Chapter 3 #2
“Well, actually, no, North found her, but yes, she conveniently left out the part about the spy. What?”
“Oh. You don’t know.” He blew out a breath. “I’ll save that story for her, but she’s safe. And she and North made up.”
“Of course they did. She’s crazy about him.”
“North isn’t exactly rational when it comes to Selah either. You called him about the train wreck, and he took off across the country.”
She smiled. Not unlike how Skeet had reacted. And for a second, she saw the easygoing guy in board shorts she’d met years ago.
He lifted a shoulder. “I’m happy for them.”
She nodded. Really. Of course she was happy.
It was a rare gift to find someone willing to share her sister’s vision for a life of humanitarian aid. And North, being on the Jones, Inc., team, had exactly that servant’s heart.
Skeet spooned beef stew into his mouth, grimacing. “Yep, still tastes like wet cardboard wishing it could be food. Anyway, Selah is fine, and she’s sort of the one who clued us in to the idea that you might be in trouble. She called your brother, and he called me.”
Oh. “That’s on me. She called me before I left, and I didn’t pick up . . .” She tasted the stew. “Well, it’s better than stewed goat.”
“I dunno about that. I’ve eaten some pretty tasty goat.”
She frowned at him and he smiled.
Okay, he had the hot-warrior thing going in spades. If a gal liked that sort of thing.
She noticed that Chai had disappeared into the jungle somewhere.
“To be clear,” Skeet said, “Selah said that you were probably okay, but . . . you know.”
She did. A beat passed. Surely Skeet knew the family lore about their kid sister, taken at the age of six. So AWOL absences made all of them a little jumpy.
“She did say that you are too brave for your own good. And”—Skeet took another bite, pointed the spoon at her—“she’s not wrong.”
“Hey.”
“She mentioned that you once interviewed a drug lord in his own compound. Alone.”
“He wasn’t that dangerous.”
He gave her a look.
“Okay, I was terrified. But someone had to tell those families what happened to their children.”
“Someone. But not necessarily you.”
The gentle challenge in his voice made her defensive. “If not me, then who? The local police who take bribes? The government officials who look the other way? Those families deserved answers.”
“And you nearly got yourself killed providing them.”
“But I didn’t.”
He finished his meal. “Look, I get it. Really. But maybe consider that getting yourself killed doesn’t actually help the people you’re trying to save.”
The words hung between them like the smoke from their fire.
Around them, the jungle hummed with night sounds—insects calling through the darkness, the distant cry of a night bird.
The fire crackled, rain continuing its steady percussion against their shelter.
In the distance, something large moved through the underbrush—probably a deer or wild pig, but yes, she might be a little thankful for Skeet and Chai on duty.
“So what’s the plan?” she asked finally.
“Tomorrow we hike back to the border, drive to Chiang Mai.” Skeet banked the fire for the night, stacking up logs to fall one by one into the fire, keep it alive. “Talk to Chai’s wife about this Dr. Radi?. See what she knows.”
“And then?”
“Then we figure out who’s behind the poisoning and how to stop them. You know, easy stuff.”
The casual use of we should have irritated her. Should have triggered her fierce independence, her determination to handle problems alone. Instead, it felt like the first deep breath she’d taken in weeks.
Skeet wasn’t so terrible. And he had traveled all the way across the world to check on her.
She really didn’t know what to do with that.
Chai returned, checked his water-collection system, then sat down and settled against his pack.
“I’ll take first watch,” Skeet said. “You two get some sleep.”
“I can—” Chloe started.
“You can sleep is what you can do,” Skeet said. “Let someone else handle security for a few hours. Consider it a novel experience.”
“Wow, you’re bossy.”
He grinned, teeth white against all that grimy skin.
She wanted to argue, but exhaustion dragged at her bones.
“Where am I supposed to sleep?”
Skeet unrolled a blanket beneath the driest section of their shelter. “Here. I’ll take first perimeter watch. Don’t worry, I promise not to let anything eat you while you sleep.”
“That’s your blanket.”
“I’ve slept in worse places. Like that hotel in Bangkok with the mysterious stains and the air conditioning that sounded like a dying helicopter.”
“But—”
“Chloe.”
The way he said her name . . . Oh wow, she must be exhausted, because it hit her bones, filled her with a strange warmth.
“You’re safe with me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”
Oh, she was . . . in trouble.
Still, as she crawled under his blanket, she managed a feeble “I’m not your responsibility.”
“Today, sweetheart, you are.” His voice turned almost soft.
She pulled the blanket up, pressing her face into fabric that smelled like clean laundry and something indefinably masculine.
“Besides, North will skin me alive if I let his girlfriend’s sister get eaten by jungle cats.”
She smiled despite herself. And why not . . . “Skeet?” she called softly as he checked his weapon and adjusted his gear.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For coming after me.”
He was quiet for a long moment. “Thank me when we get you home safe.”
Rain continued its steady rhythm against the canvas above.
Somewhere in the darkness, Chai moved silently along their perimeter, ensuring that their small sanctuary remained secure.
Skeet rose and moved toward the edge of their shelter, his outline framed by firelight before the jungle swallowed him.
Today, sweetheart, you are.
She closed her eyes.
Okay. Today she was.
Oh, how Skeet hated the jungle.
The humid air pressed against his skin like wet wool, thick enough to chew, ripe with the competing odors of decay and the cloying scent of night-blooming flowers.
And in the darkness, everything moved.
Two-thirty a.m. The time of night when people got eaten.
Skeet moved along the perimeter in a wide arc, weapon ready but not raised. Behind him, firelight filtered through ancient trees where Chloe slept. The image of her face—finally peaceful after a crazy, terrorized day—kept intruding on his tactical awareness.
Stop.
Focus on the mission.
On his last spin through camp, he’d glanced at her. Her hair had fallen across her cheek, and for a moment she’d looked almost vulnerable.
And of course the feel of her in his arms had slammed into him, and he’d had to look away, keep walking.
What was his problem? Chloe Silver was sort of off-limits, given his ties to her family.
Sort of.
Aw, all dangerous thinking.
He paused beside a massive teak tree, scanning the darkness beyond their perimeter. The jungle sounds, the humid air, the way shadows shifted in patterns and stirred memories . . .
Stop.
Too late.
The past surrounded him—Operation Sanctuary.
Joint SEAL/CIA rescue of a captured American journalist, a diplomat and three aid workers from a Tatmadaw military compound.
Point man and medic leading a six-man team through terrain just like this.
The thick jungle. Oppressive humidity. The constant buzz of insects drilling into his brain.
And Narin—
A branch snapped somewhere to his left—too heavy for a monkey, too deliberate for wind.
Skeet forced the memory down and froze.
Something large padded through the undergrowth fifty meters out.
The sounds stopped. Whatever it was had caught his scent or spotted their camp. The silence stretched, filled only with the whisper of wind through leaves and the distant chatter of water over stones.
Then movement again, circling their position. Testing.
Leopard, most likely. The predator was curious about their fire, probably checking whether they’d left food scraps around the perimeter. Not necessarily dangerous unless cornered or protecting cubs.
Still. He moved closer to the sound, angling to get visual confirmation without spooking the animal into becoming violent. Through the trees, golden eyes reflected what little firelight penetrated this far.
The hairs rose on the back of his neck. He stared, heart in his throat, until the eyes blinked out. Paws padded away through dry leaves, heading deeper into the jungle.
He let out a coiled breath.
“You’re getting sloppy.”
Skeet spun, weapon rising automatically before his brain caught up. Chai had emerged from shadow ten feet away, silent as smoke.
“I was tracking the cat. Leopard, I think. Moved off.”
“Probably just curious about the fire.” Chai joined him at the tree line, both men scanning the darkness. “Time to rotate.”
“I’m good for another hour.”
“You’re good for sleep.” Chai gave him a look that suggested a brawl if Skeet refused. “You can’t protect anyone if you collapse from exhaustion.”
Skeet sighed.
“You’re thinking of Narin.”
He stilled.
Chai shrugged. “Not your fault.”
“Mostly my fault.”
Chai shook his head. “You can’t control other people’s actions. Just what you do about them.”
Skeet narrowed his eyes at Chai.
In the distance, a night bird called—a sharp, piercing cry that echoed through the trees before fading into silence.
“She’s pretty.”
It took a beat. Oh, Chloe. Skeet’s jaw tightened. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“Right. And I hadn’t noticed you using the word we when talking about investigating the poisoning.”
Heat climbed his neck. “Figure of speech.”
“Maybe.” Chai settled against a tree trunk, weapon across his knees. “Or maybe you’re doing that thing you do.”
“What thing?”
“Getting involved when you should stay objective.”
And there it was, the underlying accusation.
Skeet blew out a breath. “I’m not involved. I’m doing a job.”
“And now you’re planning to investigate this medical mystery instead of completing your extraction and going home.” He cocked his head. “That sound like staying objective to you?”
“She’s . . . determined.”
“Ah.” Chai nodded. “The kind of woman you like.”
“The kind of woman who drives me crazy.”
“Same thing, for you.”
Before Skeet could respond, a soft sound drifted from their camp. Chloe shifting in the sleeping bag, then a quiet whimper that twisted something in his chest.
Nightmare. Probably reliving Dr. Tobias’s death or the village attack. Her breathing quickened.
“She sounds distressed,” Chai said, and Skeet nodded as he started toward camp.
Except what was he going to do, wake her up? Pull her into his arms?
Shoot, maybe Chai was right, because the idea had landed in his head. So maybe he was tired.
He made it back to camp, knelt by the fire and stirred it. Glanced at her.
Fine, yes, he wanted to help her. At least enough to make her leave before she got herself killed chasing the story.
“She reminds you of Narin.” Chai had walked over.
Skeet’s chest went tight. “No. Narin was—” He stopped, swallowing against the sudden bile in his mouth. “Narin was different.”
“How?”
Well, for one, he didn’t love Chloe.
And for two, “Narin was an asset. She was used to . . .”
“Duplicity?”
Skeet glanced at him. “Danger.”
Chai’s mouth tightened. “Like I said. Just like Narin.”
Skeet got up. “Narin was compromised. Under duress. They threatened her family. She didn’t betray me.”
“She did betray you. She made a choice, bro. She got six people killed because she fed you bad information.”
He swallowed.
“And got herself executed.”
Right. “Listen. Fine. I don’t want Chloe to get in over her head.”
“Sounds like she already is.”
He glanced at her, back at Chai. “I’m going to keep her alive long enough for her to realize that.”
Chai was quiet for a long moment. Then, “You know what your problem is?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“You think everyone’s problem is your problem.”
“That’s not—”
“Your father abandoning you. Your mother’s depression.”
Skeet’s mouth tightened.
“Now this journalist’s investigation.” Chai stared at him, those dark eyes finding his. “You take responsibility for things you can’t control.”
Skeet’s hands tightened on his weapon. “Someone has to.”
“No. Someone doesn’t.”
“So I should just walk away? Let her get herself killed?”
“You should complete your mission and go home.”
“And if she dies?”
“Not your fault. Not your responsibility.”
The words should have made sense. Should have felt like relief. Instead, they sat wrong in his gut, creating the same knot he’d carried for three years.
“Yes. Yes, it is.”
Chai sighed. “You can’t save everyone, Skeet.”
“I can save her.”
“Maybe. And if you don’t?”
The words were a punch.
“Narin did a real number on you. That’s all I’m saying.”
Chloe’s whimpering had stopped. Her breathing evened out, returning to the deep rhythm of exhausted sleep. But the image of her face, tense with whatever nightmare had gripped her, stayed burned in his mind.
“Get some sleep. I’ll take the next watch.”
Skeet nodded as Chai became another shadow among the trees.
The fire had burned down to glowing coals. He glanced at Chloe. She wasn’t Narin. Wasn’t the woman who’d betrayed him.
The woman he couldn’t save.
But Chai was right . . . Chloe knew danger. She’d spent years chasing dangerous stories, investigating corruption, putting herself between threatened people and the forces that would destroy them. Always alone. Always fueled by the belief that someone had to bear witness.
And oh, she was beautiful. He’d always thought it, but seeing her in repose . . . with her blonde hair in the firelight, the shape of her face. Beautiful and fierce and untouchable and completely committed to a mission that could get her killed.
Oh no, she was just like Narin.
The comparison sent ice through his veins. Because Narin’s determination to save people was what had drawn him to her in the first place. Her refusal to back down when civilians were threatened. Her willingness to risk everything for strangers who couldn’t protect themselves.
All the same qualities that made Chloe Silver so dangerous to be around.
He settled against a tree at the edge of their shelter and checked his weapon.
Tomorrow they’d hike back to the border, drive to Chiang Mai, and talk to Chai’s wife about Dr. Radi?. He’d help Chloe get the information she needed, then figure out how to convince her to leave before the investigation got her killed.
Simple plan.
Professional.
Nothing personal about it.
The lie tasted bitter even in his own mind.
He closed his eyes and listened to the jungle sounds, trying not to think about Narin or the weight of six graves he carried in his soul. Trying not to think about how Chloe’s fierce independence reminded him of everything that had gone wrong before.
Trying not to think about how much he already wanted to keep her safe.
Because wanting to protect someone was the first step toward caring about them.
And caring about them was the first step toward getting them killed.