by Zoe Dawson
He took several battle naps during the rest of the night, alert for any sound that would indicate tangos. In the early morning, the air hung thickly, though cooler, almost dense to the touch. He listened carefully as he surveyed the area, picking out the movement of little creatures separate from his own breathing. They watched him intently, well aware of a predator when they saw one. He had to give them their due. Surviving in this jungle when even the plants could kill was not a small feat.
He went to the nearest water source and filled his camelback, a soft skinned water container with a straw that allowed him to drink on the move, keeping his hands free. He purified it with tablets. Then using the soap he found in Dana’s pack, he washed the camo paint off his face, the breeze blowing across his wet hair and skin, cooling him.
He climbed the nearest tree and with his palm-sized binoculars, a Cyclops version, he tested the movement of the autofocus, then scanned the area once, and started closest to them, systematically clearing the area of threat before moving away. Ruckus swung to the right, lower in the valley. Movement was sporadic, the flutter of birds, darting everywhere, their feathers flashes of bright color in the gloom, flitting among the lacework of the branches. Monkeys contrasted their fluttering with powerful holds of disproportionately long limbs and prehensile tails, tree branches bending beneath their weight, their black and brown hides all but lost in the foliage, only glimpses of their white faces visible.
Some of them watched Ruckus from a nearby tree, their faces intent. The humans had miles and miles of this jungle to cover, filled to the brim with danger. Too bad they couldn’t use the trees the same way, Tarzan style. The safest place for her would be Yaviza, far to the north. He’d have to get the information he needed by the time he got there. Then she could be on her way back to the US, and he’d be closer to his original target.
Charm wasn’t his strong suit. He was more of a blunt force trauma kind of guy.
She came out of the tent and looked around. For a moment, her face showed her surprise, and then panic. She really thought he’d abandoned her. He couldn’t let her think that. Even after her opposing behavior, he knew exactly what abandonment felt like. He whistled softly and she jerked her face toward the tree he was sitting in. Relief replaced that look, and for all her bravado, she was scared.
With a wash of protectiveness flowing over him, he stared down at her. She shielded her eyes, and stared back. For better or worse, she was his charge and he had no intention of letting her get hurt, no matter how much she was holding back from him.
After one last look, he started to climb down, then movement far away caught his attention. A drug caravan, boats moving through the jungle at a slow pace. He wouldn’t say no to some transportation, but messing with Clan Los Piratas could very well reveal their location to the group that was no doubt scouring the jungle for them.
It was clear that Dana was important to their leader, and Salazar wasn’t known for his forgiveness or mercy. They wouldn’t give up. Their lives were on the line. Well, all of them would have to freaking go through him. No one was harming a hair on that beauty’s head.
He climbed down. They would eat some more of the MREs and then get going. They had many miles to cover.
As his boots hit the ground, she approached him. His back was to her. He pushed away from the trunk and turned to face her.
“Good…” The word morning didn’t emerge because her throat muscles contracted and all the oxygen she needed to speak simply backed up in her lungs. Ruckus’s coffee brown hair gleamed in the sun, auburn highlights flaming in the dark strands. With his helmet off and that camo paint washed clean from his features, she discovered that this SEAL was as drop-dead gorgeous as his face hinted in the darkness.
The bright light of day lovingly revealed that his eyes were indeed a gunmetal blue, a dark rim outlining the iris and emphasizing his steely gaze. The expression on his lean, tanned face was stern, almost brooding.
He leaned against the tree, but the energy in him just wouldn’t let him relax enough for the trunk to take his full weight.
He dropped his head back, looking at her from beneath his thick tangle of lashes. “You thought I left you,” he said softly instead of in that gruff, I’m-deadly voice he’d used last night to argue with her. Then he unfurled a grin that knocked her back as if she’d been punched in the stomach, as if he’d reached out and touched her skin, trailing his fingertips in an intimate way that had her heart beating double time.
Never had she ever felt this blindsided by a set of dimples and a high wattage smile. He really should do that more often…all the time. It transformed his face. Even though it registered in his eyes, it couldn’t quite do away with the dark intensity there.
“For a moment, I did. Then I realized you wouldn’t do that.”
“No, I told you I wouldn’t.” He gestured in the distance. “If you have to go, do it over there. We’ll want everything…localized so we can remove every trace we were here.”
“Go?”
“To the lady’s room,” he said delicately.
She set her hands on her hips, caught off guard. “Oh, I see. You even decide where I do my business?”
The smile faded from his face and his brows dropped. “What? It’s for our—”
“Gotcha,” she intoned and backed up as his face cleared, then he dropped his head and chuckled. Okay, so he could take a joke.
She took care of going, and when she came back, he was preparing more of the MREs. His face was in profile and she got punched all over again. He was back to looking stern and tough. Annoyed with herself for even noticing his looks, she gritted her teeth. He was kneeling, his big hands on his thighs, that automatic weapon easily in his reach. She knelt down too, starving.
“What treat do you have for me this morning?”
“Eggs, bacon and toast with a side of fruit.”
She huffed a whimsical breath. “What are you? A miracle worker?”
“No, sorry. It’s just more MREs. But I do have fruit. Zapplesauce.” He held up the container.
“Zapplesauce,” she said, her voice tentative.
“An amped up applesauce, supplement charged, complex carbohydrate that will give us a turbo charge. If you’re really good and we can find a safe place to heat water, we’ll get a chance at Irish-cream coffee later.”
She snorted. “Oookkkaaayyy.”
He laughed and started the heating process for the pork sausage patty and chocolate toaster pastry. He opened the package for wheat snack bread and blackberry jam, and the orange electrolyte beverage, giving her half of everything.
“Thank you for sharing your food with me.”
They were nearly at eye level, and Dana felt herself leaning toward him, as if he were drawing her by some powerful magnetic force. His gaze slid down to her mouth and lingered there, directly frank in its appraisal. She swallowed hard and barely managed to resist running her tongue across her bottom lip.
He looked away and blew out a breath. She had to take one of her own. As he ripped open packages and prepared the meal, his mouth was set in stern lines again above a strong, stubborn-looking chin that sported an inch-long diagonal scar. He looked tough and dangerous suddenly, and she wanted him to smile again. His gaze came back to hers as he handed her the heated meal, the touch of his hand, warm and rough, sent a shiver down her spine.
“How long have you been in the SEALs,” she asked to get her mind off his arresting face, off her speculation of what he looked like beneath that uniform.
His gaze held hers fast. He looked every inch the warrior and not much inclined to give her a whole lot of personal information.
“Twenty years.”
She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t, just started eating. That couldn’t be right.
“That long? You don’t look old enough to be forty.”
“I’m not. I’m thirty-seven.”
“Oh, that means you went in when you were…seventeen. Wow, that’s yo
ung.”
“You’re very good at math,” he responded, continuing to eat.
“Why?”
He glanced at her and then down to his meal. “You almost done? We need to get going.”
“I thought a little conversation would help. Getting to know each other—”
“Is a waste of time and energy. We’re only going to be together until I get you home. So stop trying to interview me.”
Anger flared at his tone. “I’m not interviewing you. I was just asking questions like a normal human being,” she huffed out and then stood up. He stood up so quickly, she had to back up a step. He shifted his weight forward, suddenly invading her personal space, and she had to fight to keep from jumping back as her tension level rose to the red zone. She gulped down her instinctive reaction at his defensiveness. In her experience, it covered pain and unhappiness. Tilting her chin to look at him, she stood her ground. She’d faced down men like him without batting an eyelash, handled mortars and IED blasts, dealt with living in a war zone for years. She wanted to know at least one personal thing about him. She couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it made this more of a partnership than him barking orders and deciding the course of action. “I don’t even know your name,” she murmured.
“You don’t need to know my name, cupcake. I’m clandestine and under the radar here. The less you know, the better. Classified is classified for a reason.”
“I already know your mission.”
“Yeah, because you were caught in the middle between Salazar and a bunch of Navy SEALs. We’re not out here on a pleasure walk. I’m going to get him. That’s all you need to know.”
He started gathering everything up and left to where he’d designated their latrine. After a few moments, he came back. She’d already broken down the tent and stowed it back in her pack. He stoically grabbed his pack and swung it onto his back. She figured it must weigh sixty pounds. “I can tell you your team is in stable condition and the prognosis is optimistic.”
She nodded, gratitude at this information obvious. Grabbing up his weapon, he started off.
She followed his retreating back.
Ruckus clenched his jaw. First off because he was such an asshole to her, but secondly because she made him feel vulnerable, made him think about why he’d gone into the navy at seventeen. Stuff he didn’t want to remember. Normally, he was careful and gentle with the opposite sex, but Dana was pushing buttons he didn’t even know he had. Most women backed off when he closed down, but not her. She had to keep asking her personal questions. He just wasn’t going to get involved with her on that level. He was her escort through to safety, and she had knowledge he needed. That was all.
He would focus on the fastest route to his target. They needed one of those boats.
“We’re going to head toward the FARC and procure one of their boats. I figure we should get there by nightfall after stopping for food and water.”
“You’re going to steal a boat from the FARC? That’s not exactly done.”
He turned to her. “If you can’t solve a problem, it’s because you’re playing by the rules,” he murmured. SEALs thought outside the box and did what needed to be done, rules of engagement be damned.
“I had safe passage with the FARC.” She gave a self-depreciating laugh. “Well, safe is probably a misnomer, but, nevertheless, they allowed us through. It was required to go into the Gap and get my story.”
“Consorting with drug runners and murderers? That’s very un-cupcake-like of you.”
She glared at him, not at all amused. “There’s always two sides of the argument, but it was a necessary evil. They would say they were patriots fighting for their country,” she said through gritted teeth. “It kills me we had to ask permission of them to get what was necessary. They have been drug-running their cocaine for years to avoid the sea patrols, creating trouble for the indigenous people here. They force them to act as guides, too.”
“It’s perfect for FARC. It’s treacherous, swampy and nobody really lives out here.”
“Yes, I guess it is. I could talk to them. I still have their permission to move freely through here.”
He turned to her. “But I don’t. I’m a Navy SEAL on foreign soil on a black op. I can’t let anyone know I’m here. We’re on our own,” he said and her face blanched.
He wanted to feed her a nice, safe story, but the fact remained. Every moment they traversed this jungle, they were vulnerable. She had backbone and courage. He would give her that, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. Maybe he didn’t want to get personal, but he admired her. She would go back to her life and he’d get on with the business of protecting America. He’d never see her again.
He ignored the regret at that thought and led her into the undergrowth.
4
The black water gleamed like glass under the light of a partial moon. Huge trees, thick on each bank, straight and dark, loomed above the jungle floor. In the near distance, thunder rolled and lightning flashed pink behind a bank of clouds. South, Dana thought automatically, her feet carefully placed, picking her way up the slippery bank. A storm was coming up from South America.
As she walked, Ruckus nothing but a big, dusky shadow ahead of her, the sheer wall of jungle surrounding them, flanking them, hampering their movements seemed alive, a world unto itself, ancient, mysterious, primal. It seemed more of an entity than an ecosystem. The violence seeped into the ground, the sound of agonized cries absorbed into the leaves, bark, moss and very air around them. Something dark and twisted born from the hostility and the violence here, something with a mind and eyes and a dark, shadowed soul. That impression closed in on her, and she took deep breaths, thinking about her mother’s hushed voice singing a lullaby. Even as she lay dying in that hospital bed, it was her mom who had comforted her.
Squeezing her eyes closed, she breathed around her need to get those memory cards back. Her work had been consecrated with her mother’s suffering. Dana had missed seeing her one last time because she’d been half a world away reporting on the suffering of others. Those memory cards held the stories, but they weren’t just stories. They documented real people, real pain, real suffering, and…Dana’s throat tightened…real courage. It was a homage to her mom, and Dana’s terrible missed opportunity to say goodbye.
She was sure somewhere in the dark, somewhere close by, bodies lay, the violence not seen but felt, seeping into her like the cold, and she shivered and rubbed her hands over her arms as an image flashed through her head. Bodies lying out here, alone, dead, the jungle watching, knowing, keeping its secrets…
“Why the hell are you lagging?”
Ruckus’s voice snapped the terrible vision, and she jumped. When she didn’t immediately answer, he covered the short space between them. She shivered. “Dana?” He studied her. “Are you cold?” She nodded once. “It’s a mind-set, babe.”
“It’s a biological function, Rambo,” she countered angrily because sparring with him kept her aware and staying aware was keeping her alive.
“Fuck science. We keep moving. Get your head around that. Keep your goal in mind. Hector Salazar. He’s the bastard.”
She shivered unable to stop the involuntary action. “Damn,” he swore as the first drops of rain fell. Grumbling about women, jungles, rain and inconveniences, he pulled his pack from his back and with quick, efficient, irritated moves, he opened it and dug around inside. Finally he retrieved a waterproof poncho. Without saying anything, he rose and pulled it none to gently over her head. As the rain started to fall faster, he stared at her for a moment, the warm lights of concern in his eyes giving away what he was thinking. He cared about what happened to her, that was no surprise. He was a SEAL; they protected people, and it was part of their job. But it was his personal concern for her, not some nondescript HVT or noncombatant. Her heart jumped, then thundered in her chest. She hadn’t even liked him from the start, but how could she want him so damn bad if she didn’t at least feel something for him. Then he grabb
ed her arm, his grip firm but gentle. “Let’s move. We don’t have any time to play in the water puddles,” he growled.
They heard voices and Ruckus dragged her behind a huge tree. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared, poof, like a magician and when he came back, he scared the living hell right out of her. She hadn’t heard a thing.
“Soon we’ll be motoring the rest of the way to Yaviza.”
“You still plan to steal one?”
“Yeah, there’s plenty of them hanging around, and I’d prefer not to waste ammo.”
“Waste ammo…” her breath backed up into her lungs. Then she heard a familiar voice and an idea formed. “What if I talked to them alone? Asked them for a boat. Then you wouldn’t have to steal it, and we wouldn’t have them pissed at us, too.” They were currently standing a safe distance away from a group of FARC. They had several boats on the shore of the river. Dana couldn’t tell if anything was in the boats, but she was certain that she could talk to the dark man dressed in a green shirt with a semi-automatic slung to his back.
“What if they decide you’re worth more than a boat?”
“Why would they do that? I have documentation that I’m free to move around the Gap. It comes from their leaders in Cuba. I recognize one of them. He helped us when we first arrived. I’m sure he’ll remember me.”
“I’m sure any guy with eyes would remember you,” he muttered. Dana wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not. Then, he shook his head. “Do you think because he recognizes you, that’s going to stop them from taking you hostage and demanding a ransom from your family? Everything in this place is about money. You’ve seen it on your journey with those migrants. They don’t give a damn about human life. Everyone is expendable to keep those cocaine profits flowing. People here are robbed blind, made to be mules and stripped of everything they have. If they’re not murdered, they’re left destitute.”