She stumbled back, hand gripping her bloody arm.
Shit!
They had beaten her to the copse of trees. Chest heaving and lungs burning, she whirled around and headed back to the rocks, refusing to stand out in the open like a fool.
Running hard, she zigged and zagged every step of the way. Bullets spat around her, digging into the ground and making her wish fervently she resided anywhere but there.
Ten yards. Eight. Six. Four. Two. Finally, she reached the rocks and lunged up into them, desperate for shelter.
Scrambling, she hid herself, hoping no blood drips would lead them to her. She waited, frozen for a moment, until her lungs seemed not to strain so much. Then, with shaking hands, she tore off part of her bandage on her other arm and tied it around her latest injury. It burned like a bitch but she did her best not to cry out.
Shallow breaths kept her centered as she tried not to scream like a girl.
I am a girl! I can scream like one.
She was out of options. That much was obvious, even as she snuck along searching for a place to hole up. Her half container of water would only get her so far. They—whoever they were—had the only water supply around surrounded.
Options? I can do my best here to avoid them and last as long as I can without more water. Or I could surrender and most likely be raped and then killed.
Not much as far as choices went. She moved farther back and finally discovered a small crevice. Doing a swift creature check, she climbed in as far as she could. It was uncomfortable and painful but well hidden, so she stayed.
Time passed, and she stiffened when a snake appeared, slithered in, and curled up at the entrance.
Could be worse. I could be petrified of the creatures.
She wasn’t scared, but she did have a healthy respect for all snakes. And, from her position, she had no idea what kind it was.
From where she’d wedged herself, she could just see down the outcropping and to the ground below. Twenty or so men moved toward her. Fear rose, and she struggled to combat it. She really didn’t want to die, but from where she sat, it seemed inevitable.
Although, searching everywhere would take a while. One man moved ahead.
“Affrica! Affrica! Answer me, Affrica!”
She didn’t know him and wasn’t about to risk using her camera to zoom in, potentially allowing them a chance to see a glint off it.
“We know you’re somewhere up there, Affrica. You’re hurt, tired, and probably thirsty.” He uncapped a canteen and poured all the water over his head. She swallowed as she watched the precious liquid get soaked up by the ground.
He’s got that right. I am thirsty.
“Come out and give me a chance to explain my position.”
“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll just trot mah happy ass right to you, so ya can bury mah body in one o’ those graves. I think not.”
“I just need the pictures.”
“Like I believe that.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Come on, Affrica. You can’t possibly think you’ll escape. Come out before I lose my patience.”
This man’s voice was smooth and charismatic. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine him charming his way out of any sort of trouble. She shifted slightly doing her best to ease her own discomfort. Keeping one wary eye on the snake, her breathing came easier when it never moved. Staring out past the coiled creature, she squinted, trying to get more of a view on the man who spoke. He wore darker colors which set him apart from the others.
“Affrica Semone O’Shea,” he hollered. “Sole daughter to Duane and Simone O’Shea, currently residing in Ireland. Big brother, Aidrain DeWayne O’Shea. US Navy SEAL.”
Her heart seized in fear. He knew everything about her family.
“Now,” he continued. “One could suppose you were hoping big bad Navy SEAL brother would rescue you, but…not going to happen.”
Okay, so sue her. She’d give anything to hear her brother’s deep voice. She really didn’t want to die. A shadow moved along the ground before the crevice, and she held her breath. Of course, some of his men would be looking while he tried to ascertain where she hid.
Legs moved into view, and she closed her eyes. Only for a second because a sharp pop reached her. Staring at the scene before her, she blinked a few times to ensure she wasn’t hallucinating.
Oh shit!
Another person was out there. Their clothing the color of the sand to blend in. Whoever he was, he currently lowered the man, whose sightless eyes stared beyond her, to the ground. Streaks of brown were on the newcomer’s face, and her heart skipped a few beats. Past the black ear bud and the coil down the right side of his neck, the streaks of face paint and sweat on his face, she noticed a pair of alert gray eyes.
“Ross?” The name was forced past dry, cracked lips.
He froze and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Got her.”
Relief flooded her, and the tears gathered before spilling over. He moved to the entrance and she remembered the snake. Opening her mouth to warn him, she clamped it shut realizing it no longer sat curled up there.
“Affrica,” a smooth Southern male said. “Come on outta there, hon.”
She couldn’t get her limbs to move. Part of her wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t—actually believe what she saw.
Trap. Trap. Trap.
The word chanted through her mind. If anything, she pressed back tighter. Wanting desperately to trust what her eyes told her not to be a lie.
“She’s scared.” He scanned the area and shifted closer to the opening.
Affrica still wasn’t able to bring herself to move. A few charged moments passed before another similarly dressed man holding a machine gun, M-60 if she recalled correctly, appeared. A brown camouflaged rag had been tied on his head, but when he crouched beside her imaginary Ross and peered in at her, she knew it wasn’t a dream.
Tyson Kincade and his hazel eyes were there. He stared up toward her from his chiseled face and behind thick lashes.
Gunshots rang out, and he whirled around, his words snatched away. The next instant, a strong hand grabbed her arm and jerked. She couldn’t stop her forward fall even if she had the presence of mind to do so. Muscles which had been cramped uncomfortably for hours screamed in immediate agony as they were straightened.
There was no need to brace her fall for she never hit the rock. Instead, she found herself sprawled over Ross, chest to chest. As they lay there, he had one hand against her back, keeping her still. She glanced from him to Tyson, tears continually creeping down her face.
Tyson reached out with one hand, covered by a fingerless glove, and used a knuckle to wipe her tears away. “Can you walk?” She nodded. He responded in kind. “Then, let’s get the hell outta here.”
Once up, Affrica paused, needing her pack. Ross stopped her from going back. “I have it.” He offered her a drink but kept it brief. “You’re in the middle.”
Off they went, scrambling over rocks. Well, she scrambled, they didn’t seem bothered by any of it. Tyson paused and mumbled something. She collapsed against the smooth surface of the nearest rock, grateful for a breather. Two more men showed up, almost like they materialized from the rocks themselves. Osten “Baby Boy” Scoleri and Scott “Harrier” Leighton, commander of the Megalodon Team.
Weapon over his shoulder, Osten immediately hurried to her and sank to his knees. “Can you keep on or do you need medical now?”
“I can go on,” she uttered, praying it was true.
His brown eyes searched hers. He was their corpsman, and she knew he needed to absolutely positive. “Okay then. Wait here.” He left to join the other three.
Content not to move, she sat there and stared at the four men. It was like something out of a damn movie. Battle-hardened men with guns who came to rescue her. Tyson with the camo skullcap, Scott had a boonie hat on, and the other two had on eight-corners in the same sand color.
Three turned to her while Osten kept a lookout and approached. “Where’s Miles?” Tyson asked.
“Probably with them.” She shrugged with nonchalance she in no way felt. “He’s working with them.”
“Then, he’s a dead man,” Ross stated instantly, ice coating his words.
“No. We came for Affrica,” Scott said. “Not for vengeance. She needs to get out of here.”
Their concern touched her. “I have the pictures I need and locales of the graves.”
“Graves?” Scott’s cornflower blue eyes narrowed dangerously.
She quickly informed them of what she’d been doing there. Anger lined each of their expressions by the time she finished.
“We’ll handle that later,” Scott growled. “Let’s get her out of here.”
So they got up and moving. She remained in the middle, protected, as they pressed on. She nearly cried in relief when they uncovered a hidden Jeep, and she climbed in. Head back, eyes closed, she allowed Osten to see to her injuries as they drove away from her own nightmarish hell.
Reeve stood at the dealership, overlooking the two cars before him. One a coupe and the other a convertible. He loved his Enzo but all he could hear was Affrica’s comment of needing to prove something. Sure, this wasn’t exactly the dirty Jeep she seemed comfortable driving but it also wasn’t an Enzo Ferrari.
“I like the convertible.” He’d taken both styles for a road test; now, he was just deciding which one to order for himself.
“Very good, sir,” the salesman said.
He flashed the man a grin. “Let’s go build one.”
Together, they walked to the office for some privacy while they built his Jaguar XKR convertible. When he left later, he was happy. A kyanite blue metallic exterior color, black top, warm charcoal luxury seats of soft grain leather with ivory contrast stitch. Topping it off, he’d ordered dark mesh aluminum veneer. He was pleased with his purchase.
Heading home, he swung off to see his brother. Parking in the drive, he sighed and climbed out. He couldn’t forget Scott telling him to stay away from Affrica.
What was the harm if they were both consenting adults? Really, surely, her brother couldn’t find fault then. A cold chill raced up his spine as not only Hondo’s face rushed to mind but also Maverick’s.
Yep, they’d find fault.
Reeve scowled and opened the front door. They weren’t babies in need of supervision. He closed the door behind him and slowed his steps at the sound of his brother’s voice.
“No, sir, she is not talking nor does she want to sit down for any interviews. Yes, I’m aware an interview with Mr. Lauer would be impressive; however, I’m telling you Ms. O’Shea is refusing any and all public appearances. Let her be.”
His ears perked up at the mention of Affrica. Interviews? Not doing public appearances? What the hell was going on?
“They won’t leave her alone!” Scott griped.
“She broke a hell of a story, Scott; of course they want to talk to her.” Lex’s calm voice followed.
“I know but she went through hell out there, Lex. I’ve never seen her cry before.”
“I know. But, she made it, Scott. Don’t forget that.”
Reeve pushed through the living room and into the kitchen where Lex stood at the center island cutting up some fruit. His brother leaned against a counter.
“What happened to Affrica?” he demanded.
Scott crossed his arms and arched a brow. “Eavesdropping now?”
“Damn it, Scott. What happened?” He couldn’t explain the tightness in his chest.
His brother and sister-in-law shared a look before meeting his gaze again. “She ran into a bit of trouble in Australia.”
“What?” he asked when Scott didn’t elaborate. He moved to stand directly before his eldest brother. “Tell me.”
“I can’t.”
Frustration swarmed high within him. “Why not? She a member of your SEAL Team, brother? Part of your clandestine operations?”
Scott shook his head. “No. I can’t, because it’s not my place to tell her business.” His brother’s voice was the epitome of calm. “If you want to see her and ask her yourself, she’s over with Tyson and Jayde.” A slight pause. “Just one thing.”
Reeve moved to Lex’s side and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “What’s that?” he asked, swiping a piece of kiwi.
“Lose the attitude before you get there and knock on the door instead of just cruising right on in.”
“That’s two things.” He glared at his brother.
“Two things which may just save your life. Tyson won’t put up with your shit like I do, Reeve.”
He wanted to snap at his brother but he couldn’t. Scott was only telling the truth. He already knew Tyson disproved of how he acted, and while he never voiced it, the man’s feelings were obvious.
He stepped away only to freeze at a light touch. Lex watched him carefully. “Be careful, Reeve. She’s been through a hard time and doesn’t need you adding to her stress.”
A nod was all he afforded her before he left the Leighton house and made a beeline for his car. His name was called before he got there. He stopped and turned to see Scott standing behind him on the steps, a serious expression on his face.
“What?”
“I hope you know what you’re doing, Reeve. When you see her, tell her we expect her for dinner, along with the Kincades.” A slight pause. “And you.”
He ignored the fact his invite seemed an afterthought and inclined his head once. “I do and I will.”
He left with a wave and slid behind the wheel of his car. He’d only recently learned where Tyson Kincade and his family lived.
The trek to Tyson’s took about twenty minutes because of his fast driving and weaving in and out of traffic. “Finally,” he uttered as he parked along the street before their home. He was a very impatient driver, and to top it off, he wanted to see Affrica again.
He climbed out and passed a midnight blue crew cab 2500 GMC pickup. A quick glance back to his car made him think again about Affrica’s comment that none of them had anything to prove. The garage door was open, and he saw Tyson moving around in there. Beside him was a minivan as well. The man wore worn jeans and a torn gray shirt.
“Hello,” he called out.
Tyson turned, and with a single glance, Reeve felt inferior. Wiping his dirty hands off on the rag he held, Tyson approached the opening.