Operation Summer Storm (14 page)

As a sharp, sting of a branch caught her up the side of the face…again, she felt tears of frustration and exhaustion brim. Blinking them frantically, the tears blinded her to the uneven ground and she fell, yet again onto her butt.
This place is out to get me,
she decided dejectedly as she struggled like a beetle on its shell to get to her feet.

Tate came up behind her and held out a hand to pull her to her feet. She wiped at her grubby face and the wet trail that was no doubt leaving telltale tear streaks on her face through the grime.

“Don’t say a word,” she warned miserably. “I’m not crying. I’m just tired.”

“It’s not far now. You can rest once we get there,” his deep voice sounded almost…gentle.

Reluctantly she lifted her gaze to meet his.

She saw his usually hard gaze soften and caught her breath. A low groan escaped from between his lips, He leaned down and pulled her tightly towards him, seeking her lips with all the accuracy of a guided missile.

Under the tender onslaught of his firm, warm lips, Summer momentarily forgot where they were and how tired she was. He tasted of coffee. The smell of sweat, man, and jungle rushed her senses like a freight train.

His body felt hard, aligned with hers and he pulled her tighter against him as their kiss deepened. He seemed to crave her, devouring her mouth in a kiss that somehow managed to be both tender and demanding at the same time. A rugged groan emanated from deep in his chest.

An answering moan exploded from her and she molded herself against him, almost melting into the heat he produced. The snap of a twig made him freeze. He dragged his mouth from hers, his gaze scanning their immediate vicinity. Glancing over his shoulder, he relaxed as he caught sight of Del’s back.

Summer’s breathing was still heavy, her pulse beating out a staccato in her throat that his eyes seemed drawn to involuntarily.

“We better catch up with the others; it’s not far to go,” he told her in a gravelly tone that played havoc with her over stimulated senses. He waited for her to step past him before following behind her once more. It took a gargantuan effort to place one foot in front of the other after that, but forcing herself to concentrate made her forget to think about the mind blowing kiss a certain bad tempered Marine had just laid on her. She hoped he was right and the camp wasn’t too far away. She wasn’t sure her concentration levels would last too long—not with him walking behind her this close and her lips still tingling from his kiss.

Five minutes later they found it. The compound sat surrounded by an outer wall and security gate. They’d been watching from a vantage point in densely timbered jungle, as close as they dared to venture to the complex. So far there was no sign of much movement—a few men in uniform, similar to that of the prison soldiers, patrolled the perimeter at regular intervals but of Willow, or Tréago, there was no sign.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Tate muttered as he surveyed the structure through binoculars. “We haven’t got a layout of the place. We have no idea where they’re holding her…if they’re even holding her and we have no idea how many men he might have inside.”

“But it’s doable, right?” Summer declared.

“Gotta’ love the faith you have in us,” Del chuckled dryly.

“Is that a helicopter over there?” she asked.

“The man likes his toys,” Tupper agreed.

Summer counted two jeeps, the old, MASH type, as well as the shiny black car she’d seen at the prison and a large, brand new top of the range, four wheel drive. A designer pool and the spectacular landscaped grounds made this place a mansion in any language. Apparently there was plenty of money to be made in the black market weapons trade.

The helicopter, gleaming and perched on its very own little helipad, was obviously used to transport more than a pilot and passenger. The thing was huge. Then of course, a gun dealer would probably need something with a bit of room. The compound itself was enormous; she could understand the men’s anxiety there. They’d have limited time to get in and get out. The layout, would not make it easy to search in a hurry.

“Well, if I can make a logical assumption,” Summer piped up quietly. She took the fact that no one bit her head off as an invitation to go ahead. “If he wasn’t in there…surely the helicopter wouldn’t be still here?”

“Yeah, it’s a reasonable theory. Not conclusive though. Until we have a visual on him, we can’t say for certain he’s in there…or your sister, for that matter,” Tate said, without removing his gaze from the compound.

Watching and waiting. It was all they continued to do for the rest of the day and long into the night.

* * * *

Summer awoke with a start and opened her eyes to find Tupper lying on his stomach with his rifle aimed toward the compound and none of the others anywhere in sight.

“Tup? What’s going on?” she whispered, crawling slowly to lay next to him.

“There was a development.”

“What kind of development?” she prodded. Could none of these men ever answer with details?

“We caught a glimpse of Tréago and went in.”

“Why didn’t someone wake me up?” Summer demanded, shocked that she’d slept through all the action.

“It was peaceful,” he said.

Summer saw his mouth crease into a grin even though he didn’t take his eyes from his sights.

“Funny,” she grumbled and reached for a spare set of binoculars. Initially it was difficult to see much of anything until her eyes adjusted to the night vision. She couldn’t detect any movement and hoped this was a good sign.

Beside her, she noticed Tupper tense and his finger moved slightly as he adjusted something on his sights. Wondering what he’d seen, she then realized he was wearing an ear piece. Something was obviously about to happen.

Bright lights zipped and flared in the eerie green of the night vision. She held her breath anxiously. There was no way to tell who was who or even where the gun fire was coming from. Tupper assured her they were doing all right. She wished she knew what she was looking for. It seemed it was all in the ability to identify the firepower being used. He could tell where the men were by following the trail of weaponry.

“Okay, my little chickadee. It’s time we flew this coop,” he announced, easing upright. He reached down to shrug on his pack and snag two others on the ground at his feet.

Summer jumped up beside him immediately, too nervous to ask questions.

“You think you can manage that last pack? We don’t have far to go.”

“Sure.” She grabbed the pack and swung it over her shoulder, staggering slightly as she flailed about trying to slip her other arm through the straps.

“Easy there slugger. You’re going hurt yourself if you flap about any harder.” He dropped one pack and tugged the strap up her arm in a swift jerk before picking up the pack and gun, then turned to lead the way down toward the compound.

As they moved closer, the sound of gunfire grew louder. The gates of the compound had been opened for them once the men had entered the perimeter so they were able to run through and slip inside the outer wall without encountering any resistance.

Tupper set her down close to the vehicles for protection. “Stay here, okay? Don’t move. As soon as we have your sister, we’ll be hot footin’ it back here and we need to be ready to go.” He had to raise his voice over the peppering of gunfire taking place inside the house itself.

“Hold your damn horses; I’m coming,” he barked into his mic. He turned without a further word, leaving Summer to huddle amongst the packs and wait.

To say it was nerve wracking would have been a grossly misleading understatement. Summer’s gaze remained locked on the wide arch Tup had disappeared into, waiting for the first sign of movement and ready to spring into action.

A flash of color made her heart jump out of rhythm and she stood. Only, it wasn’t any of the men she’d been expecting; it was an impeccably dressed Samuel Tréago, dragging a short, bewildered man in dirty overalls along by the scruff of his neck.

His attention was on the archway he’d just come through and he waved a gun in his spare hand, ready to use it at the first sign of someone coming after him. They headed towards the helicopter sitting patiently on its helipad across the gravel driveway beside her.

Summer, keeping low, crept around the side of the car she was behind and peeked around the rear of the vehicle, following his progress. Indecision plagued her—if nobody came through the arch within the next few minutes, he would get away. He wasn’t her priority. No matter how much pain and torment he’d caused her family so far, she didn’t care about that right now. All she wanted to know was if Willow was safe.

She watched him push the pilot into the chopper. He was on his way around to the other side when a shot rang out and pinged off the cabin of the helicopter, making him duck and run…straight toward her hiding spot.

With a startled gasp, she ducked back and rolled beneath the car. She saw his feet as he crept alongside the vehicle where she’d been moments before. He stopped as he reached the packs and Summer held her breath, hoping he didn’t have the same idea as she had—to hide beneath the car.

A deep voice boomed out from across the driveway. Summer immediately recognized it. “Tréago. Come out and show yourself.”

“Tate Maddox…if I were a religious man, I would have to believe you’d been resurrected,” Tréago called back in a clipped, surprisingly well-educated sounding voice. “I really wish you’d had the good sense to stay dead…having you turn up alive, has put me in a somewhat uncomfortable position,” he crooned in a voice sounding for all the world, like he were rebuking a wayward child.

“If you were a religious man, I’d suggest you start praying right about now,” Tate called back gravely.

“I never waste my time with pointless, sentimental garbage and I don’t think it’s you who’s holding all the cards at the moment.”

Before she had a chance to wonder on that statement, Summer’s ankle was grasped and she was tugged backwards, scraping her stomach and cheek on the gravel beneath her. Kicking frantically, she clawed at the ground in a vain attempt to escape.

Rolling on her back, she lashed out but he over powered her—dragging her to her feet and pulled up in front of him like a human shield.

“Not one, but two women Maddox. I always was impressed by your legendary prowess with women…and let me guess, this would be Mrs. Vosta’s lovely sister,” he almost purred, pushing her towards the helicopter. “You, my dear, have been a very difficult lady to get hold of.”

Summer struggled but he’d threaded his fist through her hair and the other hand held the cold, metal of a hand gun hard, against her temple.

“Typical Tréago, still using other people to protect your ass; but even for you, using a woman is pretty pathetic. Why don’t we man up and settle this thing just between the two of us?” Tate taunted as he stalked them in a smooth, steady stride.

Walking backwards, she kept her eyes on Tate as he shadowed their progress, his black, lethal weapon, steady and waiting for a chance to get a clear shot away.

“Spoken by the true, grunt on the ground you are,” Tréago chuckled snidely. “That’s the difference between you and I, Maddox. You’ll never be anything other than cannon fodder, following orders, like all good bottom dwellers are supposed to. I, on the other hand, am a born opportunist. I see an opportunity and I take it—initiative, my friend—the thing of born leaders and great men…neither of which you’ll ever be.”

Summer fumed as she listened to this arrogant pig degrade a man she’d known to be a more than a capable leader and great man in the short time she’d spent with him.

They’d reached the chopper. Summer felt him loosen the hold on her hair as he prepared to slide into the chopper and presumably drag her in with him. In that split second, she drew back her elbow and rammed him as hard as she could in the solar plexus, the movement winding him momentarily.

She braced herself against the chopper and lifted her knees, pushing him away with her feet. Caught out in the open for a fraction of a second, he quickly shot off two quick taps of his pistol, making Tate duck and weave to avoid being hit, then darted behind the chopper, making a mad dash for the shiny four wheel drive. Within seconds, he peeled through the open gates of the compound and rapidly vanished in a cloud of dust.

Tate raced to her side, looking into her face. “Are you okay?” he demanded roughly.

“I’m fine…Willow?” she asked, fear and hope mingling in her voice.

“She’ll be okay,” he told her and she immediately sagged in relief.

“I have to go back in; stay here.” He sent a glare toward the pilot and thrust a handgun, he withdrew from his webbing at her, “If he tries to leave, use this; we’ll be right back.”

Before she could open her mouth to protest, he was gone, jogging back through the archway. She looked down at the gun in her hand and then quickly up at the pilot, still seated in the cockpit and pointed it at him with surprisingly, steady hands. “You heard him; we’re not leaving until they get here,” she yelled over the noise of the engine.

The pilot eyed her warily. She suspected he didn’t speak a word of English—although a gun waved in your face obviously translates clearly enough in every language.