Nightshade (Discarded Heroes) (45 page)

She sucked in a breath—the food flinging to the back of her throat. She coughed and gagged. After a sip of water, she wiped the tears from her eyes. “He’s
not
my boyfriend.”

The guy shrugged. “How’s he doing?”

“He’d probably rather be on a jetliner right now.”

“Wouldn’t we all?”

Distinct and chilling, the feeling of being watched washed over her. Sydney rubbed her neck then skated her gaze around the area. Her gaze hit the drill sergeant, who swiftly bent and dug in his pack. When he straightened and slung his backpack over his utility vest, he stretched his neck, the morning light accenting the paint on his face. She thought it odd that the paint wasn’t glossy the way she’d seen in movies. Flat. Matte, with streaks across the brow and—

Wait.

Sydney cocked her head. With narrowed eyes, she watched him.

Something hit her leg, snatching her attention from the drill sergeant.

“You need a bathroom break?” Lane asked the all-too-private question.

The heat murdered her good sense, because she wanted to do nothing more than smack him. How could he be so loud and pointed with a question like that? And she detested the way he behaved as if she were his—so often, apparently, that the soldiers thought he was her boyfriend. Never more than now did she realize how much the thought sickened her. Besides, she’d already been humiliated once in the last four hours having to stop and squat. Even though her bladder pushed against her, she wouldn’t go through that again just yet.

“Time to go,” Ghost One mumbled as he returned his gear to his back.

Sydney pushed to her feet, reminding herself if she wanted to live—and she did—she had to endure this day. She had a new appreciation for what Max had gone through when he was in the military.

Over the next six hours, they had managed only one other break. Rumors rumbled through the line that they’d take a break just after the pass. Whatever that meant. Belly burning, she rubbed it and yawned. This day wouldn’t be over soon enough. She might even call Max when she got back and apologize for not understanding more … better. And what she’d experienced here probably paled in comparison to his years as a SEAL. Holden was right—a new perspective dawned on her protected and isolated American mind.

Life in war was brutal. Those words didn’t even begin to cover it.

The feet in front of hers shifted to the side. Sydney looked up, surprised to find the drill sergeant working his way to the back of the line. As he swept past her, something … familiar drifted into her awareness. She paused, trying to pin down the elusive trigger. With his head tucked, the camo stripes weren’t as distracting. His nose … those cheekbones. She followed him with her gaze. The square shoulders. So much like … Max.

It wasn’t possible. Was it? Her heart sped a little faster as she kept moving. The baby kicked. Palm over her belly, she glanced back to the drill sergeant as she walked.

“Watch out!” Lane said, his hands on her shoulders, swiftly turning her.

Skimming the wall she’d nearly collided into wasn’t easy with her baby bulge. She focused her attention back to the path. But when she craned her neck to the side to see around the group in hopes of looking at him again—it just couldn’t be—the breath dropped from her lungs.

To the right, nothing but mist swirled up from the chasm below. Directly ahead, a narrow path not more than two feet wide snaked around a rocky cleft. Barely wide enough for one person to negotiate. The path disappeared into bamboo shoots and palm fronds. She tried to ignore the suffocation that gripped her. She lifted her chin a bit and drew in a long, steady gulp of air. She wouldn’t die here. She’d be fine.

A hand landed on her waist. “You’re slowing down,” Lane prompted.

She shifted, trying to dislodge his hold and his irritating comment. Instead, she concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other. But that was the problem. She couldn’t see her feet!

“Don’t stop.” Now both hands guided her—by the hips.

Sydney stopped. “Quit telling me what to do.” She wrenched away and pivoted toward him, batting rogue strands of hair from her face. “Keep your hands to yourself, Lane Bowen!” she hissed. “I don’t need your help or your orders to get me down this mountain.”

Lane drew back—and when he did, she saw the drill sergeant behind him, smiling.

That smile! That crooked, endearing smile. Her heart hitched. Deep, dark eyes sparkled. Warily and slowly, she shook her head. “No …” She took a step back. “Max?”

“Syd!” Eyes wide, Max lunged—

Crack!

The ground fell out from under her. Gravity yanked her down.

T
emples bulging as he two-fisted Sydney’s arm, her body dangling below the rocky ledge, Max strained. Her screams over the roar of the gorge pierced his heart. “Help,” he growled to the others.

Arms wrapped around his waist, anchoring him. Others groped for a grip on her as she kicked.

“Hold … still,” he said between clenched teeth.

“Help me!” Her cries snaked up the ravine and into his mind. Fingers clawed against his as she tried to reach with her free hand.

His feet skidded forward, her weight pulling him. Closer. To the edge.

No.

Couldn’t lose her. Wouldn’t. Not like this.

In his periphery, Max saw Cowboy get on his knees and reach for her other arm. “Grab my wrist, Sydney!”

Sweat worked against Max. His grip slackened.
No!
Would God help him, just once? Max had ignored Him for years, too disgusted with himself to venture a prayer heavenward. But if there was a time—

“God!” was all he could manage.

His footing caught. Those holding him cinched their grip. But sweat slid down his arm … between his hand and her arm. Slipping.

Sydney dropped an inch. She screamed.

The sound went straight into Max’s soul. He clamped his eyes shut and focused on holding her, dragging her up.
The baby
. His gut clenched. “Come on,” he growled, trying to take a step back and draw her to safety.

“On three, pull,” Cowboy grunted. “One … two … three!”

Mustering the last of his strength, Max yanked up—and she came. The group stumbled backward—he barreled into them, his knees buckling. They righted him, and he bent, gripping his knee with one hand as the others steadied her. Only then did he realize she still had a death grip on him. The realization drew his gaze to her eyes.

Brilliant blue green eyes stared back. Shock. Relief. Her chin quivered.

Although everything in him wanted to pull her to himself, hold and never release her until they were on American-controlled soil, he wouldn’t. It wasn’t him that had her chin quivering—it was the adrenaline rush of nearly dropping to her death.

“You okay?” he braved.

She nodded, trembling.

His fingers itched to hold her. To whisper that he’d never let anything happen to her again. To comfort her. But then again, she’d already found someone to comfort her, hadn’t she? Even now, Lane tucked an arm around her. He’d punched Lane out cold six months ago. Maybe he should’ve finished it.

Max slowly disentangled himself from her. “Let’s get moving,” he grumbled, brushing the dirt off his pants.

“Max?” The hurt spiraled through her voice and thudded into his chest.

He paused, unable to face her. “We can talk later,” he mumbled. Not in front of a team he had to lead. If he got his head out of the game, they’d get killed.

But his steel-reinforced defenses wavered like walls of Jell-O. He hated the pained rejection glued to her face. Her faltering composure haunted him as he warned the team to toe the rock edifice as they negotiated the pass. Even with feet scraping against rock and the occasional crunching and dribbling of rocks raining down on them, her soft sniffles carried to him like deadweights.

In spite of his every effort to push the thoughts and guilt aside, he failed. The only thing he was good at these days. Guilt harangued him. He should’ve taken her in his arms the way he’d wanted. He’d let his anger, his stupidity, get in the way. Again. Marvel of all marvels that he could lead a skilled team successfully but couldn’t navigate the turbulent waters of a relationship. A relationship that meant the world to him.

Or did it?

We make time for what’s important
. How many times had his mom said that before she’d abandoned him and his older sister when things got too tough? And look at how Sydney had abandoned hope for them when things got tough.

No sooner had they cleared the twenty-foot drop than the skies let loose their bounty. Rain pelted them as they slid and skidded down the rain-slicked mountainside. When they came upon a swampy area, the team formed a human chain, making it possible for the civvies to traverse the swollen swamp.

Next to him, Cowboy aided the passing of the stretcher from one side to another. “And here I thought you had a brain hiding behind that thick skull.”

Max glared. “Don’t start with me, Cowboy.”

“Yeah, ’cause the Lord knows nobody wants to find out what’s really in that steel trap of yours.” Cowboy closed the line as Fix and the Kid carried the stretcher over the murky water. “After all,” he said, towering over Max with a fierce expression, “we all know there’s no compassion for your own wife.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Pausing, Cowboy seemed to be reeling in his frustration. “You’re pushing us through the hardest parts of this jungle. I can handle it. The guys can. But her? It’s like you don’t care how much of a strain it’s putting on her. What? Are you trying to kill that baby?”

Heart pinging off his ribs, Max tensed. “No. We have to get to the coast.”

“Alive, or dead?” Cowboy shook his head, sludge collecting around his ankles as he stepped up out of the slick vegetation.

A heavy weight pressed against Max as he ducked his head, avoiding the rain that drenched them and brought a frightening chill. He was tired. They’d been on the move for three days straight now. Exhaustion weighted his limbs.

But that wasn’t what weighted
him
.

Guilt. Like boulders around his neck. He
was
pushing them too hard. Wanting them to feel what it was like to be him, to battle insurgents and fight through hell and not get singed, yet still have to face life and society unaffected and with a smile. Maybe … just maybe after this, they’d understand.

The team pulled aside and took shelter as the downpour became too thick to see through. Legend and Midas quickly set up a tarp for temporary shelter. With Sydney and Lane cozily situated under the cover, Max wanted nothing to do with it.

He dragged out his own tarp and stretched it between two trees, lodging rocks into the spot to support it. Under it, he tugged the camelbak straw over his shoulder and took several long drags. As he burrowed into the wet spot, he closed his eyes.

Seconds later someone joined him. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? He didn’t want or need another lecture. He already hated himself and his life.