Free Fall (4 page)

Stella was also a complex woman he couldn’t begin to understand. He’d just watched her, her every move turning him on and inside out as he’d fallen for her. Falling as hard as he was going to land if he didn’t pay attention. He needed to count down the seconds to deploy his parachute.

Another slap echoed through the sound waves along with her cry. “I don’t know anything except you’re going to kill us for nothing. Why not ransom us for money? Anything other than this…”

“Shut. Up,” her inquisitor shouted. “I am going to ask you again, what were you and your friends doing on our property? Which government agency are you spying for?”

“You can’t torture information out of people if they don’t know it,” she answered with just the right amount of quiver in her voice.

“You play the innocent act well, but I do not believe you.”

Jose eyed the perimeter of the compound, growing closer and closer. He clutched the ripcord to his parachute. Counting down. Waiting as long as possible to deploy the chute, to minimize the chance of being seen in the sky.
Three. Two. One.

Yank.

The silky nylon filled with air. Lines went taut. Straps jerked, jacking his nuts up somewhere around his ears. He pulled the guide ropes toward the ground. Very little reaction time for a HALO. The landing would come hard and fast. He kept his eyes up. Staring straight down at the ground for landing was actually counterproductive and would send him on his ass. Instead, he monitored the compound, noting positions of guards. Lights began to flicker on in the isolated compound.

He scanned the horizon, picking out the specks of the others slipping through the night sky. Through the trees. To the gritty earth. Wham. He felt the shock clean through. He tucked into a controlled landing…

Heels. Knees. Roll to his side. Shake off the stunned-stupid feel and get to work.

He cut free his chute lines and launched into a crouch, ready. His headset crackled to life again with Mr. Smith’s gravelly voice, not Stella’s smooth tones.

“One of our techies is working through Agent Carson’s messages. Tap code indicates at least twenty rebels in the compound. Two guards in the front, three in back. Even the cook carries a gun.”

Each piece of information that filtered through brought images of Stella, keeping her cool as she blinked or tapped out the information. Darting, he zigzagged toward the compound, staying low, submachine gun aimed, 9 mm holstered for backup. He made eye contact with Bubbles about ten feet away. The SEALs faded from sight as they surrounded all sides of the secured building.

A spotlight popped on, sweeping toward him. Jose dropped to his belly, flat into prickly dhirindhir brush. Beads of sweat tracked through the camo paint on his face.

“Shit,” Mr. Jones’s voice hissed through the earpiece, obviously deciphering bad news. “She said there are land mines at the gates. True entrances are hidden within the fence. Avoid the gates. I repeat, do not use the gates. Locate the camouflaged entrances, or as a last resort, climb over.”

“Roger,” he whispered, blinking his eyes clear of sweat.

The SEALs around back would deactivate the electric fence. Then they would have to move faster than fast. Flat to the ground, he waited, waited… And go.

He shot to his feet and tossed pebbles at the fence. No sparks. He risked a touch, found it cool, but didn’t see any secret entrances on this side. Launching up, he scaled the fence, chain-link rattling in his hands. Bubbles kept pace beside him until they both vaulted over. He landed with a puff of dirt spurting from under his boots. His headset echoed with sounds of engagement on the other side.

As Stella had warned, he found the first of the east side guards. Bubbles raised his MP5. Aimed. Two barely perceptible
pop, pops
hissed, muffled by a silencer.

Bubbles lowered his submachine gun and tapped his headset. “Guards in front cleared.”

Affirmatives echoed over the headsets. Finally, Smith’s. Thank God. “Roger. Update on captives. Of the twelve taken captive, two dead, four wounded. Images show at least one is critical.”

Not Stella, damn it.

Even as his instincts screamed at him to go after her now, his brain went on autopilot, training imprinted so deeply in his muscle memory his body reacted without thought. He flattened himself to walls, whipped around corners. The steady
slug, slug, slug
of his heart stayed even, in control. Reports echoed low in his headset, students secured. Both bodies retrieved. Four wounded, located, and loaded.

Only Stella remained, deep inside, in the interrogation room. Guarded. He reached for his weapon.

Bubbles was the first to shoot again.

Jose didn’t have time to worry his reaction time might be off. He had to move, step over the downed guard, and pray when he and Bubbles opened the door and stormed the room that muscle memory training would be spot-on.

He plowed through and found… Stella. She sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Her wiry interrogator stood behind her with his fist in her hair, a knife at her throat.

Stella fought back the urge to launch toward Jose.

The knife at her throat pressed an icy reminder of the need to hold very still. Her senses went on hyper-alert to the stench of her captor’s garlic breath, the stickiness of his sweat, the steely press of ammo strapped to his chest.

Focus, damn it. She was a trained professional. That should be what carried her through. Instead she drew strength from the conviction in Jose’s eyes. Somehow he’d found a detached professionalism that was deserting her. She ached to call out to him, even knowing she couldn’t afford the least movement, not even the tremble of her lips as her mouth watered.

But she could soak up the sight of him.

Jose. Here, decked out in camo, survival gear, and pointing an MP5 directly at her captor. She’d expected him to be brought in to break her code, not participate in the actual rescue operation.

But he’d more than heard her. He’d come for her. For a split second the adrenaline poured from her toes. Every ache in her body throbbed to the surface. Every bruise. Scratch. Fear. And yes, even an aching vulnerability when it came to this man. All of it bundled together, firing inside her, then doused, pushed aside as she focused on survival. If he’d infiltrated the compound without setting off land mines, without a sound of alert, someone must have picked up on her codes.

Her codes.

She needed them now. She could blink without moving her throat, without alerting her captor behind her.

Simple Morse code. Something easy to understand.

She held Jose’s deep chocolate eyes but found none of her former lover in those depths. He was still one hundred percent focused on the mission. As he should be. As
she
should be.

She blinked.
On
three. One. Two. Three.

Stella inched left, the slice of the blade cutting into her throat, but God, if Jose could just take the—

Shot.

Bullets whistled past her ear.

The hold around her eased, thank God. She pushed back into her guard’s stomach and his arm fell away altogether. She toppled her chair in case Jose needed her clear to continue shooting. Her shoulder slammed the ground and she bit back a scream.

Still, a groan slipped between her gritted teeth. Jose charged over to her, yanked some kind of cloth from his pocket, and knotted it gently around her throat. It was okay. She was okay. He was alive and so was she. She gulped in air, breathing deeply for the first time since her captor had pressed that blade to her throat.

“I’m fine,” she gasped while he untied her, the familiar scent of him settling her nerves with each shaky inhale.

“You will be.”

“And the others?”

“Taken care of.” He grabbed her elbow and eased her to her feet. “Let’s go.”

His touch seared her skin, his strength so welcome after the past three days—an eternity. She tucked closer to Jose’s side for balance as spots danced in front of her eyes.

His burly pal Bubbles filled the doorway. He pivoted hard and took the lead. Jose looped an arm around her waist and hauled her with him.

So much for a heartfelt reunion. But then she had often accused Jose of being illogical. Now she couldn’t complain when he did everything right to save her life. They didn’t have time for a huggy, feel-good moment. She needed to think, to be sure everyone had been accounted for.

“Did you get everybody?” Stella pressed for details. “Even the two that are dead?”

The failure of their lost lives threatened to send her to her knees again.

“Two dead. Four injured,” Bubbles clipped out. “The SEALs got ’em all.”

“No,
five
injured. Thirteen hostages total. It was twelve plus me.” She forced her mind to cycle through the events of the past three days, praying she wasn’t confusing things in her exhaustion. “Did you clear the room where I was held? It’s…”

“We know where it is. We saw your message.”

She’d guessed right about the robotic fly. She hadn’t been hallucinating. “Then let’s go. Maybe the room beside it? But there were definitely at least five injured.”

Bubbles raced from room to room, cell to cell, and appeared again so fast and silent they could have renamed him Ghost. Just when she’d given up hope, Bubbles came out with his arm hitched around the injured fella—Sutton Harper—steadying him. The tortured student dragged his leg behind, clutching his arm to his stomach. His blond curly hair was plastered to his head with grime, his hiking clothes damp with perspiration. But he was alive.

Jose pressed his finger to his headset, listening, then nodded. “All accounted for. No more waiting. We’ve got to roll if we’re going to make the chopper pickup.”

Sutton limped slower, groaning. “Go without me. Seriously, dude. I’m holding you back and that’s a risk to Stella. You can send someone for me later.”

“No can do.” Bubbles powered on, hauling his patient.

Sutton nodded to Jose and Stella. “Then you two go. Take her and leave.”

Stella shook her head. “We stay together.”

Of course Sutton, an honest to God twenty-two-year-old student, an innocent in all of this, didn’t know her role here and she sure as hell didn’t intend to tell him. Knowing would only put him further at risk if they were unable to escape now. She was able to protect herself. In fact, her job included protecting him.

She turned to Jose. “Help him so we can move faster. I’ll keep up.” She willed herself to stand steely strong in spite of her aching ribs and throbbing shoulder. Exhaustion and hunger gnawed at her. “We don’t have time to argue.”

Hesitating for only a second, a second where his eyes flashed with frustration and urgency, Jose moved forward and hitched his shoulder under Sutton’s other arm. “Let’s roll out.”

Stella ignored her own aches and focused on one foot in front of the other as Jose and his PJ teammate hauled Sutton through the narrow cinder block corridors, stepping over dead guards, ducking out into the courtyard.

Even the weak, last rays of the sun stung her eyes after three days inside in captivity. She blinked away spots. Her foot caught on a root protruding from the cracked earth. She flung out her arms to brace her fall. Her palms slapped the rough bark of a gnarled galool tree.

“Stella?” Jose called back over his shoulder, shooting an arm out.

“I’m good. The light blinded me for a second. Keep going.”

Steady on her feet again, she dashed forward, catching up and keeping pace, running toward the oh-so-distant sound of helicopter blades slicing the air. How far to the helicopter pickup? Asking would only waste precious breath, and even if the chopper was miles away, she wouldn’t slow down. This was an all-out race for their lives. Sure, the guards had been taken down, but reinforcements would be on their way soon. This particular separatist group was large, organized with the support of a powerful warlord.

And damn it, Jose was in the line of fire because of
her
. Fighting for professionalism was tougher than ever for her now, leaving her edgy, angry.

Scared.

The most dangerous emotion of all as it made them all vulnerable.

She’d selfishly begun this journey seeking information about her mother. Now she knew it was about lots of mothers and children, just as the VP’s wife hoped to highlight in her visit. And while Stella wouldn’t look away from facts about her mother if they came her way, she had a mission to complete.

Was the frenzy and the separatists’ big “plan” all tied into the upcoming visit of the VP’s wife? Her visit here, the causes she stood for, didn’t sit well with many in the region.

And Jose had been drawn into the middle of this hell.

He stopped shy of the gate, adjusting his hold on Sutton. “Bubbles, you crawl over and I’ll hoist him up to you.”

The land mines. Of course. God, how horrifically ironic if she’d lost focus now when she was so close to escape.

Jose looked back at her. “We’re almost home free. Once we’re past the fence, it’s only a couple of minutes to the helicopter pickup.” He cupped her shoulder and squeezed. “Hold tight, Stel, okay?”

For that moment, he was her Jose again, the feel of his hand so familiar her body reacted by instinct, swaying toward him. God, she’d missed him. Even if they weren’t a couple anymore, at least she would have the chance to take back some of the horrible things she’d said to him. And the faster they got away from this place, the sooner she could start on that.

“I’m not even close to giving out. Lead. I’ll follow.” As if to bolster her, the wind carried the sound of the approaching helicopter. No doubt searching for a barren spot of sandy earth to land. This place was such a mix of rain forests and desert with dying trees. Contradictions of lush history and cruel corruption. She’d hoped to help tip the scales in favor of the good. Now she just wanted to stay alive.

The echo of helicopter blades cutting the air
whomp, whomp, whomped
closer.

Sutton went wild-eyed for a second. From delirium or hope? He broke away from Jose and charged toward the gate.

Right toward the section she’d overheard a guard say was booby-trapped.

Panicking, Stella screamed, “No! Land mines!”

Jose catapulted toward Sutton, whose frenzy had somehow overcome his pain. Jose held the guy’s legs, pinning him as Bubbles climbed back over the fence to help.

Sutton thrashed with a frenetic energy. “Get off me. Get off me now!”

Was he suffering from combat trauma because of their time here in the compound? The student cycled with his feet, hiking boots sending pebbles and rocks spewing across the path.

Onto the land mines.

Ah hell.

She covered her head a second before…

The explosion shook the ground. Ripples concussed the air, slamming her back to the rocky earth. Bubbles flew through the air and landed on his back with an “oof.”

And Jose? Oh God, where was he? She squinted, peering through the dust poofing upward. A shape took form a hand’s reach away, familiar, rangy, and masculine. Alive and already rolling to his feet again. The downed fenced lay just at their feet, only inches shy of crushing them.

Relief sang through her as loud as the ringing in her ears. She cradled her head in her hands and fought vertigo. She swallowed hard, trying to clear the pressure crackling, popping.

Damn it. She sat up straighter, pushing through the pain to listen.

Gunfire echoed in the distance—backup for them or the separatists?

Jose pressed his hand to his headset. Listening? “No more time. The chopper has to bail—and so do we.” His face went dark as he tapped the earpiece. “I’m losing contact. Damn it.”

Sutton sat holding his head. “What do you mean?”

“Chopper’s gone. They’re taking fire. They can’t wait any longer and risk everyone else on board. That’s all I got before the headset shorted out.” Jose hauled Sutton to his feet. “We run and evade until they can come back.”

The chopper was gone? Her stomach lurched, her heart
rat-tat-tatting
like the gunfire.

Sutton swayed, his knees buckling as his eyes rolled back in his head. Jose tucked his shoulder into the injured student’s gut and hefted him into a fireman’s carry. Sutton’s arms hung limp, his whole body slack with unconsciousness.

Jose turned to his teammate. “Bubbles, lead the way.”

“Roger that, Cuervo.”

Not even wincing at the extra hundred and sixty pounds of unconscious student, Jose picked his way around the rubble toward the gaping hole in the fence—the only blessing from the explosion.

Gunfire grew louder, closer. The outer realm of security was engaging. Jose was right. They needed to bail. How ironic that she’d always been the one pointing out the logic, the reasons they were perfect together, and how their future fit. He was the wildly impulsive one. The romantic.

Yet here and now, he was keeping his cool, completely in the moment.
She
wanted to lose it, to scream over the danger she’d put him in.

And yet she’d done what she had to in order to get the innocent students out. She would do the same again.

If only she’d had time to learn more about the group’s agenda.

Local government officials had pleaded with the UN for help. Intel on the warlord indicated he wanted control of an already unstable region. They had pirates on their side operating as rogue mercenaries, funding their operations and splitting the profits. If they gained control, the area would be at the mercy of a brutal totalitarian regime where the rights of children and women would become nonexistent… There were so many horrific scenarios for what they could have in mind and she’d only begun to scratch the surface.

But if she’d been there longer, she would be dead. She had to focus on one thing only now: keeping her head on straight and staying alive.

***

Jose resisted the urge to rub his five-year sobriety coin again.

Hyenas seemed to mock him in the distance as he trekked farther and farther from the compound, deeper into the night to keep Stella safe. Everything he’d bottled up steamrolled him. This day had been—hell. And it wasn’t over.

The weight of the student didn’t drag him down. He’d trained with heavier, once carrying hulking Bubbles for ten miles. But the burden of how close he’d come to losing Stella back there? That threatened to send him to his knees.

Damn it all, he should be celebrating getting her out. If things had gone according to plan, she would be in a doctor’s care being checked over and eating real food rather than a prepackaged protein bar. She should be in a safe compound, rather than in the wilds of Africa with the guttural growl of lions echoing in the distance. She should be heading off to sleep in a bed with fresh sheets—

He stopped those thoughts short. He would be better off not thinking about Stella and sheets.

She was alive. He needed to concentrate on keeping her that way until he could load her onto a rescue chopper. She had to be maxed out after her time in captivity. Shifting the student more securely over his shoulder, Jose shot a quick glance left to check on Stella. She marched alongside him, pale but steady as she swacked a stick ahead of her to check for warthogs and other African jungle beasties. To clear for scorpions and snakes. Vermin as lethal as her captors.