Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (37 page)

Bright white lit the night followed by an ear-thumping crack. A rumble sifted through the skies, warning of a storm ready to unleash its venom. Nearby, a critter scampered through the leaves away from Max and the others.

“Current confirmed. Cable sighted.”

Without another second to lose, Max eased himself out of his hiding place and began the descent down the hill. “Ghost One, on my mark, take it out.”

“Roger, on your mark.” The simplistic and robotic nature of Cowboy’s sniper voice infused Max with more confidence.

With each step, he swept his weapon right and left, listening, watching. Since the Higanti were expecting them, Nightshade could expect trouble. They snaked off the path and wound through the palm trees, shrubs, and tall grass, making their way down to the encampment. Still concealed as he knelt behind the flattened terrain and brush, Max turned his focus to the ear mic and the snipers hidden nearly a mile out.

“Take the shot.”

A small spark burst out about five meters north.

With a sharp snap of his wrist toward Fix, Max sent him sprinting through the open area and covered him, searching shadows for unfriendlies. Once Fix gained his spot, he confirmed his location. Max nodded to Midas, who rushed across the field to the hut opposite Fix and crouched with his weapon at the ready. Seconds later, Max broke from the safety of the foliage and bolted for perimeter. He mentally noted the seared cable. Then he passed his men, aiming for the hut just beyond them. Hunched in the shadows of the hut, he verified the locations provided by intel. Once he visually cleared the area, they had only one path. He zigzagged toward B2.

Within a dozen feet of the hut, Max squinted through the NVGs strapped to his head. Was that—? Oh no. Of all the …

He tucked his head and whispered into his mic. “It’s rigged.”

“Repeat.”

“The hut is rigged. Explosives.” The bad guys wanted them to storm in to save the day and essentially blow the missionaries and themselves straight to heaven.

“I’ve got it,” Midas mumbled as he sneaked toward the hut.

Max scoped the shadows and perimeter.

Thud!

Behind him! Max spun—and found Fix dragging a body out of view. Heart beating a little faster, Max snapped back to Midas, who worked a few more seconds then gave a thumbs-up. “Two-minute lead.”

Max rushed toward the hut, barely seeing the dark shadow that leaped out at him. Without a thought, he slammed the butt of his M4 into the tango. The guy dropped like a wet towel. Max hauled the body into the shadows.

At the hut, he eyed Fix, who nodded his readiness. Confident the explosives were cleared, he gave the signal to Midas, who cut the lock from the door, careful not to rattle the chain as he snaked it out of the way. With a nod to Max, he whipped open the door.

Max stepped into the darkened hut. Split-second recon pegged four bodies. Adrenaline surging, he confirmed these were their targets—a man, a woman, an infant, and the girl. He ignored the way his tactical clothes seemed to melt against his body in the suffocating heat of the cramped space. The air swirled a bit with Midas’s entrance. Max knelt next to the man, who lay on a cot facing the door, his child cradled in his wife’s arms behind him. On a mat two strides away, a young woman lay curled in the fetal position.

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.

A
nimated 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.”