True Peril

by Veronica Forand

  “Take his weapon and get ready to shoot. If we keep the rebels dodging our bullets, they won’t have time to launch their own.” Once she was seated behind him, he hit the throttle, and they hurtled forward.

  Eve almost lost her balance, but hung onto his waist with one hand and pressed her chest to his back. Her head was wedged into the back of his neck, and she could only shoot in one direction.

  They flew through the courtyard where she’d shot the soldier’s hand. Three men ran toward them, firing. Dane swerved and maneuvered around parked trucks and barrels and planters and dead bodies.

  Eve managed to hit one of the men in the leg. She didn’t notice if he was okay, because Dane was flying. He swerved around obstacles, despite the darkness. He was also knocking off fighters as he drove by them. The combined sound from his rifle and the motorcycle proved deafening. The last man standing in the area fell to the ground. He either was shot by Dane or dropped to protect his ass.

  …

  Dane trusted his wife, but her actions were making him very nervous. She’d wrapped her arms around his waist, occasionally tapping his chest with the barrel of her gun as he twisted around potholes and downed branches in the road. Ironically, her position entwined around him didn’t fill him with fear, it aroused him. What a hell of a great way to die, with her lush form wound around his body like a boa constrictor with breasts.

  He flicked on the lights when he cleared the first mile away from the compound. Anyone in front of him would hear the roar of the engine before they noticed the light. The machine muscled its way through the mountains, propelled by the thunder from the engine. There was no hiding a twenty-year-old Yamaha Virago.

  When he threw the empty rifle to the side of the road, he drove through a small hole and swerved to the right to compensate for the imbalance. He grabbed at the handlebars and straightened out before he flipped the motorcycle. Eve’s grip tightened, but she didn’t scream. Damn, this woman was hardy and sexy as hell.

  Life with Eve. What an amazing thought. It wouldn’t be simple or boring. No. She was a warrior. She’d saved Liam. She’d found Jenny and protected her until help arrived. Eve was capable and strong. If Dane forced her to retreat to an office or their home, he’d lose the woman she’d become. And she was amazing. Besides, forcing Eve to do anything lately was impossible. He’d have to improve his negotiations skills if he wanted a future with her.

  Her free hand slid down his chest and held onto the front of his belt. The heat from his anger at Juan Carlos rushed in a different direction. She certainly knew how to make him crazy. Would her presence screw up the rest of the mission? Hell no. She’d saved the mission so far. If he had to choose one partner, Eve would be his only choice. Side by side, they could keep arms from the worst factions in South America, Mexico, and the United States. Side by side, they could keep each other sane in an insane world.

  …

  This had to be the longest day Eve had ever lived through. They’d finally arrived at a field at the bottom of a mountain. The Blackhawk helicopter was waiting for them with Jenny, Simon, and the team standing nearby, loading the remains of their base camp.

  Dane stopped the motorcycle next to Simon, and Eve hopped off. “I need a team to hunt down Juan Carlos and Federico.”

  “Federico?” Simon handed one of the supply boxes to Toby, and then turned back to Dane.

  “I have no idea how they’re connected, but they’re in each other’s pocket somehow. They must have done business in the past and then exchanged enough information to link Eve or myself with Jenny.”

  “I’ll go.” Liam strode over, his camo was covered in dirt, and his face had some interesting black and blue marks under his eyes and one on his chin. “I owe you.”

  Dane shook his head and pointed at Eve. “You owe her.”

  He nodded and placed an arm over Eve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you. I wouldn’t have a frontal lobe if you hadn’t been there.”

  She smiled at her newfound friend. Liam didn’t seem to trust people, so his acceptance of her was all the sweeter. “Let’s hope it never gets to be such a close call again.”

  “Exactly.” He released her and picked up an assault rifle. “I’m ready to go. Anyone else wanna play?”

  Toby grabbed a rifle and followed Liam to the Hummer. Dane, still on the motorcycle, led them down the mountain. For once Eve was headed to safety, and Dane was going back into the fight, and she wasn’t complaining. Her exhaustion would not help the mission, and she could help out Jenny. She said a quick prayer for Dane’s safety and walked to Jenny’s side.

  The sun was gone, and darkness had overtaken the area. Completely isolated, the vacant fields stood alone with only a few farmhouses in the distance.

  Simon took control of the rest of the team. They’d fly directly to Bogotá, and he and Eve would catch a flight back to England. Dane wanted Jenny to go England, too, but she preferred to remain in South America to help some of the orphans that had been displaced. Her expression carried the sorrow for her children. The bruises had to extend deep into her soul.

  Simon called out more instructions, sent Jenny into the helicopter to strap in, and then called more warnings to Joe, Mitch, and Eve, as though she was part of the team. Finally. His lectures didn’t shoot fear through her as they should have. Instead, they spiked her adrenaline and filled her veins with anticipation.

  In the distance, another helicopter flew straight toward them. It looked larger than the Backhawk with two rotors, designed for large amounts of cargo. The Columbian military?

  “Shit. Federico’s here,” Simon called out to Derek.

  Federico? How did Simon know?

  The incoming helicopter’s side door opened and men started firing. Between the loud drumming of the rotors and the lights and the men yelling back and forth to each other, the entire scene devolved into a battle zone.

  She glanced at Simon. He was reaching into his jacket for his gun. Her breath hitched, and she scanned every direction she could trying to see what was going on. Dirt flew up into dusty clouds and blocked her vision. Too much sensory overload. She pulled out the Ruger and crouched near some of the crates waiting to be loaded.

  Men jumped out of the cargo door of the attacking helicopter as soon as the landing gear touched the ground. They swarmed the area.

  Eve remained where she was. Mitch headed toward the chaos. He swerved right and left while shooting at Federico’s men. When Eve tried to step forward, something held her in place. She fought to pull away, and when she turned around, Federico had a firm grip on her arm. Her throat tightened. She called out to Simon, but he probably didn’t hear her through the noise of the helicopters. His hold tightened, and he wrapped one arm around her waist, facing her away from him.

  His hold on her gave her zero control of her weapon. She tried to kick back and take him down, but he moved quickly and forcefully and then he rammed her gun hand into the crate next to them. Pain exploded as bones must have broken on impact. She tried to keep hold of the gun, but he slammed her hand again until it fell from her grip. It was like being in the middle of an action movie, only the action was real, and so was the fear and pain.

  Federico yanked her toward his helicopter. The more she fought, the firmer his grip became. He struck his fist into the side of her face, and she fell hard against the edge of the helicopter.

  Pain shot through her skull. She reached up to touch her cheek, tears blurring her vision. He’d knelt down in front of her, probably getting her gun. Juan Carlos stuck his face out of the helicopter and yelled orders at Federico to leave. She tried to escape, but stumbled. When she’d righted herself, she ducked under Federico’s swinging arm and fled. Simon started shooting as soon as she’d moved away from his target.

  She sank to the ground for a minute to get her bearings. Mitch, and Simon rushed Federico’s helicopter, and were shooting at every man inside. Everything was slowing down. She could hear the noise, but it felt muffled inside her head
as though she had a glass bowl surrounding her.

  She remained crouched low, unarmed and shaking from the shock. Simon continued shooting. He motioned for Eve to get to his helicopter. A goal. Get to the helicopter without getting shot. She stayed low to avoid detection by anyone who wanted to take her out. The sound of gunshots was overwhelmed by the intensifying roar of the propellers.

  Run. Just run.

  She fled past Simon and Mitch. The other helicopter lifted off, the door still open, men still shooting.

  She sprinted, completely focused on getting inside. Something punched her shoulder as she fell into the helicopter. It didn’t matter. She’d made it. Jenny was strapped into a seat with Ethan, the flight surgeon, at her side, armed and protective. Complete exhaustion took over, and her breathing became strained, and her body felt limp.

  Simon entered the helicopter carrying an unconscious Mitch. His face was bloody and misshapen. Eve stared at the reason Mitch looked funny. His eye and part of his forehead were missing. Blood streamed everywhere, and she could do nothing but stare at the carnage. The bloody images of the two rebel fighters she’d killed weeks ago came rushing back to her. So much had changed in her life since then, so much violence she’d never be able to erase from her memory. The images of the blood and pain overtook her. She turned to the side and vomited.

  “Strap in. We’re going to be taking this at top speed,” Simon yelled over the roar of the chopper blades.

  Several hands pulled the belts around her and secured them over her shoulders and around her waist. Her body began shaking again—from the shock, the bitter cold, the abrupt take off.

  More gruesome thoughts flooded her mind and revved up her energy. She could now see everything in vivid color; every sound echoed through her. Mitch was lying across the floor. So much blood. She could sense his pain, hear his cries. Her body screamed out from a pain that burned and singed her insides.

  Simon stared at her with a weird look, as though she were the one screaming on the floor. She tried to lift her hand to give him a thumbs up, but her arm wouldn’t move. She glanced down and saw a trickle of blood emerging from her coat sleeve and moving down her thumb. The blood picked up into a mini river. The pain increased. Her shoulder, her back, her chest. Everything hurt. Simon’s face blurred until she only saw outlines of light. Then the pain melted away, the outlines faded, and the sounds diminished into a steady hum that tickled her ear. Dead on her first assignment, just her luck. All she could think about was how pissed Dane would be at Simon. And at himself for not being there to say good-bye.

  …

  Federico, the double-crossing son of a bitch, would wish his parents had never spent a drunken night together in a filthy alley when Simon found him. And he would find him. He’d shot Mitch, one of his best men, and added a burst of holes in the side of Simon’s chopper. Simon sat on one of the benches and tried to catch his breath. Mitch, looked like death, with half his skull missing. An injury that, if it didn’t kill him within the hour, would take months and years of pain and rehabilitation.

  Lucky for him, Ethan was a surgeon who had served for the British Army in Afghanistan and Iraq. He dealt with his PTSD through full immersion in a battle environment. He’d never make it back in the sterile environment of a posh London hospital. He’d gone into battle mode as soon as Mitch was loaded. He called out commands and grabbed his medical gear with a focused calm that would be Mitch’s best shot at survival.

  Although it seemed like part of his face was gone, Mitch could make it. Simon had observed miracles in the past and never gave anyone up for dead until they were, indeed, dead.

  “We need to get to the closest hospital that won’t arrest us,” Ethan yelled into his microphone.

  “Any suggestions?” Simon called back.

  “Best chance for this kind of trauma is Quito.”

  “Fine. Did you hear that Derek?” he asked the pilot.

  “That’s forty minutes.”

  Would he be able to survive? “Anything closer?”

  “Nothing with sufficient medical facilities,” Ethan responded.

  Derek yelled back, “I’ll make the arrangements.”

  Eve coughed from across the aisle. Tough first assignment for her. If she could survive a scare like this, she’d be fine in the future. Dane wouldn’t be pleased that she’d been so close to violence again. He’d have to get used to it. This was life from now on. She was shaking, as expected, and a huge black mark was forming on the right side of her face near her ear. Federico had fought with her and may have punched her. One more reason the prick should suffer and then die. Her reactions were impressive. No screaming, no tears, no falling apart. She’d made it to the helicopter in one piece.

  As the helicopter banked to the right, Eve’s body slumped. Something was wrong. He tried to see any indication of harm to her besides the black and blue mark on her cheek. A drop of red covered her thumb. Blood. More and more blood dripped out of her sleeve. What the hell? He unbuckled his restraints and ran across to her. She smiled at him with an eerie calm, her body continued to shake, and she passed out.

  “Ethan,” Simon hollered over the muffled sound of the helicopter penetrating their earphones. “Check Eve. She’s bleeding and unconscious.”

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Ethan went to Eve’s side, and Simon arrived with a knife. They pulled her out of the restraints, lifted another stretcher off the wall and placed her on the ground. The knife quickly removed the clothes. Blood leeched out of her vest. They worked together to strip her down. A bullet had entered her back at her shoulder, but was prevented from exiting because it hit the vest from the inside. It was her right side, away from the heart, but bleeding like hell.

  If her brachial artery was hit, forty minutes wouldn’t be enough time.

  …

  Dane, Liam, and Toby raced farther down the hill, but they didn’t see anything. The farther down the mountain they went, the less of a chance they’d have to catch up with Federico and Juan Carlos.

  After about twenty miles, he pulled over to talk with Liam. “We may need to hit these assholes on another day. I’m not sure we can catch them.”

  His second in command shook his head. “Five more miles. Just to be sure.”

  Dane nodded, and they started forward again.

  Something, however, blocked their way down the mountain.

  Slowing the engine, Toby coasted to about fifty yards from where a Red Hawk fighter stood near a flat tire on his truck. He held a rifle, his finger in the trigger, and moved behind the truck for protection. The truck was headed up the mountain. Did he drop Juan Carlos off somewhere nearby?

  “Put your gun down,” Dane called out in Spanish.

  “You are too late. He is gone. He may never return.”

  “Where did he go?”

  “Would it make a difference?”

  “Absolutely.” Dane needed his exact location to make sure he never harmed his family again.

  “You should care more about your own family than about him and his cousin Federico.”

  Cousin? Federico’s connection to Juan Carlos now made sense. He had a heavy hitter at his disposal. Which was why the FARC and the government tended to leave him alone. And why they both had to die.

  “Too many Red Hawks died today. It is your turn,” the fighter called out to him. He aimed his gun toward Dane, but Dane fired first—a direct hit in the chest. He didn’t stand a chance.

  Toby ran to check on him. “Nice shot.”

  Dane walked over to the dead fighter’s side and kicked the rifle out of his limp hand. “We need to find out where they went.”

  Toby holstered his weapon. “I could really use a margarita, extra salt, extra tequila.”

  “I could use a shot of something a bit less fruity,” Liam said. “Good aim, boss.”

  The roar of a helicopter blocked his reply. Must be Simon. As it flew directly overhead, Dane’s heart hammered his ribs. That was not Simon’s Blackhawk.
>
  “Get back in the Hummer. This is coming from our base.”

  By the time they’d arrived in the field near their camp, the Blackhawk had already left. There was blood on the ground in one area and several of Simon’s supply boxes remained in the field. Simon would never leave anything behind unless he had to.

  The unknown would break Dane’s resolve. He needed information, and he needed it an hour ago.

  He hopped into the back of the Hummer, and they raced down the mountain to meet up with the rest of their team. He couldn’t reach Eve or Simon, but he had a message from Cassie. She answered her phone with a hint of anxiety.

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Emotions fought his control, but he held them at bay until he understood what was happening.

  “Where are you?” The normally balanced Cassie spoke with an edge.

  “I’m on the ground with part of the team. What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Eve. She was shot.”

  She was shot? Shot? His heart, filled with more love than he’d ever imagined it could hold, throbbed with a pain that nearly knocked him out.

  He tried to listen to Cassie over the heavy pounding in his ears. “Where is she?”

  “Quito. The Hospital Metropolitano de Ecudor. Simon’s with her,” she said with a breathless whimper. “I’m sorry, Dane. She’s in bad shape. Real bad.”

  Bad? Not his Eve. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t die alone. She needed him. He was her family. He needed her. Committed forever. How long was forever? It had to be longer than this.

  “Text me everything I need to know. I’m heading to the closest airport.” He took the address of the hospital from Cassie and then paused. “Are you still on the line?” He couldn’t say Cassie’s name in front of the men, but needed for her to be safe, too.

  “I’m here.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. It was a false alarm. I need to rest, but Junior is fine.”

  “Good. Okay. I’ve got to go.”

  “Take care of everyone.”

  After they hung up, Dane made flight arrangements completely on autopilot. Eve would be okay. She had to be, or he’d kill Juan Carlos and every last Red Hawk.