Chapter 3
As Crusher neared the spot where he’d left Dr. Hale, he frowned. This was the spot, wasn’t it? He hurried the last few steps, his heart pounding, suddenly afraid he’d miscalculated or someone had gotten to her before he could return. “Marta?”
A tiny gasp sounded from behind a curtain of leaves.
Marta burst through the leaves and flew into Crusher’s arms. She clung to him like she would to a life raft in a raging sea.
“Hey,” he whispered against her cheek, willing his heartbeat to return to normal. “It’s okay. I told you I’d be back.” He spoke in a soothing tone, hoping to calm his own nerves as much as hers.
“But you were gone so long,” she whimpered. “I thought you’d gotten lost. Or worse, the men who’d been chasing us found you.”
“I’m back. I’m okay, and no one followed me,” he said, brushing a hand across her cheek. “And I brought you something.”
“I don’t need anything but you.” Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“Hey.” He brushed a thumb across her damp cheek, hating the tears. He was never good with tears. “You might reconsider when you try this.” Crusher held up what looked like a giant banana. “Have you had the plantains?”
Marta pressed a hand to her stomach. A fraction of a second later, she snatched the plantain out of his hand. Quickly peeling it, she sank her teeth into the fruit, her eyes rolling as a moan sounded deep in her throat. “Thank you,” she muttered past the big bite in her mouth.
Crusher’s smiled in the murky darkness.
Marta glanced at the plantain and back to Crusher. “What about you?” She shoved the plantain toward him. “Here, take half.”
He shook his head and pulled another plantain out of one of his cargo pockets. “I have more. They should get us through the night.”
Marta took another bite of the plantain and chewed more slowly, as if relishing the blander version of a banana.
Crusher peeled his plantain. “Not as sweet as a banana, but full of potassium, vitamins A and C, and they’ll hold us over until we can find something with protein.” He took a bite and chewed, staring out at the river. “Can you swim?”
Marta nodded beside him. “I can, but it’s been a while.”
“You shouldn’t have any trouble. I found a spot where it’s shallow enough that we can wade across—but that will be later. I think it would be wise of us to sleep for a couple of hours and conserve our strength before we’re on the move again.”
“By we, do you mean me?” she asked, one eyebrow cocked.
His gaze shifted toward her, a smile pulling the corners of his mouth. “I’ll stand guard.”
“You need sleep as well,” she argued. “You can take the first shift, and I’ll take the next. When are we going?”
“I don’t want to move any sooner than two or three in the morning. The village needs to be sound asleep before we pass through it.”
“That gives us roughly four hours,” Marta calculated out loud. “You take the first two, and I’ll stand guard over the last two. That way we’ll both get some rest.”
“Sure.” He nodded. She was his responsibility. He wouldn’t let her stand guard for even a minute of the four hours.
“Look,” she said, “We’re hidden from view, I can stay awake for a few hours, and I’ll wake you up if anything so much as moves in the night.”
He gripped her shoulders. “You’re a scientist, right?”
She nodded, her brow dipping low. “I am.”
“How many times have you run covert operations in third-world countries where the four-legged animals are the least of your worries?”
Her lips twisted. “Never.”
“Would you trust me, a skilled combatant, in a laboratory working with your virus?”
“You’re not a trained scientist with experience working with highly dangerous pathogens.” Marta shook her head. “No.” She sighed. “Okay, I get it. You do what you’re good at, and I’ll do what I do best. I just want to help.”
“The best thing you can do for me is rest. If I have to carry you, it’ll slow us down,” he said.
“I’ll carry myself,” she said, lifting her chin.
“Good, girl.” He touched her cheek. “Look at the scientist being all feisty. I imagine, with a little training, you could learn to fight.”
She nodded. Her eyes flashed, reflecting the moonlight. “My thoughts exactly. If I’d had self-defense training, I might not be in this current situation.” The woman had spunk.
Crusher admired that in a woman, but his jaw tightened. “One lone female, no matter how well-trained she is, might not be enough against a cartel bent on capturing her.”
Marta snorted. “I would have at least made some of them hurt before they subdued me.”
A smile spread across Crusher’s face as he imagined her in a fight. “I’m sure you would have.” He tipped his head toward the remainder of her plantain. “You should finish up and get some sleep.”
Halfway through his own fruit, he was full but kept eating, knowing it wouldn’t save, and they might have to conserve the remaining plantains if their journey through the Colombian jungle lasted much longer.
He was working on Plan B to extract the asset from Colombia.
Royce had insisted on more than one alternative to Devon’s helicopter exfil; however, they’d come up with the alternatives on their own.
Royce had contacts all over the world, including an expat who owned a coffee plantation near the small town of Altos de la Colina.
The sooner he connected to the expat, the sooner they could be flown out of Colombia to Panama.
After finishing the plantain, Crusher would have liked to wash it down with a bottle of water, but he’d have to be satisfied with what liquid there was in the plantain until they could get somewhere safe.
Marta finished her banana and glanced skeptically at the ground. “You know, if it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to sleep standing. I’m not keen on lying on the ground with who knows what parasite might crawl under my skin.”
Crusher didn’t blame her. He’d spent enough time in sandy foxholes, being feasted on by sand fleas; he preferred standing in the jungle as well.
But she needed sleep. The shadows beneath her eyes when he’d first encountered her in the laboratory spoke of sleepless nights and exhaustion.
He pulled off his shirt, spread it on the ground and stood back. “Sleep.”
Her body and mind had to be exhausted from the adrenaline rush of being rescued and running through the jungle, on top of the near-death trauma of a helicopter crash landing that had taken its toll.
Marta curled up as much of her head and body onto his shirt and closed her eyes, giving Crusher a chance to study her without her knowing.
She lay with her hand tucked beneath her cheek, her hair, having slipped from the elastic band that had secured it in the lab, lay fanned out on his shirt.
In the dark, her hair might as well be black, but in daylight, it was a vibrant auburn with strands that shone like polished copper when the sun struck it.
For all she’d been through, she’d barely complained and had done great keeping up with him, when he suspected it took a lot of her energy.
The asset might be a scientist, but she could hold her own in the jungle.
He wondered what had driven her to work in epidemiology, especially with highly contagious viruses.
“It’s hard to sleep when my mind is swirling like a high-speed centrifuge,” she murmured.
Her eyes opened, catching him staring down at her.
Her forehead furrowed. “I thought it was bizarre being abducted by a cartel. But look at me now.” She laughed.
“Making my way through the jungle with a stranger I know very little about. For someone used to science and facts, everything about the past six weeks is way out of my comfort zone.”
“And working with deadly viruses is in your comfort zone?” Crusher shook his head.
“In the right environment, with appropriate safety precautions, it’s just another day at the office.” She hooked her hand behind her head. “Now, fighting my way out of a captive situation with a man I know nothing about, that’s a little terrifying.”
“There’s not much to know about me,” he said.
“I suspect there’s a lot more than you let on,” she said. “You’re strong, a trained combatant, and you say you’re one of the good guys. Assuming I believe you, which I don’t have much choice, I’d like to know more about the man I’m spending the night with.”
He glanced out at the river, not interested in answering a lot of questions. The less he engaged with her, the better off he’d be.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that she was now studying him, which made him uncomfortable.
“Crusher?” she whispered, her voice soft and warm, filling his senses in the darkness of the night.
“Yes, ma’am?” he answered reluctantly.
“Do you have family back in the States?”
He snorted softly. “Yes, and no.”
She frowned. “That was actually a yes or no question.”
“I don’t have any blood relations,” he clarified. “But the people I work with are my family. My brothers and sisters in arms.” They were the people he knew he could rely on to have his back and be there for him if he needed them.
“Your parents?” she persisted.
“Gone.” His answer was short. Abrupt.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly.
“Why?” He shrugged. “It’s been fifteen years since they died.” The pain of their deaths had long since mellowed, leaving him with the good memories and some regret that he hadn’t been to see them more often before they’d died in a house fire.
“I lost my parents when I was in grad school,” Marta said.
“Nothing makes you grow up faster than knowing you have no one to call when you have a question about your car, or to share an accomplishment or just to say hello and hear their voices. Didn’t you ever want to share something with them you knew would make them proud? ”