Chapter 9
9
The sound echoed across the jungle, carrying on the still air bringing the team up short. Skull took the time to bend down and give Bones water, his gut clenching. Bones was panting heavily. They had been running for hours, and apparently, they were getting close. The piercing scream came again, grating along his nerve endings, making him frantic to get to the two women before any more tragedy could happen. Someone was in terrible pain. Anna? Leigh? Some other poor soul?
Hazard started to bolt, but Iceman grabbed his vest and brought him up short.
“We’re not going to go in there in a panic,” Iceman said. “They have no idea we’re coming. We take out the guards, then we assault the camp. Get light, and let’s go.”
They dropped their packs, and there were no more screams. The initial torture had gotten down to the questions.
Skull moved into position, keeping Bones on a short leash. He patted the ground, and the dog obeyed. “Stay,” he said, making eye contact with the Malinois. Stealth was imperative, and he couldn’t control Bones growling or snapping when he went into hell-hound mode. He would have to wait here. He crouched low as he and his teammates separated to search for the perimeter guards. He was so thoroughly hidden in the dense overgrowth, the guard’s eyes passed right over him.
Skull crouched low at the base of a tree, the delicate scent wafted around him, a sweet smell that was coming from the pure white, pretty as hell flowers. Orchids grew wild out here. Many of the orchid hunters who had perished in this death gap would be orgasmic over these specimens. But Skull’s intense gaze never left his quarry.
“Quiet takedown,” Iceman said through the comms.
Skull moved in, his knife already in his fist, settling there like an extension of his body, his senses active, and his adrenaline burning through his veins. The man he watched, then stalked, twisted around, looking nervously into the thick jungle. Maybe he was feeling the hot breath of death on the back of his neck, not understanding that his life was now measured in seconds.
The Darien was a haven for men who participated in illegal actions. Not even the CNP would come here. But it was for the better. SEALs who trained together like his team did could almost read each other’s minds in battle. And they had excellent fire control—they could hit targets without killing friendlies. Now that they were close to the women, it would be heartbreaking if friendly fire took one or both of them out.
Cowards , Skull thought again as anger licked through him, fueling his attack. The man was dead at his feet before he could even take his last breath. Not many opponents were as well trained as he was, and these cartel goons even less so. They were guns for hire, and when money motivated, there wasn’t much integrity, loyalty, or skill brought to bear.
As the word of neutralized guards filtered through their comms, Skull called Bones, and brought his weapon around, slipping the strap over his head to free it for action.
They crept closer and he crouched waiting for Ice’s orders.
“Tents, boss,” Boomer said. “Four with six baddies I can see. No telling how many in the tents.”
“Copy that,” Iceman said. “GQ, Preacher, Boomer, and Breakneck. Get eyes in those tents and report back.”
Before any of them could carry out Iceman’s orders, there was a male howl, and Anna came running out of the tent with a pistol. She shot two of the tangos before they could reach for their weapons. Skull saw one of them dive to the ground and pull his sidearm. He gave a command and Bones rushed in, clamping his sharp teeth onto the man’s arm and shaking him like a rag doll. Skull put two into him and he stopped moving. He called Bones to him.
Precision shots came out of the jungle surrounding the camp and the rest of the cartel lackeys fell even as they were scrambling.
Anna stood there, her chest heaving, but the weapon stayed steady.
“You wouldn’t want to shoot your rescuers, would you, Anna?” Iceman said.
With a soft cry, Anna lowered the weapon, her legs folded, and she staggered. Ice caught her against him, holding her tight. “Took your sweet time,” she murmured sarcastically, nothing but affection in her tone.
Skull smiled. It was so good to find her alive. He glanced around as Hazard tore the camp apart, searching every nook and cranny.
“Where is she?” he asked Anna, his voice strained, his face ashen and carved by strain, his eyes shadowed by so many emotions Skull could only guess what was more prevalent.
“She’s not here? She was when they took me into the tent and used that cattle prod on me.”
“They must have taken her somewhere else,” Iceman said as Hazard bent his head and dragged his hand across his eyes, then inhaled raggedly.
Iceman looked at Kodiak. “You stay with?—”
“No, I’m not going to be the cause of you losing a gun. Give me some water and clear out this blood so I can see. I’m coming with you.”
“Anna—”
“Ice.”
“We’re going to be moving fast,” he growled, shaking his head. Possibly a risky move, but his boss was a risk-taking guy.
She raised her chin and met that direct chilling stare. “I don’t care. I’m not going to slow you down. We’re all getting Leigh back, and then we’re going to hurt these bastards when we regroup.”
There were laughs covered by coughs as the team watched the standoff, and Boomer mimed eating popcorn. This was movie-worthy.
That was her no-argument voice, and all of them had heard it before, the look she leveled at Iceman from those just as cold blue eyes could have frozen even him, besides their boss, her tone was the only cool thing in the tropical jungle.
Skull liked that tone and the way she took charge. He liked that a lot. It was just smart thinking on her part. Fuck he respected the hell out of her—no easy feat.
Iceman rubbed the back of his neck. “Do as she says, Kodiak, but watch her as we move.”
Kodiak nodded, whipped out some gauze, and cleaned her face, setting a butterfly to the gash there as a temporary measure. “You need stitches, Rambo, but that can wait.”
She huffed out a laugh as she accepted a mag each from GQ, Preacher, and Breakneck. “Please don’t mention that nickname to Dodger. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“I don’t know,” Boomer said. “Could come out during a bout of drinking.” He winked.
Anna huffed a hard breath. Yeah, the special ops community was small, and word about her nickname would easily run through the grapevine right to Dodger’s ear.
Skull took Bones to the perimeter to pick up their enemy’s scent. He sniffed around and then pulled violently on the leash. Skull said, “He’s on the scent.” As they all broke into a run, four of Anna’s SEAL buddies surrounded her. They ran from the camp at top speed, and he was hoping and praying they would get to Leigh in enough time. With this new and cunning addition to their pack, they ran as one, protecting their courageous and determined CIA leader.
Leigh woke with her face in dirt and her body drenched in sweat. She blinked and pushed up, every inch of her aching. She was in a shack, tin walls and roof, and it was so hot she could barely breathe. The last thing she remembered was the blow. This was definitely not a tent.
With a panic that climbed up her throat and fear that finally took over, she realized that Anna wasn’t with her. What had they done to her? Where was she? She rubbed her jaw, felt the tackiness of blood. Pushing her hands through her hair, then levering herself off the floor, she tried the door. Someone on the other side growled and hit back hard, the sound reverberating like a tuning fork, singing through the tin with a high-pitched sound. She screamed to be let out. Screamed about Anna, kicking and pounding. No one answered.
She backed up, looking around in despair, a whimper she couldn’t control making her clamp down harder, feeling trapped and reaching for anger that was slippery and buried in terror.
No light came into the ramshackle structure, except from the thatched roof, but it didn’t reach the makeshift floor. Sitting down hard, her back to the hot tin, she idly inspected her sleeve, torn at the shoulder. She tried wiping off the dirt, but it smeared with blood. She blinked and looked at her hand, the palm red. Taking several breaths, behind her closed eyes, she looked back down. There was nothing but her grimy skin. In the back of her mind where sanity still existed, she knew she was slipping in between reality and delirium.
Hurry, Hazard, before I go mad, and then die more than one death. I want to see your face again and know why you look at me the way Anna says you do. What do you see? I want to finish this mission and get justice. I don’t know who I am anymore, so much is breaking down inside me and not making sense. Please, don’t be too late. Please…
Like his teammates, Hazard was pushing himself hard. Almost thirty hours without sleep, a brutal run in soaring temperatures and humidity through a thick, dangerous jungle, two firefights, heartbreaking deaths, minimal rest, and MREs consumed four hours ago. It almost felt like he was in BUD/S again. But this time, his heart hurt through all of it, making it far worse on his heart instead of his body.
But all of it paled in comparison to what Leigh was going through. It was excruciating thinking about the possibilities, and his special forces brain could conjure up a lot of scenarios. He was relieved they had found and rescued Anna, not surprised at all by her ingenuity and courage in fighting her captors and winning. She was a badass. But Leigh was a badass in a different way. She hadn’t been trained in fighting off her attackers, and he feared down to his soul that her mouth was going to get her killed. Leigh was used to a normal world, to the sedate courtroom where prisoners were in suits and on their best behavior, guards nearby to keep the peace, not this fetid jungle where feral predators roamed in a lawless stretch of sixty-six miles, measuring life by how much someone inconvenienced them, or not thinking about it at all. Leigh’s life was immeasurable, precious, and priceless.
Finding that tent empty had felt like he had a fist jammed into his chest. A cold numbing sensation engulfed him. Too late. They had just missed her, goddammit. He dragged his hand down his unshaven face.
The thought of all that vitality and fighting spirit snuffed out in seconds spurred him on as he pushed away the frustration and disappointment. He couldn’t lose her before he even had a chance to know her. His encounter with her might have been brief, but it had been powerful, so powerful, he was contemplating chucking out his rule book for just another taste of this woman. Would it be smart to cross the line with her? Hell-fucking-no, but he wasn’t sure he could keep his cool if he didn’t step into what was happening between them.
There were no frickin’ rules here or in Bogotá, no goddamn rules when it came to killing anyone who threatened an American, especially a federal prosecutor hell-bent on getting justice for her dead colleagues against guns, drugs, and thugs, an international, transnational clusterfuck.
He ran, his senses on alert, searching the jungle for any sign of danger or threat. They had to hoof it. If Leigh was at that camp, they couldn’t be far behind. He was floored by the sheer amount of denseness. Everywhere he looked…just more jungle. They splashed through small streams, over roots designed to make anyone stumble, through thick brush, all the while Bones didn’t waver.
Hazard dug deep, asking more of his body, one that had been trained, primed, conditioned for just this type of activity, his heart beating, his adrenaline shooting, and his legs pumping. It was all part of the SEAL gig. They performed at an extremely high level. Their country expected it from them, and they expected it from themselves.
He swallowed the hard ball of rage sticking in his throat like a forty-pound weight, ignoring the edge of fear licking at his emotions.
He lived with brutality every day. He didn’t want Leigh to have to experience it up close and personal. Not that she wasn’t strong, that wasn’t it. He did this job so people like her, the ones who lived a normal life, wouldn’t have to be exposed to this kind of threat or terror. His biggest fear wasn’t acting on the darker side of his nature that came to the fore when he needed that warrior, that man who would do anything to stop Leigh from dying, but it was failing her, failing in his very mission to protect her.
And they had failed, in many ways here. Unable to be two places at once, he had been very uneasy about her coming on this mission, of leaving her in the hands of another protector, while he went with his team, a split in loyalties that still churned inside him.
He had always sought balance in his life, but the moment he’d met Leigh, she was always tipping those damn scales, and part of him acknowledged that it wasn’t a bad thing. He could handle being challenged. He lived for that every day. But she affected him like no other person in his life. Something had been missing. Something that kept him in his head, not that he didn’t enjoy sex or the pleasure that came with the act. It was that he was and had always been cautious about who took up his time. He strived to be knowledgeable, well-informed, and self-sufficient, and at the same time using his skills to help others, especially his mom.
He’d never been afraid of engaging outside his home bubble, using his mind and body to overcome obstacles always felt natural and right. But internally, maybe he’d been leery of sharing too much of who he was, making for a very lonely existence.
They continued on. Hazard pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion. They had to find her in time, otherwise he would never be able to forgive himself.
Leigh came awake the instant the handle on the door twisted, the squeak loud and chilling. She rose, her back to the wall, but there was no escape from this room. The door let in daylight, and she shielded her eyes against the penetrating glow.
A man materialized as he stepped into the shade.
Conde.
Then two more, and finally the last man. Again, the intense sunlight caused her to squint, but when he walked into the shade her heart lurched against the wall of her chest. The very man they were all hunting stopped just inside the door.
Angel Alzate.
He had close-cropped hair with a receding hairline, dark, almost black eyes, and a serious personality deficit, just like his lackeys. He smirked as he gave her a once over with disdain and a smug triumphant fire in his eyes, up and down, giving her a look like she was taking up important space.
She straightened and faced him, pushing down the fear and her sense of survival until the only thing that burned in her chest was the need to bring this man to justice.
He chuckled. “Such bravery for a member of the American government.”
She didn’t answer, just stared at him with contempt.
“Tell me what I want to know, and I will execute you quickly and painlessly.” He delivered the words like he was ordering his next meal, without any inflection. Empty-souled bastard. Hell would freeze over first.
She still kept her mouth closed. She had no intention of telling them anything of their plans, plans only she and Nick knew about. She hadn’t even had a moment to share it with the task force.
“Such restraint. I hear that you have been anything but mute since we killed your people and took you like taking the candy from the infant.”
“Candy from a baby, you ignorant asshole.”
“Ah, she does speak.” He nodded to Conde and with that signal, that thug strode across the space that separated them, grabbing her by the hair.
Alzate approached. He caught her chin. “You are quite beautiful up close. Your picture doesn’t do you justice. Eh, Conde?” He trailed his finger down the side of her face, to her neck, then lower until he brushed the side of her breast in the center of her chest. She gritted her teeth, her skin crawling at his touch, the threat not even subtle, each and every one delivered in a flat monotone voice that was really starting to grate on her nerves. She brought up her hands to push him away, but Conde grabbed her wrists and pulled them over her head. Of course, she should have expected that sexual assault would be in the cartel’s arsenal. After all, women were the weaker sex, and they were nothing but power-hungry jerks, using such a base way to make a woman see exactly what her place was.
Conde chuckled, his stare turning hot and predatory, a wholly sexual smile curling the corner of his harsh mouth. “As long as she doesn’t speak,” he said.
“Hmm,” Alzate said, brushing his fingers against her flesh, the caress undoing a button on her ruined and torn blouse. “What if I take execution off the table? Let you live to serve us.”
It was her turn to laugh. “I’d rather die, and I’m smart enough to know that I can’t trust a fucking thing you say.”
He cupped her breast and squeezed so hard, the pain excruciating. “That’s too bad.” He turned to Conde. “Do what you want with her, then take care that you don’t make a mistake and fuck up the recording of her death. When you have it, send it to me.”
Terror spiked through her, but she bolstered herself with what may be her last words. “You won’t get away with this. But I can promise you that you will be looking out on a sea of faces from a glassed booth while they insert that needle in your vein and rid this world of you. Killing a federal prosecutor comes with the death penalty.”
Without an ounce of concern on his face, he slapped her hard, the pain of his palm against her flesh stinging her cheek. Through her half-closed eyes, she watched him walk away.
When the door closed, Conde moved suddenly to face her, pressing his body against hers. There was no mocking glitter in his eyes this time. Just stone-cold violence. Panic clawed up her spine at the feel of him hard against her thigh. Revulsion and self-preservation gripped her. She started to fight, lifting her knee to hit him where it would hurt most. But he twisted his hips as if he was an expert at rape. “It’s going to be a pleasure to break you, bitch.”
“No,” she shouted with everything inside her twisting with loathing. Never. She gouged at his face, her nails digging deep.
He howled, his jaw clenching tight, and rage flashed in his eyes. He backhanded her, then shoved her against the wall so hard that her head hit the tin surface, dazing her. When her vision came back into focus, he’d braced his hands on either side of her shoulders and wedged his thigh between hers to keep her trapped against the wall and his body. His face was right in hers, and he was so sickly turned on, she gasped with revulsion.
He grabbed her hair, dragging her head back ruthlessly, and brought his mouth down on hers. She fought the kiss, the invasion of his tongue, refusing to give even a small part of herself to him. She bit down hard on his lip, and he pulled away, only infuriating him.
He grabbed her blouse and ripped open the buttons, then tore at her bra, knocking her down to the ground and beneath him. She tried to fight again, but he pinned her wrists in one hand and reached for his fly. When she struggled, he punched her hard, then ripped at her pants.
She screamed in rage and defiance.
Then the weight was gone, and another man was there, but she was so caught up in the horror, she fought the gentle hands, not understanding.
“Leigh,” the voice penetrated her terror. “It’s me.”
“Hazard?” she cried, opening her eyes to his gorgeous face. He was helping her to sit up as she pulled the blouse together to cover her nakedness, so thankful he had come before Conde had been able to violate her. A sob of relief wedged in her throat, and she swallowed hard against it, refusing to allow herself the luxury of falling apart. They had found her, and she was safe, and that was all that mattered.
Then she looked at his face. It was as if he had gone somewhere else, the expression so full of a lethal rage. Her eyes darted to Conde who was out cold.
“Hazard,” she whispered. “No.”
Seeing her with her clothes torn, her upper body exposed, the dark and savage bruises on her face and arms, her terrified eyes, and the way she had fought him made something snap. She was so traumatized, she hadn’t realized it had been him trying to save her.
He had always had the ability to maintain a calm state of mind in any crisis. Hands down, he was the epitome of cool and in charge. His mind was always on solving problems, not allowing his emotions to take over. To him the threat to her was still real, still ongoing. He looked around for the animal who had attacked her. His body sizzled with rage, his hands burning with the need to do something to protect her. It was a pure knee-jerk, instinct.
He would ghost this guy for her.
He was on the guy in a heartbeat, slapping him awake, looming over him. The man took one look at Hazard’s face and started to propel his body backward, but in two strides Hazard was on him. His teammates came through the door as he pressed the muzzle of his sidearm against the man’s forehead. He was unarmed, and the rules of engagement mattered even here in this lawless hellhole, maybe mattered even more. He pressed it hard, wanting with all his might to pull the trigger, his intellect warring with his protective instincts to end this low-life’s existence so he would never haunt Leigh ever again.
“Hazard,” Iceman said, his voice strong and calm, his words clipped, delivering information in a steady stream—holding Hazard to a line of ethics that they had vowed not to cross, ever. Every man in that sweltering prison was on edge, tense muscles, edgy eyes, and the same thoughts he had running through his head.
Half a dozen heartbeats passed during their standoff. The rules of engagement were extremely strict: Do not fire unless fired upon. There was no way to get around that one hard, cold fact. The man wasn’t firing on him. He wasn’t even armed. He had been here to violate Leigh, and he couldn’t afford her getting a hold of his weapon.
But Hazard didn’t move a muscle. He was looking at Iceman and all the unseen things he was talking about. Honor, integrity, the SEAL Creed. Iceman was clear. This wouldn’t just reflect badly on Hazard but would earn him a court-martial, dishonorable discharge, and the loss of things that were as important to him as breathing: his job, his freedom. They may have been designed to be killing machines, but they weren’t just good at that task. They were flesh and blood, thinking and calculating, feeling and passionate men.
He took a breath, the pressure on the hair-trigger of his sidearm needed just ounces of pull. “Hazard, don’t, please ,” she whispered.
Leigh’s voice. Hazard knew she wasn’t pleading for this man’s life. She was pleading for his life, for him to elevate himself above this scum, and that penetrated hard and fast, like a bullet. If he pulled the trigger, he would lose more than just his freedom. He would lose who he was. Combat was easy compared to this moral dilemma.
He used every ounce of his willpower to release the trigger, to get off the guy and holster his weapon, to let this bastard live, not only for the intel he could provide but so Hazard could continue to be the man he was.
He turned to look at Leigh, who was wrapped up in Anna’s arms. He was aching to have her in his own arms, but now was not the time. “He was here,” she said. “Angel Alzate.”
“When?” Iceman asked harshly.
“Minutes. If you run you might be able to?—”
Men were filing out the door. In the distance they heard the whop, whop of a chopper’s rotor. Asking for more speed from already overworked, overused, almost depleted muscles, they broke out into a clearing as a helicopter lifted off, and banked left, its engines roaring. Shooting off toward the mountains, Hazard took aim at the bird and pulled off a burst of shots. But they were out of range and, finally, the speck disappeared into the distance.
They all stood there for a few seconds, disappointed down to a man. If they had gotten Alzate, that would have been the end of this op. So close.
Maybe then, Leigh wouldn’t have to go back to Bogotá empty-handed, traumatized, and devastated. He winced when he saw her stumble out of that tin prison. He dropped his pack, ripped off his vest, and unbuttoned his shirt. Striding to her, his hands as gentle as he could make them, he helped her into his uniform top.
Then Kodiak muscled his way between them, immediately going into medic mode. But even as his teammate tended to her, she remained latched onto Hazard’s gaze, reaching out to him.
He took her delicate hand into his as her eyes pleaded for him not to let go.
He wasn’t able to deny crossing the line with her in any sense of the imagination. Now more than ever, he wanted to be that man she saw, the man who had rescued her, the man she needed.