Chapter 15

Gabe saw her go out of the corner of his eye. About damn time—except now that she was out of sight, his heart decided to imitate a heart attack, causing him to hesitate and nearly end up with a knife in his gut.

Unacceptable.

He had to screw his head on straight. Getting himself killed would do Audrey no good.

He deflected another blow. His opponent liked going for the kidneys and the stomach, never varied attacks. Gabe waited until the knife came toward his belly button again, spun out of the way, grabbed the guy’s knife hand, and twisted, all in one quick, fluid motion. Felt the satisfying snap of bone in his opponent’s wrist but kept twisting until the whole arm was chicken-winged behind his opponent’s back, shoulder straining not to pop free of its socket. The man dropped hard to his knees.

The gunfire had slowed, so instead of finishing him off and moving on to the next tango, Gabe decided they’d have a nice heart-to-heart instead.“Who are you?”

He wasn’t a guerrilla. He was better trained but still too sloppy to be professional military. A sneaking suspicion niggled in the back of his mind—a suspicion he didn’t want to entertain. But there was no denying the thought once it had latched onto him.

When the man didn’t respond, Gabe leaned on his arm. “Who are you? ?Quién eres? Did Mena send you?”

The man in black spat blood at Gabe’s feet, his eyes flaring with defiance. “Vete al infierno, bastardo.”

Movement in the poppy field caught his attention. He turned and saw Cocodrilo sneaking away from the camp, not exactly following Audrey, but there was no way he’d miss her—she was only minutes ahead.

Time to end this fight.

“You first.” He scooped up his weapon and fired a round between the bastard’s eyes, then snagged the dead man’s knife from the ground where he’d dropped it. A Bowie about fifteen inches long with a scuffed steel blade and rubber handle, it made a much better weapon than his little Swiss army knife. Gabe sheathed it in his belt.

Now to get to Cocodrilo before he got to Audrey.

* * *

“I’ll drop you two klicks to the west,” HumInt, Inc.’s local pilot called over the beat of the helo’s blades. Luckily, it only took a call to Tucker Quentin to find one ready and willing to fly without asking too many questions.

Christ, they needed a pilot of their own.

Quinn sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. One more thing to add to the to-do list.

A quick look at Google Maps showed the area was mountainous, dense with overgrowth, and lacking any decent roads in or out. A damn good place to hide, inaccessible except by air or foot, and they didn’t have the time to hike in. Gabe’s phone hadn’t moved yet, but that could change at any moment. Flying was their best—and only, in Quinn’s opinion—option.

Quinn looked over his shoulder at the men in the cargo hold. Jean-Luc, Ian, and Jesse sat grim-faced and geared up, ready for action. The decision to leave Marcus behind had been unanimous since he had no military training. He was a little peeved, but hopped right on the phone trying to get a hold of a man named Giancarelli, one of his former FBI friends, to get a sitrep on the case.

Harvard had also wanted in on the op, and it had been a hell of a time talking the kid out of it. He’d only relented after Quinn pointed out that he was the only person who could work the tracking program on the computer needed to find Gabe’s phone. His voice had been a constant presence in Quinn’s ear since leaving Bogotá, keeping him updated on the GPS and any new info Marcus found out.

And Quinn had a brain-splitting headache.

Jesus, he hoped they found Gabe. He was so ready to hand back command.

“Let’s be ready to move,” he told the guys, unfastened his harness, and climbed into the back with them. He unlatched the sliding door and wind rushed inside, stealing his breath as he watched the helo drop closer to the ground. The moment the skids touched down, he motioned the men out with one arm, sent an OK signal over his shoulder to the pilot, and followed them out into the waist-high grass of the field. The pilot took the bird up again, blocking out the morning sun long enough that Quinn’s eyes adjusted to the brightness, and he scoped their surroundings.

They stood in a deforested field high on the slope of a mountain, with its white-tipped peak rising over their heads to the north and a treacherous climb down to the south. The air was thin here, the altitude already beginning to make itself known in the form of light heads and heavy limbs.

Jesus. They hadn’t trained for this. They hadn’t spent weeks acclimating to the altitude. This was not going to be an easy walk. The guerrilla camp was two miles to the east, over some rugged terrain, and he hoped like hell the guys were up to the task of hiking it.

Quinn took a moment to steady himself, to gulp down lungfuls of cool, clean air, then he spread a map out on the ground. “All right. Here’s the plan. The helo will circle the camp and offer air support while we infiltrate from the ground. We don’t know how many tangos we’re dealing with, and we don’t know how well trained they are.”

And the fact that both Jesse and Jean-Luc hadn’t seen battle in years put them at a distinct disadvantage, so the helo’s support was a major plus.

“We’ll stick together,” he continued. “Stealth is our best weapon. Keep your eyes open, ears sharp, and heads down. We’ve got no room for error here. Gabe’s life is at stake... and there is a good chance those tangos have got Audrey, too. If either of them is injured when we get there or if any of us get injured during the op, Jesse takes command. Everyone will defer to him.”

“Understood,” Jean-Luc said.

“Got it.” Jesse nodded, his long brown hair blowing around his face as he double-checked his pack. Despite his personal feelings about the medic, Quinn knew Jesse’s stubborn streak ran as deep as his own—he would do everything in his power to make sure they all made it out of this alive.

Ian grunted and looked up from adjusting the strap on his gear bag, skull-trimmed hair glistening with sweat in the early morning sunlight. He should have a hat, but their gear was all cobbled together leftovers, and there hadn’t been enough to go around.

Just one more thing they’d have to fix to make this team run smoothly.

“So our lives are in the cowboy’s hands? I feel safer already,” Ian muttered.

Jesse shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the jab. “I can let you bleed out if you’d prefer. No skin off my hide if there’s one less asshole in the world.”

Ian’s lip curled. “You don’t have it in you. You’re too squeaky clean. Your saintly code wouldn’t allow it.”

“I’ll make an exception for you, Reinhardt.”

“As amusing as this is,” Jean-Luc cut in, “now might not be the best time for une chicane de coqs.”

Ian’s glare turned to him. “The fuck you just say?”

“It means a pissing contest. Mais, technically, it translates to a cockfight, but it still fits. You two do be strutting around here like roosters with your feathers ruffled.”

“He’s right,” Quinn said. “We don’t have time for this shit. Either get yourself unfucked in the next ten seconds or get off my team.”

With a final, lingering glare at them, Ian backed off, and the tension dissipated marginally.

“That’s more like it.” Quinn gave it a second more before he continued the briefing. “Cajun, you’ve got point with me. Jesse and Ian, bring up the rear and keep an eye on our six. We hit hard and fast, get Gabe and the girl out. You all know your roles, so let’s move.”

With that, Quinn shouldered his pack and signaled the crew to fall in line. Ian grumbled something under his breath but fell in behind Jesse.

Slowly, they made their way down the mountain toward the guerrilla camp, navigating treacherous terrain under a baking sun. Sweat dripped down Quinn’s forehead, stinging his eyes, but he didn’t dare pause to wipe it away. Pausing was not an option.

In the distance, the dark mass of the jungle loomed over them like a green tidal wave ready to swallow them whole. Quinn had faced worse before, much worse, but there was something about this mission that twisted his gut into knots. He didn’t have his SEAL teammates—the only family he’d ever really known—guarding his six this time. He didn’t even have Gabe. All he had was a ragtag group of operatives, all with their own agendas and tempers running high. They were a ticking time bomb waiting to go off, but at the moment, he had no choice but to trust that they would have his back just as fiercely as he had theirs. And hope that, if there were a benevolent higher power out there somewhere, they’d find Gabe and Audrey alive and in one piece.