Chapter 2

2

brYAN

T he sweltering sun pressed down like a weight, baking the cracked earth beneath Bryan’s boots. He wiped sweat from his brow and knelt beside an elderly woman seated on a stool fashioned from a tree stump. Her lined face was taut with pain, her gnarled hands clutching her swollen knee.

“Tell her this should help with the inflammation,” Bryan said, his tone gentle but firm as he handed the local interpreter a small bag of medication. “Two pills in the morning, two in the evening, and keep her leg elevated as much as possible.”

The interpreter nodded and relayed the instructions in the local dialect. The woman murmured her thanks, her tired eyes glistening as she gripped Bryan’s hands with surprising strength.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, offering her a reassuring smile before rising to his feet.

The makeshift clinic buzzed with quiet activity. It was every bit as busy as the ER, but the energy felt more hopeful than hopeless. Bryan’s colleagues tended to villagers beneath the shade of an ancient baobab tree, their supplies spread out on collapsible tables. Children darted between them, their laughter a sharp contrast to the mostly deplorable conditions in which they lived.

Bryan scanned the faces around him, noting the mixture of gratitude and apprehension in their expressions. These people had lived under the shadow of violence for too long, and the cartel’s presence was a specter no one dared to name aloud.

“Dr. Mena.”

He turned to find Lara, a fellow volunteer, approaching with a clipboard. Her face was drawn, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by worry.

“More patients waiting?” Bryan asked.

“Not exactly.” She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. “A group of men arrived earlier—local militia, I think. They’re asking questions about you.”

Bryan frowned, his jaw tightening. “What kind of questions?”

“They want to know why you’re here. And they mentioned the gala attack.”

The air seemed to grow heavier. Bryan’s mind raced. He’d thought the violence at the fundraiser was an isolated incident, but now it appeared his work here was stirring up something deeper.

“I’ll handle it,” he said, his tone firm. “Where are they?”

“Near the entrance to the village,” Lara replied. “Be careful, Bryan.”

He gave her a curt nod and strode toward the edge of the camp, his pulse quickening. The path was lined with dry shrubs and the occasional rustle of unseen wildlife, but the real predators awaited him at the clearing.

Three men stood near a battered pickup truck, rifles slung casually over their shoulders. Their leader was tall and wiry, his face a mask of suspicion as he watched Bryan approach.

“You’re the doctor?” the man asked, his English heavily accented but clear.

“That’s right,” Bryan replied, keeping his tone neutral.

“You should leave,” the man said bluntly, his grip tightening on his rifle. “This is not your place.”

Bryan crossed his arms, his gaze steady. “I’m a doctor. I’m here to help these people medically. Nothing more.”

The man stepped closer, his eyes narrowing. “You brought trouble here. You think we don’t know about the gala? The people you killed there?”

Bryan’s breath hitched. “I didn’t kill anybody. That wasn’t my doing.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the man snapped. “Your presence disrupts the balance. The cartel will not tolerate it.”

Before Bryan could respond, a low whistle cut through the air, followed by a soft thud. The man staggered, clutching his neck where a small dart protruded.

Bryan turned sharply to see Sara Gray emerging from the shadows, her movements fluid and calculated as she dropped the two other men.

“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, her voice cool as she pocketed the tranquilizer gun.

Bryan stared at her, equal parts relieved and exasperated. “Sara. What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving your life, apparently,” she replied, her eyes flicking to the militia members, who were all slumped unconscious against the truck.

Bryan’s pulse thundered as she stepped closer, her proximity sparking a dangerous mix of anger, fear, and attraction. “I had it under control,” he growled.

“Did you?” Sara’s gaze locked with his, challenging and unyielding. “Because from where I was standing, you were seconds away from being dragged off—or worse.”

Bryan exhaled sharply, his frustration mingling with the undeniable pull between them. “This is my job, Sara. My job. You can’t just swoop in like some rogue operative and?—”

“Watch me,” she interrupted, her tone laced with a kind of amused defiance.

For a moment, they stood inches apart, the heat of the African sun eclipsed by the fire between them. Bryan’s chest rose and fell with restrained intensity, his hands itching to grab her, to demand answers—and perhaps something more.

“This isn’t your fight,” he said finally, his voice low.

“Neither is it yours,” she countered, her lips curving ever so slightly. “But here we are.”

Before he could reply, distant gunfire echoed through the trees, sending a jolt of urgency through both of them.

“We’ll finish this later,” Bryan said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Sara arched a brow, but the glimmer in her eyes promised she wouldn’t make it easy. “Looking forward to it.”

As they sprinted back toward the village, Bryan couldn’t shake the growing suspicion that Sara was more than just a passing complication. She was a catalyst—one that threatened to upend his carefully controlled world.

Later, Bryan paced his cramped tent, the flickering lantern casting jagged shadows against the canvas walls. Outside, the night was alive with the sounds of the savanna—distant animal calls mingling with the faint hum of generators. He’d just returned from a grueling day in the field, and now Sam Carson, the regional security coordinator for Doctors Without Borders, had dropped a bombshell.

“I don’t need a damn babysitter,” Bryan snapped, spinning to face Sam. His hands were shoved into his pockets, frustration radiating from him.

Sam, a burly man with graying hair and a perpetually calm demeanor, leaned against the desk, his arms crossed. “It’s not negotiable, Bryan. The cartel’s already made it clear they see you as a threat. You’re not just a doctor to them—you’re a symbol of resistance.”

“Resistance? What resistance? Because I won’t just turn a blind eye and let people die? Because I save the lives of those they try to kill? I came here to make the situation better, not get tangled up in some cartel war,” Bryan countered.

“That doesn’t change the fact that they’ve decided they want you dead,” Sam said, his voice sharpening. “I told you this might not be a good fit because of your background and your connection to Cerberus…”

“What connection to Cerberus? I don’t have a connection to Cerberus.” Bryan held up his hand to wave off Sam’s concerns. “Do I know some of those guys? Yeah. I served with a few of them…”

“And you do know JJ Fitzwallace. Do you have any idea how much these guys hate her? They’ve tried to kill her—more than once—but her husband is good at making sure they don’t succeed. And there are other women in Cerberus that they’re not overly fond of either. If they take you out, it sends a message to every other organization trying to do good here. You’re a target, whether you like it or not. If you’re going to stay, you’re going to need someone to watch your back. Cerberus has offered to supply us with someone and pick up the cost.”

Bryan exhaled heavily, dragging a hand through his hair. “I work better without someone hovering over my shoulder.”

“This operative won’t hover,” Sam replied, a glimmer of amusement in his otherwise serious tone. “She’s trained to blend in. And—” he added, cutting off Bryan’s protest, “she’s got medical training. She can assist in the field.”

Bryan narrowed his eyes. “A medic-slash-bodyguard? Sounds like a disaster waiting to happen.”

Sam’s expression didn’t waver. “I thought the same thing. Until I met her.”

Before Bryan could retort, the tent flap rustled. He turned, and what he was about to say died in his mouth when Sara stepped in.

Dressed in practical cargo pants and a fitted tactical shirt, she exuded an effortless confidence. Her dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, and her sharp eyes immediately sought his, as if daring him to challenge her presence.

“You,” Bryan said, his voice heavy with recognition.

Sara’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Good to see you again, Dr. Mena.”

“Wait, this is the operative?” Bryan shot a glare at Sam. “They sent her, and you agreed to it?”

“You’re welcome,” Sara said smoothly, stepping further into the tent. “Though I’m not sure why I expected gratitude.”

Bryan turned to her, his frustration bubbling over. “I don’t need you here.”

She tilted her head slightly, her gaze steady. “Tell that to the men who’ve been asking questions about you in every village within a hundred-mile radius.”

Bryan bristled, but before he could fire back, Sam held up a hand. “Enough. This isn’t a debate. Sara’s assignment comes from higher up. You don’t have to like it, Bryan, but you damn well better cooperate.”

Sam’s tone left no room for argument. He pushed off the desk and headed for the exit, pausing briefly. “Play nice,” he said before disappearing into the night.

The tent fell silent, charged with a kind of frenetic energy thrumming in the air. Bryan stared at Sara, every part of his body tight.

“You don’t have to like me,” she said after a moment, her voice calm but firm. “But we both know this isn’t about you. It’s about the people you’re here to help. If I can keep you breathing long enough to do your job, I’ll consider the op a success.”

“And what about your medical training?” he asked, his tone edged with skepticism. “You going to patch me up if I stub my toe?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Try taking a bullet. Then we’ll see.”

Her response caught him off guard, and he couldn’t help the flicker of grudging respect that crept in. Still, her presence unsettled him—not just because of the danger she represented, but because of the way she seemed to look right through him.

“Fine,” he said finally. “But let’s get one thing straight—I call the shots when it comes to my work. Stay out of my way, and we’ll get along just fine.”

Sara stepped closer, her eyes locked on his. “I’ll stay out of your way,” she said softly, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “As long as you don’t put yourself in mine.”

The heat between them was tangible, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. For a moment, Bryan couldn’t look away, his breath catching at the way her eyes seemed to challenge and invite him all at once.

“We’ll see,” he murmured, his voice low.

Sara’s lips curved ever so slightly. Without another word, she turned and walked out, leaving Bryan alone with the uncomfortable realization that his biggest threat might not be the cartel after all—but the woman assigned to protect him.

Bryan crouched over the table in the center of the medical tent, his hands moving with practiced efficiency as he organized supplies into precise rows. Gauze, syringes, antibiotics—everything in its place. It wasn’t just a necessity; it was a ritual, a way to impose control over the chaos that had engulfed his life.

The flap of the tent rustled, and a gust of hot, dusty air swept in. He didn’t need to look up to know who had arrived.

“You’re like a walking hurricane,” Bryan muttered, his voice low but edged with irritation.

The sound of boots pausing just inside was followed by Sara’s measured reply. “That’s funny. You don’t strike me as the type who gets swept off his feet.”

Her words drew his attention. He looked up sharply, catching the faint glint of an amused challenge in her eyes. “This isn’t going to work if you think you can waltz in here and play games,” he said flatly.

“I don’t play games,” she countered, her voice steady and calm, though her tone carried a hint of irritation. She stepped closer, the subtle sound of her tactical pants brushing as she moved, her posture radiating confidence. “And let’s be clear—I’m not thrilled about working with a civilian who knowingly puts himself in harm’s way.”

Bryan stood to his full height, forcing her to tilt her head slightly to maintain eye contact. “Then don’t,” he snapped. His tone was firm, unyielding. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t need this. If you’ve got a problem with me, there’s the door.” He gestured toward the tent flap.

She didn’t budge. Instead, her lips tightened, her expression hard to read.

He watched her closely, noting how she seemed to steady herself in the wake of his words. Was it stubbornness? Or was there something more, some reaction beneath the surface she was working hard to mask? Whatever it was, it flickered in her eyes, faint but there.

“That’s a flap, not a door, Doc. And I don’t walk away from my assignments,” she said after a moment, her voice quieter but no less resolute.

Bryan took a step closer, his gaze boring into hers. She didn’t flinch, though he could feel the tension tightening between them. “You don’t like working with civilians,” he said slowly, testing her. “But here you are, sticking it out. Why?”

She hesitated, and he didn’t miss the way her jaw tightened slightly before she answered. “Because I’m good at my job. And for now, you’re my job.”

He studied her, his instincts tuned to every flicker of expression, every shift in her tone. “Is that all I am to you? A job?”

Her breath hitched, so faint it was almost imperceptible, but he caught it. Her next words came quickly, as if to cover for the slip. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The conviction wasn’t there, and Bryan felt a surge of something darkly satisfying as he took another step, closing the distance. He wasn’t touching her, but the air between them felt charged, heavy.

“Somehow, I don’t believe you,” he said, his voice dropping lower, each word deliberate. There was a pull he couldn’t ignore, something about her that felt both infuriating and magnetic.

Sara’s lips parted slightly, as if to respond, but no words came. He could see the struggle in her eyes, as though she was trying to fight a reaction she didn’t want to acknowledge.

Finally, she broke the silence, her voice sharper than before, a deflection. “I don’t much care what you believe. This isn’t about you, Bryan. It’s about keeping you alive.”

He leaned back slightly, his lips curving into something that wasn’t quite a smile, though the intensity in his gaze didn’t waver. “Keeping me alive,” he echoed, his tone laced with quiet amusement. “Interesting choice of words, considering you’re the one struggling to keep your composure right now.”

“I’m not?—”

“You are,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice firm but not harsh, like steel wrapped in velvet. “And I think it’s because you don’t know what to do with someone who doesn’t back down when you push.”

She swallowed hard, and for a moment, her expression faltered. There was a flicker of vulnerability there, one she quickly masked, but not quickly enough.

“You’re infuriating,” she said, her voice quieter now, almost a whisper.

“Then why are you still standing here?” he asked, his voice calm but with an edge that dared her to answer.

The air between them thickened again, and he could see her weighing her options, her next words clearly a deliberate choice. She straightened her shoulders and took a deliberate step back. “You’re going to follow my lead when things get dangerous. Like it or not, that’s how this works.”

Bryan raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. “I don’t take orders,” he said, turning back to his supplies, his tone signaling an end to the discussion. “But I’ll consider your suggestions.”

He didn’t have to look up to know she was frustrated, but there was something else in her silence—something unresolved.

“You’re impossible,” she muttered as she turned and left the tent.

As the flap settled behind her, Bryan allowed himself a small exhale. He’d pushed her, and she hadn’t broken. She might be dangerous, but damn if she wasn’t intriguing.