Chapter 3 #2
Crusher continued to stare out at the river.
“I never got to tell my father I was selected for Delta Force. He would’ve been proud.
” He’d never told anyone that. Why he was telling the asset, he didn’t know.
Something about her, or maybe being on the run through a jungle at night, was wearing down his defenses. He’d be best to shore up.
“No wife or girlfriend?” she asked.
“Never wanted to burden a woman with the work I do. Wouldn’t be fair to expect someone to wait around for me when there’s a high likelihood of not returning or coming back in a body bag.”
“Morbid much?” she asked.
“Honest with myself and the work I do.” He’d refrained from committed relationships, unlike many of his battle buddies who’d fallen in love, married and divorced after their first long deployment.
“What exactly do you do, besides rescue scientists from cartels?” she asked.
His lips twitched as he recited the party line he’d come up with that simplified his job. “I do whatever needs to be done to make the world a better place.”
Marta snorted softly. “Funny, that’s what I was doing when I was taken.”
Before he could stop himself, he asked, “What about you? No significant other waiting for you in the States?”
She turned onto her side and tucked her hand beneath her cheek. “Who would want to be with someone who studies deadly viruses?”
“Why do you do it?” He turned to fully face her.
She closed her eyes, pretending to be asleep.
He thought she’d either fallen asleep or was avoiding the answer to his question.
Seconds passed before she whispered. “My parents died of a virus so many others called a hoax. I didn’t want anyone else to lose parents because they didn’t have accurate data that would convince them to take adequate precautions.
” She sighed. “Now, my work could be the catalyst that sparks the end of humanity. Try living with that on your mind.”
Crusher had felt guilty for the death of one of his buddies in battle, and for not being there for his parents when they’d passed, but he couldn’t imagine the weight of what Marta was carrying on her shoulders.
He didn’t have a comment to follow that. He’d thought feeling responsible for one man’s death was enough. Being responsible for decimating human civilization changed his perspective entirely.
For a long time, Crusher stared out at the river while sneaking peeks at Marta, a woman who studied dangerous viruses in hopes of coming up with a cure as some kind of redemption for the loss of her folks to another deadly disease.
She finally fell asleep, lying still against the fabric of his shirt. Not the scientist, but a woman who’d been through hell and kept fighting. She was one tough cookie.
Crusher admired her for pushing on without complaint.
Meanwhile, he paced the area beneath the canopy, wondering if Royce’s Plan B would work or if it would put Marta in more danger.
He began to think he might not be enough to keep this woman safe.
If she had her way, she’d be heading toward the man who’d taken her findings to use as a weapon to threaten others into doing his bidding.
As the moon moved to its apex and started downward toward the horizon, Crusher checked his watch. It was time to cross the river and move past the town.
A glance at Marta made Crusher shake his head. She was sound asleep, that hand still tucked beneath her cheek. He hated waking her.
Instead, he gently scooped her up, along with his shirt, and carried her out to the river and down to the shallows he’d identified earlier.
She didn’t stir, other than turning her face into his chest and resting her palm across his shoulder.
He’d planned on setting her on her feet at the riverbank and letting her cross with him.
But with Marta snuggled in his arms, content to be held, her hair falling around her shoulders, making her appear younger, more vulnerable, Crusher didn’t have the heart to wake her.
He reasoned that he didn’t need to. The water rushing over the rocks of the shallows wasn’t so deep the current would sweep him away.
He could make it across without waking her.
When he got to the other side, he could wake her then.
She’d need to be coherent and aware to slip past the village and move further through the jungle.
They still had a way to go before reaching their Plan B contact, who would get them out of the country.
With several miles to cross between the river and their contact, Marta would need all the rest she could get to make it.
With Marta warm against his chest, Crusher checked right and left, scanning the riverbanks for any movement.
When he was certain they were alone, he stepped into the water, gauged the strength of the current and started across the wide shallows.
Aware that crossing the river meant being exposed to anyone who might be watching, Crusher hurried as fast as he could go, while making certain each step was secure across slippery river rocks.
Halfway across, Marta stirred. The moon had slipped below the tree line, but the stars shone brightly onto her face as she opened her eyes and stared up at him.
“What...” She turned her head and blinked. “Where are we?” she whispered.
“Crossing the river,” he murmured softly. His foot slipped on a rock beneath the water’s surface. Crusher shifted her weight, regaining his balance.
Marta glanced down at the water, her eyes widening. “Put me down,” she said. “You don’t have to carry me.”
Rather than do as she said, he tightened his hold on her. “We’re almost across. There’s no use in both of us slogging through the jungle with wet feet.”
“But you don’t have to carry me. I can walk on my own.”
“Shh,” he said. “Just a few more feet, and we’re there.”
He made it across the river and lowered her feet to the ground. “See? Your feet are dry.”
She swayed when he released his hold. Her hand rested against his chest as she fought to regain her balance.
“Thank you,” she said. “You didn’t have to carry me.
It’s enough that you got me out of the compound.
The least I can do is carry myself the rest of the way.
” Her words were slightly slurred as if she wasn’t quite awake. She removed her hand from his chest.
Crusher pulled the shirt he’d collected along with her and shoved his hands into the arms and pulled the garment up over his shoulders.
Marta stood before him, rubbing her right hand over her left wrist. Her hand jerked back, her brow furrowing. “Ouch,” she hissed.
Crusher took her left hand in his, leaned back and held the wrist up in the starlight. He studied the raw wound caused by weeks of the metal handcuffs rubbing against her skin. “That doesn’t look so good. How does it feel?”
She touched the wound and winced again. “Not great,” she admitted. “But it’ll get better, now that the cuffs are off.”
Crusher’s brow dipped low. Her skin felt warm around the wound.
When she swayed toward him, he wrapped an arm around her and pressed his palm to her forehead.
Holy shit. She was burning up.
“Sweetheart,” he said. “You’re hot.”
She chuckled. “Thanks. You’re pretty hot yourself.”