended the wall despite the less-than-ideal slippery footing, lifting her chin toward the light overhead. The jungle wasn’t nearly as dense around this cenote, so she didn’t want to remain visible much longer and risk being seen.
“This should work.” Sydney faced the wall again, realizing something was wrong. Felt wrong, at least. And it wasn’t the cramping in her fingers from carrying the bow. A shiver rolled over her spine at the realization red ants— fire ants —were currently crawling from the vines to her right hand, and when she dropped her focus to her tank top, she saw that a few had already made their way to her chest. How the hell did they get there so fast? “Just great,” she grumbled, ignoring the stinging sensations on her hands.
She quickly let go of one fistful of vines and freed the quiver from her body.
“What’s wrong?” Mya called out from below, an undercurrent of panic in her tone.
“I’m about to fall. Move,” Sydney warned just before letting go with her other hand and falling backward into the cenote.
Once fully submerged by the water, Sydney quickly peeled her tank top off before rising to the surface. “Are they gone?” She tossed her top out of the way and brushed a palm over her exposed skin to rid herself of any stragglers.
“What the hell happened?” Mya asked as she swam over.
“Fire ants,” Sydney answered once she confirmed all the stinging bastards were gone. “Fastest way to get them off me.”
With that issue solved, she began looking for her discarded tank top and realized that her breasts were on full display, her sheer, nude-colored bra offering absolutely zero coverage since she was soaking wet.
Let’s just not make it a habit of you seeing me partially clothed. Her words from only hours ago rang through her mind as she spotted Beckett crouched on the dry ground, forearms resting on his muscular thighs and her top dangling from his fisted hands. A slow, sexy smirk lit up his face, and she knew exactly what was on that man’s mind.
In a nearly husky voice, his eyes wandered to her chest as he said, “It seems we’ve come full circle.”