Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

Deanna

T he jungle seemed alive around her, every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs amplified by the pounding of her heart. Deanna's lungs burned with the effort of keeping up with Nash as they moved through the dense thicket, his pace relentless, his movements precise and controlled. He led the way, navigating the underbrush with a practiced ease that she could only hope to mimic. Every step she took was an effort to match his, her body straining to keep up as the weight of the danger pressed down on her.

But the panic she expected to feel—paralyzing, uncontrollable—never fully took over. It was there, yes, like a beast at the edge of her mind, gnawing at her thoughts. She could feel it rising up with every snap of a branch behind them, with every hurried breath she drew. Yet somehow, she pushed it down, shoving it aside with a determination she hadn't realized she had.

Deanna had never been in a situation like this. Running for her life, hiding from armed mercenaries, relying on instinct and survival rather than logic and reason. But she could see it in Nash—the way his body moved with the grace of a predator, the tension in his shoulders, the constant vigilance in his eyes. He was wired for this. He lived in the spaces between danger and safety. And now, she was following his lead, step for step.

Don't stop. Don't think. Just move. Follow Nash. Don't be a burden.

She forced her feet to keep going, her pulse racing as they ducked beneath low-hanging vines and weaved through clusters of thick ferns. The jungle was dense, the canopy above casting mottled shadows on the forest floor and making everything feel claustrophobic. But even in the chaos, Deanna found herself keeping up. Her body, though exhausted, responded to the challenge, pushing forward as if something deep inside her had been waiting for this moment.

It wasn't pride exactly, but there was something in the way Nash glanced back at her—quick looks over his shoulder, checking to see if she was still with him—that made her grit her teeth and press on. She wasn't going to be a liability. Not now. Not after everything.

And then, there was the fear. It wasn't the kind of fear she had known before—simple anxieties or the occasional bout of nerves. This was a raw, visceral thing, a feeling that wrapped around her chest like a vice, threatening to take her breath away. But she kept it at bay, forcing it down every time it tried to claw its way to the surface. Because if she gave in now, if she let fear take control, she'd fall behind. And falling behind wasn't an option.

Nash slowed for a brief moment, crouching behind a large tree, his body still as he listened for sounds of pursuit. Deanna moved beside him, crouching low, her legs shaking slightly from the adrenaline still coursing through her. She stole a glance at Nash, her breath catching as she saw the tension in his face, the hard lines of his jaw. His eyes were scanning the tree line, every muscle coiled tight, ready to react at a moment's notice.

He's concerned.

It struck her then just how serious this situation really was. Nash, for all his calm, his control, was worried. It wasn't something he showed easily, but she could see it now—the way his shoulders were rigid, the way his fingers flexed around the hilt of his knife. They were in real danger. And as much as Nash tried to protect her, and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't control everything.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her racing heart. The jungle closed in around them, the sounds of distant movement sending fresh surges of panic through her veins. But she pushed it down again, focusing on the here and now. She was still moving, still breathing. And so was Nash.

He turned his head, catching her gaze. For a moment, there was something unspoken between them—an acknowledgment of the fear, the danger, but also a shared determination to survive. Nash didn't say anything, but the look in his eyes was enough. They weren't out of this yet, but as long as they stuck together, they had a chance.

Deanna nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line, her chest heaving with the effort of suppressing her panic. She could do this. She had to do this.

"Ready?" Nash whispered, his voice low but steady.

Deanna swallowed hard and nodded.

Without another word, they were moving again, darting between trees and pushing through the thick undergrowth. The jungle was wild and untamed, the air thick with humidity and the smell of earth and vegetation. Every step felt like a gamble, every sound a potential threat.

Deanna's mind raced, but she forced herself to focus on the task at hand. One step at a time. One breath at a time. She couldn't afford to think about what might happen if they were caught. She couldn't think about Fatima's mercenaries closing in on them. She had to trust Nash. Trust that he could get them out of this.

The ground beneath her feet was uneven, roots and rocks threatening to trip her at every turn. But she kept her balance, using her hands to push aside the vines and branches that seemed to grab at her as they ran. Her legs were burning, her lungs screaming for air, but she didn't slow down.

Nash moved ahead of her, his pace measured but quick. He was careful, scanning the ground and the tree line for any signs of danger, but there was no hesitation in his movements. He knew exactly what he was doing.

And for the first time, Deanna realized that she wasn't just following him blindly. She was keeping up. Matching him step for step. She wasn't a liability. She wasn't a burden. She was holding her own, and despite the fear gnawing at her insides, she felt a surge of pride.

They reached a small clearing, and Nash slowed, motioning for Deanna to do the same. The sounds of the jungle surrounded them, the faint rustle of leaves, the distant call of birds. But behind it all, Deanna could still hear the faint murmur of pursuit—the crack of branches, the distant shuffle of feet.

"We need to keep moving," Nash said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "They're close."

Deanna nodded, her breath coming in shallow bursts. She was tired—so tired—but she wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.

Nash's eyes lingered on her for a moment, as if reassessing her. And then, with a nod of approval that sent a flicker of warmth through her, he took her hand and pulled her forward. Together, they plunged deeper into the jungle, the danger behind them a constant, looming presence.

But despite the fear, despite the exhaustion, Deanna felt something else growing inside her—something fierce and unyielding.

She wasn't going to let fear win. Not now.

Not ever.

Deanna's heart hammered in her chest as she followed Nash through the dense jungle, their footsteps swift and careful as they navigated the thick undergrowth. The adrenaline that had kept her moving earlier was starting to wear thin, replaced by an aching exhaustion in her limbs. But there was no time to slow down. Every time she thought they might be putting distance between them and the mercenaries, Nash's sharp gaze and heightened tension told her otherwise. The danger wasn't far behind them.

Just when she thought they couldn't go any deeper into the island's wild terrain, Nash came to an abrupt stop. His hand shot out, signaling for her to halt. Deanna froze, her breath catching as she heard it too—voices. Low, indistinct murmurs drifting through the trees, carried on the humid breeze.

She looked to Nash, her eyes wide with confusion. "It's them, isn't it?"

Nash motioned for her to stay quiet, crouching low as he crept forward, toward the source of the voices. Deanna followed, her mind racing. She hadn't expected anyone else to be out here. The island was remote and uninhabited—wasn't it?

As they pushed through the final layer of thick foliage, the trees opened up into a small clearing. What she saw made her breath catch in her throat.

Some sort of facility, hidden in plain sight and obscured by the thick jungle canopy. It was small but unmistakable. The building was nondescript, a cluster of steel and glass that looked more like a bunker than anything else, surrounded by a tall fence camouflaged by the surrounding trees. It was clear that someone had gone to great lengths to keep this place hidden.

Deanna exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Nash, who had already moved into the shadows, his body tense and alert, motioning for her to follow suit. The voices were closer now, and as they crept forward, Deanna's stomach knotted. The conversation, once indistinct, grew clearer with each step.

"I'm telling you, we're running out of time. If Al-Fayed finds out we've been using her network, it won't just be us in trouble. The professor's whole operation could come crashing down."

"I'm not afraid of that old geezer. If I have to choose who to be worried about, it won't be Hartley."

Deanna froze. Her blood ran cold.

Hartley.

Her mentor's name hit her like a punch to the gut. She couldn't have misheard it. She wouldn't have. She crouched lower, her body trembling as she inched forward to get a better view of the people speaking.

Two men stood near the entrance of the facility, both dressed in dark, tactical clothing. Their faces were sharp, hard—men accustomed to danger. One was speaking urgently, his tone laced with frustration, while the other nodded, his expression grim.

"We've been moving the equipment as fast as we can," the second man said. "But it's delicate. Hartley knew what he was asking for when he got involved with this. He can't expect us to get the tech off the island overnight."

Deanna's heart pounded in her ears. She didn't want to believe it. It didn't make sense. Professor Hartley? Her mentor, the man who had guided her through her academic career, who had always been an advocate for ethical research and integrity—he was involved in this?

Nash, crouched beside her, glanced over and saw the look on her face. His brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything. Not yet. He was still listening, still watching.

The first man spoke again, his voice growing more urgent. "Hartley's playing with fire. Al-Fayed's not just going to sit back and let us siphon off her resources. She's already sent men after the Americans. If they find her…"

Deanna's stomach twisted. They were talking about her. They knew she was here.

Nash looked at her. He'd heard them, too, and realized there must be more to her research than he'd been led to believe.

She pressed a hand to her mouth, her thoughts spinning out of control. Her mentor—the man she had trusted, admired—was somehow involved in this conspiracy. He was using Fatima Al-Fayed's network, involved in something dangerous and illegal. The pieces of the puzzle started to fall into place, but it was like trying to assemble an image she didn't want to see.

Professor Hartley, the man who had mentored her for years, wasn't who she thought he was. He was wrapped up in something dark, something that went beyond simple academic curiosity. But how deep did it go? And how much danger was she really in because of it?

She felt Nash's presence beside her, steady and calm despite the storm of emotions inside her. He didn't say anything, but placed his hand on her arm, giving it a brief squeeze. But his gaze was heavy, as if he could sense the conflict raging in her.

The men continued their conversation, but Deanna couldn't hear them anymore. Her mind was reeling. She had to make a choice. She had to figure out what to do with the information she now had.

Do I trust the man who taught me everything I know?

Or was it too late for that? The evidence was staring her in the face, impossible to ignore. Hartley was involved in something big, something dangerous. If she stayed loyal to him, if she tried to rationalize his involvement, it could cost her—and Nash—their lives.

But the thought of betraying him, of believing that her mentor was capable of such treachery, made her feel sick.

Deanna's hands trembled, but then she felt his firm, steady grip on her arm. Nash. His touch was grounding, pulling her out of the spiral of thoughts.

"We need to know what's going on," he whispered, his voice soft but commanding. His eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw something—concern, maybe. Understanding. He didn't push her for answers, didn't demand she explain what was going on in her head, but she knew he understood the weight of her internal struggle.

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. There wasn't time to process all of this now. They had to move, to get out of there before those men realized they weren't alone.

Nash was already shifting into action, his body tense and alert. But he waited for her, giving her the space to decide. To choose.

Deanna closed her eyes for a brief second, and when she opened them, there was a new resolve. She wasn't going to let this destroy her, no matter what Hartley had done. She wasn't going to let his betrayal define her—or stop her.

She met Nash's gaze, and in that moment, she made her decision.

"I'm with you," she whispered, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. "We get what we need, then we get out of here and figure out the rest."

Nash gave a single nod, and Deanna realized she trusted Nash more than anyone she'd ever known. Even more than the man she had once believed would never betray her.