a tall, thin, mud-caked man appeared above the edge. His face was streaked with tear tracks as he scrabbled out and clung to Clay, sobbing.
Clay finally had to force him to let go and relinquish the rope. What kind of coward didn’t let a woman go first?
Disgusted, Clay tossed the rope back down into the well. “Now you, ma’am.”
Within a minute the rope tugged and Clay easily lifted the rope until a heart-shaped face appeared above the rim. Her long dark curls were a mass of tangles and her large, dark brown eyes seemed to gaze at him in disbelief. Her wide mouth trembled, though he could see she was trying to keep her lips clamped tightly together. As he pulled her up and over the edge, she landed on her feet, but her knees buckled beneath her. He caught her around the waist and she clung to his shoulders. “Sorry. I...”
“No worries. We’ll have you home safe in no time.”
“What about Mr. Van Hort—”
Shots fired to Clay’s right and he dropped to the dirt, taking the woman with him and covering her. The man screamed and sobbed louder, cowering next to him.
“Stay here, stay down.” A spray of bullets fired as Clay grabbed his M-4 and peeked over the well wall.
In his ear, L.T. was barking orders. “Q.R. coming in at one click to the south. Secure the targets and get out.”
Damn. Quick response. The kidnappers weren’t going to make this easy.
“Chipper’s down!” Doughboy yelled into his earbud.
Shorty came hightailing it into the clearing, shooting behind him. His left arm was bleeding. Clay covered him, firing multiple rounds in the direction of the flying bullets.
As Shorty slid behind the well wall, the male hostage clutched at him. “You gotta get me out of here!”
The woman crawled over and put her arm around the guy, murmuring soothing words into his ear. Clay had to admit he wasn’t sure he could’ve stayed that calm in her place.
L.T. barked more orders as all hell broke loose. “Our position’s compromised. Go to secondary extract!”
Clay signaled to Shorty that he would lay cover while Shorty got the two hostages out. Clay was going back for Doughboy and Chipper.
Rising from his crouch, he laid down fire while Shorty grabbed the two hostages and ran for L.T.’s position. But the woman stumbled—or the male hostage shoved her as he clung to Shorty, and the fire was too heavy for Shorty to go back for her. Calling out every curse word he knew, Clay raced over and covered her with his body while firing into the foliage.
“I’ve got Chipper. Headed for secondary extract,” Doughboy called through Clay’s earbud.
One less thing to worry about. Clay scooped up the female around the waist and ran toward the exit route, but the kidnappers’ truck came barreling through the brush straight for them. Taking a sharp left, Clay darted into dense undergrowth, heading for the fallback exit he’d scoped out last night. He pulled a flash-bang from his belt and pitched it behind them. Hopefully, that would slow their pursuers down.
Heedless of near impenetrable vines and shrubs, he fought through the jungle growth to put as much distance between them and the abductors as he could manage.
Gunshots popped in the distance, the sound of the trucks’ engine grew fainter. The woman was keeping up on her own, so he dropped his arm and grabbed her hand instead, slowing a bit. “Follow me and stay close.” From the corner of his eye he saw her nod.
Hoping the pace wasn’t too much for her, he trudged farther and farther into thickening vegetation, using his M-4 to hack plants out of the way. By the time he determined gunshots had stopped and no one was following them, he was puffing out deep breaths and his camo was soaked with sweat.
He came to a halt and crouched down, and the woman crouched with him. Wiping his face on his sleeve, he tried to assess the situation. They were cut off from the rest of the team. No way they would make it to the secondary extract. Not in time. Before his team got too far out of range, he radioed L.T., confirmed their position and instructed him to send a helo to the emergency extract.
The petite woman was staring at him expectantly, but not questioning him. Her faith in his ability to get her out seemed solid. He just hoped he could prove her right.
Because they were going to have to spend the night in this jungle.
A SEARING PAIN burned across Gabby’s back. She hadn’t noticed it until this moment. The adrenaline that had seen her through the escape had vanished. But she was alive.
“We need to keep moving.” Her rescuer straightened and extended a hand to help her up.
But Gabby couldn’t move. She sank to her hands and knees on the wet jungle floor, shaking uncontrollably. She was paralyzed. Not with fear, or even shock. It was just...overwhelming emotion. She was alive! She was out of that disgusting hole. She was going home!
But... Mr. V. She hadn’t seen him since the kidnappers had dropped her and James into that well. What if he was dead? All her bravado collapsed and she burst into tears. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop crying.
Vaguely she heard her rescuer curse and she tried to stifle the sobs. “I’m sorry.”
“No, ma’am, don’t you apologize.” For the first time, she noticed his heavy Southern drawl. Maybe Georgia or South Carolina? But not Texas. Her own Texan twang had been remarked upon by her Northern coworkers, but this man’s accent had a softer, slower cadence. Thinking about something trivial like that helped stifle her embarrassing outburst. She sniffed and before she could wipe her nose on her sleeve, he placed a large, thick green camo bandanna in her hand.
“Thank you.” She cleaned her face with the bandanna, inhaling the clean, crisp laundry scent. She breathed it in and felt calmer.
The hulking soldier snapped off his helmet and crouched beside her. “Hey.” He cupped her shoulder. “You’re doing good. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”
His eyes. They were a soft brown, so full of reassurance and concern, so incongruous with the frightening dark-green-and-black face paint and the grim set of his mouth.
“What about Mr. Van Horton? And James?” James’s terror had never subsided. Inside the well it had gotten worse. Gabby had tried to comfort him as best she could, but he’d grown steadily less stable as the hours passed. “They’re going to make it home, too, right?”
He nodded. “Mr. Pender is on his way to the American embassy.”
“And Mr. V?”
The soldier hesitated.
Oh no. Gabby could feel her eyes sting with more tears. Mr. V was dead? She’d never known anyone who’d been murdered before. She’d tried to nurse him as best she could, asking their captors for water and medicine for his fever, but Mr. V had never regained consciousness.
“Can you get up?” The soldier slid a strong arm around her waist
