Chapter 12

Nichole didn’t know where the burst of energy had come from, but seeing a helicopter lower into the clearing up ahead gave her the energy to keep propping up the man she was helping, though moments before, she’d been in tremendous pain.

Everything hurt, from her feet to her shoulders, which was causing a thought crushing headache. She wanted some water to drink, and maybe a beer or wine. Then she needed a tub full of warm bubbly water to soak in. It had been a while since she’d soaked in a tub or done any kind of pampering of herself. She needed a bubble bath. That would be her first order. Find a hotel room with a tub, not a shower, and bathe like a princess.

Two military men were in front of her, helping two men into the helicopter. She wondered how many people the helicopter could hold. These guys were big, or they looked big with their gear on. They had a lot of gear.

Who were they? They weren’t regular military guys. She was sure of that. No, these men were specialists. For a moment there, she’d been too wrapped up in surviving to really think about what was happening. She slowed her steps, trying to take everything in.

The military guys must have noticed because one of them took the guy she’d been helping. She kept pace with them, which was much easier now that the man wasn’t leaning on her. Walking on her own allowed her to glance around, taking in the scene.

The military guys, the helicopter, all of it was almost too much after everything she’d gone through, but she forced herself to memorize every detail. She had to remember it all. Everything seemed to be happening too fast. She could only hope her memory of the events worked once she started writing this story.

Someone helped her onto the helicopter, and she spied Angie sitting up, looking a little loopy still. Nichole moved to support her, wrapping one arm around her shoulder.

The sound of the helicopter blades turning and the engine roaring made it impossible to hear Angie. She nodded, just trying to make her feel better. She had no clue what she would say if she could hear the words Angie spoke. Everything was too fresh, and Nichole was compassionate, but she knew her intrinsic interviewer side would kick in and ask Angie the wrong questions. For once, she was glad she couldn’t interview anyone.

There was a reason she wasn’t the type of reporter who stood outside an event like a courthouse or political event and yelled questions at people. It wasn’t in her nature. She was the type of reporter who spent time digging into the truth until she unraveled the last of the lies woven so she could expose corruption and lies.

As the last military guy loaded onto the helicopter, they took off. Her stomach dipped, and Angie clutched her arm, digging her fingers into Nichole’s flesh. They were escaping. Relief filled her, and she breathed a sigh, glad they had gotten out of there alive.

Angie relaxed a little, and curiosity hit Nichole. She glanced around, taking it all in. Her gaze roamed over the men still in their full military gear. One of the men was looking right at her. Maybe she was making too much of it, and he wasn’t looking at her. They were wearing black goggles, and she couldn’t see his eyes, so he could have his eyes closed, but she didn’t think so.

The intensity of the guy held her attention, and she wished it was quieter because she would be asking him everything about what had just happened. But the noise and Angie leaning on her made it impossible to ask any questions. Cara held onto her other side, and Elizabeth sat next to them. They’d survived because they’d leaned on each other. Maybe they would have lived even if the military hadn’t come in to rescue them, but they might have all been killed. That thought sent a shiver down her spine.

The helicopter dipped, and she took her eyes off the guy as she fought to balance herself. She needed to pay attention to everything happening around her and not just one guy.

Burley, no, confident men, their hands holding straps, their eyes hidden behind lenses that made them look like bugs—not bugs, wasps. But people hated wasps, the words of the article she would write played through her mind as she memorized details.

Her breath caught as thoughts of Angie being dragged out of the room they’d been held in swirled through her mind. No way would Angie ever want to relive this experience. It would be absolutely wrong to put what had happened to Angie in an article, but telling the truth of stories was a part of her, just like her hand or her leg. She could abandon this story about as easily as she could abandon breathing. She would find a way to write this without harming Angie or any of the other captives.