Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (39 page)

Midas raised a fist.

“Hold.” Max crouched, watching his guy who had the thermal readout.

Slowly, a sound filtered through the suffocating humidity. Quiet at first. Footsteps, hushed and hurried. Stealthily, Max craned his neck and peered through his scope. Every distraction filtered out, all senses trained in the direction of the sound.

A whistle rent the tension. The Nightshade signal.

He huffed and eased back just as two forms manifested between two large palms. He stood and stepped in front of the two. “You’re about twenty meters off course.”

Cowboy grabbed his hand and pulled him into a brotherly hug. “We were being tracked. Had to move and shake them.”

“We need to haul butt,” the Kid said as he stepped around the two MARSOC guys. “Those hostiles are, well, hostile.”

“Picked up police chatter on the radio.” Legend exchanged a glance with Cowboy before rubbing a hand over his buzzed head. “They know we’re here just as we suspected.”

Max’s left eye twitched as he considered the two tough guys before him. “What aren’t you telling me?”

Legend huffed. “Chatter reports an American journalist on the island is the new target.”

Journalist. Max’s gut turned to ice. “Sydney.” She’d been tracking them. What were the chances she’d found them?

“That’s what we thought.” Legend sipped from his camelbak. “We’ll have to keep a watchful eye out, try to intercept her—and she’s probably not alone, not out here—before
they
do.” He nodded toward the missionaries. “They look haggard. Think they got what it takes to get ‘er done?”

For the first time, Max glanced at the civilians’ faces. Of the four they’d rescued, the husband seemed most alert. Head down and mouth clenched tight, the native girl didn’t move far from the wife, who wiped a hand across her face and seemed to sag even more.

“No choice. We have to make rendezvous, or we’re going to have to hoof it another day’s journey without getting killed.” But his mind slid back to Sydney. If she was truly out here, if that journalist was her, she had no clue what she’d walked into. His team had tactical skills. She had nothing.

God surely wouldn’t do this, would he? Sydney had always been a faith follower. She’d held hard and fast to the scriptures, unlike him. He slid the pack off his shoulder. “Hand out nourishment. We can relax when we get to rendezvous. Let’s get them under way.”

“Agreed.”

The team quickly distributed foodstuffs to the captives. Max found himself watching the couple, the way the man crooned over his wife. Had they been married long? They looked young and acted young in love. His mind skipped to Sydney, to the thought of helping her through this rough terrain. With the only morsel of spirituality he had in him, he silently prayed she wasn’t on the island.

The missionary woman sagged. She’d probably sleep a month once they got back home. “Midas, take the baby. Give the woman a break.”

“No,” she objected—but her voice was weak. And strained.

Max silently ordered his man to obey his command.

Midas worked at removing the special baby carrier they’d rigged to the woman. He lifted the soundly sleeping infant and paused, his hand on the inner bottom portion of the unit. With a glance he spun toward the woman.

That’s when Max saw it, too. A dark stain spread over the blanket.

He looked at the wife—her eyes slid shut. She drooped forward.

Max lunged, catching her and easing her to the ground. “Fix,” he growled, trying to keep his voice tight and controlled. He shifted aside to let the medic work.

“Kimber! Kimber! God, no,” the man cried out.

“Quiet, or you’ll get us killed!” Planting both hands against the man’s chest, Max nudged him back several feet. The missionary’s heart thundered under Max’s palm as they watched the tragedy playing out before them.

Kneeling at her side, Fix clamped his hands over the wound. “She ate a bullet.” When he pressed on her side, she yelped. Dark liquid squished between his fingers.

Too much blood. She was bleeding heavily. Max swallowed hard. If she’d been shot, that meant it had happened during the chopper attack, which meant she’d hiked for the last hour with her baby and that injury. Guilt swam a mean circle around his mind.

“It’s bad,” Midas mumbled as he knelt beside Fix and the woman.

Fix dragged his bag closer and dug through it. “Light. Now.” Green bathed him as Midas and the Kid turned on their torches. He ripped the woman’s shirt open and peeled it back.

Even in the darkness, Max saw a glimmer of liquid pooling just above her hip. This wasn’t good. Wasn’t good at all. Max shifted. He should talk to the husband, get his mind off this. But that felt hollow. Besides, what would he say? The guy had a direct link to God. What would he need from Max?

Silently, Fix worked on her. He tucked a needle into a vial and withdrew liquid. He thrust the needle into her thigh. With a shake of his head, he grabbed more tools and bandages. The light shifted away from the emergency surgery, and Fix snapped at the men with the torches.

The lanky missionary all but crumbled against Max. “Whoa, easy there, chief,” he said, swinging an arm around the guy’s waist and steadying him. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Is she … is she …”

“She’s alive, but …” Fix cursed. “She’s on the edge.”

Eyes wide with horror, the man turned to Max, staring blankly. “We were going home.”

“It’s not over yet.” Max tried to encourage him. But in light of the wound and Fix’s frantic reaction, he knew she probably wouldn’t make it. “We’ll get you home.” He glanced around the camp.

To the side, Legend and Cowboy huddled around the Kid, whispering. The cowboy’s voice scraped with hoarseness and emphasis as he whispered between the two. Something was up. Something they weren’t happy about.

“Hey,” Max said, stepping closer. “What’s going on?”

Cowboy and Legend hung their heads.

The Kid looked down, then to Max, then back down. “More chatter,” he finally said. “The radicals found the journalist. Sounds like they’re setting up an ambush.”

Legend slapped the Kid on the back of the head, as if reprimanding him.

“Hey, what—”

Cowboy’s blue green eyes fastened on Max. “We don’t know it’s her. It could be anyone.”

“No.” Everything in Max shut down. “She found us.” With her tenacity, there was no doubt in his mind Sydney had managed to track them all the way to the Philippines. How had a simple human interest story taken such a wicked turn—straight into the heart of his team? If she found them, she’d make her report. Which meant the team would be exposed. Worse, it meant she would walk into an ambush. She would die.

Maybe they could sabotage her trip. Cripple her before she got far enough out. No. They were too far away, and they didn’t know what hotel. He’d need time to track her down. Time he didn’t have. Or did he?

He blinked. Looked back at the Kid. “Where? Where’s the ambush?”

“No way, no how, Frogman.” Legend’s stoic face grew stern.

Ignoring him, Max hedged closer to the Kid. “Where?” He gripped the guy’s shirt and drew back a fist.

The Kid’s eyes widened. He cowered, a trembling hand held up in defense. “B-base of the mountain, outside the city. A f-fruit market.”

Without a word, Max turned and started in that direction. He wouldn’t leave his wife in a jungle with extremists and radical natives who had a thirst for her blood. He could hoof it down there, get there in time to save her life. Could he avoid exposing his identity? He’d try, but that was the least of his worries.

“Frogman,” Legend called in a terse voice. “You can’t do this.”

As he stepped over a fallen tree, he glanced at the GPS reader.

Legend caught up and moved in front of him, their noses almost touching. “I’ll try to explain to the general why you abandoned the mission, why you left these people to die.”

“I’m not going to let my wife walk into an ambush and get riddled full of holes.”

“Your job is to the team. To the mission.”

“He’s right, Max.” Cowboy’s solemn words sifted through the confrontation. “You can’t do this. No side missions. Stay focused. We don’t have the proof.”

Legend’s expression remained unchanged, his wide nostrils flaring. “You’re in command, so command. Do it right. Dedication to the mission,
for
the mission. Go off on some half-cocked mission, you get everyone killed,
including
your wife.”

“Max,” Cowboy spoke in a softer tone, but there was no missing the adamancy. “You don’t know it’s her; it could be any journalist. Come on, man. What are the chances, right? We have a mission to finish, people to protect.”

What if it wasn’t? What if he went off and did this, only to find some journalist bent on destroying Nightshade? Suddenly, the idiocy of rushing out on his own to find Sydney revealed itself: no backup, no plan. They’d die. The missionary woman would die. The others could be set upon by terrorists.

And it’d be his fault.

But if he did nothing, and it
was
Sydney, and she died? Somehow, he had this sense … a warning that she really was here on the island. He spun and drove a hard roundhouse into a nearby tree. “I can’t leave her out there.”

“Even if it was her, you can’t go,” Legend said. “What’s the creed say, Frogman?”

Muscles taut, Max fixed his gaze on the man several inches taller than him. Even as he did, the words of the SEAL creed rang through his mind.
We expect to lead and be led. In the absence of orders I will take charge, lead my teammates and accomplish the mission. I lead by example in all situations
.

Accomplish the mission. “I’m not leaving my wife to die.” Wrestling with the monster inside who wanted to rip down the mountain and rush to Sydney’s rescue, he stuffed balls of truth into its mouth—they didn’t know if it was her. They didn’t know her position. They didn’t know. They just didn’t know!

Legend huffed, his words hardening as he spoke through tight lips. “Right here, right now, these people and this team are your responsibility.”

Both hands fisted, Max drew them up. Everything in him went tight. Hard. Ready to explode. “My
wife
is my responsibility!”

“I’ll go.” Cowboy’s gentle words carried a phenomenal punch.

Stunned, he stared at the cowboy, feeling a puncture in the balloon of frustration that had cocooned him. “I can’t let you do that.” He gulped the adrenaline squirting into his throat. “Y-you don’t know it’s her. I can’t let you.”

Cowboy grinned. “Don’t have a choice.”

“I’ll back up Cowboy.” Legend raised an eyebrow at Max. “Are we good?”

They’d do that? Sacrifice their lives to save someone who might possibly be his wife? A wife who should be curled up at home watching soaps or something? The revelation of his team’s dedication rolled through him. He forced himself to relax, to trust the team to operate the way they should. He gave Legend a sharp nod.

“Wait,” the Kid said. “If you go after that journalist—whoever it is—how are we going to do that? We can’t let this person know who we are. Won’t that blow everything sky high?”

Max wanted to curse. “He’s right. Keep a tight lip. Don’t tell them anything.”

Cowboy patted his shoulder. “I don’t intend to, partner.”

“Guys?” the Kid’s nervous voice drew them all around. His eyes slowly came to theirs, mortified. “They hired a driver—” He stopped. Blinking, he pressed a finger to his earpiece and listened to more radio traffic. He sucked in a sudden breath. “The driver! He’s in on it. Has orders to kill the Americans if the ambush fails.”

Frozen as if ice had doused her entire body, Sydney stared at the dark form spilled across her floor. The towel shifted and unwound, thumping softly onto the bed. Her hair dumped against her back, making her flinch.

A soft moan jolted her. “Lane!” She darted to his side as he pushed up on all fours.