Wolfsbane (22 page)

One by one, the men lumbered to their feet and hiked off. The trees swallowed them. Dani shook off the foreboding sense.
Get it together
. She’d been trained in basic, but despite that training, all she could think about was captivity. Had to shake that off. If she didn’t, she’d get herself killed.

The climb increased, with fronds and foliage, slippery from a recent rain, swatting at them. Frogman and another man walked a parallel course but fifteen, maybe twenty, feet apart. She let her gaze drop to her right and left. Flanked. She glanced back and left. Legend moved with stealth that belied his size.

“You okay?” Canyon’s voice skittered along her spine.

Over her left shoulder, she discovered he’d taken up a closer position. She gave a curt nod. Though she’d love to give him a piece of her mind, chatting would endanger them. Besides, what did he care if she was okay? He was so bullheadedly determined to step out of the way for his brother. Clearly the kiss they’d shared hadn’t meant what she thought it did. At the very least, it meant more to her. Did he know that she’d never kissed anyone? Of course not. And who would believe her in this day and age? She didn’t want to end up like her mother, trapped in a loveless marriage.

Still, it was the truth. She’d never found anyone she wanted to kiss.

Until Canyon.

Hands on the straps of her pack, she hiked it into a more comfortable position and continued behind Aladdin. She stretched her neck and something snagged her attention. She stopped. Stared into the trees. What caught her eye? Straining to see through the dark void, she mentally convinced herself it was just shadows. Trees seemed to dance. But then …

Shadows took substance.

“What is it?” Canyon asked.

“I thought I saw something.”

“It’s Cowboy. Keep moving.”

Why would Cowboy be way out there? Her foot hit a slick stone, and she skidded over the small surface. The mishap pitched her forward. Her hand glanced off the moss-covered spot.

Crack!

A weight plowed into her back. She sprawled to the ground.
What …?
Dirt burst into her face.

“Stay down,” Canyon growled, pinning her to the warm earth.

“Down, down, down!”

Squinting around at the team, Dani spit the dirt out. The others had dropped as well. The sound of gunfire spiked her adrenaline.

Thwat-thwat-thwat!

Whoa. They’re close
.

“Cowboy, taking fire!” a voice hissed through the com piece in her
ear. “Midas, how’s the objective?”

She angled around to see Canyon partly on his side, weapon drawn and aimed behind them.

Light twinkled in the night: muzzle flash. Even a hundred meters off, it was weird and discordant with the danger it signaled.

“Alive,” Canyon said through gritted teeth as he pushed with his legs and rammed his back into her. He kept pushing backward, and finally Dani rolled onto all fours.

“Keep it that way,” Frogman hissed.

Crack! Crack!

Rocks pelted her face.

Way too close. They had to get to cover or they’d be dead.

“Up! Move!” Canyon snapped.

Her pack jerked up. The straps strained and yanked her backward … up the hill. Dani scrambled to her feet and launched herself in the direction Canyon led.

“Cowboy, kill me some rebels, man.” The voice—had to be Frogman’s—sailed through the coms.

A sudden thrust sent her spiraling toward a cluster of trees. Fingers raking rough bark, Dani swallowed the yelp crawling up her throat. Canyon pressed her back against a tree and covered her with his own body. He peeked out.

A whiff of cordite stung her nostrils.

Canyon’s hand came back and grabbed her again. Whipped her to the side. Her legs tangled in the roots of the tree. She stumbled. Tripped over an exposed root, but an invisible force kept her upright.

Canyon spun, pulled her into his arms. They went down, rolled. When she felt gravity clawing at her, she dug her fingers around the drag straps of Canyon’s vest.

They tumbled. Down … down. She flipped. Her fingers ripped from the nylon. She rolled more. She tucked in her arms, anything to avoid snapping an arm or hand. Momentum slowed until finally she thudded against something solid.

Silence dropped like a vacuous concussion after a detonation. Dani blinked. Tried to gain her bearings. Movement to her left froze her.

“Don’t move,” Canyon whispered, his mouth suddenly against her ear as he once again pinned her.

Gee, ya think?
Only then did she notice he’d drawn his weapon again and aimed it back up the hill. Waiting. Watching.

“Cowboy …” came the stiff warning from Frogman. “I don’t like
swiss cheese. Got it?”

“Target one acquired.” Calm, smooth words. “Target down.”

Dani let out a small breath.

“Target two acquired … and down.” Quiet bathed the night. “Midas, you have a tango coming up on your—”

Rat-a-tat-tat-tat
.

In a split second, Dani registered four things: the brilliant flash of the muzzle, the way her hearing felt ripped out, the man looming ten feet away, and the report of yet another assailant.

Their attacker dropped forward, his body somersaulting down the incline. Straight toward them.

Dani rolled away—away from the guerilla and away from Canyon. Her gaze locked on the face of their attacker. Like so many faces she’d seen while Bruzon kept her locked in his facility.

She whipped her weapon around and fired.

“Tango down,” Canyon said with a grin.

“Frogman, two meters from your seven.”

An almost inaudible
thwat
drifted on the warm, thick wind that rustled the leaves overhead.

“Clear,” again the calm voice came.

“Regroup.” Terse and stiff. Frogman.

Pack pressing into and arching her back, Dani stared up at the silent dance of the canopy. It afforded brief glimpses of the heavy clouds cluttering the sky. Looked like … “Rain.” Oh no. Why hadn’t she thought of it before?

Canyon stood over her. “What’s wrong?”

“Rainy season.”

“Midas, what’s your twenty?”

Canyon grabbed Roark’s hand, tugging her upright with him. “Bottom of the ravine, twenty yards down and east.” He guided her back up the steep hill, using trees, twigs, and roots to pull themselves along. “En route.”

“Roger.”

At the crest of the hill, he crouched and surveyed the area. The team stood, weapons at the ready, shifting, probing, expectant.

He whistled.

Two shifted toward him, the bore of their weapons vanishing against the black uniforms. An answering whistle gave him the clear to
move into the open.

“Anyone hurt?” Cowboy asked.

“Negative,” Canyon said as he and Roark rejoined the team.

“Let’s move out. Time’s short.”

As if in response to Frogman’s announcement, the sky dumped its bounty. Rain pelted them, chilling and drenching.

A growl emanated from the side. “You
got
to be kidding me,” Legend said, irritation skidding across his dark face.

“Dude, you knew it was coming,” the Kid said.

Legend scowled. “It could’ve waited till we left.”

“Move, people!”

Back on track, the team trudged through the downpour. Roark had been right—the rainy season had come. Canyon had felt it in his bones since they’d dropped onto the side of the mountain. It’d be too much to ask, of course, that they have clear skies and unfettered success. Easy didn’t cut it when dealing with special operations and elite soldiers like Nightshade.

All the same, the rain would aid them—less likely to encounter patrols and less likely to be heard. Besides, on a time-sensitive mission like this one, they couldn’t take cover and wait it out. Every second mattered. He couldn’t help but think how this terrain reminded him of …

Canyon squeezed off the thoughts. Shoved them down into the foxhole where he’d buried them and stole a look at Roark. Tough. Determined, yet vulnerable. She had training and skills, but part of her was still broken. Head down, she trudged onward, shielding herself from the downpour.

He had to hand it to her. She’d gutted it up. Set aside her fears. Okay, maybe setting them aside was going too far, but she buried the hatchet and boarded that C-130. Now, eight hours later, she’d hiked halfway up the mountain she’d vowed never to set foot on again.

It’s why he’d tripped up and kissed her. That dogged determination. Resilient. Focused. A bit of pride seeped through the sodden clothes to his heart.
Knew she had it in her
.

Man. He’d spent the last several klicks thinking about the very woman Range had set his sights on.

Canyon huffed. Why? Why’d it have to be Roark that his brother had fallen for? Why’d it have to be Roark that
he
had fallen for?

Legs sloshed through the mud.

Roark was slowing down.

Her foot dropped into a hole, and she wrenched to the side.

Canyon caught her arm. Drew her up out of the sludge. She gripped his forearm and got her footing. “Doing good.”

Seemingly unconvinced, she nodded as rain dropped into her eyes and set off again.

Range doesn’t deserve her
.

Stifling the thought, he pulled up the rear. If Frogman didn’t call a short break soon, he’d have to insist on one or Roark would collapse. She might be tough, but she was also still recovering. She’d been emaciated when Range had pulled her from the water. Though she’d filled out, she probably still wasn’t the woman who’d entered this jungle nearly twelve months earlier.

Another dozen feet and the team slowed to a stop. So had the rain. Wait. No. Canyon glanced up, surprised to find an overhang protecting them from the drops that battered the rest of the jungle.

“Take ten,” Frogman said.

Tucking themselves farther into the cleft, the team took cover from the rain.

“That is some nasty stuff.” The Kid plopped down and shook his head hard. Water whipped in every direction.

“Dude, we don’t need your backwash.” Canyon angled toward Roark and propped himself against the back wall of the pseudocave. He nodded toward her pack. “Grab a bar and take a sip.”

Roark obeyed, nibbling on the end of a protein bar. Weariness dug at her grease-painted face. No … not weariness. Cracking open a green glow stick, Canyon slumped next to her. Took the bar from her hands. Chomped into it.

Her eyes widened. “Hey!” she said in a tight, controlled whisper and snatched it back.

Grinning, Canyon chewed. He leaned closer and whispered as she bit into the protein bar, “Didn’t your mother teach you to share?”

After another bite, she darted him a glance, and it was as if the sun had broken through the storm clouds—she smiled.

Yeah. That’s what he wanted. A smile. To know she still had it in her. To know that defeat hadn’t latched its wicked talons into her soul. He eased his shoulder against hers in a nudge.

Caramel eyes came to his. Dark brown hair plastered her cheeks. A rogue strand clung to the curve of her neck. Even looking like a drenched cat, she was gorgeous.
Back on task, Midas
. “How you holding up?”

She licked her lips and swallowed. “I’m here.”

“About three more klicks to the vehicles. Should help, make things quicker.”

“And drier.”

He nodded. Head against the rocky face, he closed his eyes. Focused on the mission. Not on the beauty sitting next to him. But even with his visual cues cut off, he could feel her. Hear every breath. The rustle of her wet clothes as she shifted. The light pressure of her shoulder against his.

She had no clue how much that knotted up his mind. Smoothing a hand over his head gave him reason to remove his arm from touching hers. He rested his elbow on his knee and kept his eyes closed. He’d promised himself he’d get this mission done, get her home safely … to Range.

Canyon balled his fist.

Weight bumped his right oblique muscle—actually, his Interceptor vest that protected that muscle. He glanced over his bicep at Roark. His gut cinched. She rested her cheek on her arm that wrapped around her knees—all placing her within two inches away of his nose.

Eyes fastened to his, she watched him. Intently. “Are
you
okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Liar.”

“You first.”

A breathless laugh. So, he’d been right—she wasn’t okay. Then again, who would be in this dripping jungle, slogging toward peril?

The ominous green hue of the stick played tricks with his mind. Her eyes weren’t just brown—or caramel. The caramel color had flecks of a darker brown. Intriguing. High cheekbones. Coral-colored lips.
Soft
lips. That curved into a smile.

Dude, you’re staring!
Canyon blinked. Adjusted the straps on the pack that didn’t need adjusting. Retied his boots.

The order came to move out, and with it came the rain. As if it’d waited for the team to return to its mercy. He’d never seen the intensity of a storm like this. Not with this much rain. Not this constant. Within a mile of the village, an itch started in his boots and shoulders. Blisters. That’d make the journey interesting.