Page 46 of Seal of Honor
CHAPTER 16
The gunfire had settled down a while ago, but even as she strained her ears, Audrey still hadn’t heard Gabe’s all-clear whistle. She sat under a giant, leafy bush, shivering, swatting at the ants crawling up her legs, struggling to hold it together.
Blood. Violence. Death.
Death.
Oh God, what if he was dead? What if that wicked knife hit an artery and he was bleeding out onto the ground while she cowered?
Another blast of gunfire ricocheted off the mountainside, and she jumped.
Okay, this sucked. She wasn’t a natural-born coward, but being tossed light years out of her comfort zone apparently turned her into one.
No. That wasn’t true. She wasn’t a coward. Now that her initial shock had worn off, she wanted to help. But didn’t violence breed violence? At least, that’s what her mother had drilled into her childhood psyche. Violence solved nothing, but Audrey couldn’t see how cowering peacefully under a bush during a firefight solved anything, either, and for the first time in her life, she wished she had a gun for a violent purpose. So what if she’d never killed anything more than a paper cutout? She was a good shot, but faced with taking an actual life, she had no idea if she’d be able to do it. She’d definitely not do it as easily as Gabe had.
Gabe.
She didn’t know what to think of him now. Part of her had always known he was dangerous. Deadly, even. A Navy SEAL trained to kill quickly and quietly. Even so, she never really assimilated that Gabe with the sarcastic, overbearing, and oh-so-tender one who needed a good lesson in manners, who spit fire at the idea of being nursed, who held her so gently and fended off her nightmares.
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 why 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 niggling devil of a 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 not 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.
The crunch of twigs under heavy boots echoed through the forest, each step sending a shiver down Audrey’s spine. A brown boot stepped into and then out of her line of sight. She held her breath, fear constricting her chest until her lungs burned with a desperate need for air. The footsteps circled her slowly, tauntingly, before retreating back towards the guerilla camp.
She exhaled and inched forward to peek out from her hiding spot. Golden rays of sunlight pierced through the canopy above and illuminated the chaotic scene below. The gunfire may have ceased, but now the jungle creatures added their own symphony of screams and squawks to the mix. Audrey could only hope that the chaos would mask any sound she made as she tried to escape.
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 guerrilla 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.
