Chapter 9
The meadow appeared through the pre-dawn mist like something from a hazy dream.
Willow had been flying on autopilot for the last hour, both literally and figuratively.
Her hands moved through the motions while her brain cataloged every way this could go wrong.
The fuel gauge was dropping toward empty.
Engine temperature was climbing. The storm was finally breaking behind them, but that left them exposed in clear skies where any cartel patrol could spot them.
And Levi's coordinates lead them to … nothing. Just mountains and jungle and a high alpine meadow that looked untouched by human hands.
“There,” Levi said, pointing. His voice was rough, exhausted. “Put down there.”
“Where? I don't see—”
“The meadow. Just land. Trust me.”
Trust. That word again. The one she kept tripping over, that kept catching in her throat like something sharp.
But she was too tired to argue, and the Beaver was coughing like it wanted to die, so she lined up the approach and brought them in.
The landing was rough. When the wheels hit uneven ground, the whole airframe shuddered, but they were down.
“Taxi her over there. We can cover her with some of that deadfall, so maybe they won’t be able to see her from the air.
Willow did as he instructed, and after he unloaded the duffle bags, they constructed a weave of old branches over the Beaver’s tail. The engine ticked as it cooled, and silence crashed over them like a wave.
“Now what?” she asked.
“This way.” Levi was already moving, climbing through the underbrush with the stiff movements of someone whose body had given everything it had. “Now, we get inside before full daylight.”
“Inside where?”
He pointed toward the foothills, where rock face met jungle. “There.”
She squinted. Saw nothing but stone and vegetation and morning mist. “Levi, there's nothing—”
He grunted as he lifted the heaviest bag and slung it over his shoulder. “Just help me with the gear.”
They moved it in silence, making multiple trips across the wet meadow grass.
Supplies, weapons, and the duffel bags with their equipment.
Her encrypted radio was there, carefully wrapped, and something in her chest loosened when she saw it.
He'd brought it. Hadn't left it behind, hadn't destroyed it, hadn't confronted her about it.
Why?
She was too tired to analyze it. Too tired for anything except putting one foot in front of the other.
Levi led her toward the rock face, and only when they were ten feet away did she see it. An opening, carefully concealed behind vines and natural camouflage. A cave mouth, maybe six feet high, barely visible even in the growing light.
“You've got to be kidding me,” she muttered.
“Nope. Home sweet home.” He moved a rock near the bottom of the cleft and grabbed a handle, sliding it open. He ducked inside, and she followed.
The space opened up immediately, widening into something that was less “primitive shelter” and more “extremely well-designed hideout.” Solar panels lined the ceiling where natural skylights had been carved.
Or maybe they were natural. She was too tired to tell.
LED lights flickered on as Levi hit a switch, revealing three distinct spaces carved into the rock.
A kitchen area had a wood-burning stove, and its chimney disappeared up through the rock formation. Shelves were stocked with supplies. She could see MREs, canned goods, and water purification kits. A metal sink connected to what appeared to be a rainwater collection system.
A planning room, the largest space, was equipped with a heavy wooden table, maps pinned to cork boards on the walls, equipment lockers, and communication gear.
And at the back was a bedroom. It was small, private, and contained a king-sized air mattress still in its packaging, sitting on a wooden frame next to a footlocker.
“Here we are,” Levi said, dropping the gear he was carrying. His face was gray beneath the tan, and blood had soaked through his bandages again. He swayed slightly and caught himself against the wall.
“You need to sit down,” Willow said.
“Need to secure the perimeter first. Make sure we weren't followed.”
“Levi—”
“Five minutes. Just give me five minutes.” But his eyes were unfocused, and when he tried to move, his leg buckled.
She caught him, taking his weight like she'd done too many times already. “The perimeter can wait. You're about to pass out.”
“M'fine.”
“You're not fine. You're bleeding through your bandages, and you haven't slept in thirty hours.” She half-dragged him toward the bedroom, where the air mattress sat deflated and useless. “Shit. Where's the pump?”
He gestured vaguely toward the equipment. She found it, plugged it into the solar battery system, and spent three minutes inflating the mattress while Levi leaned against the wall, eyes closed, breathing carefully.
The moment the mattress was ready, he collapsed onto it with a groan that sounded like it came from his soul.
“I should check your bandages,” Willow said, kneeling beside him.
He was already asleep. Actually asleep, mouth slightly open, one arm flung over his face. His chest rose and fell with the deep, even breaths of someone whose body had simply shut down.
Snoring. The cheeky bastard was snoring.
She should wake him, check the wounds, and ensure no infection was setting in. She should also secure the cave entrance, inventory their supplies, and contact her handler. Fuck, she should do a thousand things that mission protocol demanded.
Instead, she looked at the mattress and Levi sprawled across most of it.
Her body made the decision before her brain could weigh in. She kicked off her boots, laid down on the six inches of available space, and closed her eyes.
Just for a minute. Just to rest.
Sleep took her under like a merciful drowning.
Willow woke to the smell of coffee.
Real coffee, not the instant garbage she'd been surviving on for months. The scent pulled her from sleep like a physical thing, and she opened her eyes to find herself alone on the air mattress, her body aching in places she'd forgotten existed.
She sat up slowly, every muscle protesting. Her shirt was still damp from yesterday's rain, her hair a tangled mess, and she could taste three days of MRE’s coating her tongue and teeth.
But she was alive. They were both alive. The Beaver was intact, more or less. And somewhere in this cave, someone was making coffee.
She found her boots, laced them up, and followed her nose to the kitchen area.
Levi stood at the stove, shirtless, wearing only his boxer briefs, rewrapping his ribs with fresh bandages.
The old ones sat in a pile, dark with dried blood.
The flesh wound on his side was the source of that.
The wound must have opened up again. The shrapnel wound on his leg looked red and puckered, though considerably less than it had been.
“You're awake,” he said without turning around. “Coffee's on the stove. Mugs in the cabinet.”
She poured herself a cup, black and strong enough to strip paint. It tasted like heaven. “How long was I out?”
“Six or seven hours. Give or take.” He finished with the bandages, secured them with medical tape, and then pulled on a clean shirt from somewhere. “You talk in your sleep, by the way.”
Her stomach dropped. “What did I say?”
He carefully put on his shirt and winced a bit. “Nothing coherent. A lot of mumbling about fuel ratios and idiots who blow things up.” He turned, and his grin was pure sunshine despite the exhaustion still visible in his face. “I'm assuming I'm the idiot.”
He slipped on a clean pair of cargo pants.
“Safe assumption.” She leaned against the counter, cradling the coffee like it was precious. Which it was. “How are your wounds?”
“Better. Cleaned everything. Changed bandages.” He gestured to his ribs. “Hurts like hell, but nothing's bleeding. Yet.”
“Yet?”
“Optimism isn't really my strong suit.”
She snorted. “Could've fooled me. You're the most relentlessly cheerful person I've ever met who regularly gets shot at.”
“It's a defense mechanism. If I stop smiling, I start thinking. Thinking's dangerous.”
There was something in his voice—something darker beneath the casual tone—that made her look at him more carefully.
Really look. He was moving stiffly, favoring his left side, and there were shadows under his eyes that hadn't been there before.
Or maybe they had been, and she just hadn't noticed through her own exhaustion.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For getting us here. For … everything.”
He shrugged, uncomfortable with gratitude. “We're partners, yeah? That's what partners do.”
Partners. She’d used it first, but the word meant they were in this—whatever this was—together.
“I need to wash up,” she said, needing distance, needing air. “Where's the—”
“Through the planning room, there's a side passage. Leads to a natural spring. Cold but clean.” He paused. “Latrine's outside, fifty yards north. Can't miss it. On the way out, there are a couple of shelves with clothes. Different sizes. You should be able to find something.”
“Wow, your employer thinks of everything, don’t they?”
“They’re damn good at what they do. Some would say the best in the world.”
“Huh.” That gave her exactly zero to go on, but at this point, she didn’t care. She grabbed soap, a towel, a toothbrush, and toothpaste from the supplies, along with clothes that might actually fit her. There were underclothes, too. “You have women working with you?” She held up a sports bra.
Levi glanced at her and smiled. “Yep. Some of the toughest, craziest women in the world.”
“Should I be jealous?” The question slipped out before she even realized she’d said it. What in the hell was that?
Levi turned and gave her a long look from the top of her head to her feet and back up again. “You have absolutely nothing to be jealous of.” The growl in his voice did some really salacious things to her lady parts and encouraged her to be even bolder.