Before We Kiss (Uncharted SEALs Book 6) (8 page)

“I think so. When I had to attend parades as a child, I’d put my hands over my ears when the band struck up some awful march music.”

He tsked. “A general’s daughter who doesn’t love John Philip Sousa.”

“My mother said it was all right to hate it. Of course, she hated everything to do with being an Army wife.” A burning lump formed at the back of her throat, and she swallowed. “She counted the days until he reached his twenty years, and she hoped he would retire, but he kept being promoted. She never got a chance to enjoy retirement with him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She blew out a shallow breath. “Of course you would know that.”

His arms tightened, and he gave her a little shake. “Not because I’m some super-spook who memorized your dossier. I checked your Instagram account when I was flying to Miami. You posted an anniversary message.” He drew a deep breath. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to dredge up anything painful.”

She snuggled closer. His warmth muted the pain. “I’m okay. It’s been ten years.”

He’d gripped her waist and pulled her over his body. She’d cupped his cheeks so she could find his mouth and kissed him. With his encouragement, she’d taken him that second time—exhilaration and a heady passion banishing all her shadows.

Light flickered behind her eyelids, and she opened her eyes. She pushed up from the floor, dread in her belly, and looked out the dirty window. Pots filled with kindling and broken branches were being lit down both sides of the runway. “No, no, no.” A sob caught with her next breath. She’d hoped, all the way up to this moment, that Wiley and his friends would charge to the rescue. But obviously, a plane would land. And soon.

And unless Charter already knew her location, they’d have no way to track her after this point. Her fingernails bit into her palms. She’d disappear—to some rough drug cartel’s camp where they held their captives for ransom or to a terrorist group’s training camp. She’d fetch a fortune for a cartel, because ISIS would kill for a chance to crush her father as payback for every insult he’d visited upon them in Iraq and northern Syria.

Whatever was coming wouldn’t be pleasant. She prayed for the strength to hide her fear. Above all else, she couldn’t shame her father. Nor would she give Wiley more to regret. She might not be a soldier, but she was a soldier’s daughter, and she’d fight.

The distant sound of an engine drew nearer until it rattled the walls of her hut. She’d run out of time. Poppy moved across the hut to stand beside the door, her back against the still-warm tin wall. Bracing herself, she balled her fists and held them close to her chest.

‡

W
iley sat beside
Mike Espinoza in the open door of the Eurocopter Cougar, their feet hanging high above the ground a hundred-fifty feet below. The choppers blades and the speed they were traveling sent wind rushing through the cabin. Their insertion team of ten included Mike, another embedded SEAL from the cruise ship, and Charter Group operators.

“We see heat signatures moving at the air field. Seven,” Teague’s voice sounded in his earpiece. “One was moved to a small building next to the strip. Might be our girl. Two guards are stationed outside.”

“Roger that,” Deke answered for the group. “We’re ten clicks out from the drop zone.”

A minute later, a tap landed on Wiley’s helmet. He’d be the first to step out on the skid to prepare to fast-rope into a clearing a kilometer from the airfield.

Before sitting in the door, Wiley had checked his hookup, his rappel seat, and ring. The helicopter hovered then dropped another fifty feet. The clearing was beneath them. At a second tap, Wiley reached out and dropped his deployment bag before he quickly pivoted and stood on the strut facing the inside of the helicopter.

“Go, go, go!” Deke said, signaling with his arm for Wiley to make the jump.

With one gloved hand encircling the fat rope in front of him and his brake hand holding the rope at the small of his back, Wiley pushed off, gliding smoothly to the ground. Once there, he quickly backed off the rope, and then grabbed it to hold it steady while Mike dropped. As soon as Mike’s feet were on the ground and he was ready to assist the next team member, Wiley opened his deployment bag and removed his weapons, a web belt loaded with magazines, and a special strip. After pulling his tee from his pants and adhering the strip to his belly, Wiley turned on his night vision goggles, adjusted his earpiece and mike, and then he raced to the edge of the forest to take a knee, keeping watch as the rest of the team fast-roped to the ground. Within minutes, they all knelt just inside the forest’s edge while Deke flipped up the cover of his wrist compass. “All right. One click southwest.” He raised an arm and lowered his hand in the direction they’d head. “Sound off,” Deke said, his voice quiet as they moved out.

“Jax.”

“Mickey D.”

“Wiley.”

One by one the team answered, verifying their mikes worked and that they were together.

“We got a complication,” Teague’s voice broke in. “They’re lighting up the runway, and satellite’s confirmed a small plane approaching, traveling at low altitude.”

The team didn’t have to be told what was happening. They quickened their pace as they moved through the bushes. When they neared the runway, they slowed, halting before reaching edge of the tree line.

Wiley knelt beside Deke as they all scanned the area and took note of the drug runners’ locations. Although darkness had fallen, moonlight illuminated the area. As Teague had said, two guards were posted beside the door of a lone rickety shack.

Silently, Deke indicated to Wiley and Mike that they’d take the guards at the shack.

Wiley and Mike peeled away, running parallel to the tree line until they were behind the shack. Then crawling on their bellies, they edged their way to the side of the small metal hut. A quick glance around the building’s corner assured him the guards’ attention was on the sky to the north and the sound of an engine drawing nearer. Fiercely glad the guards were poorly trained, he moved to a crouch and crept forward.

Almost there, baby
.

Poppy didn’t know
how long she stood beside the door, listening so intently she was afraid to breathe unless she missed the slightest sound that would tell her when her captors came for her.

At last, she heard the scrape of feet against dirt followed by a muffled thud as something struck the side of her hut. She raised her right fist next to her face and braced. All she needed was an opening. A single hit, and then she’d dart out the door and into the forest behind the hut. What happened after that… Well, she’d worry about the next step later. For now, her number one priority was to avoid being moved onto that plane.

The door handle squeaked as it turned. She held her breath. A dark shadow filled the space—a head, broad shoulders. Screwing her face into a furious scowl, she drew back her arm and punched forward, aiming for her captor’s head and connecting with something unexpectedly hard. Pain stabbed her knuckles. She bit back a cry and reached out both hands to shove him back then tried to slip into the narrow space between him and the door. However, strong arms surrounded her, lifting her off her feet and forcing her to turn. Slammed up against the wall, she took a big breath, preparing to scream, but a hand covered her mouth.

“Shhh, baby. It’s me. It’s me.”

Wiley’s voice
. Her next breath was broken by a sob. She wilted against him, letting him take her weight as he dropped his hand and held her against his body.

Poppy cried, pressing her face into the warm corner of his neck as his hands soothed up and down her back.

“You okay?” he whispered, his voice gruff.

Too upset to speak, she nodded against his skin.

He gripped her hair and tilted back her head. His kiss was quick, and the goggles he must be wearing bumped against her, but she didn’t care.

When he drew back, he walked her to the far corner of the hut and pushed on her shoulders, forcing her toward the ground. “Stay here, babe. I have to get out there. It’s not over.”

She reached out and fisted her hand around the rough fabric of his cargo pants. “No! Don’t leave me here. I won’t get in the way.”

“I have to move fast. I can’t be worrying about you. Your guards won’t be a problem, but we have to take that plane.” He cradled her face. Thumbs swept away her tears. “Trust me, babe. I won’t be long.”

Although she screamed a denial in her mind, she aimed her gaze toward his head and nodded.

He kissed her forehead then moved away.

The snick of the door as he closed it behind him sounded as hollow as she felt. But she wasn’t hiding in any shadow. And she wasn’t staying in this damn hut. No matter what she’d just promised. Wiley had needed to hear that promise so he could do his job, but she couldn’t bear remaining here, feeling trapped. She went to the door, cracked it open, and then slipped outside, stepping past two slumped bodies.

She’d intended to dart around the back of the shack and straight into the cover of the forest, but the sight before her drew her attention. Two men stood at opposite ends of the airstrip, waving flashlights, the beams pointing in the air. They stood there, unaware their little band of criminals was falling, one by one, taken out by dark shadows that darted out and wrapped arms around throats. She was glad of the darkness that hid the gory details of the takedowns. But by the time the plane touched down, only the two men who’d acted like beacons remained.

Or so she thought. Gravel crunched beside her. Moonlight fell on the sinister smile of Rotten Tooth. Before she could scream, he was on her, pressing the sharp point of a knife against her neck.

“What will your friends do now?” he said, his eyes mere slits.

His soft tone oozed as slithery as a snake. Poppy shuddered. Hoping to catch him off-guard by pretending acquiescence, she let him bend an arm behind her back and moved when he pushed her toward the airfield. Small rocks bit into the tender soles of her feet, but that was the least of her worries.

The plane had come to a halt with the propellers still spinning. A door at the side of the plane opened and a hand reached out.

She glanced over her shoulder, toward the darkness, knowing Wiley and whoever else was with him were trying to figure out how to stop this without hurting her.

Suddenly, Rotten Tooth turned her, facing the darkness. “I have a knife. I will slit her throat if you approach,” he shouted.

The man nearest, still holding his flashlights, trotted toward the plane.
Pffts
sounded, and he crumpled to the dirt.

Rotten Tooth shrugged. The point of his knife dug into her skin, stinging her.

Poppy hissed as a trickle of blood ran down her neck to soak into her tee.

“Think I care that I am the last man standing? I have what you want.” He moved backward, toward the open door of the plane, the sound of the engine growing louder as she drew near, dragging her feet to impede his progress.

“Here,” a man shouted to him.

Rotten Tooth shouted back, his head turning.

An opening. Her only chance. With her heart pounding, she hoped he didn’t pierce her jugular, but she’d be damned if he handed her inside that plane. She relaxed limply against him, forcing him to bend with her. The knife scraped along her skin. But as she fell, she reached behind her and shoved up his chin to get him off her.

As she wriggled against him, a dart hit the side of his neck. The hand holding the knife fell away as his body slackened. A heartbeat later, warm spray exploded above her, coating her hair and face. His body slumped harder, taking her the rest of the way to the ground.

The door to the plane slammed shut, the engine growled as it rolled down the runway. But toward the end of the strip, just as the small plane bumped upward and lifted into the air, it exploded.

Poppy screamed and huddled beneath the body draped over, as debris rained down. Then the weight lifted, arms enfolded her, curling around her on the ground.
Wiley.

Shaking, she remained there, until the sound of many running feet approached. She rubbed blood from her eyelids and looked up as Wiley unwound himself from her body and knelt to help her up. Flashlights beamed, raking her and Rotten Tooth’s body.

Wiley flung aside his helmet and goggles, and then pulled off his jacket and his tee, using the soft tee to wipe her face. He pressed the fabric against the side of her neck to still the blood still seeping from her wound.

Another man knelt beside her, and he removed a kit from his web gear, opening it and drawing out bandages and a bottle. When Wiley pulled aside his tee, the man swabbed her wound then bandaged it. Her gaze remained locked on Wiley as she tried to still the chattering of her teeth.

His expression was stark. His hooded eyes dark. She couldn’t read either.

The man working over her pressed tape to her skin to hold the bandage. “You’ve stopped bleeding. A helicopter will be here in five. It’ll take you to the airport in Cancun where we’ll put you on a plane to D.C.”

She blinked and turned to stare at the man. “No. I want to rejoin the cruise ship. My work’s not done.”