from back home. He and five others from Rush Springs, Texas, had been on the football team that captured the state championship. They called themselves the Sidewinders, striking like a rattler and beating more powerful teams. All six of them had a sidewinder tattooed around their right biceps. And during those four years, they were like football gods to their small Texas town in the panhandle.
Shortly after graduation, they all went into the military. And it didn’t surprise Travis that all six of them went into black ops. He grinned a little, thinking about Duke Carmichael, one of the Sidewinders. If he’d gotten this plate of hot potatoes, his good friend, who was a combat controller in the Air Force, would probably die laughing. Of course, Duke had been a real favorite among the girls at the high school, and he had a hell of a reputation for bedding as many as he could. Given that a woman was involved in this op, Duke would leap at the chance to rescue her.
Only problem was, he’d seen Duke at Bagram when he was finishing up an assignment with another SEAL team. Duke had been shot in the thigh and was headed for Germany on a C-5 to get patched up. His friend would be out of commission for a while, but knowing Duke, who was not one to sit around, he’d find a way to stir up trouble.
Travis missed the other Sidewinders. They did stay in touch, occasionally crossing one another’s paths in the black ops world. When they did, a cold beer at a bar was the standard celebration, filling in the blanks of what was going on in their lives. The last he’d heard from Duke was that he was bored out of his skull while healing up stateside.
Travis put the happy thoughts away and began to gather all his equipment and store it in the sixty-five-pound ruck he’d wear on his back. Normally, he was a very patient person, which was part of the sniper personality, but he wasn’t going to leave this hide until he was sure that group of riders would pass his way. He’d worked too hard, for nearly a week, finding this spot and creating a place where he’d not be detected.
If the group continued to come in his direction, he was most likely going to have to leave his hide, move lower on the slope and hope like hell he’d intersect them. If that group rode a mile away from him, he wouldn’t be able to stop them. And she’d be plunged into a void more terrifying than any nightmare. Damned stubborn woman.
He’d grown up on a West Texas ranch and knew all about Texas fillies who were unlike most other women. This Madison gal was a horsewoman. And she obviously didn’t follow orders, traipsing off on her own. That was good and bad news. If he got a shot at the Taliban riders, he’d have to hope she’d keep her head about her. He had to take the enemy down in swift succession. What he didn’t need was some wimpy woman who couldn’t think coolly in a crisis. All the Texas women he’d known growing up were solid and not given to hysteria when the chips were down.
Travis scowled. At twenty-seven, he’d been married and divorced. Thank God, no kids came out of it. And his job as a SEAL had definitely put his marriage in the hurt locker. Marrying Isabella Winborne had been a lifelong dream for Travis. They’d grown up in Rush Springs and had been high school sweethearts. Travis had stupidly made the mistake of promising Isabella he’d marry her. He’d joined the SEALs at eighteen, and he’d waited until twenty-one to make good on that promise.
Isabella came from a very rich Texas family and her parents didn’t want her marrying him because he came from a middle-class Texas ranching family. But like any Texas woman, Isabella was headstrong and fought her family. Snorting softly, Travis remembered their divorce when he was twenty-four. It was messy. There’d been a lot of hard feelings in Rush Springs. His parents had had to deal with the fallout. Travis had been overseas and missed it. Until he’d gone home.
Yeah, he knew about strong-willed Texas women, for damn sure. Pulling out his Sig Sauer 9 mm pistol, he put a bullet in the chamber. His mind lingered on that bad patch in his life. He’d loved Isabella, but his life as a SEAL had interfered and the marriage had dissolved over time like a ticking time bomb. Isabella wasn’t prepared for the months he’d be away. There was a ninety-percent divorce rate among the SEALs and she’d been a casualty of it, and so had he. Travis swore that, from that moment on, he was not going to fall in love again. At least, not while in the SEALs.
Now it appeared he’d gotten entangled with another headstrong Texas woman: Madison Duncan. He felt bad for her because he knew this particular enemy hated American women on a par with American men. She would not be treated well and that ate at him. Rape came to mind and he tried to ignore the possibility. They could beat her to death, as well. He hoped she had strong Texas genes because she would need them to survive this. If she survived it at all.
Travis could imagine that SEAL HQ at Bagram was going nuts at this point since Madison’s rescue had fallen on their shoulders. Yeah, they were black ops, but he wondered about the political fallout on this escapade. If the SEALs didn’t get this done right, their name would be tarnished in the American press and the world. Not something that the admiral running the SEALs wanted, Travis was sure. And everything was landing on his shoulders. With the lack of intel, he had to rely on her being from Texas and assume she’d be tough enough to deal with the situation.
His mind skipped like a rock over a pond’s surface. He knew the cave system in this area like the back of his own hand. He’d spent three deployments here along the border. That was the good news. There were some caves and systems he knew intimately. The Taliban favored certain caves, but he’d done his homework over the years, finding others where he could hide and not be discovered. Those caves were around and they’d most likely take advantage of them. If he could rescue her. If she lived. If she wasn’t injured. If she was ambulatory. Pushing his fingers through his longish black hair, his eyes narrowing, Travis knew he needed some luck. Would he get it?
* * *
Madison didn’t know how long she’d been on the trotting horse. Blinded by the hood, her arms and shoulders now numb, she tried to remain on board the animal. There was never any talking among her kidnappers. They just relentlessly pushed their horses. She could smell the sweat on her own horse. It was stumbling regularly, which meant it was tired and needed to rest. She had tried to push the rag out of her mouth, but couldn’t. Dying of thirst, her face swollen and her nose still leaking blood every now and again, she felt bruised everywhere.
Anguished, Madison knew she’d screwed up royally. She should have listened to the Marine captain. Why, oh why, did she let her curiosity get the best of her? She’d been so excited about seeing Afghan horses. She worried about her mother and father. By now, they probably knew she’d been captured. God, she was causing them so much worry and grief. Wanting to be a good representative of the United States, Madison had jumped into this with both feet. Her father felt she could do it. Her mother, Tess, a large-animal vet, had doubts. She worried about Madison being in a country at war.
Misery overwhelmed her. She had no idea what was going to happen to her. Her father always called her a “risk taker.” Yeah, she was, but this time, she’d gone too far.
The horses slowed. Finally, they stopped. Relief flooded her body. Her legs were raw and she could feel her ankles were numb where they’d tied her. The rope was beneath the belly of the horse, and if she fell off, she’d be killed by the horse’s back hooves striking her body and head.
She heard men’s voices speaking in a language she thought was Pashto. Someone untied one ankle. She was yanked roughly off the horse. Madison was allowed to fall to the ground. Her legs collapsed beneath her. Her head struck the ground, dazing her. She was yanked upright, the hood torn off. Blinking, her hair a tangled and unruly mess around her face, she realized it was still night. A man leaned over and untied her mouth. She spat out the rag.
Her arms were numb. She’d felt blood earlier, warm and leaking down her long fingers. Now she felt nothing. Her shoulders ached and burned as she watched her captors lead the horses over to a small pool of
