by Elle James
At that moment, Lance, Tank and Blade arrived on a vehicle with a machine gun mounted in the middle. Lance stood behind the gun, Tank drove and Blade rode shotgun.
“Looks like you don’t get to have all the fun after all,” Blade called out. “We’re going along for the ride.”
Another vehicle, just like the first, arrived with Dawg manning the machine gun, Mac driving and Bull riding shotgun.
Bull leaped out of the vehicle and approached Dash carrying a satchel and his go bag. He handed the satchel to Dash. “You’ll find additional ammo in there, in case we’re attacked. We have more in the vehicles if you run out.”
“Thanks,” Dash held the heavy satchel in one hand and reached for his duffel bag. “Thanks. I might need extra clothes.”
The men gathered around Rucker and Dash.
“It’s been a while since we’ve been on convoy duty.” Blade clapped his hands. “Should be fun.”
“Yeah, right,” Tank said.
Their CO arrived and stood in the middle of the group. “I’m counting on you all to keep Miss Daye safe on the remainder of the tour.”
“When we get there, do we get to listen to her concert?” Lance asked.
“You can listen all right, as long as you remember you’re on guard duty.” The CO rested his hands on his hips. “Do I need to go with you guys to keep you in line?”
Rucker grinned. “Yes, sir! Then you can hear Miss Daye sing as well.”
“I got to catch her show here,” the colonel said. “If you don’t think you’ll need me, I’ll stick around here and keep an ear to the ground with the intel folks.” He handed Dash a satellite phone. “Keep in touch.”
“Yes, sir,” Dash said.
Rucker climbed into the lead vehicle Tank was driving.
Dash entered the motor coach to find that Sunny had finished cooking the eggs and dished the food out onto two plates she’d laid on the dining table. “Better hurry and eat,” she said. “Once this buggy starts rolling, it’ll get crazy bumpy. The roads aren’t the greatest.”
As he sat at the table, Dash fitted the two-way radio ear bud in his ear and went through the motions of performing a communications check with his team. When he finished, he glanced across the table at Sunny and grinned. “Thank you for breakfast. I owe you one.”
She shook her head. “Not at all. I enjoyed cooking for you. I don’t get to do it often in the States. We’re always on the go.”
While Sunny and Dash scarfed down their meal, the bodyguard driver slipped behind the steering wheel and cranked up the motorhome.
“Let the adventure begin,” Sunny said with a grin and took her plate to the sink.
Dash swallowed his last bite and followed suit. As he reached around Sunny to lay the plate in the sink, the vehicle lurched forward.
Dash braced his hands on either side of Sunny, using his body to hold her steady until the motion of the vehicle steadied and they could get back to the couch.
“Are you going to be all right back here without a seatbelt?” he asked when they both moved away from the counter.
She rummaged in the creases of the couch and unearthed a seatbelt. “I’ll be fine. Now that my stomach isn’t protesting, I can get that sleep I need before I have to perform again.”
“I’ll be in the passenger seat. All you have to do is yell, and I can be back here in a second.”
He held onto the cabinet above her head to keep from falling.
She looked up at him. “I’ll be fine. Go. Let me sleep.”
When he turned to leave her, she reached out and grabbed his arm.
“Dash,” she said.
He liked the way her hand felt on his arm, almost as much as he’d liked the way her body had felt pressed against him in her sleep. His groin tightened. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Thanks for being here for me.”
He nodded, lifted her hand and pressed a kiss to the backs of her knuckles. “My pleasure.” Then he grabbed his rifle and handgun and joined the driver in the front of the vehicle. He hoped that by being in the front of the vehicle, he could ignore the fact he had a hard-on for the woman behind him.
The convoy moved out of the forward operating base and onto the road leading southwest to the next concert venue.
Used to getting in and out of areas by way of helicopter, Dash was uneasy about traveling by road. The Taliban liked using IEDs to target convoys. He worried about his friends in the lead vehicle. They would be the ones to take the first hit, which would stall the convoy and allow the Taliban to attack.
All in all, he wasn’t happy about the situation. Still, he was glad his team was with him.
For the first twenty miles, the road was flat with no vegetation or buildings on either side. They could see for miles. Then they entered a hilly area where the road curved in and around hills and valleys.
Dash tensed. Along any one of the curves, the enemy could be waiting to ambush them. He glanced over his shoulder to discover that Sunny was awake, sitting up with her guitar on her lap.
After a few random strums, she settled into a song and hummed, making notes in a pad in front of her. She played the tune over and over again. It took shape with more humming and more note jotting. Slowly, she added words to the notes…a haunting melody about being lost in the dark and being found.
With his focus on the road, he allowed the music to soothe him, much like the lullaby had calmed the child in the tent.
Sunny most definitely had a gift, and she was much better off singing solo. Her partner hadn’t been half as talented as she was. It took him dying for her to come into her own and for her talent to shine through.
Dash refused to let her light be snuffed out or lost to the rest of the world. She had so much to give in her life.
The hills became more rugged, the valleys narrower and tight.
When they rounded a curve or climbed to the top of a pass and looked down, Dash strained his eyes to see ahead.
In one particular canyon-like area, the caravan of vehicles came to a sudden stop.
Dash’s hands tightened around the stock and barrel of his rifle. “What’s going on up there?” he asked into his mic.
“Got a herd of goats clogging the road,” Tank reported from the lead vehicle.
“Could be a diversion,” Dash suggested.
“Keeping our eyes open,” Rucker promised.
A hand touched Dash’s shoulder. “What’s wrong?” Sunny asked.
“Goats on the road.” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You might want to get down and stay down until we make it through these hills.”
“Goats aren’t going to hurt us,” she said and then frowned. “Are they?”
He shook his head. “No. But if they were put there to slow us down, we might be in for a fight. Please, get down and stay down. But first, double-check the side door to make certain it’s locked.”
She nodded. “Okay. Will you come back with me?”
He shook his head. “Not yet. If we get into a firefight, I want to see it coming and help, if possible.”
Her hand tightened on his shoulder. “Be careful.”
“I will be. I’m more concerned about you. If bullets start flying, the walls of this coach won’t be enough of a shield. That’s why I ask that you stay down. We don’t want you catching a bullet.”
“Or you and Marcus, our driver.” She gave Marcus a tight smile. At Dash’s pointed glance, she raised her hands. “Okay, if it makes you feel better, I’ll stay back here and hunker down.”
As Sunny backed away, Dash stared ahead and to the sides, looking up at the rugged bluffs rising up on either side of the caravan.
He didn’t like sitting still. The lack of movement gave terrorists the opportunity to lock in their aim and take out their opponents like a bunch of sitting ducks.
“Status of the goats?” Dash asked.
“Running down the middle of the road,” Tank said. “I’m trying to ease through them, but they’re kind of dum
b or have a death wish. They keep crossing in front of me.”
Dash’s hand tightened on his rifle, an uneasy feeling creeping over him. “Do you see a shepherd?”
“Off to one side,” Blade’s voice cut in. “Looks like a kid.”
“Armed?” Dash asked.
“With a stick,” Blade responded.
“I don’t like it,” Dash said.
“Neither do I,” Rucker said into Dash’s ear. “My gut is telling me to get the hell out of here. Pronto. Pedal to the metal, Tank.”
“Survival of the fittest,” Tank grumbled.
Moments later, the vehicles of the caravan lurched forward one after the other.
As they passed a narrow valley on their right, a flash of light caught Dash’s attention. He glanced in that direction.
“Damn,” he said into his mic. “Got half a dozen bogeys on motorcycles coming around the corner. Get ready for some fireworks.”
“We don’t know their intent,” Rucker said. “Don’t fire until they do.”
With the riders crowding around Sunny’s motor coach, Dash didn’t like that he couldn’t start eliminating them one by one.
Over his shoulder, he called out. “If you’re not down, now would be a good time.”
“I’m on the floor. It’s as close to the ground as I can get,” Sunny shouted over the sound of the motorcycle engines.
“Hang on,” Dash said as the riders caught up and rode alongside. “It’s about to get crazy out there.” He lowered his window and poked his rifle out. The driver did the same, a handgun resting in his lap as he steered the giant coach one-handed.
Dash aimed for the nearest rider. He wouldn’t pull the trigger until they fired the first shot.
He didn’t have to wait long before one of the cyclists raised a handgun and fired at their motorhome, piercing the front windshield in the middle.
The driver jerked backward, the motorhome swerved to the left and would have run off the road if Dash hadn’t lunged across the console. He grabbed the steering wheel and righted the vehicle.
“Marcus.” Dash held onto the steering wheel but couldn’t control the speed. “Marcus, are you still with us?”
The bodyguard clutched his arm. “I’m hit,” he said through gritted teeth.”
“Can you hold on until we can get somewhere safe?”
The man nodded his head. “But I can’t steer.”
“I’ll steer, you accelerate and brake.”
“Okay,” Marcus said through gritted teeth.
“What’s going on?” Sunny had crawled up the center of the coach to where Dash was manhandling the steering wheel.
“Marcus’s been hit.”
Another shot was fired at the front windshield.
Dash ducked instinctively. The bullet went wide. He cursed and hunkered as low as he could and still see over the dash.
“Let me drive. You shoot,” Sunny said.
“No. They might hit you.”
“And they might hit me anyway if you don’t start shooting back.” She eased her way forward, sliding beneath him to grab the steering wheel. “Go! Marcus and I can handle this. You handle the shooters.”
Dash didn’t like that Sunny was exposed in the front seat. But he couldn’t protect her if he was dead. He returned to his seat, took up his rifle and focused on killing as many of the bastards as he could, as quickly as he could.
He refused to let one more bullet hit their windshield and potentially hurt or kill Sunny. “Got problems back here,” he said through his clenched jaw.
“We’re on our way back,” Rucker said.
“Just keep this train moving,” Dash said. “We can’t stop, or they’ll be all over us.”
“We’re on our way forward to help,” Mac said. “Hang tight. We’re coming up on your left.”
Dash glanced in the rearview mirror on his side of the coach. The roads had very little room on either side.
“Sunny, can you steer the motorhome to the right?”
“Yes,” Sunny said, and the coach swerved to the right then straightened.
Another shot hit the passenger door and came all the way through, nicking Dash’s calf. He hissed.
“What?” Sunny shot a glance his way.
“Nothing,” Dash said. He aimed his rifle out the window at one of the men on a motorcycle. As soon as he could get a bead on him, he pulled the trigger.
The motorcycle swerved right, the wheel turning so sharply, the rear of the vehicle flipped over the front, throwing the rider through the air.
“Got one coming up on the right,” Marcus said.
Dash had one on his side within range. He aimed and fired, hitting his mark. Then he lunged from his seat, leaned between Sunny and Marcus and waited for the cyclist to come even with them. He fired two rounds, one of which hit the man, sending him tumbling over the side of the road and down into a gully.
Four more men on motorcycles raced toward them.
Chapter 6
Sunny held on tightly to the steering wheel of the motorcoach. It was larger than anything she’d ever driven and harder to turn.
The trucks and vans in front of her continued to move forward, picking up speed.
The goats scattered to each side of the road.
One of the motorcyclists ran into one, flipped his cycle and flew through the air.
Good, Sunny thought. She hoped he was incapacitated from his fall. That was one less man for them to deal with.
But there were so many more.
At the rate they were moving in on them, Dash wouldn’t be able to keep up.
He dropped back into his seat, reloaded his rifle with a fresh magazine and glanced in his side mirror.
Her back aching from leaning over Marcus to steer the coach, Sunny couldn’t give up. She glanced in the side mirror and almost cried with relief.
Like avenging angels, Dash’s team converged on their motorhome from the rear. Dawg, on the gun turret, let loose a round from his machine gun. Taking out two more of the men on bikes.
Directing her focus forward, Sunny smiled. In front of them, Rucker’s transport with Lance manning his machine gun, raced toward them, firing at the attackers with deadly bursts of bullets.
Through all the gunfire, the caravan continued forward, pushing through the hills until they emerged onto a flat, clear area close to a small village.
The remaining men on motorcycles peeled away from the caravan and disappeared back into the hills.
“Roger,” Dash said. He turned to her. “We’re going to stop and assess the damage.”
“Thank God,” Sunny said. “Marcus needs his wound looked at, and so do you.”
“I’m fine,” Dash said.
Marcus eased up on the accelerator, and the coach slowed until it came to a stop behind the van in front of them.
Sunny let go of the steering wheel, pressed a hand to the small of her back and straightened. She’d never been so glad to stop on a road trip.
Dash brushed her hand to the side and rubbed the small of her back where it ached from standing in an awkward position, steering the motorhome.
He leaned close to her ear, his chest touching her back, making her warm. “Sunny, I need you to stay inside the vehicle.”
“But we need to get Marcus out of his seat and down on the ground to have a medic look at him,” she said.
“I can get out on my own,” Marcus said. “My legs are fine, it’s my arm that’s injured.”
“Yeah, and you’ve lost a significant amount of blood,” she said.
“I’ll be fine,” he insisted.
“We’ll help him down,” Dash promised. “I can’t have you standing around outside. Someone might see that as an opportunity to swoop in and steal you away.”
She shivered. “I don’t want that to happen.”
“Then close and lock the doors behind us, and stay put.”
She nodded. “I will.”
Dash left the motorhome through the passenger door
, walking around the front of the vehicle to the driver’s side.
Sunny reached across and pressed the lock on the passenger door.
Dash opened the driver’s door and held out his hand to Marcus.
“I can do this on my own,” Marcus insisted.
“Humor me,” Dash said. “Take my hand and lean on me if you need to.”
Marcus held onto the doorframe, placed his hand in Dash’s and let the soldier guide him to the ground.
Sunny winced when Marcus winced, only imagining the pain the bodyguard was feeling.
When Marcus’s feet hit the ground, his knees buckled. He would have fallen if Dash hadn’t been there to hold him up.
Easing him out of the way, Dash closed the driver’s door and nodded to Sunny. “Lock it.”
She did and stared through the window, feeling useless and the root of their problems. If she was the one they really wanted, everyone in the caravan was at risk because of her. Marcus had just taken a bullet because of her.
She glanced toward Dash’s leg and noticed a long, dark stain on his trousers. He’d been hit worse than he’d let on and was still bleeding.
Sunny unlocked the door, pushed it open and stepped one foot out on the stairs. “Dash, you’re bleeding.”
“I know I am. It’s not much, just a flesh wound.” His brow furrowed. “I’d feel a whole lot better if you got back into the vehicle and locked the door. I have my hands full here. I don’t want to drop Marcus to defend you.”
“Sorry.” Sunny backed up the step, climbed into the driver’s seat, closed the door and locked it with a loud click.
Dash helped Marcus sit on the steps, and then called out, “Bull, got a patient for you.”
The man Dash had introduced as Bull dropped down from his vehicle and hurried over. He pulled a packet out of his bulletproof vest and spread it out on Marcus’s knees. It contained gauze , a tube of glue and medical tape. He cut the sleeve of Marcus’s shirt away and inspected the wound.
Bull flushed it with a water bottle, dried it with gauze and glued the edges together. For a full two minutes, he pinched the skin together until the glue dried. With the wound closed, he packed it with gauze and wrapped the arm. And he did all that in less than five minutes.