Nightshade (Discarded Heroes), page 27
part #1 of Discarded Heroes Series
She stirred—and Midas lunged, clapping a hand over her mouth as he whispered to her in Tagalog.
Max held his hand over the bulb of his flashlight and twisted it on. Gently, he patted the man’s shoulder, hoping to wake him quietly.
The man’s eyes fluttered—then snapped open. Wide. Frightened.
Finger pressed against his lips, Max gave the man the universal shh signal. After the man nodded his understanding, Max flicked off the flashlight. “Wake your wife. It’s time to go.” With only a minute thirty left on the clock, they didn’t have time to explain.
Fix joined them, a dull green glow emanating from his weapon’s sight. He removed a pack strapped to his back and slid out a needle.
“Wh-what’s going—”
The man hushed his wife, watching protectively as Fix massaged the baby’s thigh then slid the needle into her chubby leg. Amazingly, she only grimaced and whimpered before falling right back to sleep.
The wife and husband stuffed their shoes on and gathered their baby and a bag. Max shifted and keyed his mic. “Ghost One, we have the package. Is it clear?” Hand on the door, Max waited.
Crackling shot through the ear mic. “Oh cr—”
Boom!
Max twisted and dove toward the couple. He pinned them to the ground, listening as the percussion of an explosion rippled through the small camp. Rustling and popping drew his attention upward. Red glowed back at him, red twinkled through the straw roof. Fire!
Max grabbed the woman’s wrist and pulled her toward him, knowing he’d need to guide her out. “Ghost One, are we clear?”
“Roger! Go!”
With her tucked under his arm, he bolted into the open, spraying bullets as fire shattered the dark void of night. Cordite stung his nostrils as he sprinted toward the tree line. Bamboo exploded off the huts, peppering his hand and cheek.
“Ghost One and Two, we need cover!” Max shouted.
He covered the woman’s head, hustling her through the camp and to the safe point in the trees. They were nearly to the outer layer when she tripped and fell. She yelped. Max hauled her to her feet and propelled her forward.
“Run and don’t stop,” he ordered, spinning and firing shots as the camp came alive with Higanti warriors.
CHAPTER 21
Animated shouts burst out, followed by horn blasts. Sydney snapped out of the daze that had clogged every pore of her body since she’d boarded the plane that had ferried them onto Mindanao before they were dumped at Malaybalay, the capital city. Scurrying to catch up with Lane and Holden, who’d already reached the curb, wasn’t going to work. She had no scurry left. No energy. If Holden hadn’t been so emphatic about this trip, she’d probably be halfway across the Atlantic by now. But no. She was in a noisy, bustling city that had more smells than people to aggravate her sensitive constitution.
As she stepped up on the curb, Holden caught her elbow. He guided her to the right, down a narrow sidewalk—well, if you could call it that. With pedicabs and bicycles pedaling toward her, she wondered if it was just a really small road.
“As soon as we check in at the hotel, go up and rest. I’m going to track down my contact and see what she knows.”
“She?” Sydney looked at him.
He winked. “You’d be surprised what information women can pick up because they aren’t considered a threat. Anyway, you rest, I’ll contact them, and I’ll put Lane on the trail of a guide.”
“Shouldn’t I come?” she asked as he tucked an arm around her waist and nudged her through a small glass and brass door. “This is my story.”
A dozen feet and a burgundy, hand-woven, wool Oriental rug separated them from the check-in desk. Holden turned toward her and bent closer. “Sydney, you have to trust me. I’m not going to steal this from you. It is your story, but what good does that do you if you’re about to drop from exhaustion?” Concern pinched the weathered lines around Holden’s brow.
For a moment she thought she saw a flicker of something more than professional respect glimmer through his hazel eyes. Shoving aside the thought, she fought back another yawn.
“I’ll get the room keys and—”
“I’m tired, yes, but I’ll be fine.” Bristling, wanting very much to be as good and strong a go-getter as him, she straightened. “No.” Lane joined the conversation. “I agree. You look rough.”
“Excuse me?”
A warm hand cupped her face. “Sydney, trust me.” Nervous jitters skated through her at the intimacy in Holden’s touch and the unexpected affection in his tone. So she hadn’t imagined it. Where had this come from? Maybe she’d harbored a preteen crush on the CougarNews celebrity, but the only man she wanted touching her like that wasn’t here.
“Fine.” Using the ruse of switching her bag to her other arm, she stepped away. “I’ll rest. But I’m setting my alarm for two hours. If you guys aren’t back, I’ll come looking for you.” Not likely, but it sounded good and feisty—even if she felt anything but.
Holden’s expression darkened. “Don’t make good on that promise, Sydney.” He tugged out his wallet and handed her a business card. “If we’re not back, you lock yourself in that room and call my office. Tell them you need help immediately.” He stomped to the desk, leaving her with Lane.
“He’s a bit rough around the edges,” Lane said as he stepped toward her. “But he’s right. It’s crazy what could happen out here. They say Mindanao is the new mecca of the terrorist world. So really, Sydney, just stay in the room until we’re all together again.”
His words wrapped a tight vise around her chest, reminding her of the extreme danger they were facing. How could she forget? The visit with Raisa, the FBI at the airstrip—anything could happen here in the mecca of the terrorist world. Maybe the exhaustion had melted her brain cells.
A moment later Holden returned and handed her a pass card. “We have one room. You can have the bed, Lane and I—”
“I’m not sharing a room with two men, neither of whom are my husband.” Sydney nudged the card back to him.
“You’re divorced,” Lane said.
She scowled. “Separated. I want my own room.”
“It’ll attract less attention, and it’s safer to stick together.”
Arms folded, Sydney held fast. This was her reputation, and she wasn’t going to leave any chance for something nasty to be said about her. Besides, it’d taken her a year to get used to sleeping with Max in the same room; she’d never get any rest with two men. “My own room.”
Holden clenched his teeth, booked another room, then returned with the new key. “Your room, Princess.”
Irked, she took it and spun toward the elevators. As she strolled around a support, an awareness laden with unease and fear dropped into her being. Once Lane pushed the up button, Sydney skimmed the foyer of the hotel. Several patrons mingled near the door. A young woman and her children waited in some of the overstuffed chairs to the right of the entrance. But it was the man wearing a keffiyah that clunked hot coals into her stomach. I’ve seen him ….
That was impossible.
No. It was entirely possible, especially with everything that had happened. If only she’d paid better attention, maybe she could figure out where she’d seen him.
The ding of the elevator yanked her around. She stepped into the box, and just as the doors glided shut, she darted a glance to the man—and their gazes collided. He gave a solemn nod. Molten lava spilled through her, leaving her stricken and sick. Instinctively, she pulled back.
With the ascent, she let out a nervous breath.
“What was that about?”
Her gaze pinged to Holden, who considered her suspiciously.
“I don’t know.”
“You recognized him.”
After a moment’s jitters, she gave a curt nod.
“Where from?”
“I don’t remember.”
“One of us should stay with her,” Lane offered.
“No.” Sydney brushed a knotted strand from her face. “If he wanted to harm me or one of you, he would’ve.”
“Yeah,” Holden said. “He didn’t harm you because you weren’t alone.”
She couldn’t argue. No guarantee existed of his not coming after her once Holden and Lane left.
“I’ll stay,” Lane said. “Once we get the details, we can trade—you can stay, and I’ll find the guide.”
“Not the most efficient use of time.” Holden checked his watch. “I’ll take care of it all. Our rooms have an adjoining door. We’ll unlock it, and you can check in on her while she’s sleeping.” When Sydney opened her mouth to object, Holden speared her with a dark look. “It’s not open to discussion. You can save all your propriety and embarrassment for another day. I’m not going to have something go wrong because you won’t trust me.”
“It’s not—” Sydney ground her teeth. “Forget it.”
After she let herself into the room and had slammed the door shut, she slapped the dead bolt into place then flipped the other lock. She might be exhausted, but she wasn’t a moron.
At the sound of their voices on the other side of the wall, she snatched her bag and stepped into the bathroom. The tub looked new—tiled and clean. The thought of warm, pelting water lured her into wanting a quick shower to relax for a better nap. Even if she couldn’t get the funk out of her mood, she’d wash it out of her hair and pores.
As she peeled out of her clothes, the marks drawn on her belly grabbed her attention. They’d never figured out what the symbol meant. Despite both Holden and Lane doing research on the flight there, they’d come up empty. Under the undulating water, she massaged her belly—and a strong kick rewarded her touch. She laughed and flattened her palm over the spot. Another kick thumped against her hand. Glorious! A second in time when life felt almost euphoric.
Relishing the moment, she ended the shower, ready for sleep. She pulled on the jeans, then reached for her shirt—and groaned. She’d grabbed the wrong one. Her favorite rock band’s logo gleamed back at her with a large gold heart, complete with main arteries against the black background. Would it even stretch over her belly? She threaded her arms through it and pried it over the bulge consuming her midsection. Amazingly, even with the tightness, the shirt seemed to give extra support to her expanding waistline. And hey—she even looked like the movie stars who preferred skin-tight shirts to announce their offspring.
A big yawn pushed her to the bed. Hair still wrapped in a towel, she dropped onto the mattress and stretched out, promising herself she’d dry her hair once her energy reserves recharged. Her mind flittered to the way Holden had suddenly revealed he had designs on her. She’d never seen that coming. He was a solid professional, an incredible reporter. Maybe he’d decided they had enough in common that he’d give romance a shot, too. What was it with men in her life?
The realization made her ache for Max once again. She’d give anything for their marriage to be whole, for them to be expecting their son together. She reached into her sack and drew out the necklace he’d given her then slipped it on. She curled onto her side, staring through the slightly parted curtains and a dingy window into the clear night.
With a big yawn, she closed her eyes and began a mental checklist of what she’d need to accomplish: find the men who were real-life heroes and applaud them in a blockbuster story. Raisa had said exposing them would jeopardize the men, but Sydney would ensure their names weren’t published. She’d even keep the meetings a secret and withhold identities. That’d be safe and wouldn’t interrupt their stealthy movement across the globe. Most important, of course, was to find someone who’d seen them here. She felt close. Yet a thousand miles away.
A lonely chill scampered across the back of her shoulders.
Insh’Allah. Going into backwater places, saving women and their children …
Thud! A child’s wails wafted on the warm breeze. Rustle of movement. The cries shuddered to a stop. Sydney struggled to understand—where had they come from? She squinted through the darkness. Was someone there? Behind the curtain that billowed in under the guidance of a sticky breeze?
Reality shifted. The bedspread became a stretch of partially crushed grass. She crawled on all fours over the field. Closer. A man stepped from the brush and towered over her.
She jerked back, plopping onto her bottom. As she stared up at him, a brilliant light blinded her. Shielding her face, she scrambled away.
A soft fluttering. Then something landed nearby. The light vanished.
Sydney jolted upright, her heart pounding. She blinked around the room. With a gasp, she dropped against the pillows and tried to swallow the pineapple-sized lump in her throat. “It was only a dream.” A nervous laugh trickled through her.
She looked out into the crystal night. So clear. So bright. No more—
She froze. The window was open! Adrenaline whizzing through her veins, she dragged her gaze, only her gaze, to the door that led to Lane and Holden’s room. It stood ajar.
A body sprawled across the threshold.
DAY TWENTY-SIX
Just think,” Jon said, his arm around Kimber as they trudged down the slope. “This time tomorrow, we should be home, or at least on a plane home.”
Kimber nodded and pressed her lips to Maecel’s white blond head, rubbing her hands over the hand-assembled carry pack the commandos had constructed.
Exhilaration coursed through him, making each step feel as if he floated, one step closer to soil he was just about ready to kiss. The men who’d rescued them wore no patches identifying their country, but they spoke English. With the paint rubbed over their faces, he doubted they’d be recognizable in a lineup.
Didn’t matter. He was just grateful they came when they did. Kimber didn’t seem as thrilled with the rescue, but her weakness from the fevers that had ravaged her body for the last several weeks probably stunted her excitement. In a matter of hours, however, they’d get her medical help, get her fixed up, and they could recuperate at home with their families.
He wasn’t sure they’d ever come back to Mindanao or to this small island. Oh sure, Kimber would insist, saying this jungle was where she belonged. And she did. She’d always seemed at home here, peaceful and content. Even now, hiking from a harrowing escape and toward the embrace of safety, her pace didn’t echo someone who … well, someone like him. She almost seemed to linger, as if she wanted to stay here. Even Maecel slept soundly—compliments, no doubt, of the hefty drug the medic had given her. Her smooth, repetitive snoring gave him reassurance that she, too, would be fine staying here with the screeching monkeys and thick air that left him almost gasping. If the commandos would let him, he’d bolt straight to the ocean and swim home.
Yeah, and maybe the fever was infecting him. The silly thought forced a smile to his face. Felt good to smile. Been too long.
He considered Kezia, who walked silently and without looking up or around. Was it too hard for her to see these men dressed like soldiers and ordering them about? Or was she just relieved to be free of the Higanti?
But were they really free?
Ahead of him, Kimber stumbled. Jon steadied her as she scrabbled over a small mound of rocks, two of the soldiers assisting on the other side. “Let me take Maecel,” Jon offered.
“No,” she bit out.
Jon paused, her hand still in his. He tightened his grip, wondering at her funny tone. The darkness stopped him from seeing her face or expression, but he was sure something was wrong. Once he cleared the hurdle, he sidled up to her. “You okay?”
“Tired, that’s all,” she said, shifting Maecel, her hands hooked on the back of the carrier as if she were holding on for dear life.
Reminders of where they were heading—home—kept his mind alert and his aching muscles moving. Maybe it would help her, too. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we get back?”
“Sleep.”
“Quiet ahead!”
The hissed command from behind silenced him. It was okay. He didn’t need to talk to thank God for getting them out of here. For the phone call that had actually worked to pluck them from the jaws of death. God was good. He’d brought them this far. He’d get them home safely, too.
CHAPTER 22
They know where we are. The thought had haunted Max since escaping the perimeter of the camp. But that couldn’t be possible, because even Lambert didn’t know the minute details of the mission. Autonomy all but guaranteed success. The fewer who knew where’d they be, the fewer who could interfere. But he couldn’t shake the feeling they were walking into trouble.
