Special Forces Rendezvous (6 page)

* * *

Lissa. Simone. Marcus.

Dead.

Kevin. Marie-Thérèse. Kendra. Nadir.

Dead.

The names ran on a continuous loop in Julia’s mind, flickering from one to the next like a slideshow of old family photos.

Lissa. Simone. Marcus.

Dead.

Enough!

The sharp internal voice penetrated her state of addled numbness. Julia suddenly became conscious of her surroundings. The water splashing against the hull of the fishing boat. The hiss of the wind as the vessel sliced through the waves. The dark sky overhead and the chill in the early morning air.

She was sitting on the splintered deck, huddled next to Sebastian, who’d slung a strong arm around her and urged her to get some sleep.

Sleep. Ha. Like she would ever fall asleep again. Every time she closed her eyes, she pictured the flames hungrily devouring the clinic. She pictured the bodies of her colleagues, her family. She pictured Marcus’s teenaged daughter.

It’s just death, Dr. Davenport. It’s nothing new.

She almost laughed out loud. Right, just death.

Yet the reminder succeeded in providing some clarity to her muddled brain. Death
wasn’t
anything new to her. During her residency in Boston General’s emergency room, she’d dealt with death on almost a daily basis. Grown skilled at steeling herself against it.

That was what she had to do now. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the loss. She needed to put the gruesome images out of her mind. She couldn’t grieve now. Not if she wanted to stay alive.

Swallowing the pain, she stared at the light beginning to gather at the horizon line. Without a word, she watched the sun greet the dawn, wondering how such beauty could follow all the ugliness she’d witnessed tonight. The sunrise was gorgeous. Soft pinks and oranges and purples rippled in the sky, growing brighter, shinier, until an explosion of brilliant yellow lit up the horizon and the sun rose like a phoenix from the ashes.

“Pretty,” Sebastian murmured.

Tears stung her eyes. “Beautiful,” she whispered.

His strong arm tightened around her, and she found herself resting her head on his shoulder. Exhaustion settled over her, but she couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t close her eyes. Her gaze swept over the deck, landing on the pair of deckhands smoking cigarettes by the railing. The distinct flavor of sweet San Marquez tobacco floated in her and Sebastian’s direction, and for the first time in years, she was gripped by an overpowering nicotine craving.

Stumbling to her feet, she caught the eye of one of the men.
“¿Usted tiene un cigarrillo adicional?”
she called.

A minute later, the deckhand was lighting a cigarette for her. Julia took a deep drag, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs before exhaling a cloud into the early morning air.

Sebastian stood up and joined her at the railing, his chiseled features revealing his surprise. “I didn’t realize you were a smoker,” he remarked.

“I’m not. Well, not anymore, anyway.” She sucked down some more nicotine. “I quit three years ago.”

Sebastian didn’t make a smartass comment about her return to the dark side, which was damn fortunate for him, because had he lectured her, she might have ripped his head off. She was too angry at the moment. Too horrified. Too anesthetized. Too cold. Too everything.

She focused on the calm water for one long moment before shooting Sebastian a sidelong look. “The customs officials at the Ecuador port will detain me when I can’t offer them any identification,” she said flatly.

“We won’t be going to the port.”

Questioning that cryptic response would’ve taken too much effort, so she just moved on to the next issue at hand. “I won’t be able to leave the country without my passport. Everything I own, all my ID and credit cards and belongings, it’s all in my tent back at the clinic.”

Her throat closed up as she thought of the clinic and pictured it being consumed by fire.

Grieve later, damn it!

“Your passport is useless now,” Sebastian replied. “It’s undoubtedly been flagged, which means if you tried to use it to board a flight, airport security will be all over you. Same with credit cards. If you paid for a bus, train or plane ticket using your credit card, they’ll find you. You’re officially a wanted woman, Doc.”

A feeling of sheer helplessness climbed up the bumps of her spine. “Why? What the hell did those soldiers want from me?”

“You know exactly what they wanted—to shut you up.”

“Because I caught them getting rid of those bodies.” She heaved a weary breath. “But this is ridiculous. I can go to the American embassy for help. This conspiracy or whatever it is can’t be government-sanctioned. Those men are obviously involved in something shady.”

His answering laugh was dry. “And the government can’t be shady? Wake up, Julia. Someone authorized that army general to initiate cleanup protocols. Someone dispatched all those soldiers.”

“Who?”

He shrugged. “No clue.”

She raised the cigarette to her lips and took another frustrated pull. “I don’t understand this. Any of this! What am I supposed to do now? If I can’t go to the embassy, how do I get home? How do I get back to Boston?”

“You don’t. And you shouldn’t,” he said in a deadly voice. “Your life is at risk now. You know that the villagers in Esperanza were killed by a virus that was intentionally released by the American government, or the San Marquez government, or both. Chances are, the people in charge will sweep this under the rug, but if it does make the news, they’ll probably blame it on a malaria outbreak or a rebel massacre, like they did in Corazón.”

“Corazón? Wait, wasn’t that the village that Hector Cruz burned to the ground?”

Sebastian released a harsh laugh. “That’s what they want you to think. But the rebels didn’t murder the people in Corazón. They died of a virus, just like the folks in Esperanza.”

Skepticism grabbed hold of her. “So you’re saying that this virus is actually being tested on unsuspecting people in remote San Marquez villages?”

“That’s what the evidence seems to suggest.”

She studied Sebastian’s face, noting the hard set of his jaw. You’d think he’d look tired and disheveled after a long night of breaking into military camps and riding horses and bribing a fishing captain for a ride, but the man was utterly alert and put-together. His gray eyes were sharp, he didn’t have so much as a smudge on his all-black getup, and the dark blond stubble covering his face only made him appear even more handsome.

After taking one last drag of her cigarette, Julia flicked the butt into the water and turned to meet Sebastian’s eyes. “I think I want that explanation now.”

Chapter 6

“W
ho are you, Sebastian?” Julia pressed when he didn’t utter a word in response.

Leaning forward, he rested his elbows on the rusted steel railing and fixed those deep gray eyes on the calm waves beyond the boat. “I’m a soldier. Special Forces.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Active duty?”

“I was until my own government decided they preferred me dead.”

Julia battled another burst of skepticism. “Someone is trying to kill you?”

“Yup. The first attempt was right after my unit was recalled back to the States ten months ago. Couple days after our debriefing, I was nearly hit by a car in front of my apartment.”

“Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

He snorted. “The driver was gunning for me, Doc. Cops didn’t believe me either, but trust me, I know a threat when I see one. You develop a sixth sense working black ops. Someone wanted me dead that day, and they tried again two months later. I was on my bike when the brakes just up and failed—two days after my mechanic replaced them. I spun out on the interstate, nearly got decapitated by a damn eighteen-wheeler.”

Her eyes widened. “Did the police believe you this time?”

“Nope. My mechanic said the brake lines were clearly cut. Cops enlisted their own man to verify, and he insisted it was a brake malfunction.” Sebastian’s voice dripped with contempt. “I didn’t stick around long enough to argue. I hooked up with Tate and Prescott, and got the hell out.”

“Tate and Prescott?” she echoed.

“The last two members of my unit. Everyone else is dead.” His tone thickened with grief. “Tate—he was our commanding officer—well, his brother Will died in Corazón during that last op. But the others were killed after we got home, and all of them died from bogus causes—mugging, cancer, drunk driving accident. It was total BS and we all knew it. Then someone tried to blow Tate’s brains out, supposedly a gang-related drive-by, but he knew better. He suggested we get the hell out of the country before we wound up dead.”

“So you, and Tate, and—Prescott?” When he nodded, she went on. “So you’re all hiding out now? In Ecuador?”

“We’ve been moving around the past eight months. Our last safe house was an old fortress in Mexico, but Tate’s fiancée insisted we switch to more civilized accommodations.” He rolled his eyes. “Eva maintains that just because we’re on the run doesn’t mean we have to live like hobos. So we’re holed up in a beach house on the coast now.”

Julia’s eyebrows soared. “Your commanding officer brought his fiancée on the run with him?”

“He met her on the run,” Sebastian corrected. “Tate wanted her to go back to the States and wait there until he found a way out of this mess, but she refused.” He shrugged. “I think you’ll like her. She’s got a little sass in her, just like you, Doc.”

A frazzled breath left her mouth. She didn’t feel at all sassy at the moment. Just bone-tired and unbelievably sad. “So you’re taking me to your hideout?”

He nodded. “It’s the safest place for you at the moment.”

“You really think the general sent people to find me?”

“No doubt about it.” Sebastian curled his fingers over the metal railing and gazed out at the water. “You’re on somebody’s hit list now. The same somebody who tried to shut up the men in my unit.”

She absorbed that terrifying truth, let it settle, gave herself a few seconds to indulge in an internal freak-out, but just as the panic tried to seize her body, she quickly forced it out. She couldn’t allow herself to surrender to the fear. She needed a distraction, damn it. For her, the best distraction had always been to bury herself in her work, and so she hastily snapped her brain into doctor mode.

“What do you know about this virus?” she asked Sebastian.

“Not much, I’m afraid.” He drifted away from the railing and walked over to his duffel bag.

Julia trailed after him, watching as he unzipped the bag. He’d stashed his rifle in there, along with the gun he’d given her in the woods, but he still wore his hunting knife in a sheath at his hip. And from the bulge beneath his black shirt, she knew he must have another pistol tucked in his waistband.

Sebastian removed the water bottle they’d brought with them from the village, his silvery gaze fixed on the clear liquid swishing inside the plastic container.

“You think something in this water killed those people, huh?”

She nodded. “A strain of bacteria makes the most sense. Do you know what kinds of symptoms the villagers were exhibiting?”

“Not really. One source said there were some visible nosebleeds and foaming at the mouth. What did your colleague tell you over the radio?”

“Not much. I think I heard him coughing, and he sounded confused, disoriented even. But he mentioned the water, so I figured there might be a connection there.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “I have no idea what this disease could be. Cholera, typhoid,
E. coli
...and those are just bacterial infections. It could be protozoal, parasitic, viral—”

“The general and his man definitely used the word
virus,
” Sebastian interrupted.

“A waterborne virus...” She searched for her mental databases. “SARS, hep A, polio... I think those are the most common in terms of water transmission, but I don’t recall nosebleeds and foaming at the mouth being signs of any of those.”

“This disease was most likely engineered in a lab, Doc. It probably won’t have the classic symptoms of any one illness. The virus could be mutated as hell.”

“Good point.”

In the distance, land became visible, lush green and earthy brown, but rather than stay on course, the boat began to veer to the left. Julia craned her neck to glance up at the pilothouse, where their captain stood at the helm, slowing the engine as he steered away from the awaiting harbor. The captain was in his early sixties, with a head of long gray hair, tanned leathery skin and a bushy beard that seemed to consume his entire face. He also wore a permanent scowl, which made Julia wonder what Sebastian had offered the man to convince him to give them passage.

The closer they got to land, the more uneasy Julia became. The fishing vessel chugged its way into a narrow inlet bordered by a lush forest. She had no idea where they were going, but Sebastian didn’t look concerned. Earlier this morning at the marina, he’d left her hidden in the shadows while he went to arrange transport, and when he returned, he mentioned that he’d made a call on his satellite phone and secured a “pickup” for them. She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she trusted that Sebastian knew what he was doing.

Much to her chagrin, she couldn’t curb this unfailing faith she seemed to have in the man. Instead of demanding more answers, she was infuriatingly content to take his lead, and she had a feeling that she wouldn’t last five minutes without Sebastian. For a woman who’d always been able to take care of herself, relying on a man and placing her survival in his hands was more than a little maddening. And yet she was doing exactly that. Without a single complaint.

Jeez. What was wrong with her?

“All right. This is where we get out,” Sebastian announced.

Julia gaped at him. The boat was nowhere near the shore—the muddy bank was at least twenty yards away.

He slanted his head, studying her face. “You
can
swim, can’t you?”

“Yes, but...”

“This is as close as we can get. The water’s too shallow and there’re some nasty jagged rocks down there. They’ll rip the keel apart if our captain gets any closer.”

Although that made perfect sense to her, it didn’t make her any more enthusiastic to jump overboard.

Sebastian shoved the water bottle in the duffel and zipped up the waterproof bag before slinging the straps over his shoulder. He glanced up at the captain and nodded his thanks, then did the same with the deckhands, who were watching Julia with unrestrained amusement.

It was the laughter in their eyes that gave her the kick in the butt she needed.

She followed Sebastian to the railing, then hesitated. “So you just want me to jump?”

Humor twinkled in his eyes. “I could throw you in, if you’d prefer.”

“Jumping it is.”

With a sigh, she carefully climbed the rail until she was balancing atop it in her sneakers. It was a good seven-foot drop to the water, and in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but think about those “nasty” rocks Sebastian had mentioned. Wouldn’t it be just her luck? Escaping from the scene of a—for lack of a better word—
massacre,
only to meet her maker while leaping off a barnacle-covered fishing boat into shallow water.

“Any day now,” came Sebastian’s sarcastic voice.

Julia stared at the calm blue-green water for a few more seconds, then took a deep breath, closed her eyes and jumped.

The water was warmer than she’d anticipated. It completely engulfed her, soaking her clothes, her hair, her tired, grief-stricken bones. She kicked her feet, propelling herself to the surface, and squeaked in surprise when she noticed Sebastian’s wet head right beside hers.

“You all right, Doc?”

She spat water from her mouth. “I’m good.”

“Let’s head in.”

They swam side by side, Sebastian’s duffel floating beside him as they made their way to shore. Julia felt like a drowned rat by the time she heaved herself onto the muddy, pebble-strewn bank. She wrung out her braid, then the tails of her plaid shirt.

“Ugh. There’s nothing worse than wet denim,” she griped, wiping her hands on the front of her damp jeans.

“Don’t worry, you won’t be wearing it for long. Eva will lend you a change of clothes when we reach the safe house.”

“And how exactly are we getting to this safe house of yours?” Her suspicious gaze drifted to the trees. “Please don’t tell me we’re hiking again. In wet clothes.”

“Our pickup is only a mile away,” he assured her. “We’ll get there in no time.”

Her next complaint died on her lips when Sebastian peeled off his wet long-sleeve shirt. He wore a tight black wifebeater underneath, and the fabric was molded to a chest so ripped, so perfectly sculpted, that Julia’s entire body began to tingle with awareness. And his arms...roped with muscle, dusted with light blond hair, rippling with strength. Wow. Just...wow.

A knowing gleam lit those sexy gray eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she muttered, wrenching her gaze away. “Let’s just get this hike over with.”

Sebastian’s soft chuckle confirmed that her appreciation over his delectable form was still written all over her face.

As the heat of embarrassment stained her cheeks, she followed him into the thick vegetation, cursing under her breath the entire time. Water oozed out of her sneakers at her every step, and her jeans were plastered to her legs, making it difficult to walk. They’d been marching through the forest for only five minutes when she had to call out for a break.

Gritting her teeth, she unbuttoned her plaid shirt and shrugged out of the wet sleeves. Her white tank top was soaked, too, but at least the material wasn’t as heavy and stifling as the plaid. She quickly tied the shirt around her waist and said, “Okay, I’m ready.”

Sebastian cleared his throat. “Um. For the sake of full disclosure here, you should know that I can see...well,
everything.
”

Julia hastily looked down at her chest, and her cheeks grew even hotter. Crap. She’d forgotten that she was wearing a thin, white bra beneath that thin, white tank. Sure enough, she could make out the dusky outline of her areolae, and there was no mistaking the hard points of her nipples poking through both sets of fabric.

When her gaze collided with Sebastian’s, another rush of awareness flooded her belly. Those magnetic gray eyes smoldered with unmistakable desire. He wanted her. This gorgeous, powerful warrior actually wanted her.

Of course he does. You’re standing practically topless in front of him.

Swallowing, Julia broke the eye contact. “Thanks for letting me know,” she said awkwardly. “But how about we both pretend you
can’t
see through my shirt so that way I can maintain some illusion of modesty?”

His lips quirked. “Sure.”

As they set out again, she had to wonder how Sebastian always seemed to know exactly where they were. Either the man was a walking GPS, or else he was very familiar with this particular “pickup” point.

“It’s right through these trees,” he said twenty minutes later.

When they abruptly stumbled onto an honest-to-God road, Julia was startled. Well, it was more of a trail, if anything, unpaved and bordered by towering trees on each side, but it was definitely wide enough to accommodate the beat-up Jeep parked ten yards away.

Sebastian took her arm. “Come on, Nick’s waiting.”

His strides suddenly became hurried and she had to struggle to keep up with him. When they reached the olive-green vehicle, the man in the driver’s seat hopped out and made a beeline for Sebastian. The two men joined in one of those manly man side-hug/back-slap type of embraces, while Julia hung back and warily watched the exchange.

“Julia, this is Nick Prescott,” Sebastian introduced. “Nick, this is Julia Davenport, the doctor I told you about.”

Nick extended a hand. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Davenport.”

She returned the handshake, a tad surprised by the warmth that radiated from Nick’s amber-colored eyes. He was around the same height as Sebastian, boasting a head of shaggy brown hair and an attractive face, and though he wasn’t as blatantly masculine as Sebastian, he possessed his own version of sex appeal—the sweet, boyish kind that so many women foolishly overlooked.

Sebastian tossed his duffel in the back of the Jeep. “We should go,” he announced. “None of us can afford to be out in the open like this.”

His matter-of-fact observation was an unwanted reminder that her life was officially in shambles. Twenty-four hours ago, she’d been doing rounds at the clinic, checking on potential malaria patients and awaiting the arrival of the journalist who’d requested an interview with her.

Now the clinic had been reduced to ashes, her patients and coworkers were dead and the journalist turned out to be a Special Forces operative who was living on the run.