The Protector

by Cristin Harber

  Jane’s head dropped. “I’m so sorry. I don’t understand.”

  Did she have enough energy to keep running? Jane struggled to tap her reserves that had been depleted again and again.

  The woman turned, and Jane tried to stand. Her leg swayed, and she wobbled, but she wouldn’t give up. Finally, she managed to stand upright. The woman clamped a callused hand over Jane’s shoulder.

  Her eyes closed. She was too weak to fight—soft fabric pressed into Jane’s hands. Her chin dropped, and she stared at the folded black linens before snapping her gaze to the woman’s. Their eyes met. A powerful conversation unrolled between them without a spoken worry. Then, the woman spoke urgently but slowly. Quietly. Jane didn’t understand, yet she did.

  The woman took the fabric from Jane, unfolding the bundle, and with breathtaking carefulness, wrapped Jane from head to toe in her disguise as she remained immobile—simply, gratefully stunned.

  A commotion outside the tent broke her trance. “Thank you.”

  The woman assessed her with a sharp eye, then walked toward the tent entrance, pulled open the flap, and pointed down the long aisle of tents.

  Each step toward the morning sunlight was harder than the one before. She hesitated, not knowing if she could blend in. Her adrenaline had dissipated, and Jane didn’t know how she could find the energy to move.

  She paused next to the woman and stared into the now-bustling camp.

  The woman touched her back and leaned close to Jane’s ear. “Go.”

  A shiver of appreciation rolled through Jane. That single word was enough to power her again. “Thank you.” She squeezed the woman’s forearm, then stepped into broad daylight.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  The first few minutes after Chance dropped in, the radio communications that crackled in his ear weren’t of the friendliest nature. His team didn’t outright call him an idiot, but he knew they weren’t certain of his decision. Everyone had heard Parker’s grim statistical likelihood of his success versus his death. Chance was pretty sure that wherever Jared was, he was giving him a big double-finger salute and popping antacids.

  Hours had passed. The longer Chance went without finding Jane, the heavier his thoughts became. He’d searched several burned-out building without success. Pressure ticked in his chest. The adrenaline-high buzz from his teammates dropped off, and a grim reality set in. She wasn’t where he’d expected her to be.

  The team’s guesses as to where Jane might be weren’t alleviating Chance’s concern. Their list had been short: She’d been captured, gone into hiding, or taken off. But the variations and unknown factors were sickening.

  Finally, as morning light cast a depressing glow over the ruins of what was once a beautiful city, he crouched and checked in with headquarters again, fully expecting HQ to demand his extraction until a better plan was determined.

  “Actually,” Parker said in a noncommittal tone, “I might have found something worthwhile.”

  A small flame of hope ignited. “What does that mean?”

  Parker hummed. “Truthfully, it’s a crapshoot. I can’t tell you for certain, but since you’re out there, might as well check on it.”

  The edge of hesitant deliberation in the IT-maven’s tone gave Chance warning. “All right. I’m here. I’ll check it out.”

  “I ran a walkable radius of satellite footage against thermal disturbances that mimicked how a person moves.”

  Definitely a crapshoot. His heart sank. “There could be a hundred people walking the city’s perimeter.”

  “Actually, no.”

  Chance looked up like the voice in his comm piece was coming from the sky. “Really?”

  “There weren’t any people traveling alone and on foot. Except for one. That person headed toward the closest refugee camp.”

  Chance rubbed his temples and groaned.

  “Yeah,” Parker agree. “Those can be hit and miss and, at best, aren’t great situations for a woman traveling alone.”

  “What do you know about this camp?” Chance asked.

  “The basics that have been reported by humanitarian groups. The most recent report shows minor paramilitary group involvement.

  Chance pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s good, right?”

  “Depends on what we’re comparing to.” Parker paused as though he was re-reading the report. “Your biggest concern will be the locals’ loyalty to a growing criminal regime.”

  “Awesome,” he deadpanned. “Got anything on those guys?”

  “You’ve already been acquainted,” Parker said. “That’d be the nutjobs who took the Thanes and sprayed bullets for fun.”

  “Maybe she was right to get moving.” The nutjobs had been fanatical about hunting the Thanes down. “But an unknown camp…”

  “Yeah,” Parker agreed. “If Jane Singleton was hoping to find a friendly face, she would have done better by jumping into a pit of vipers.”

  “Jeez, man.” Chance grumbled. “Did you run a statistical analysis on that too? Or just trying to lift my spirits?”

  Parker snorted.

  Chance shook his head. “So, I head west, huh?”

  “West. Right dead center of the encampment.” Parker continued with details on the last thermal marking picked up, a rundown of threats and possible entry points as Chance worked his way west. Once he was clear of the battered buildings, he could see the faint outline of the refugee camp in the distance. How did Mary Poppins cover that much ground?

  He checked his compass, memorized the coordinates where the thermal imaging had lost sight of her, and set off.

  The sun beat on the back of his neck as he crossed the deadlands. Heat radiated from the ground. Sparse clumps of grass and brush provided little shade or area to rest. Chance covered the distance as quickly as he could. He couldn’t shake the image of Jane’s face the very moment they both realized he couldn’t save her.

  At least, couldn’t at that moment—because now, he’d be damned if he didn’t bring her home safe and sound this time. But he couldn’t fault her anymore for staying behind. The more time he spent reviewing what had happened, the more he saw her bravery for what it was. She didn’t know what she was doing, but the nanny had erred on the side of caution to save the boy.

  Stupid. But impressive.

  That was a combination he didn’t like that he liked.

  The longer he trekked across the desert, the more badass he thought her actions had been. Not that he condoned the stunts that the Thanes were famous for.

  Finally, Chance was close enough to the camp to review his next move. He paused approximately a hundred yards out and assessed the situation. The main gates were nearly two miles from this spot. Would Jane walk the fence perimeter, not knowing where a gate might be? It’d be the most practical option given the circumstances. But this was Mary Poppins, the superhero nanny. Would she jump the fence?

  He examined the fence and couldn’t think of a way she could manage the barbed wire. Without training, it’d be nearly impossible. He crossed scaling the fence off of his list and walked parallel to the camp, keeping his distance and searching for any factors that would influence her choices.

  Engines roared behind Chance. He crouched and watched a pack of motorbikes race across a dirt-packed road that led to the camp gates. Dirt plumed in their wake, casting a dusty cloud as they disappeared from sight.

  While he didn’t have a good look at group, his senses tingled. The motor bikers could be part of the local crime regime, or worse, related to the group who’d abducted the Thanes. He checked in with HQ again, but got nothing. Their last transmissions had been spotty, and like they had planned, he was on his own.

  He edged closer to the fence line and picked up his pace. Despite the sun and limited water and supplies, he jogged until an irregularity in the chain-link fence caught his eye. He squatted and studied the rusted, broken links. The hole in the fence had been repaired more than once, but it was clearly in use again, large enough for a per
son to crawl through.

  Would she have seen this at night? Chance squinted both ways in the distance and then searched for any signs of the refugees. The long, narrow tents on the other side of the fence didn’t have openings. From the wind-blown patterns on the ground, it was clear that people didn’t congregate behind the tents.

  Again, he heard the motorbikes, though this time their engines roared from deep in the camp. A cold chill shivered down his spine. He had no proof that Jane had entered this way, but his intuition said time wasn’t on his side. He needed to move in immediately, or this job would change from search-and-rescue to recovery.

  Chance pushed through the tight breach in the fence and hustled to the narrow space between the tents. He stood out against the dirty white tents and decided to stick to the outskirts of the camp. The camp layout became apparent, and he threaded himself closer to the sound of activity.

  A few women and children saw him. Every time, they ducked their chins and scurried away without so much as a questioning look or the sound of an alarm.

  A commotion and revving motorbikes served as his beacon. He crept deeper into the belly of the beast, crossing pathways that reminded him of dirt-road intersections. Diagonal from his position, tent flaps separated. A man with an overstuffed basket pushed into the daylight. Chance froze, unable to hide. Eternity passed as he held his breath. The basket had blocked the man’s view.

  He ducked between canvas walls again and analyzed the light foot traffic. Several men with large bundles made their way down the path. They gave Chance hope of a nearby marketplace or meeting space. But the rising influx of motorbikes gave him heartburn. The bikes rattled and raced. Every rider wore an assault rifles over their chest. At least that kept things interesting.

  He’d seen enough and moved out. He stayed off the pathways, skirting the spaces between tents, until he reached a cross-section that forced him from the shadows earlier than he’d anticipated.

  A bellowing commotion rolled through the dry air. It sounded less like a marketplace and more like an angry pep rally. Motorbikes and irregular pops of skyward-bound gunfire punctuated the tension. He closed his eyes, praying for a sign that this was the right time to make his move.

  Chance wiped sweat off his brow and moved out. He jogged several strides and stopped. Across a clearing, an old, beat-to-hell motorbike practically glistened in the sun. So long as he could hot-wire the rust bucket, he’d take this as his sign.

  Adrenaline pumped through his veins. Without cover or disguise, he sprinted to the bike and marveled at its simplicity. There wasn’t much to hot-wire. Only a simple switch.

  “All right, all right.” He straddled the narrow seat, positioning his weapons for better access, and wrapped his hand around the rickety handlebars. “Here goes nothing.” He pressed the ignition button. An ear-grating whirr whined from the engine. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

  He scanned the area then pushed off, twisting the throttle. The bike cried as it picked up speed, defying his expectation of what it could handle. He turned from the commotion and sped back the way he’d come, searching for the area where women congregated and crossing his fingers that they’d have what he needed.

  And they did. He sped toward a line of linens drying in the arid heat. He tore by and grabbed an armful of linens and clothes, then hightailed to the ignored area by the fence.

  Chance had absolutely no idea how to cover himself with the fabric swaths he’d grabbed, but so long as he could configure a semi-decent disguise, he’d be fine. The likelihood of locating Jane had to have immediately increased. At least in his opinion. HQ, with Parker and his number-crunching formulas, might disagree. But for now, Chance couldn’t shake his grin.

  With newfound confidence, he roared toward the center of the camp, only stopping when he could see the gaggle of men and bikes a hundred feet dead ahead.

  He gripped the throttle—but his stomach dropped. The commotion was different. Less like their battle cry and more like… wild excitement. The enemy was celebrating.

  Was he too late?

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  In the safety of her disguise, Jane could finally catch her breath and survey her surroundings. The encampment was abuzz. People moved about the maze of tents. The motorbikes raced by and random, rapid gunfire occasionally cracked through the air. The harsh smell of burning plastic and gunpowder hurt her raw nostrils as she tried to blend in with the crowd, but she felt like everything she did called attention in her direction.

  Did her walk stand out? Were her eyes too light? Should she say hello or avoid eye contact? If anyone gave her a second glance, she didn’t have the strength to keep up the rouse.

  With her head down, Jane picked a path forward, lifting the hem of her skirt from under her feet. The layer of darker clothing provided a disguise, but it also added a hot layer atop her shaky frame.

  A vicious round of air horns blasted, and she jerked from the path. A fleet of ancient motorbikes zipped by, spitting chalky dust in her face. She coughed as her eyed filled with tears.

  Everywhere, men carrying guns argued. Just when she thought she’d moved away from them, she would see them again. Either she was traveling in circles, or the military element in the camp was everywhere.

  Swallowing the grit in her throat, she headed away from the center tents, toward the back fence where she had started this mess. Where was the broken part of the fence where she’d first entered?

  Jane scanned the fence line. It seemed to travel for miles. Warily, she took an unsure step closer, considering ways to escape. A wild animal cried out from the other side. She couldn’t see it in the rocky, desolate landscape, but it sounded hungry and large.

  Maybe this time, she shouldn’t cross the fence line without a plan. Though if she stayed here, nothing good would happen. Would Midas and the helicopter think to search for her at the camp?

  Or, maybe they wouldn’t come back at all. They’d saved the intended targets—the Thane family. Thane Insurance had likely paid dearly for the rescue. Their rescue, not hers. Jane could almost hear Dax and Gigi casually deciding to leave her alone and abandoned in Syria. They’d believe that Jane’s death—or rather, losing the nanny—was simply a cost of doing business. The realization was a morbid and terrifying. They saw people as commodities. Poor Teddy.

  Her vision blurred, a mix of tears and exhaustion, until she shook her head. When she looked up, her saw a man straddling a bike, watching her from several tent lengths away. Jane gulped and decided to move quickly. She gathered her flowing skirts and ran into the camp again.

  This time, she had a better idea where to go, and Jane let herself be swept into the crowd. She collided with a man, then tripped on her kaftan. Her body shook from hunger and fatigue, and her stomach revolted against its emptiness.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, and when she finally tried to open them again, her eyelids didn’t want to obey. Her vision tilted, and her head felt as heavy as a cinderblock. She hadn’t slept in so long, hadn’t had enough water. Jane staggered forward and saw the man on the bike again. He didn’t look angry, only curious. Would he help her like the woman had?

  She made her way toward him. Every step took more energy than she had, but she closed the distance and stopped in front of the man. His expression shifted, his lips turning up into a hint of an encouraging smile.

  Oh, thank god. She smiled at him and whispered a dry, throaty, “Help me.”

  He grabbed her arm and raised it in his hands, calling out for others.

  “No.” She didn’t have the strength to fight, and her free hand clutched her heart, certain it would stop beating. It didn’t.

  The man jerked her like a prize. Jane lost her balance. Her feet went out from under her. They tripped. He took the brunt of her fall. She sprawled over him. He yelled and pushed her away like she was flea-invested and diseased. His angry cries shocked her back to life, and even when she knew she couldn’t run any more, she did.

  The maze of u
nending hell turned her every which way. She stopped when she couldn’t take another step and found herself cowering between lines of clothes.

  Jane crawled into a corner and caught her breath. She must not have gone far. She heard booming voices multiply. From her crouched position in the laundry area, she watched gaggles of men become an army. Were they all searching for her?

  Catching a couple more breaths, she took off and nearly ran into a dead end. Shit. She doubled back and took another path. Another dead-end. What was this? A market? She stood in front of a stall that sold old metal pieces. She was thinking of hiding behind their boxes when an old, prune-faced man snapped at her.

  The angry search party marched nearby. She was certain their jeers were for her. She ran down a lane that seemed suspiciously empty and wondered what would happen if they found her. Shoot her? Or, did they still want to sell her?

  Maybe capture wouldn’t be so bad. She could escape again, and they’d give her food and water.

  “Stop,” she wheezed, realizing that the voice of surrender had gained footing in her thoughts. She refused to be captured again. Jane didn’t care if she ran herself to death. She wouldn’t stop fighting.

  Wavering on her feet, she choked on a sob. Damn it, she was just one woman. What did they think she could possibly be worth? Her feet were bleeding. Her sunburn had turned to blisters. Hell, her will to live had all but left her. She couldn’t take this anymore.

  The rattling whine of another motorbike forced her to turn. It raced down the long aisle, and she needed to run but her feet wouldn’t move. Jane’s eyes closed, and she thought of dropping to her knees in surrender—no! She spun, refusing to give up.

  Her skirt tangled with her feet, and she tripped, and as she looked up, the aisle filled with the angry mob, flanking the motorbike that was almost upon her. Whatever these assholes wanted, she vowed to give them hell until she took her last breath.

  The motorbike screeched sideways. Dirt spit into the air like a landmine had exploded. Sand and grit rained down. Jane wiped at her face and blinked until her vision cleared.