by Pamela Clare
“Choppers, flying in from the south, heading to the crash site. Keep moving.”
“Won’t they know where we’re going?”
“They’ll know we’re headed generally toward Bangladesh, but that’s it. The farther we get from the crash site, the tougher it is for them to find us.”
Onward they went, Connor leading the way, reminding her to go easy on the water, helping her up steep pitches thick with vines, his gaze always searching their surroundings, his confidence keeping her panic at bay. The handbag on her shoulder seemed to grow heavier with every step, the strap pinching her skin.
The sky was thick with clouds when he stopped. “Let’s take a quick break.”
She sat on a rock—and shot to her feet again, remembering she needed to check for snakes and spiders. Seeing nothing, she sat, took out her water, and drank. How the small amount of water they had was supposed to last seven days, she didn’t know.
He unzipped a pocket on his backpack and drew out a phone with a small antenna. “It’s O’Neal. Did you find Hatch and Davis? God, I’m sorry to hear it. Nah, I’m fine. Got creased on the temple. It knocked me out cold for an hour. She’s unhurt, just shaken up. They’re dead. We’ve got five MREs plus the water we can carry. I’ve got the M4 from the bird, two Glocks, a Hi-Power, and a Norinco.”
He listened now, saying, “copy that” or “good copy” every so often.
“I’ll check in after we make camp,” he said at last.
He ended the call. “Cruz and Jones are uninjured. Shields got drone footage of the abduction. They found Hatch and Davis dead in a hangar at the airport. Right now, the ICC, UN, and US government are putting pressure on Myanmar to allow a search-and-rescue operation. So far, the government of Myanmar has not responded.”
“If there’s footage, they can’t say I’m here as a spy.”
“They can say whatever they want, but the world can prove them wrong.” He helped her to her feet again. “We’re going to keep pushing till dusk and take cover. Shields is using our GPS coordinates and drone footage to guide us. She wants us to veer a little more to the north.”
“The drone is still following us?”
Connor shook his head. “They had to recall it before the Myanmar military discovered it had entered their air space, but she saved the footage of the landscape beneath our flight path. They’ve been following our cell signals since we left the crash site. They’re also monitoring Myanmar’s air space and military coms. Hopefully, they’ll be able to warn us if search helicopters head our way.”
Shanti asked him the question plaguing her since they set out. “Do we truly stand any chance of making it back alive?”
He brushed a strand of hair off her cheek, his gaze going soft. “I’ll get you home, princess. I promise.”
It was getting close to dusk with a light rain falling when Connor came across a footpath. Because it headed generally in their direction—and because the terrain would be easier for Shanti—he followed it, Shanti a few steps behind.
He had to give her credit. She hadn’t complained about the pace or the insects or being thirsty or hungry, though he could see she was uncomfortable. He didn’t think she’d spent much time in her life roughing it, and this was about as rough as it got.
He wished to hell he had a drone overhead and Shields’ voice in his ear telling him what lay ahead. He’d gotten used to that and felt blind without it. A good pair of infrared goggles would have come in handy, too. He’d suggest that to Corbray and Tower at the debriefing—if he made it back.
He glanced back, saw that Shanti was breathing hard and sagging under the weight of her handbag. “I’ll take that for a while.”
“I can carry it.”
“I know you can, but let me give you a break. I’ve been trained to do this sort of forced march. You haven’t.”
She lifted it over her head, her T-shirt shifting to reveal a red mark on her shoulder. “Thanks.”
The damned thing probably weighed thirty pounds.
He put the strap over his shoulder. “Look for a good campsite, someplace with good tree cover but not too much undergrowth. I don’t want to be walking in the dark, not with predators on the prowl.”
“Sounds good.” She smiled, clearly trying not to laugh. It was the first smile he’d seen on her face in hours—a sign that she was bouncing back. “I’m not sure that handbag goes with the rest of your look.”
He glanced down at himself. “Are you kidding? This is what all the operatives are wearing this season.”
Shanti laughed. “Trendsetter.”
They set off again.
She seemed to have an easier time keeping up now. “How far do you think we’ve come today?”
“I doubt we managed more than twenty miles, but it was hilly terrain.”
They kept moving, the sun getting lower on the horizon, the forest thick and dark on both sides of the path. More than once, he’d been sure he heard helicopters, but they seemed to be far to the south. Then up ahead, he saw it—the roof of what appeared to be a tree house or a lookout tower.
He took Shanti’s hand, pulled her off the path and into the cover of the forest. “There’s something up ahead—a tower of some kind. I’m going to do a little recon. I don’t want to make camp too near a village. If anyone sees us…”
She nodded.
“Stay here, no matter what.” He handed her the sat phone. “If you hear gunfire and I don’t return, use this to contact Cobra. You’ll need to be clear of tree cover and other obstacles. They’ll guide you. Head northwest.”
“Please be careful.” She stared at him through wide eyes, the thought of facing this alone clearly frightening for her.
It scared him, too, the idea of her being out here by herself putting a knot in his chest. He couldn’t let that happen. She was strong, but she wasn’t prepared for this.
“I will.” He ducked down, kissed her, startling them both. “Stay hidden.”
He made his way carefully through the darkening forest, rifle at the ready, rain lashing his skin as he moved toward the tree house. There was no sign of people—no chickens clucking, no smell of wood smoke or food, no voices.
Up ahead, the forest opened into a clearing, and he saw a half dozen of them—structures built high in large trees. He waited, looked through the infrared scope, but saw no one. Moving closer, he spotted a wooden sign. Some of the writing looked like it was in Burmese, but there was also English.
Welcome to Adventure Trek Camp
A camp? Seriously?
In the center of the camp was a well with an old-fashioned iron pump. He didn’t know how clean the water was, but he could deal with that.
He moved to the nearest tree house and climbed the ladder. There was no lock on the door, so he looked inside, the place empty apart from several tarantulas. There was a mattress in the middle of the bamboo floor, mosquito netting around it.
Hell, yeah.
He climbed down again, cleared the next one and the next. The place was deserted, probably because it was monsoon season.
Who wanted to hike through Myanmar in mud and pouring rain?
Feeling like he had stumbled on a Hilton Hotel, he made his way back to Shanti, who sat huddled in the shelter of a large tree looking entirely out of place, exhausted and miserable. “What if I told you that you could sleep in a bed tonight and give yourself a sponge bath?”
“Really?”
“There’s a deserted camp ahead. What I thought was some kind of lookout tower is a tree house used by hikers. No one’s there now, probably because it’s the off-season. There’s shelter, and there’s a well. We’ll have to treat the water to be safe, but we can refill our empty bottles.”
Shanti’s face lit up like it was Christmas.
Shanti followed Connor into a little village of empty tree houses, found herself smiling. “I would have loved one of these as a kid.”
“I’ve been in all of them. This one is in the best shape with no leaks i
n the roof.” He turned back to her. “You stay down here while I clear it out.”
“Clear it out?”
“Some … wildlife has moved in.”
“I don’t think I want to know what you mean by that.”
He grinned. “You don’t.”
He climbed the ladder, pack on his back, opened the door, and disappeared inside. One of the windows opened, and something fell to the ground with a plop.
She didn’t look to see what it was.
Another plop and another and another.
A few minutes went by, followed by yet another plop.
He opened the door. “Come on up.”
She climbed the bamboo ladder, feeling creeped out but also desperate for rest. It was a tall ladder but very sturdy, rising maybe forty feet above the forest floor, taking her to a landing or balcony of sorts.
She walked through the door—and almost sighed. The room was dark, but dry and clean, four shuttered openings in the walls letting in what was left of the daylight. A low, wooden table sat along one wall, a kerosene lamp at its center, while a full-sized mattress sat on a low platform against the other wall, surrounded by a canopy of mosquito netting. Compared to sleeping on the forest floor…
Well, there was no comparison.
Connor was busy cutting a space blanket with a knife. “I’m going to cover the windows to block light and keep out mosquitoes. We’ll be able to use my flashlight and that lantern. There’s a little kerosene left.”
He pulled a roll of duct tape out of his pack and taped a generous square of silver fabric, the dark side facing outward, to each window. Then he took some matches and lighted the lamp.
A warm glow filled the space.
Shanti’s stomach growled.
Connor turned to face her. “Our priorities are water, treating any injuries or blisters, food, and sleep. We need to be out of here by daybreak. I’m going to draw water from the well and filter it so we can refill our bottles and wash up.”
“What should I do?”
“Check yourself for blisters, cuts, and scrapes. Try to get your feet dry. You don’t want an infection.”
Shanti took off her shoes and checked her feet. They were sore, but there were no blisters. She had a scratch on her right shin. Her handbag had rubbed a spot raw on her right shoulder, but the skin wasn’t broken or blistered.
Connor returned carrying a tin bucket full of water. “It looks clean, but I’m not taking any chances.”
He took a filter out of his backpack, and Shanti helped him run the water through it and pour it into their water bottles, then treated each with a Steripen to kill anything the filter missed. “You did well today. I know you weren’t ready for this, but you didn’t give up, and you didn’t complain.”
Sitting close to him like that, she could smell the salt and sweat of his skin—an appealing masculine smell. “You saved my life.”
“You might well have saved mine.” He stood. “I’m going for more water.”
“For washing?”
“I need to clean this damned graze on my head.”
Connor sat still and tried not to swear while Shanti cleaned his wound with sterilized water and antiseptic, her hands in sterile gloves. “Don’t worry about hurting me. It’s going to hurt no matter what. The important thing is to make sure it’s clean.”
“If this had been even a millimeter more to the left…”
“Don’t think about what didn’t happen.” Connor watched her face as she worked, her concern warming him. Most of his relationships with women had been about sex and nothing more. It felt good to have a woman care about him.
She’s your client, and this isn’t a relationship.
Right.
He gritted his teeth against the burn of the antiseptic. He had already looked at it with the signal mirror from the jungle survival kit. “You’ll need to suture it.”
Her eyes went wide. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“I’ll talk you through it.”
He got out the suture kit, handed her the instructions, and explained how it worked. “Just do your best. It doesn’t have to be pretty. The main thing is to close the skin to prevent infection.”
“I don’t want to hurt you.”
“There’s no way around that, princess.”
She seemed to steel herself, a look of hard determination coming over her face as she took hold of his skin with the forceps and ran the needle through it.
Connor sucked in a breath.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. You’re doing what needs to be done. I appreciate that.”
She ran the needle through to the skin on the other side, pulled the skin tight, then knotted the thread several times before snipping it. “That’s one.”
“Good work.”
As injuries went, this wasn’t the worst wound he’d received or the most painful. Sitting close to Shanti like this, having her take care of him, almost made it worthwhile.
You’re an idiot.
God, she was beautiful—beautiful, smart, brave. He’d worked with hundreds of Cobra clients over the past few years, and few of them could have handled what happened today the way she had.
The fact that she’d been willing to kill to save his life…
It didn’t matter to him that she probably wouldn’t have been able to do it. The fact that she’d resolved to try moved him.
“Two,” she said. “Why do you call me that?”
“Call you what?” Endorphins and pheromones were making it hard to think.
“Princess.”
“I don’t know. It just fits.” It was then that his mouth took off and started saying things without his brain’s permission. “The first time I saw you in a sari, I thought you looked like a princess. You were so beautiful. You blew me away.”
She stopped stitching, her eyes looking into his. “Really?”
“Yeah.” If she hadn’t had a needle in his scalp, he might have kissed her. “When you met with Dr. Khan, you had all the dignity of royalty.”
She went back to work. “I was nervous.”
“It didn’t show.”
“Three.” She started the fourth suture. “So, you like women in saris?”
“I don’t know about women, but I sure as hell like you in a sari.”
Her lips curved in a smile. “I’ll remember that if we make it back to The Hague.”
He caught her wrist. “Not if, Shanti. When.”
It took a dozen stitches before Shanti had finished. She bandaged the wound and sat back, looking relieved. “I hope I never have to do that again.”
He felt the stitches through the bandage. “You did a good job.”
After that, he gathered together all of their food supplies—the emergency rations in his backpack, the stuff he’d taken off the pilots, the snack bars, and the almonds Shanti had in her handbag. “It’s going to be a hungry seven days.”
Each MRE had 1,250 calories. That meant they’d be getting about six hundred calories each per day—barely enough to keep going.
He split the spaghetti and beef sauce entree from one of the five MREs with her but saved the rest of the meal—chocolate chip toaster pastry, peanut butter, breadsticks, raisins, grape jelly, and Accessory Packet B, which turned out to be Skittles—for later.
“This is what you eat when you’re deployed?”
“Only when I have no choice.”
She licked her plastic spork. “It’s not too bad.”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “You must be very hungry.”
After they’d finished their meal, he went down for another bucket of water, which he treated and then set aside to cool while he reorganized his gear.
“Use this for a quick sponge bath. Save some for me if you can. I’m going out to walk the perimeter. I’ll be back in ten.”
He checked his weapons, put on his rain gear, and went out in the downpour, leaving her to her bath.
12
S
hanti undressed, laid her clothes across the mattress, and went to work cleaning the cut on her shin. It was a little deeper than she’d thought and needed antiseptic and a bandage from the first aid kit. When that was done, she knelt naked by the bucket of cold water, took a bar of soap and a large gauze pad, also from the first aid kit, and dipped both into the water. She washed her face first and then her throat and nape, working her way down her body, washing away sweat and stress.
Oh, the water felt good, bringing her back to herself after a day so terrifying and strange that it didn’t seem real. She’d been abducted, watched Connor get shot, held a gun, seen Connor kill two men, lived through a helicopter crash, seen an angry wild gaur, and walked twenty miles through the monsoon forest. And now, she was sleeping in a tree house—as one apparently did in these situations.
You’d be in General Naing’s hands—or dead—if not for Connor.
She remembered the fury on his face when he’d forced the pilot to turn around, a kind of feral anger she’d never seen. Before today, that kind of rage might have terrified her, but today it had made her feel safer. He’d done what he’d done to save her life and his. He had killed two men—and she was grateful.
She abhorred violence. And yet…
Did that make her a hypocrite?
For good people like you to build a better world, Shanti, there have to be people like me willing to back you up with force. Otherwise, the bad guys win.
What if he was right? What if justice and freedom and all the things she loved depended on some level of violence to secure them?
She poured a little of the water into an empty water bottle to rinse her skin and wash between her thighs, letting the water spill to the floor. Thank God she wasn’t on her period. That would be a drag to manage in the jungle.
She filled the bottle again, this time pouring it over her head, working the water through her hair. She didn’t have shampoo, so that would have to do. She found her comb, crawled inside the mosquito netting, and sat on the bed. She had just started combing the tangles from her hair, when the door opened and Connor stepped inside.