would be dead if Senator Graham hadn’t tipped you off to what was going on with that last mission. I still don’t know how you managed to send in that helicopter, I’m just grateful you did. But that part of my life is over now.” And there was nothing on the face of this earth that would make him accept that kind of responsibility again. Except…
Take care of Cassidy. With what was probably one of his last breaths, Micah had asked him to watch over his sister.
Gabe’s mind flashed. Men scrambling for safety and screaming at him to help. Machine guns popping, the explosion and raging fire.
Death.
And that gun in his ear. Three, two, one. Then the ominous click.
He sucked in a deep breath and forced his thoughts away from those memories. He had yet to face them and get over the guilt of being the only one to survive. Memories had remained buried and questions had gone unanswered for two years. Gabe figured he could go at least another two.
Now this man was asking him to come face-to-face with the demons of his past. For Cassidy. A spoiled little rich girl. He turned from the window to stare at Jonathan. “I know you have enemies, people who would lose big if you and the president succeed in passing certain human-trafficking laws, and it’s possible that’s why they took Cassidy. I know I owe you, but I can’t just leave…” He trailed off weakly, knowing he might as well give up. He was going.
Take care of Cassidy.
“You are the only one who can do this. You know this jungle and you know it well. I don’t have the time to set anything else up. And you can leave. I’ve already checked. You have six weeks of vacation built up. I’ve had all your patients reassigned. So, in fact, you can leave today.”
The ambassador handed him a piece of paper with a name on it. “This guy is your ride in. He’ll have your parachute and rebel identification and the name of your contact. After that, he’s gone and you’re on your own. There’s no team, no backup. Only a supply plane that will land once a week, every Monday, at five in the afternoon, Brazil time, on the little airstrip in the village of La Joya. The pilot is a friend of mine. He’ll wait for two hours each time he lands for the next six weeks. Here’s a map, the name of my contact in Brazil and the approximate location of this rebel camp. Figure out how to infiltrate it and get the job done.”
If it had been anyone else, Gabe might have simply walked away. But this was his father’s best friend, a man who had the president’s ear, a man who was welcome in elite political circles—and the man whose son had died on Gabe’s watch.
He owed it to Micah.
And to Cassidy. She might be a spoiled rich girl, but he’d never been able to forget her.
With a sigh and a disgusted mutter, he took the papers. Responsibility for another human being’s life in the jungle was the last thing he wanted. Emergency-room responsibility didn’t bother him. The E.R. was stable and sane compared to the jungle. The jungle would kill him, if not physically, then emotionally.
Now, a week later, the deadline looming, Gabe’s muscles flexed each time he hacked at the dense growth as he headed for the rebel camp, wondering if he could fully trust the guide ahead of him. With each swing of the machete, he pushed the nightmarish memories down deep inside.
Gabe’s cover fully established him as Miguel Sanchez, rebel for hire. With his raven-colored wavy hair, black eyes and dark skin, he looked the part. The scar slicing through his right eyebrow added to his menacing appearance. No one had to know he’d gotten the scar when he’d been showing off at his parents’ house and cracked his head on the diving board.
He ignored the sweat dripping off his face and sliced another thick vine. He’d stopped praying two years ago after the mission with Micah went terribly wrong, but as the camp finally came into sight, he decided today might be a good day to start up again.
TWO
March 19
Cassidy used the rock to scratch another tally mark into the wall of her hut. At the end of each day, she added another mark.
Seventeen miserable days.
What was her father doing? Her mother was probably in need of a straitjacket by now. Cassidy paced and kicked the dirt floor. What was taking so long? Why hadn’t she been rescued, ransomed or killed? Or, she shuddered, sold?
That last thought scared her more than the idea of being killed. In fact, she was sure she would much prefer a bullet to the brain. Working with her father in the political arena had exposed her to a twisted evil she’d never suspected existed. Since she’d started the Stop the Traffic Foundation, human trafficking in Brazil had taken a beating. Unfortunately, a fatal blow never seemed to land.
The men who’d snatched her had told her only that her father had been contacted, but said nothing about what they wanted. The constant tension had her ready to scream. She’d lost weight and had to tighten the knot in the rope that she now used as a belt. Her jeans sagged, and her T-shirt had definitely seen better days. Washing in the creek every other day just didn’t quite measure up to her normal hygiene habits.
Cassidy groaned and knelt on the dirt floor. What were they waiting for? And now, she had another worry plaguing her. Sometimes she had to go to extreme measures to avoid Rafael. Almost every time she stepped out of the hut, she felt his leering gaze follow her, making her skin crawl.
The days blended together in an endless fashion. Recently, Cassidy had caught a glimpse of the newest rebel to join the camp. Three days ago he had marched into the camp and his eyes had caught hers for a brief moment before he turned away without expression. She knew this man. She didn’t know where or how, but she knew him. It would come to her later.
Right now, exhaustion threatened to snap her sanity…and it was getting dark. Fear snaked up her spine to twine itself around the base of her neck. She hated the nights and the suffocating terror.
She would lay rigidly still deep into the night listening to the old woman snore, reassuring herself that as long as she was there, nothing would happen to her. It was probably a lie, but she drew comfort from it anyway. And she prayed, over and over the scripture from Psalm 91, Do not be afraid of the terrors of the night.
Cassidy sighed and rubbed her burning eyes with shaky hands. Eventually, exhaustion overtook her and she drifted off.
Hard fingers dug grooves into her cheeks and she opened her eyes to see the newcomer she’d just been thinking about staring down at her, his black eyes even darker in the shadows of the cabin. Terror exploded her into consciousness and she froze.
He brought a finger to his lips and whispered, “Shh.”
Cassidy managed a slight nod against the hand still clamped over her mouth. What was he doing?
And then she was free. She scrambled away from him and bumped into a warm body. She cut off a scream.
Maria! Had he killed her? Cassidy struggled to her feet, and backed up, her eyes never leaving the man’s face. He said, “I’m here to get you out of here, you understand? Maria is busy with the outhouse, but that won’t last long. Rafael there was about to pay you a rather unpleasant visit. He should be out for a while, but we need to get moving, now, okay?” His low voice eased her fear somewhat. He was here to rescue her? But…her brain felt too fuzzy to take it all in. Who was he?
