Chapter 2
SOUTH AMERICA – JUNGLE OUTSKIRTS
The jungle opened beneath the chopper like a scar, a narrow clearing cut into dense green. Fog clung to the trees in low, ghostly drifts. Morning hadn't fully broken, but the horizon bled light in streaks of dull orange and gray.
Patch crouched at the open cabin door, boots braced, rifle across his chest, every nerve locked on.
"Two minutes," Booker called from the cockpit, voice calm through the comms. "You see her?"
“Not yet.” Patch scanned the edge of the clearing, searching the tree line for any sign of movement, shadow, or something human.
This was the location and time McGuire had given.
He’d confirmed that Savvy had received the same intel and would be there.
So, where the hell was she? Patch scanned the area again.
He panned his sight… slowly… left to right… and back again.
A flicker. Low and fast. A figure bursting from the underbrush. Mud-streaked. Light on her feet but limping slightly.
His chest slammed tight.
Savvy.
She looked the same and nothing like he’d remembered. Same fire in her stride, same determination in her posture. But she was thinner. Dirt-smeared. Raw.
She ran toward the LZ without hesitation, gun gripped in her hand.
Then everything went to bloody fucking hell in less than a heartbeat.
Figures burst from the brush like vipers, five—no, six—at least, weapons raised, fanning out along the edge of the clearing.
“Shit—left side! Movement!” Patch barked. He stared at Savvy, pointing at the danger.
She quickly glanced over her shoulder. They were just close enough that he could see the shock—and resolve—spark in her eyes.
He’d seen that look before. “Get the bird in the air. Booker, go hot.”
The chopper lurched upward just as gunfire exploded below. Bullets kicked up dirt near Savvy’s boots as she veered hard right, still running. Patch swung out the cabin door, leaned into the harness, and opened fire.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Three controlled bursts. Two hostiles dropped—another dove for cover.
Booker circled wide, blades roaring above the chaos. Gunfire flashed from below like lightning in the trees.
Patch kept his eyes locked on her. She was returning fire with her pistol—clean, controlled shots, even while moving.
Goddamn woman never missed a beat—and she just took out two more of the enemy.
Two more left.
More muzzle flashes from the brush. The bastards were trying to flank her.
“Swing lower,” Patch shouted. “I need boots on the ground.”
“You’re insane,” Booker muttered, already descending. “Hold on.”
The skids dipped into the clearing.
Patch didn’t wait. He jumped.
He hit the earth hard, knees bending with the impact, rifle snapping up. He fired twice—hitting his target with precision. But there was still one more asshole out there.
Pop! Pop!
He swiveled to his right, and the enemy dropped to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Then he fell forward.
Splat.
Standing behind… Savvy. She raised her weapon, poised to fire, but her eyes immediately widened in surprise as she slowly lowered it.
The oxygen in Patch’s lungs flew out like a balloon exploding. She’d always stolen his breath, but now she’d sucker punched his ability to even think. For a moment, he froze, just standing there in the freaking jungle, staring at… her.
He raced across the clearing as if his life depended on it—and it didn’t. The enemy had been dealt with. It was just him, her, and, well, Booker.
The whomp-whomp of the blades cut through the air as Booker landed the helicopter in the clearing. The engine slowly faded in the distance… or maybe it shut down altogether. Patch didn’t know. Everything around him blurred—everything but her.
Skidding to a stop in front of Savvy, he lost all ability to speak. Not that he spoke very often, because he didn’t. He didn’t have much to say to anyone. Not even to her brother, who was also his best friend. Hell, he only had three friends on the planet.
McGuire, Cross, and Stone. They were the only people who mattered… who were alive. Well, them and Savvy. But five years ago, he’d walked away from Savvy. Actually, he’d run. But so had she, and neither one had stopped the other.
“Patch?” Her voice floated through the air like flipping rose petals—soft and sweet. She’d always had the ability to render him a useless man. "What are you doing—"
“You okay?” he asked, cupping her cheeks, scanning her body for bullet holes, stab wounds, blood… Finally, his training had kicked in.
Halle-freaking-lujah.
He patted down her shoulders, arms, hips, stomach… ass.
“What the hell are you doing?” she rasped. “I’m fine. Jesus.” She looked up at him, breath ragged. Her hair was soaked, her cheek bleeding, but her eyes—damn it, those eyes—locked on his like she'd been waiting years to see him again.
He didn’t think. He just pulled her into him. One hand slid behind her head, the other tightening around her back as he held her there, solid and real and alive. For a moment, just one, the noise faded.
Her fists bunched in his vest, and she exhaled. “Of all the people my brother could have sent.”
He chuckled. “Believe it or not, I was in the area.”
“Of course you were.” She sighed, leaning into his body.
“Let’s go, lover boy. I doubt we’ll be left alone for long,” Booker’s voice crackled through comms and over the noise of the engine.
Patch pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I noticed you limping.” He ran his thumb across her bloody cheek. “Are you sure you’re good to move?”
She nodded once, stunned and wary. “Twisted my ankle. It’s not a big deal.”
They ran together, sprinting for the bird. Patch lifted her inside and climbed in after her.
They were airborne before the enemy could regroup.
Savvy dropped back against the chopper wall, blood on her hands, mud on her boots, and gaze homed in on him like she still wasn’t sure he was real.
Patch sat beside her, rifle across his lap, breath rough, and his heart pumping his blood so fast he thought for sure his veins would explode.
He leaned across the chopper, took the helmet from the rack, and tugged it over her head, adjusting the strap.
“Testing one, two, three,” he said.
“I hear you.” She nodded.
“Me as well,” Booker’s voice boomed. “Since that idiot isn’t going to make the introductions, the name’s Booker Hayes. I work out of Yellowstone in the International Team Eagle Division. Basically, we take the jobs not on US soil and we do the transport.”
“Nice to meet you.” Savvy held Patch’s gaze like they were stuck together with glue.
As if she couldn’t believe they were in the same space.
It had only been a month since he'd heard her voice. But it had been five years since they’d seen each other.
Five years since the last time he’d held her in his arms. Five years since he’d been with any woman who made him feel like he’d actually been flesh and bones.
“I know that organization I set you guys up with does some interesting things, especially this new branch, but of all the people I expected to see, you’re not one of them,” she said.
“You had an expectation? Would you have preferred Cross or Stone? Because you know I can be a jealous man.” He winked.
From the second he’d heard her voice come over his comms ten years ago when he’d been lost, beaten down, and alone in the middle of nowhere after a mission had gone about as sideways as this one, flirting had come easy.
But if it hadn’t been for her, he would have never made it out in one piece, much less with his mind still intact. Patch truly owed her his life in more ways than one.
“Shall I give you two lovebirds a little alone time?” Booker asked with an amused tone. “You can just tap my shoulder when you’re ready for me to turn my comms back on, or if there’s a problem, I’ll just interrupt you.”
“No,” Savvy said a little too quickly. “We’re good.”
When they’d called things off for good five years ago, it had been for two reasons.
The first one made sense. He was never in one place long enough to put down roots, and even though she lived in Virginia, she didn’t know the meaning of the word roots.
Their lives were their careers, and neither one of them had any intention of changing.
Nor would either of them dare dream of asking the other to change.
The second had been a little less hard to put into words because it meant he’d have to admit how much he cared for her, and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t put his heart on the line and she let him walk away. He had no doubt that she’d cared for him—deeply—but love wasn’t in the cards.
“I want to take a look at your ankle and check you out in general.”
“It’s nothing, really.” She let out a slow breath, dropped her head back, and blinked.
“I know you, Savvy. You fight through the pain. You ignore it. Pretend it’s not there. Your brother told me about when you got shot three years ago.” He cupped her chin. “Let me do my job.”
“Knock yourself out.” She waved her hand.
Gently, he ran his hand down the injured leg, squeezing when he got to the top of her boot.
She winced.
He unlaced her boot as quickly as he could and tugged it off her foot.
She groaned, biting down on her lip.
Her ankle had started to swell. It was already bruised, turning a few different shades of purple.
“Can you wiggle your toes?”
She did as instructed.
“Okay. That’s good. How about rotating your ankle?”
She did that too, but it caused her some pain, even if she did try to hide it.
He found the first aid kit, cracked the ice pack, and wrapped it tightly around her ankle. “What else hurts?”
She closed her eyes, blinking out a few tears.