Exchange of Fire (35 page)

Malone nodded to Jersey who pulled a jumpsuit out of a small bag attached to his belt.

“Your . . . name?”

Malone almost missed hearing the scratchy, whispered questioned, her voice was so faint. He paused and connected with her eyes again. “Captain Jeremy Malone, ma’am.”

Michelle nodded and her mouth twitched. His heart broke at seeing her attempt to smile under all the swelling and bruising. “Cappy for short.”

He couldn’t stop the wide grin. “I like it, but don’t try to talk too much.” Malone patted her arm. “Save your energy so we can get you out of here and stateside just in time for Christmas.”

Jersey jerked the jumpsuit forward and Malone pointed to it. “I’m going to help you put this on, okay?”

Her eyes didn’t stray from their locked position on his as she nodded.

It took both Malone and Jersey too much time to wrestle the one-piece outfit over her maimed body, not that it was her fault. Every inch of her was covered with bruising or worse. Malone figured her whimpers were probably substitutes for the screams she so rightly deserved to cry. His admiration of her grew. She out warriored most men who had years of training. If he guessed right, she had at least two broken ribs and countless fractures throughout her body. And he hadn’t even tried to quantify the open lacerations now seeping into the olive covering.

Goddamn animals.

He opened a small duffel latched to his side and grabbed a pair of hard-bottom slippers, sliding them on her feet. Gripping the strap of his M4 Carbine, he maneuvered the weapon so it rested against his back. He picked Michelle up as gently as he could and cradled her against his bulky vest.

“Call the others,” Malone ordered to Jersey. “Tell them we’re coming out.”

Jersey cracked his neck from the left to the right, then jammed the phone to his ear and snapped, “We’re good to go.” He paused, then hung up. “They’ll meet us outside.”

Malone jerked his head in acknowledgement and followed the sergeant out the door. He hated how they had to retrace their steps instead of exiting out of an alternate location. This way made it too easy for the cartel to set up an ambush and put a bullet in his ass. But there wasn’t enough time to scout another route and Michelle’s condition prevented them from executing anything more aggressive.

Jersey shouldered his weapon and quartered the area as they progressed, his posture and steps more aggressive then warranted.
What the hell is going through the sergeant’s mind?

Once they cleared the building, Malone ran for the trees. Jacks materialized from the foliage like a ghost and stopped dead. His eyes scanned Michelle’s battered face and he started cussing.

“Save it,” Malone barked. “Get us the hell to the chopper before you blow a gasket.”

They blazed a trail toward the coordinates where the Black Hawk was supposed to meet them.

Gunfire, grenades, and screams filled the air as they trekked to the rendezvous. Luckily, they didn’t encounter anyone en route, but Malone didn’t trust the peace would last long. He took a knee with the rest of his unit in the foliage and adjusted his grip.

“Hang on a little longer,” he whispered, getting caught up in Michelle’s squinted stare. “Your taxi’s on its way.”

The rest of his team aimed little infrared devices at the sky, signaling to the chopper their position. Within minutes, the sound of the Black Hawk thundered overhead, then landed.

Damn.
No doubt, every piece of shit cartel member heard that racket and was now racing to their spot.

Jacks slapped three unit members on their shoulder and hauled ass to the other side of the bird while Jersey and the rest of the team spread out, surrounding the chopper. Malone climbed inside. He exchanged a quick glance with the medic, conveying just how bad Michelle was before he set her on the latched-down gurney.

Smoothing a hand over her hair, he yelled over the whirling blades, “This is the end of the line for me.”

Her body jolted and she clutched his vest, shaking her head back and forth weakly. “No,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry, you’re in excellent hands. They’ll get you patched up and to a hospital in no time.” He tried to clamp down on his racing pulse that had nothing to do with the firefight outside. “I’m sure some government official will be in to check on you and help figure out what comes next.”

Machine-gun reports raged closer and he caught a glimpse of his men running, returning fire to keep the perimeter secure.

She clung to his uniform. “Cappy, don’t leave me.”

Ah God. If that just didn’t rip his heart out.

“Sir, I need to get her hooked up to an IV,” the medic stated urgently.

“And I gotta go,
now
,” the pilot yelled. “Either strap in or jump off, Captain.”

Shit. This sucked. He peeled her fingers off, reaching into his vest pocket at the same time and pulled out a small piece of paper and pen. After scribbling his name and phone number down, he clasped her hands together and slid the paper between her palms. Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear, “If you ever get into trouble again, contact me. I’ll come running, no questions asked. I promise.” He brushed a light kiss below her lobe and sat up. In a full voice, he said, “Hang in there, Michelle. You’re a survivor. Don’t let his hold you back.”

He made it as far as the edge of the chopper, but couldn’t stop himself from turning and searing her battered image into his brain. That son of a bitch, Ramon, was going to pay for this.

He hopped to the ground and the medic wasted no time slamming the side door shut as the pilot lifted off.

“We finally ready to enter the fight, sir?” Jersey asked, turning his NVG-hidden eyes toward Malone while fiddling with the flap on his vest pocket.

Malone unlocked his clenched jaw. “Yeah. Let’s finish this.”

P.A. DePaul
is a multi-genre romance author including paranormal fantasy and romantic suspense.

She originally hails from Carroll County and Baltimore County, Maryland, but also lived in Macon and Warner Robins, Georgia. At the moment, she resides in a beautiful community just outside Philadelphia.

When her head is not completely absorbed with listening to her very demanding characters tell their stories, she can be found with her nose in a book—not only enjoying the story but studying what makes the novel work. She loves action-adventure movies (if it blows up spectacularly, she’s there) and watching way too much TV. (Can everybody say “Procrastination?” To which she usually replies, “But it’s research!” Yeah, they don’t believe her either.) More times than not, her husband and Shi Tzu stand outside her closed office door wondering, “Is she still alive? Do we dare bother her? What if she’s on a roll?” Monty usually answers by scratching on the wood anyway. Gotta love a dog who doesn’t care about boundaries. Good thing he’s so cute!

Visit her online: www.padepaul.com or www.facebook.com/padepaul

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