The way he’d slit that kid’s throat…
Sure, the kid was one of the bad guys, intent on doing who-knows-what to her. But he was still a kid, probably not even old enough to legally drink in the States. Did Gabe have to kill him? And did it matter so much to her that he had?
She’d have to think about that. Just not now.
Where was he?
She peeked out from underneath the bush. Gabe told her to hide and stay put, and as much as she wanted to rush to his aid, the best way to help him was to do what he said, minimizing his distractions. He knew what he was doing— she had to keep reminding herself of that. He was the elite of the elite, trained to handle whatever an enemy threw at him.
Except that little niggling voice in the back of her mind—the one that had convinced her it was a good idea to come to Colombia and look for Bryson, bad idea that it was—kept saying Gabe may be elite, but he was no Superman. Bullets went through him as easily as anybody else. Maybe even more easily, since he was exactly the type of noble jerk to throw himself in the line of fire.
If he got himself killed on the misguided pretense of protecting the damsel in distress, she might just have to resurrect him and slaughter him again. She was no damsel. She was following orders. As career military, he should appreciate that.
Twigs crunched under someone’s foot nearby and she saw a brown boot step into and then out of her line of sight. Audrey didn’t dare move and caught her breath, holding it in until her lungs burned. The footsteps circled her, slowly, and headed back toward the guerilla camp. She let out her breath on a soft exhale and wiggled forward to peek out again.
Bright morning sunlight slanted through the trees, dappling the forest floor with streaks of yellow and shadows. Now that the gunfire had subsided, the jungle creatures made their displeasure with the early morning racket known, squawking and howling up a storm. Surely all that noise would cover any sound she made.
She just couldn’t stay hidden anymore. Not only because of the damn ants still swarming over her legs, but because someone, like the owner of those brown boots, would eventually find her. She had to locate Gabe and somehow get him medical help if he needed it. Lord knows, stupid alpha male that he was, he could be half-dead and wouldn’t ask for help.
Audrey scooted from underneath the bush and straightened slowly, half expecting a guerilla or one of the unknown attackers to jump out at her. That’s the sort of thing that happened in movies. The inexperienced, unsuspecting leading lady who’s too stupid to live gets taken hostage while her man’s off fighting the good fight.
Uh-huh. She was so not going to become that cliché. She looked around for something to use as a weapon and found a small branch, the end sharpened to a point where it had broken off its tree. It was no Smith & Wesson Sigma, her personal favorite, but that sharp end wouldn’t feel too good when jabbed into an attacker’s stomach. And it was just the right size after she stripped off a couple twigs.
Now, where to start? The camp was the obvious choice, but every now and again, a pop of gunfire still sounded from that direction. Obvious, but probably not the smartest. The smartest choice was to run in the opposite direction, or continue hiding until Gabe finally showed up and gave the all clear. Neither appealed to her much. She had the sick feeling that Gabe hadn’t arrived yet because he couldn’t, so it was her turn to play knight in shining armor. Yes, she was terrified half to death, but she was not a coward, dammit. If Gabe needed her help, she’d give it.
Shaking, but determined, she held the branch out like a sword and retraced her steps through the jungle to the edge of the poppy field—and came face-to-chest with a man dressed in raid gear. Her gaze dropped instantly to his feet. Brown boots.
So maybe she was that too-stupid-to-live leading lady after all.
He caught her by the arms and clamped a hand over her mouth before a squeak of sound left her lips. Eight more men in raid gear made their way across the field—definitely not guerillas; they were too well dressed and equipped. Two of the men dragged an unconscious body from the poppy field behind them.
Gabe.
Blood poured down the side of his face. Bruises darkened his jaw and cheekbone, his lip split open. Whoever they were, they’d beaten the holy hell out of him. He lay motionless where they dropped him, so very still that she couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not. Pain exploded in her chest. It hurt so bad she thought for sure she had to be bleeding internally.
No, he couldn’t be dead. He was too…stubborn.
She flailed against the arms holding her, biting down hard on the palm clamped over her mouth and simultaneously thrusting the tree branch into his stomach. Somehow, her weapon got turned around and it wasn’t the sharp end that hit his abs, but it was enough to knock him back a step. He released her with a loud curse and she ducked through the line of stunned men to get to Gabe’s side.