Книга - One Intrepid Seal

One Intrepid Seal
Elle James


He found his target and lost his heart…SEAL Dalton “Diesel” Landon knows that Reese Brantley is no damsel in distress – but she does need rescuing! Diesel and Reese are on the run. In the middle of the jungle, it’s clear that Diesel’s real danger is losing his heart to Reese…







This SEAL found his target...

then lost his heart

Navy SEAL “Diesel” Dalton Samuel Landon can see that Reese Brantley is no damsel in distress. But his mission is clear—infiltrate the hostile rebels’ jungle hideout in Africa and rescue Reese and her boss. Separated from his team—and her boss—Diesel and Reese are on the run. Bullets fly, but risking his life is part of the job. Struggling with their hotter-than-the-jungle attraction, though, proves the real danger is losing his heart.


ELLE JAMES, a New York Times bestselling author, started writing when her sister challenged her to write a romance novel. She has managed a full-time job and raised three wonderful children, and she and her husband even tried ranching exotic birds (ostriches, emus and rheas). Ask her, and she’ll tell you what it’s like to go toe-to-toe with an angry three-hundred-and-fifty-pound bird! Elle loves to hear from fans at ellejames@earthlink.net or www.ellejames.com (http://www.ellejames.com).


Also by Elle James

One Intrepid SEALHot CombatHot TargetHot ZoneHot VelocityNavy SEAL SurvivalNavy SEAL CaptiveNavy SEAL to Die ForNavy SEAL Six Pack

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


One Intrepid SEAL

Elle James






www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


ISBN: 978-1-474-07889-4

ONE INTREPID SEAL

© 2018 Mary Jernigan

Published in Great Britain 2018

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


This book is dedicated to my travel buddies who make every trip fun and exciting. Africa is on our bucket list. We hope to make it there soon. We decided a long time ago not to wait until we retired to travel. I’m glad we made that decision. We’ve been to a lot of fun and interesting places and have so many more to visit! If I can’t get to some places, I read about them and learn. That’s the joy of books. Happy reading!


Contents

Cover (#ucef77528-3d30-5da1-8b2d-4a9224e1764b)

Back Cover Text (#u698ae552-672f-5843-9960-0eca7f262a68)

About the Author (#ubb6e6427-c003-5202-855b-bf600eda6c14)

Booklist (#udc6b5bf6-4c41-5917-838d-7d0dede20591)

Title Page (#u31995a86-bb9c-5e13-ae64-d4782741f7f0)

Copyright (#u37278b16-f337-5cfa-8140-eba36734ecff)

Dedication (#uf3a74993-2a86-5f2f-bf04-d2482694a115)

Chapter One (#u3b1a1add-222b-5e36-a8d1-cc06e5aa15cd)

Chapter Two (#uac064a21-146a-5e53-a44d-01a33d88d426)

Chapter Three (#u75ccd7ce-9a2d-5414-a0d0-759c9dbaa346)

Chapter Four (#u6c01645f-5703-5789-9375-72518943cd62)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


Chapter One (#uf60fe08d-6982-5313-8852-41cb415e065d)

Reese Brantley held on to the frame of the window as the Land Rover bounced wildly over the rugged terrain. “Slow down!” she shouted to the driver.

Mubanga, the Zambian guide, seemed not to hear her. More likely, he completely ignored her as he leaned to the left to look beyond the obstruction of a pair of legs dangling over the windshield from a perch on the roof of the cab. He followed the racing leopard across the ground, heading north into the rocky hills, determinedly keeping up with the beautiful creature.

Ferrence Klein, Reese’s client, who’d paid over one hundred thousand dollars for this hunting expedition, clung to his rifle from his position strapped to the top of the vehicle.

“He’s not even supposed to be shooting leopards, is he? I thought there was a ban on shooting big cats? What the hell are you thinking?” Had Reese known Klein was coming to Africa to bag a leopard, she’d have told him no way. Her understanding was that he was there on a diplomatic mission for his father, the Secretary of Defense.

She wasn’t playing bodyguard to an endangered-animal killer. If they weren’t traveling so fast and furious, she’d have gotten out of the vehicle and taken her chances with the wildlife, rather than witness the murder of a magnificent creature.

The leopard jagged to the right and shot east into the rocky hills.

Rather than turn and follow, Mubanga kept driving north.

“Hey!” Klein yelled from the front of the vehicle. “The cat turned right!”

Mubanga completely ignored Klein and increased his speed.

The vehicle jolted so badly, Reese fought to keep from being thrown from her seat. The seat belt had long since frayed and broken. If she wanted to keep her teeth in her head, she had to brace herself on anything and everything to keep from launching through the window.

Klein flopped around like a rag doll on the front of the vehicle, screaming for the driver to stop.

“Stop this vehicle!” Reese yelled over the roar of the engine. She reached for the handgun strapped to her thigh. Before she could pull it from its holster, Mubanga backhanded her in the face so hard, she saw stars.

Reese swayed, her fingers losing their grip on the door’s armrest. A big jolt slammed her forward, and she banged her forehead against the dash. Pain sliced through her head, blinding her. Gray fog crept in around the edges of her vision. She fought to remain upright, retain consciousness and protect her client, but she felt herself slipping onto the floorboard of the Rover. One more bump, and she passed out.

* * *

A FEW MINUTES might have passed—or it could have been an hour, or even a day. Reese didn’t know. All she knew was that the vehicle was still and Mubanga no longer sat behind the steering wheel. As her vision and clouded brain cleared, she pulled herself up to the seat, her hand going to the holster on her thigh, pain throbbing through her temple.

Her 9-millimeter Glock was gone.

The door jerked open at her side. Someone grabbed her by her hair and yanked her out of her seat and onto the dirt.

She struggled to get her feet beneath her, but the man behind her swept out a leg, knocking her feet out from under her. Reese crumpled to the ground, her scalp screaming with the pain of being held steady by a handful of her hair.

“What the hell’s going on?” she demanded. “Where’s Mubanga?”

The men spoke in a language she didn’t understand. The goon holding her by the hair kicked her in the side and shoved her away from him.

The relief on her scalp nearly brought tears to her eyes. At last, Reese was able to study her surroundings. Day had turned into dusk. Twenty dark-skinned men stood around her and Klein, each wielding a wicked-looking AK-47 rifle or a submachine gun. None looked like they were part of the Zambia Wildlife Authority. Their clothing was a mix of camouflage and rags. Mubanga was nowhere to be seen.

Ferrence lay unconscious on the ground, several feet away from her.

Some bodyguard she was. Her first international assignment, and her client was most likely dead. Her heart squeezed hard in her chest. Even though Ferrence had been a pain to work with, his father was nice and would be sad to lose his son. The man had paid a lot of money for her services to protect Ferrence, and she’d failed him. Reese hadn’t wished ill on Ferrence. He was a job to her, but even more so, he was a human being. No one deserved to die on vacation in Zambia.

Since giving up mixed martial arts fighting, she’d put all her effort into her personal-protection-service start-up. She’d tapped on a few connections she’d gained while in the limelight of her fighting career and landed the job with the Kleins.

Ferrence hadn’t wanted a bodyguard, thus, she’d come along at his father’s insistence that the younger Klein needed an assistant to make his vacation in Zambia smooth and to his liking. Reese was also to pose as his assistant on his upcoming diplomatic visit to the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

Reese had stressed to both Ferrence and his father that she wasn’t for hire for sexual favors. Not that Ferrence had listened to a word she’d said. She’d fought off more than one advance before the private jet had left the ground in New York, nearly crippling her client with a knee to the groin.

Since then, Ferrence had limited his advances to bumping into her whenever he could manage.

Now the spoiled son of a billionaire lay on the ground, still as death.

Reese inched toward him. In her peripheral vision, she kept an eye on the guns waving all around her. When she was only a foot away from Klein, the barrel of a rifle stopped her. She glanced up at her captor, a man with skin as black as the darkest night.

“I just want to see if he’s still alive,” she said.

“He alive,” the man said in stilted English. “For now.”

The sound of an engine drew her attention from her captor. That’s when she noticed they were on the bank of a river. The motor noise came from a boat barreling toward them as though it would run aground before the driver slowed. Just as it neared the banks where the group of men stood, the driver pulled back on the throttle, and the craft slid to a gentle stop.

Two men reached for Klein, one grabbing his wrists, the other his ankles. They lifted him and slung him over the side of the boat, dropping him to the bottom.

The man beside Reese slipped the strap of his rifle over his shoulder and bent toward her.

Reese could easily take him, now that she was conscious and steadier on her feet. She could make a break for it, and might even make it to the tree line. She reasoned she could make a run for help. But that would mean abandoning the unconscious Klein. She was supposed to be protecting him, and she’d botched the job completely. Abandoning him now was not an option.

When the man reached for her arm, she jerked it away and rose to her feet. “I can walk.”

His eyes narrowed, and he stared hard at her for a split second. Then he bent in half, hit her like a linebacker in her midsection and tossed her over his shoulder.

“Bastard!” she yelled. But she didn’t fight hard. Her goal was to land in the boat next to Ferrence. When the time was right, and Ferrence was conscious, she’d find a way to escape. In the meantime, she let the man dump her into the boat, her body cushioned by Ferrence’s limp form.

As the other men clambered aboard, Reese was able to check her charge for a pulse, which beat strongly. Reese breathed a sigh of relief. At least the man wasn’t dead, and they were both tagged with GPS locator chips. She might yet repair the situation, if her captors didn’t kill her first.

Three days later

DALTON SAMUEL LANDON, Diesel for short, leaned out of the open door of the MH-47 helicopter. Dusk wrapped around the helicopter, lengthening shadows between the trees and brush below and giving the team the concealment they needed to kick off Operation Silver Spoon.

While being lowered on cables, a Special Operations Craft-Riverine—or SOC-R boat—swayed over the muddy waters of the southern Congo River, before it was released and plopped into the water, rocking violently before it settled.

A bead of sweat dripped down Diesel’s neck, into the collar of his shirt. Night swept over the sprawling marshlands of the Congo River in the southern province of the Democratic Republic of the Congo.

SEAL Boat Team 22 had been deployed to Djibouti, on the Horn of Africa, two days ago for this specific mission. They’d gone over the operation, studied the maps and gathered their equipment for what was now “showtime.”

“The SOC-R’s down!” Diesel shouted, his hand tightening on the rope, which was dangling from the helicopter to the boat below.

Wind from the rotors on each end of the chopper buffeted the craft and water below. One of the gunners hung out the door, searching for combatants, not expecting to find any this far south, but not willing to let his guard down.

“Ready?” Diesel yelled.

A shout rose up from the other members of SEAL Boat Team 22 inside the MH-47. With the helicopter hovering over the SOC-R, Diesel fast-roped from the helicopter and dropped into the boat. Once he had his balance, he took the helm and waited for the others to land.

The SOC-R’s four-man crew consisted of one helmsman and three gunners. Two GAU-17/A machine guns mounted in the front of the boat, two side-mounted M240B light machine guns, one .50 caliber machine gun in the rear, two grenade launchers and sufficient ammo to take on a small army gave them enough firepower to withstand a limited war.

Hopefully, by traveling under the cover of night, they wouldn’t have to use their supply of ammunition. They’d travel downriver using the GPS guidance system to the last known location of the rebels and their captives.

When all ten team members were on board, those who were designated took up positions behind each of the mounted weapons. The remaining SEALs had their M4A1 rifles with the SOPMOD upgrades in their hands, ready to take on any enemy threat.

Diesel handed the helm over to the helmsman and took up a position near the port bow. The helicopter lifted into the air and disappeared, heading south to await the call for extraction.

The helmsman opened up the throttle and sent the boat skimming through the marshlands of the headwaters of the Congo River.

The hostages had been taken three days ago. Their captors might be getting antsy and ready to kill them and cut their losses. Thus the need for speed, covering as much ground, or river, as possible that night. If all went well and they didn’t get lost in the maze of tributaries, they might make it to the extraction location within a few hours.

Diesel and his team had been over and over the maps and satellite images provided by the Military intelligence gurus back in Langley, Virginia. Those were the guys who poured over hundreds of satellite images a day to locate threats or, in this situation, find the location of a kidnapped person being held for ransom. They sat behind their desks, staring at computer screens all day, and sometimes all night, long.

A shiver of revulsion slipped over Diesel. He’d rather shoot himself than man a desk inside an office all day long. Though extraction missions could be tricky and highly dangerous, he’d still rather face the danger than the boredom.

The military didn’t always get involved in hostages being held for ransom. “We don’t negotiate with terrorists” being the mantra repeated every time the hostage wasn’t “worth” saving. But when the captive happened to be the Secretary of Defense’s son, strings got pulled and men deployed.

Ferrence Klein, of the Manhattan Kleins, and the son of the Secretary of Defense, Matthew Klein, had been taken hostage by a Congolese rebel faction and was being held for ransom, along with his bodyguard, Reese Brantley.

The official story out of Africa indicated Klein had been on a wild-game hunt and had gotten ahead of his guides, on the other side of the border, in Zambia.

Their vehicle had been set upon by Congolese rebels. Once the SUV had come to a halt, the driver ran away, and the rebels took Klein and Brantley into custody. Some of the witnesses claimed the driver was paid to bring the vehicle to the rebels and was allowed to go free once the deed was done.

A video message was broadcast on the Al Jazeera television network with Ferrence blubbering about paying the ransom or whatever it took to get him out of the jungle and back home to his beloved Manhattan. He didn’t mention his bodyguard. The team could only assume Brantley was still alive, so they planned on bringing back two civilians.

Using the GPS, the helmsman navigated the river, speeding along as fast as he could in the growing darkness, skimming past what appeared to be drifting logs in the murky water. Those logs turned out to be crocodiles, floating on the surface. As the SOC-R neared, the crocs dove deep into the dark river, leaving no indication they’d been there other than a gentle rippling wave.

A chill slithered across the back of Diesel’s neck. He did not want to fall into the water. He’d rather face a dozen Congolese rebels with only a knife than an African crocodile and its mouth full of razor-sharp teeth.

He spent the next couple hours on alert, watching the shoreline for any sign of movement or guards. They passed several villages on the banks with docks jutting out into the water. Unlike back in the States, these little towns were completely dark. Not a single light shining, now that the sun had set. Many didn’t have electricity. Those who did conserved the energy, not seeing a need to light the darkness. Dark was meant for sleeping.

Diesel imagined the boat that had taken the two hostages upriver had passed much the same—unchallenged and in the dark, without raising suspicion or providing clues as to its destination.

Time passed slowly. Like a good SEAL, Diesel rested, conserving his strength for the task ahead. If they didn’t run into any trouble, they’d arrive well before midnight. That’s when the fun would begin.

What seemed like a lifetime later, the helmsman called out, “Twenty minutes to LZ.”

Diesel’s pulse ratcheted up several notches, and his hand tightened on the M4A1 rifle in his hand. With only twenty minutes until they reached their landing zone, they could potentially run into Congolese rebels soon.

Ten minutes passed, and the helmsman slowed the boat to a crawl, hugging the starboard banks, using the shadows cast by the moonlight as concealment, while he searched for a good spot to tie off. Those who weren’t staying with the boat would cover the rest of the distance on foot. That was seven of the ten-man team. They’d push through the trees and bushes of the now jungle terrain to their destination, where the green blips on the GPS location device led them.

A break in the overhanging limbs led to a narrow tributary, just wide enough to wedge the SOC-R into and allow the landing party to disembark.

Before he led the team off the boat, Diesel slipped his night vision goggles into position over his eyes. He scanned the shoreline, searching for any green heat signatures, whether they be man or beast. Life along the Congo River was rife with crocodiles, and if that wasn’t dangerous enough, they were getting close to an area known for their bands of gorillas. Now wasn’t the time to be wrestling crocs or gorillas. They had a job to do.

Nothing moved, and no green lights glowed in his night vision goggles. Diesel hopped over the side of the boat and landed on the soft, muddy slope of the riverbank. He scrambled up to a drier purchase and provided cover for the others as they disembarked. The SOC-R would remain hidden until the team returned with the hostages. Helicopter backup was a last resort.

Operation Silver Spoon was a covert operation. The Congolese Government wasn’t to know the US Navy had sent people uninvited into their country. If members of the team were captured, they were to escape at any cost or disavow their connection to the US Navy and US Government. Though their weapons and equipment were dead giveaways, they each wore solid-black clothing without rank or insignia of any kind, and they didn’t carry any identification cards or tags.

Each man knew the risks. He also knew his fellow SEALs wouldn’t leave a single man behind—not for long, at least.

As the last man climbed out of the SOC-R, Diesel moved out, following the river, moving several yards in from the shore. He slid from shadow to shadow, carefully scanning the path ahead. He ran quickly and as quietly as possible. Stealth was their friend. If they could get into the camp, subdue the rebels and get out without stirring up a firestorm, they would make it back to Zambia by morning, and Djibouti by lunchtime.

Diesel shook his head. As much as they went through possible scenarios, or practiced different approaches, nothing ever quite turned out like they planned. Sometimes the weather played a role in gumming up the works. Sometimes the tangos they were going up against were a little more sophisticated or armed than they’d anticipated. And sometimes fate dealt them a crappy hand. Bottom line: they had to be ready to roll with the punches.

Diesel spied the first tango fifteen minutes from their LZ. “Tango at ten o’clock, twenty meters.” He held up his fist and lowered himself to a squatting position, studying the guard posted near the riverbank.

After a couple minutes of observation, Diesel determined the guard was lying in a prone position without moving. He was either dead or asleep at his post.

Either way, Diesel had to insure he wouldn’t raise the alarm.

“I’ll take him,” Diesel said. “Buck, cover me.”

Graham Buckner, or Buck for short, moved up to take Diesel’s position. Though he was the team corpsman, or medic, he was an excellent sharpshooter. He knelt on one knee and propped his elbow, staring down the scope fixed to the barrel of his M4A1 rifle. “Got your six. Go.”

Diesel shifted his night vision goggles up onto his helmet, slipped his rifle strap over his shoulder, pulled his KA-BAR knife from the scabbard on his ankle and circled wide, coming in behind his prey, who faced the river.

The man woke at the exact moment Diesel pressed the blade to his throat. He didn’t have time to shout or even whisper a cry before Diesel dispatched the man.

Slipping his night vision goggles back in place, Diesel studied the area to his north. A small camp had been set up with makeshift tents. Several men leaned against trees, their rifles resting in their laps. By the way the men’s heads were drooped to the side, Diesel could tell they were fast asleep. The faint glow of heat indicated two warm bodies in the nearest tent, one in the next closest tent and three more in the farthest tent. One man stood in front of the tent with two people inside. It had to be the tent containing the hostages. The one man stood guard, while all the others slept.

Unfortunately, that one man could easily wake the others, and then all hell would break loose.

“I count eleven tangos, but I can’t see the back side of the camp,” Diesel whispered into his mic. “Buck, bound to my position. Harm, cover. Pitbull, Big Jake and T-Mac, swing wide and head north to cover the flank.”

Each man gave a quiet affirmative and proceeded to spread out.

Once Buck took Diesel’s position, Diesel motioned Harm forward. Together, they approached the camp, easing toward the one guard on duty, his rifle held loosely in his hands.

“Cover me,” Diesel said.

Harm nodded. He had a silencer on his M4A1. He could drop the man in a heartbeat should trouble erupt. In the meantime, Diesel needed to get to the tent with the two hostages, take out the guard and spirit the hostages away before the rest of the camp got wind of their little operation.


Chapter Two (#uf60fe08d-6982-5313-8852-41cb415e065d)

Reese didn’t have much of an opportunity to escape. Their captors had seen fit to leave one of their members in the tent with her and Klein. Not only that, but they’d tied her hands behind her back and bound her ankles. They’d done the same to Ferrence. When he’d surfaced from unconsciousness, he’d been angry and scared. The captors only had to threaten pain and torture to get Ferrence to beg on video for the ransom money they wanted. One of the men had recorded his plea on a cell phone and left to take the video somewhere he could get cell tower reception.

They claimed to be Congolese rebels fighting for the freedom of their country to decide how to be governed, but Reese doubted they were fighting for anyone but themselves. Their leader was a big, bulky black man with a scar on the side of his face. He wore bandoliers filled with bullets, crisscrossing his chest like armor, and carried a submachine gun, waving it at anyone who angered him. His men had called him something that sounded like Bosco Mutombo.

Once their captors had their video of Ferrence’s plea, he and Reese had been left confined to the tent, allowed to go out only to relieve themselves under the watchful eyes of armed men.

Reese had been sized up and threatened with sexual abuse, but left alone when she said they would more likely get their money if both she and Ferrence were not harmed. Otherwise, they’d send in the US Army, Navy, Air Force and Marines to blow them off the face of the earth.

One man translated for the others, and they all laughed, though the laughter had a certain nervous edge to it.

Reese didn’t care, as long as they didn’t touch her.

A moan sounded from her client’s direction.

Inching her way across the bare ground, Reese moved toward Ferrence, careful not to draw the attention of the guard sitting with his back to her. He glanced toward her every two or three minutes, but otherwise, didn’t seem concerned that she might find a way to escape. He had an old video gaming device in his hand and seemed more interested in his game score than his captives.

The guard’s head came up, and he glanced toward her.

Reese closed her eyes and let her head slump forward like she’d just nodded off.

Through her lashes, she could see the man’s eyes narrow. He looked back at his video game. The light blinked out on it, and he shook it, muttering beneath his breath.

Reese almost laughed. She suspected the battery had died. Since she hadn’t heard a generator, and there weren’t any other lights on in the camp that she could see through the canvas of the tent, the guard wouldn’t be playing his game for the rest of his time there with no way to recharge the battery.

The man stood, ducked his head and stepped out of the tent.

Finally alone in the tent, Reese scooted on her butt toward Ferrence and whispered into his ear. “Wake up.”

He moaned, rolled onto his back and frowned when he couldn’t move his hands. For a moment, he lay still. Then he asked, “Any news?”

She shook her head, and then realized he wouldn’t see the movement in the dark. “None. We can’t wait to be rescued. We need to get ourselves out of this mess.”

“And hide in a jungle full of snakes, gorillas and who the hell knows what else?” He shook his head. “No way. I’ll wait for my father to pay the ransom and be escorted out of here in one of his helicopters.”

She snorted. “Wake up and smell the coffee, Ferrence.” As soon as she mentioned coffee, her belly rumbled. The only thing they’d been given to eat were a couple of bananas and unbaked sweet potatoes. Fortunately, they’d been supplied bottled water to drink, thus saving their stomachs from parasites. But the last bottle of water had been on the second morning. “It’s been three days. If they don’t get their ransom money soon, they might decide to kill us and hide the bodies.”

“We’re still equipped with the GPS tracking devices,” Ferrence argued. “They’re probably on their way as we speak.”

“Are you willing to risk it? Do you really think these men will wait much longer? Just today, they were fighting among themselves. At least sit up and let me see if I can untie the ropes on your wrists.”

He did as she asked, scooting around to put his back to hers.

Reese had already tried to untie her bonds or to rub the rope against something coarse, but she was confined to the tent, and nothing inside the tent presented itself as a coarse surface.

She fumbled with the ropes on Ferrence’s wrists, finally finding the end and working it back through one of the knots.

She’d broken out in a sweat by the time she’d freed Ferrence’s hands. “Now me. Untie my hands.”

“When I get my feet done.” He leaned away from her and grunted.

Reese grit her teeth. “Think about it, Ferrence. If you untie my wrists first, we can both untie our feet at the same time.”

“I’ve got it,” he said, triumphantly, and then turned to work at the knots on her wrists. “Yours are tighter.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t think I can get it.”

“Try harder,” she urged.

Finally, she felt the ropes give, and she shook her hands free. She immediately bent to the task of untying her legs. “If the guard comes back, pretend your wrists and ankles are still tied.”

“Like hell. I’m getting out of here.”

“Wait until I’m free,” she said. “We need to stick together.”

“You’re fast. You can catch up.” He lifted the back of the tent, stared out at the night and whispered, “I don’t see anyone out there. I think we can make a run for it.”

“Wait—” Her hands still fumbling with the knots around her ankles, Reese couldn’t lunge after Ferrence. He was out the back of the tent and gone.

“Son of a b—” The end slipped through the knot and the ropes fell away from her ankles. A grunt sounded outside the front of the tent, and something fell, landing hard against the ground.

Not willing to stick around to find out what it was, Reese ducked beneath the bottom of the tent, rolled out and sprang to her feet. She ran for the nearest trees and bushes.

A shout rang out to her right, and then all hell broke loose.

Shots were fired, men yelled and chaos reigned. Reese didn’t slow down, didn’t stop, just kept running until she hit a wall. She hit the obstacle so hard, she bounced off and landed on her butt. Refusing to be captured again, she shot to her feet and dodged to the left.

A hand snaked out and grabbed her arm.

She rolled beneath the arm, sank her elbow into what she hoped was the man’s belly and hit what felt like solid steel. Pain shot through her arm. She’d likely chipped her elbow.

Whoever had hold of her was wearing an armored plate. Having been caught and tortured before, she refused to be a victim again. She kicked her foot hard, connecting with the man’s shin.

He yelled and almost lost his grip on her arm.

Reese took advantage of the loosened hold and yanked herself free.

Before she could run two steps, arms wrapped around her waist from behind, and she was lifted off the ground. She struggled, kicked and wiggled, but nothing she could do would free her of the man holding her.

“Damn it, hold still,” a man’s voice whispered against her ear, his breath warm and surprisingly minty.

Reese recognized the American accent immediately. “Who are you? Why are you holding me captive?” She fought again. Many Americans hired out as mercenaries. This could be one of them.

“I’m not here to hurt you.” He grunted when her heel made contact with his thigh. “Damn it, I’m here to rescue you.” He dropped her to the ground so fast, she lost her footing and crumpled into a heap at his feet.

More gunfire sounded behind her. Where the hell was Ferrence? Had the rebels shot him for trying to escape?

This time, when she tried to get up, the man in the armored vest laid a hand on her shoulder and dropped low beside her. “Stay down. You don’t know the direction they’re shooting.” He stayed close to her, and then he said. “Get him out of here.”

“What?” she asked.

“We’re getting Klein out of here.”

“Not without me,” she said. “He’s my client.” Reese started to get up, but that hand on her shoulder kept her down. “Who are you?”

“My team was sent to get you two out of here.”

“Your team?” She glanced around. “Are you Spec Ops?”

“Shh,” he said. “Someone’s coming.”

In the limited light making its way through the canopy of foliage, Reese could make out the silhouette of a man carrying a weapon. She lay low against the ground. The man beside her flattened himself, as well.

Neither moved a muscle as the man carrying what appeared to be an AK-47 passed inches away from where they lay.

More shouts rose up from the rebels in the camp. A motor sounded close by, and flashlights lit up the area.

The man with the AK-47 turned and almost walked over them on his way back to camp. Thankfully, he must have been too blinded by the lights to see what was right next to him.

Once the rebel fighter was out of hearing range, the man beside Reese spoke softly. “Looks like they’re getting into their boat.”

Reese peered through the darkness. All she could see were flashlights heading away from her and the occasional man caught in the beam. The camp was emptying out, heading for the river.

“They’re heading south,” the man said softly. “Your direction. Don’t wait on me. Get Klein out of here, now. I have Brantley. We’ll find our own way back. I’ll contact you when we’re out of danger. Don’t argue. Just go.”

Reese was only half-listening to her rescuer’s side of a conversation. Some of the men appeared to be climbing aboard a boat. The others turned around, shining lights toward the jungle. She tugged on the sleeve of the man beside her. “We’ve got a problem.” She rose onto her haunches. “Some of them are coming this way with flashlights.”

* * *

BRANTLEY WAS RIGHT. Diesel glanced around. The men were coming toward them and spreading out, heading south along the river. A shout went up when they found their sentry.

“Follow me. And for the love of God, stay low,” he commanded. He led the way deeper into the jungle and turned north, praying he didn’t get them lost. He figured, as long as he had a GPS device on his wrist, he’d be all right. If they had to, they’d travel all the way to Kinshasa, the capital of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and show up on the doorstep of the US Embassy, claiming some lame excuse of being tourists who’d fallen off a riverboat cruise.

In the meantime, they had to get away from the gun-toting rebels who’d just as soon shoot first and ask questions of a corpse later. Especially since they’d found one of their own dead.

A shout sounded behind him. He glanced back at Brantley. Lights flashed toward them. “Run,” he urged.

They gave up all attempt at quiet and charged through the jungle. The head start they had on the rebels would help, but they couldn’t keep running forever. They needed to find a place to hide.

His lungs already burning, the heat dragging him down, Diesel could imagine the woman behind him had to be dying by now. He reached back, captured Brantley’s hand and pulled her along with him. When they arrived at a stand of huge trees with low-hanging limbs, Diesel aimed for them, slowing as he neared.

“Why are we slowing down? They’ll catch up to us,” Brantley said between ragged breaths.

Diesel cupped his hands. “Climb.”

“No. Wait.” The woman ripped her shirt and ran away from him.

“Where the hell are you going?” he called out to her in a whisper he hoped couldn’t be heard by their pursuers.

In the pale glow from what little starlight penetrated the canopy, Brantley raced to the far edge of the clearing that surrounded the base of the tree and hung the piece of fabric on a bush. As quickly as she’d left, she returned to where Diesel again bent and held out his cupped hands. If they didn’t hurry, that little bit of fabric hanging on a bush wouldn’t make a difference.

“Go!” he urged.

Still, she hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t think. Just climb.”

Shouts in the jungle behind them had her stepping into the palms of his hands. He boosted her up to the first limb. When she had her balance, he handed her his rifle, and then pulled himself up beside her.

Without waiting for him to instruct her, Brantley climbed from limb to limb, rising high up the trunk to the vegetation that would provide sufficient concealment from the men wielding flashlights and weapons below.

As the men neared the tree, Brantley came to a stop. Diesel followed suit. For the next fifteen minutes, they sat silent in the tree.

Diesel breathed, held his breath and listened.

The sound of footsteps below indicated the men had reached the base of the tree. A light shined up into the branches.

Diesel glanced up.

Brantley hugged the trunk, pressing her body against the hard wood, making herself appear to be as much a part of the tree as its bark.

Diesel had laid his rifle along a thick horizontal branch, and then he laid himself across the branch, as well, bringing his feet up behind him to keep them from dangling over the sides. If he slipped an inch to the left or the right, he might fall off the branch and all the way to the ground. He didn’t think about falling. Instead, he focused on his balance and maintaining his silence.

A man below yelled. The flashlights were turned away from the branches of the tree and shined toward the far side of the clearing. Footsteps pounded through the brush, toward the jungle and way from the two people up in the tree.

Soon, the sound of humans faded away, and the creatures of the night sent up their own song.

“They’re gone,” Reese said. “Should we get down?”

Diesel sat up, his legs straddling the big branch. When he scooted back into the trunk, he found that there was enough room for two people to sit comfortably without falling out of the tree. “We’re staying the night here.”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she said.

“I’m not sure which direction the rebels went. If we get down and follow them, they might decide to turn around and head back to camp. If we turn back the way we came, we might run into whoever they left behind.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. If we go deeper into the jungle, we might be lost for good, and the river is full of its own dangers.” She sighed. “I guess being up a tree for the night beats getting shot at or eaten by crocodiles...” Her words trailed off.

Diesel chuckled. “You don’t sound very enthusiastic.”

“I might be if I wasn’t just a little petrified of heights.” Her voice shook, and her teeth chattered.

“You’re kidding, right?” Diesel shined his flashlight with the red filtered lens up at her.

She remained glued to the tree above him, even though the enemy threat had moved on. As the light touched her face, she opened her eyes and looked down. “Oh, hell.” She squeezed them shut. “Shouldn’t have done that. No, no, no. Shouldn’t have done that.”

“What? Shined the light up at you?”

“No,” she said, her teeth clattering together so hard that Diesel was afraid she’d chip one.

“No. I shouldn’t have looked down.” Brantley’s arms tightened around the tree. “Now that I’m up here, I might as well stay awhile. I certainly won’t be getting down anytime soon.”

Good grief, the woman was beyond terrified. “Don’t move,” Diesel said. “I’m coming up.”

“Don’t move, he says.” Brantley laughed, the sound without amusement. “Trust me when I say, I couldn’t let go if I wanted to. So much for all the MMA training. It doesn’t help you conquer all of your fears. No, you have to climb up to the top of a giant tree to test the theory. You couldn’t just stand on the edge of a cliff. Noooo. You had to climb up a really tall tree in the dark, in a jungle, with an absolute stranger who could be just as much the enemy as the people who kidnapped you.”

A smile twitched at the corners of Diesel’s mouth at Brantley’s long monologue. He knew she was talking to keep from freaking out, but it was funny and kind of cute. She’d kept up with him in their mad dash to evade her captors. And she was a bodyguard and appeared to be capable of protecting herself. To Diesel, that spelled one tough chick.

Until she’d climbed a tree and looked down toward the ground.

Diesel pulled himself up to the next branch and the next, until he finally slung his leg over the limb Brantley was straddling, hugging the trunk with all of her might.

Diesel scooted closer.

Brantley glanced over her shoulder, nervously. “Don’t knock me off.”

“Wasn’t going to.” He inched toward her. “You know, there’s enough room for two to sit here all night.”

“So you say.” She didn’t let go of the tree trunk.

In the dark, Diesel couldn’t see her fingertips, but could imagine them curled into the bark.

When he was close enough to touch her back, she flinched.

“I’m not going to knock you off. I was hoping to reassure you that this limb is big enough for the two of us.” He wrapped his body around hers. “You’re as tense as a tightly wound rattlesnake with a brand new button on his tail.”

Brantley snorted. “Did you just fall off a horse in Texas?”

Diesel chuckled. “How did you know I was from Texas?”

“Lucky guess.” She inhaled, her back rubbing against Diesel’s chest. Letting the breath out in a long stream, she laughed. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone who’d hire a bodyguard who couldn’t keep her client safe?”

“Not off the top of my head. But then the odds were stacked against you on this assignment, from what I know.”

“Damned guide was in on the kidnapping,” she stated. “I should have seen it. Hell, I should have shot him when I realized he was taking us the wrong way.” She shook her head. “But I didn’t.”

“You might have had an international incident on your hands had you killed him.”

“Yeah, and he was driving when I considered it, at a breakneck speed, with Klein out front on the hood.”

“On the hood?”

“You know, in some kind of seat they rig up for the hunter. He was going after a leopard.”

“I thought they were protected.”

“Ferrence paid a hefty price for a real safari hunt. I think the guide assured him he could shoot just about anything.” The disgust in her voice was evident.

“You don’t much care for Mr. Klein?”

“Not really, but that doesn’t mean I wish ill on him.”

“Then why work for him?”

“I’m not. I work—worked—for his father, Matthew Klein. He hired me to protect his son. And a lot of good that did. I wouldn’t be surprised if he demands a refund.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“Why not? I didn’t do my job.” She snorted. “I can’t even get down out of this tree.”

“We’ll worry about that in the morning, when we can see what we’re doing.”

“Hell, I’m putting my trust in a stranger. I don’t even know you.”

“We can fix that. Hi. I’m Dalton Samuel Landon, but my friends call me Diesel.” He reached around her, peeled her hand off the tree and gave it an awkward shake. “And you are?” As soon as she let go, her hand found its way back to the tree.

“You must already know who I am since you were sent to rescue us.”

“Reese Brantley,” he supplied. “How did a girl like you end up as a bodyguard to Ferrence Klein?”

She stiffened. “What do you mean a girl like you?”

He chuckled. “Sorry. I meant how did you get stuck as a bodyguard to the Klein legacy?”

Her body remained rigid for a few seconds longer, and then she relaxed. “His father didn’t want him to know he’d hired a bodyguard. He told Ferrence I would be his assistant while he was in Africa. Had he hired a male, Ferrence would have guessed.”

Diesel nodded. “And Ferrence didn’t want daddy’s protection?”

“No. Not when he’d made plans to hunt endangered species.” Again, Reese’s body tensed. “Had I known he’d come to hunt anything but some plentiful deer, I’d have told his father where his son could go.”

“I take it he was more interested in a trophy than food?”

“He was hunting a leopard when the driver veered off course.” She half-turned toward him. “By the way, where are we? I have a feeling we aren’t in Zambia anymore.”

Diesel’s arms tightened around her. “We’re not. We’re in the Democratic Republic of the Congo.”

The woman sat stiff. “Okay. Well. We’ll just have to get the hell out of here. I don’t suppose your team is coming back anytime soon?”

“They will.” He couldn’t say when. Since they had Klein to get out, the powers that pulled the strings might not want to redeploy the team to extract one SEAL and one civilian. Not in a hostile country. And not when they weren’t supposed to be there to begin with. With current tensions between the new presidential administration and international trade relations, Diesel wasn’t sure they’d risk a second insertion into the DRC.

“In the meantime,” Reese said, “we’ll have to get out of this area, or risk being caught.”

A sound alerted Diesel. He touched Reese’s arm. “Shh,” he said softly. “I hear someone coming.”


Chapter Three (#uf60fe08d-6982-5313-8852-41cb415e065d)

Reese froze and listened. The animals and insects were suddenly silent. A slight breeze rustled the leaves around her. Then the snap of a twig alerted her to movement below.

Someone whispered in a language she barely recognized, and didn’t understand. Then shots rang out, and the rapid report of a semiautomatic weapon filled the air.

Diesel pressed his body against her, smashing her against the tree trunk. Something hit close to where her fingers dug into the bark, splintering wood fragments over her hand.

As quickly as the burst of bullets began, they ended. Voices below spoke in rapid-fire anger. Then they moved away, heading back toward the camp where Reese and Ferrence had been held hostage for several days. As much as she hated being high up in a tree, she’d rather face the heights than her former captors.

Diesel remained pressed to her back for a couple minutes after the sounds of movement below had dissipated.

The solid strength of his body was unexpectedly reassuring. Reese frowned. She didn’t like that she needed reassurance. Having spent the last three years rebuilding her life and confidence, she didn’t need a man to reassure her about anything. She was the bodyguard, not Diesel.

Then again, she’d failed in her first real assignment as a bodyguard and had fallen into a situation she’d sworn she’d never allow herself to be in, ever again. She’d been captured. This time, her captors hadn’t been as quick to torture and rape her. Had they tried, she’d have died fighting them off. Never again would she allow anyone to violate her, to abuse her like she’d been abused at the hands of the Taliban in Afghanistan.

The mere thought of what they’d done to her had the usual effect on her. She broke out in a cold sweat, her heart raced and she felt as if she might explode if she didn’t get away and suck more air into her lungs.

“I can’t breathe,” she whispered through tight lips.

Immediately, the man behind her eased back. “Were you hit?”

“No,” she said and dragged air into her lungs. The desire to move, to get away, took hold of her and refused to let go. At that moment, she had the uncontrollable urge to throw herself out of the tree. But she couldn’t. The enemy could return. They might be lying in wait just beyond the clearing around the tree, hoping to capture them as they came out of hiding.

Instead, she bit down hard on her lip, clenched her fists and started counting to one hundred. Her body shook with the effort to control her reaction.

“Are you sure you weren’t hit?” Diesel asked, his voice quiet, his mouth close to her ear, his body leaning into hers.

Reese couldn’t respond, couldn’t utter a word. She remained focused on not losing her cool.

Diesel’s hands gripped her arms and pulled her back against his chest. “You’re shaking like a paint mixer. It’s okay. They’re gone,” he said, holding her close.

“I’m okay,” Reese said, forcing the words out from between her teeth.

Diesel’s arms wrapped around her midsection and held on tightly. “Clearly, you aren’t.”

“You don’t have to hold me,” she insisted, hating herself for her reaction and the need to feel his arms around her. “I can manage on my own.”

“I’m afraid to let go. You might shake yourself right out of this tree.”

“I’ll manage,” she insisted. “Please. Let go.”

When he moved his arms away from her, Reese let go of the tree long enough to hug herself to ward off the chills threatening to take over. When she touched her arm where his hand had been, she felt something warm, wet and sticky. Blood? She felt around, but nothing hurt.

Because the blood wasn’t hers.

“Hey.” She half turned. “Were you hit?”

“I got nicked. But it’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine,” he said. “I’m more worried about getting us out of here and away from our friends with the AK-47s.”

“You should let me look at your wound.”

“It’s not like you can see in the dark, and I’m not willing to risk turning on a flashlight for a little scrape.”

Reese would bet her best pair of hiking boots the wound was more than a mere scrape. “At least let me apply a pressure bandage to stop the bleeding. Where is it?”

“It’s okay,” he said, his tone sharp.

“Look, you dripped blood on to my arm. If you’re still dripping, you might leave a trail for the goons to follow.” She grabbed the hem of her shirt and, carefully and as quietly as possible, ripped off a section. She tried to turn on the tree limb and nearly tipped over the side. Her heart clattered against the walls of her chest.

Diesel held on to her arm to steady her. “Wait until we get down from here.”

“For all we know, we’ll be up here for a while.” She shook her head. “Let me feel for myself. Where is it?” She touched his wrist and moved up his arm.

“Higher,” he said.

Reese ran her hand up his thick, solid forearm to the bicep. When her fingers encountered fresh, warm blood, she knew she’d found the source of the leak. “It’s more than a scrape. You might need stitches.”

“I don’t. But if it makes you feel better, you can wrap it up to keep me from bleeding and leaving a trail.”

“Damn right I will.” Pushing her fear of heights to the side, she maneuvered herself around to face him, her knees touching his, making it hard for her to reach his arm. She bent close, but still couldn’t get to the spot she needed to reach. “Could you lean closer?” she asked.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake.” He grabbed her hips, lifted her off the tree limb and deposited her onto his lap, her legs straddling his hips.

Heat rushed into Reese’s cheeks and farther south to her core. She’d never sat in a man’s lap quite like this before. The angle of their contact was more than intimate, and completely befuddled her thinking. Thankfully, it also took her mind off the fact they were over twenty-five feet in the air, perched on a tree limb.

With his arms holding her firmly around her waist, she went to work wrapping the fabric around his injured arm. The fact he could move it as well as he did was proof it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought. But any injury in the jungle and subsequent blood loss could be life-threatening, especially if it became infected. She did the best she could in the dark. The sooner they got her rescuer to a health-care facility, the better.

“That’s as good as I can manage, without seeing the actual wound,” Reese said. “You can let go, now.”

“And if I don’t want to?” he said, his voice rich and thick like smooth heated chocolate, spreading into every pore of her skin.

Reese’s breath lodged in her lungs, and a thrill rippled through her, culminating at the point where her bottom rested on his thighs. Good Lord. She could not be having lusty thoughts about a complete stranger, while facing one of her most irrational fears in the canopy of a jungle tree.

Diesel’s arms tightened around her for a moment and then loosened. “I’ll balance you, while you turn around.” He grabbed her around her waist and eased her backward.

Reese rested a hand on his broad shoulder, until she was forced to release it and turn to clutch at the tree’s trunk.

A second later, Diesel moved from behind her and dropped to the limb below. Once again, he wrapped his strong hands around her waist. “When I lift you, wrap your arms around my neck and slide your body down mine. Your feet will land on another limb.”

“C-can’t we wait until morning?”

“The more I consider it, the more I’m afraid that if we wait until morning, the men in the camp will see us. We need to get as far from them as possible tonight.”

Reese knew what Diesel said was valid, but climbing down from a tree was so much more frightening than going up. The warmth of his hands gripping her waist gave her the courage to let go of the tree trunk and transfer her hold to his neck. She wrapped her arms around him so tightly, she was sure she practically strangled him.

He settled her feet onto the limb in front of him and urged her to ease up on the stranglehold around his neck. Once he had her sitting on the lower branch, he leaned close. “See? Not so bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” she grumbled. But it wasn’t so bad. She still couldn’t see the ground, and maybe that was a blessing.

“I’m going all the way to the ground,” he whispered into her ear, his warm breath stirring the loose hairs against her cheek. “Don’t move a muscle, until I return with the all clear.”

She nodded, wanting to tell him to be careful, but knowing it was a wasted sentiment. The man was obviously trained in tactics and evasion. He knew how to steal through the night like a shadow.

He slipped away before she could change her mind or cling to him and beg him to stay. While Diesel was gone, she counted her breaths, praying he didn’t walk into a trap and get himself killed.

He was gone for what felt like an eternity. When she’d about given up hope of his return and started to consider her own descent from the tree, she heard the soft rustle of fabric and a gentle grunt. Diesel pulled himself up to the limb below her, his head on level with her thigh. All she could see was his black silhouette against the dark backdrop of the jungle and the pale whites of his eyes.

“Miss me?” he asked.

She snorted. “Hardly,” she lied. “What took you so long?”

“I went back to the camp. The men there had settled in for the night. The ones that took off on the boat hadn’t returned.”

“God, I hope they didn’t catch up to the rest of your team.” She prayed Ferrence made it back to civilization without further incident. Then, at the very least, she wouldn’t be responsible for his death.

“Don’t worry. There are enough of them to take on anything those rebels have in store. It’s you and me I’m worried about.”

“Any ideas?”

“We head north, following the river. Hopefully, we will run across someone who can help get us to safety. But first, we have to get you out of this tree.”

“I can do it by myself,” she said with a lot more confidence than she felt.

“Okay then. It’s tricky in the dark. If you need to hold on to me, I’ll be here.”

Taking a deep breath, Reese leaned on to her belly and dropped both legs over the side of the limb she’d been sitting on.

A hand on her bottom steadied her and helped guide her to the branch below. Once she had her feet firmly on the thick limb, she dropped to a sitting position. Using this method, she slowly eased herself to the lowest limb.

Diesel dropped to the earth and touched her thigh. “Swing your other leg over and drop. I’ll catch you.”

“I’m a full-grown woman, not a small child. If I throw myself out of this tree, I could hurt both of us. Besides, you’re injured.”

“Do you always argue this much? If we don’t hurry, those goons will be on top of us. Now do as I said,” he commanded.

Reese closed her eyes, swung her leg over the limb and slid out of the tree.

True to his word, Diesel caught her. Granted, he staggered backward several steps until he got his feet under him. Still, he held her in his arms.

“You can put me down,” she said. “I can stand on my own feet.” She touched his arm where she’d tied the cloth around his wound. It was soaked with blood. “Damn it, Diesel, you’re still bleeding.”

He let her feet drop down, and she slid down his muscular front, feeling every line, ripple and indentation as she went. By the time her feet touched the ground, her body was on fire. What was it about this man that awakened in her something she thought died back in Afghanistan?

Reese quickly stepped away, her breathing ragged, her thoughts flustered. She was glad for the darkness, as she figured it would hide how red her cheeks must be. “We need to get you to a doctor. You might need stitches and antibiotics.”

“I’ll live. I won’t need any of that if we don’t get out of here ASAP.” He grabbed her hand and took off, running north of the camp.

Reese ran with him, doing her best not to trip over branches and fall flat on her face. They didn’t have time for broken legs. The few shafts of starlight making it through the canopy were all she had to light her way. She prayed they didn’t run into any crocodiles or gorillas in the darkness.

* * *

DIESEL KEPT UP a grueling pace, determined to get as far away from the camp of Congolese rebels as he could before daring to slow down.

To Reese’s credit, she did a good job keeping up with him. Based on the brief moments he’d held her in his arms, he could tell she didn’t have a spare ounce of flesh on her. Her body was honed, her muscles tight and well-defined.

Eventually, they slowed and moved at a fast walk, following the river, keeping it within twenty or thirty yards—close enough to maintain their bearings, but hopefully not too close they would run into a crocodile lazing on the bank. The river twisted in undulating curls, making it hard to follow exactly. Despite the meandering nature of the waterway, Diesel felt confident they were still within fairly easy reach of the water.

If only they could come across some sort of civilization—someone who had a telephone would be great. The river had villages along the way, but Diesel had no idea of how far it was between each. They couldn’t remain on the run for long. And as soon as they stopped, the mosquitos would eat them alive and spread who knew what kind of diseases. Fortunately, he’d packed a lightweight mosquito net in one of his cargo pockets. As soon as he felt they’d gotten far enough away from the rebels, he’d find another tree big enough for both of them to sleep in.

They’d been fortunate thus far that they hadn’t run into any other wildlife. That luck couldn’t last forever. Big cats, gorillas, hippos and crocodiles were just a few of the dangers that lurked along the banks of the Congo. The two-legged creatures could be every bit as treacherous.

After they’d been on the move for two hours, Diesel could feel his energy waning. The wound on his arm hadn’t stopped bleeding and had begun to throb. They needed to stop and rest soon.

He came across a clearing in the jungle, where the trees on the edges were large enough to provide shelter for them.

When he stopped beside one of the trees, he turned to Reese.

“Please tell me you’re just stopping to catch your breath,” she said, bending over to rest her hands on her knees, her breathing labored. “You know how I am about heights. It’s not something I’ll ever outgrow.”

“It’s the safest place to sleep. If you want to stay on the ground, you’re welcome to it. You might be sharing it with snakes, big cats, warthogs and gorillas. The mosquitoes alone might kill you. I’m going up. And I have a mosquito net.”

Reese straightened and slapped at her cheek. “Mosquito net? What armed aggressor carries a mosquito net into an operation?”

“One who’s going into the jungle. I brought the very basics for survival, in case I was separated from my team.”

“How fortuitous. I don’t suppose you have a cell phone in one of your pockets?”

Diesel could see the pale outline of her face in the murky darkness, but not the expression in her eyes. “We were equipped with two-way radio headsets, but we’re too far away from my team to communicate, and the chances of finding a cell phone transmission tower in the jungle are slim to none. The cell phone I have probably won’t work until we make it all the way to Kinshasa.”

Reese tipped up her head. “I really hate climbing trees,” she muttered and grabbed a hold of a low-hanging branch. “And what will keep a big cat from climbing the tree with us?”

“I think we can fend off a big cat in a tree easier than we can on the ground. I do have a weapon.”

“With that weapon, couldn’t we fight off everything on the ground, then?” Reese pulled herself up onto the first branch.

“We need to get some rest. You might not like heights, but I’m not fond of snakes. I’d rather take my chances in a tree than on the ground.”

“Fine. I’m climbing. But don’t expect me to like it,” she grumbled.

He chuckled and climbed up behind her. “I didn’t expect you to.” He handed her a tube. “Drink.”

“Where did you get water?”

“I have a water container on my back. Standard issue. Beats the hell out of canteens.”

She sipped and then sat back. “I didn’t realize how thirsty I was. As humid as it is, you’d think we wouldn’t need to drink.”

“All the more reason to keep hydrated.” He tucked the tube away and tipped his head up. “Wait here.”

She raised her hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Diesel climbed higher, found a fork in a sturdy branch, broke off some boughs full of leaves and twigs and laid them in the fork. He figured if the gorillas could make nests, he could too. Soon he had a relatively secure place for them to sleep through the remainder of the night. He hooked the mosquito netting from a branch above and camouflaged it with leaves.

When he was satisfied, he turned to climb back down, only to find Reese scooting out on the limb.

“I got tired of waiting,” she said.

The meager light that found its way through the canopy gave just enough illumination for her to see what he’d been working on. “Looks like a cocoon.”

“It is, in a way. Crawl on in.”

“You sure it’ll hold me?” she asked, still hesitating.

“I’ve been all over it. It’s pretty sturdy.”

Reese eased beneath the netting and stopped. “Can we be seen from below?”

“Won’t know until daylight. Go ahead. Get some rest. I’ll take first watch.”

“No way. You’re the injured party. I should have been up here doing all this while you rested.”

“I’m fine. It’s just a—”

“Flesh wound,” she finished. “You men. You could have a sucking chest wound and you’d still call it a flesh wound. At least let me do a better job on the bandage, now that we’re far enough away from our pursuers.”

“If it’ll get you inside, okay.” He slipped into the nest beside her and turned his arm toward her.

“Got a flashlight? I’d like to see what I’m working with.”

He handed her a small flashlight with a red lens. “Better than nothing and not as visible from a distance.”

She nodded, wedged the flashlight into the netting and pointed it at Diesel’s arm. Then she tried to untie the knotted bloody fabric.

Every time her knuckles grazed the wound, Diesel flinched.

“It’s getting red and puffy around the wound. You need medical attention.”

“Why? I have you.” He winked.

She frowned.

“Why the frown?” He touched her cheek.

Was she frowning? Reese schooled her face, ripped off another strip of fabric from her shirt, made a pad with part of it and pressed it to his wound, maybe a little harder than she should have.

He flinched. “Mad about something?”

“This whole situation. I’m supposed to be on a diplomatic mission with Ferrence Klein, protecting him from threats, not alone in the jungle with a stranger, far from my client.”

“Sometimes plans change. Missions change. You have to learn to roll with the punches.”

She glanced at the nest of branches. “I’m rolling.” She nodded toward the makeshift bed. “You sleep. I’m taking first watch.”

“I don’t need much sleep. You can go first.”

Her lips curled on the corners. “Do you always argue this much? You’ve lost blood. You need to rest.” She switched off the flashlight and remained in an upright position, refusing to lie down beside him.

Diesel could tell by the stubborn tilt of her chin that he couldn’t change her mind. Used to catching Z’s wherever and whenever he had the opportunity, he’d make use of this time to refill his internal store of energy. “Have it your way. But wake me in a couple hours. You need to sleep, too. We might have a long trek ahead of us tomorrow.” When he woke, he’d figure a way out of the jungle and back to his normal routine.

He lay staring up into the darkness, wide awake, wondering about this woman he’d rescued from the rebels. She wasn’t like most women he knew. “How did you end up hiring on to protect Klein?”

“I had some connections,” she replied.

“What’s your background? What makes you qualified to protect Klein?”

She hesitated only for a moment before firing back, “What makes you qualified to recover him?” She was feisty and gave as good as she got.

Diesel chuckled. “I’m in the navy. My team was tasked with the mission to rescue you and Klein.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Four years active duty in the army and two years on the MMA circuit.”

“MMA?” he asked.

“Mixed Martial Arts.”

“Why the army?” he asked.

“Why the navy?”

“Family legacy. My father was a marine, my grandfather was in the navy. I guess you could say it was in my blood. I like a challenge,” Diesel said. “Your turn. What’s your story?”

“Why do you care?” she said.

Diesel sighed. “Look, I’m just trying to get to know the woman I’m sleeping with in the jungle.”

Again, she was quiet for a few moments before speaking. “My parents died in car wreck a few days after I graduated high school. I had nothing keeping me there, no home to go to. A recruiter said, Join the army, see the world. So, I did.”

“But you didn’t stay in the army.”

“No.” The one word was spoken in a tight, sharp tone.

“Deploy?”

“Yes. And when I got off active duty, I became an MMA fighter.”

Diesel stopped suddenly, his brows rising. “Seriously?” He touched her arm. An MMA fighter was the last thing he expected to come from her mouth. “I mean, you’re in great shape and all, but I didn’t picture you as someone who’d fight for sport. Why the MMA?” he asked.

“I had some anger management issues I needed to resolve.” She shifted. “Are you finished with the interrogation?”

“I am.”

“Good, because you’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Diesel suspected there was a lot more to Reese’s story than she was sharing, but he wouldn’t push her more. If she wanted him to know more, she’d tell him. He had enough to go on, for now.

He’d hoped talking would make him less aware of her tight body. When she’d been in his lap, he’d been so turned on, he’d thought for sure she’d notice. Her body was honed, her attitude determined, but she was vulnerable enough to make him want to protect her. And if that meant holding her in his arms through the night, so be it. He swallowed a groan on that last thought. Maybe it was a good thing they split the watch and slept in shifts. Nowhere in his life did he have room to fall for the long-legged, curvaceous bodyguard, even if she was pretty hot in the red glow of the flashlight. And she had gumption. No. He needed to complete this mission and move on.

He lay on his back, unable to ignore the warmth of her thigh pressed against his. Swallowing a groan, he focused on sleep. He’d never had trouble falling asleep before he’d met Reese. Why start now?


Chapter Four (#uf60fe08d-6982-5313-8852-41cb415e065d)

Reese sat beside Diesel in the nest of boughs and stared through the gaps in the camouflage he’d applied to the netting. Every time the man moved, he brushed up against her, making her heart race and her body light up. What was wrong with her? Even if she wanted, she couldn’t begin to sleep with her thoughts running wild over her rescuer.

When Diesel had flashed his smile and winked at Reese, butterflies had erupted and swarmed in her belly, and heat had spread from her center outward. Not only was the man as hard as a bodybuilder, he was charming and sexy, too. A triple threat to her libido. She shook her head. She was in a tree, in a jungle with a man she’d met only a few hours ago. How could she be having lascivious thoughts about him when they were both covered in sweat and dirt?

She could hear the steady breathing of the man beside her. Darkness kept her from studying him. Time passed slowly with nothing but her thoughts to keep her company. Every sound made her tense up until her back ached. In the wee hours of the morning, her head dipped, and sleep threatened to overtake her.

She didn’t want to wake Diesel. He was the one who was wounded. His body needed time to recover.

Guilt made a knot in her gut. She’d already botched her first assignment. Ferrence’s father would fire her as soon as she got back to civilization. She wouldn’t have a job, and word-of-mouth about her failure would see to it she never had another bodyguard client. The least she could do was watch over the navy SEAL.

But she was so darned sleepy.

The man lying beside her moved. A second later, a hand touched her shoulder, and Diesel pressed the drinking tube against her fingers. “Drink and then sleep.”

She didn’t argue. Too tired to do anything but what he commanded, she sipped from the tube, the liquid soothing her dry throat. Then she lay on the bows and closed her eyes.

Reese must have fallen asleep right away. When she opened her eyes, she could make out all the shapes and shadows within the nest Diesel had created.

One thing she couldn’t see was the man himself.

Reese bolted upright and listened for the reassuring sound of him moving around outside the mosquito netting.

She heard sounds, but they weren’t the sounds she expected. Something was moving down below—a lot of somethings. And there were several grunts and other sounds she couldn’t quite place. She leaned forward and pressed her face to the netting. In the clearing below, dark shapes moved about. Some big, some smaller, but none of them human.

Her heart leaped into her throat, and she fought back a gasp.

A troop of gorillas had moved into the clearing and appeared to be setting up camp. Even from her perch high above them, Reese could tell they were big. Mothers sat preening their babies. Adolescent gorillas romped in the clearing, wrestling and tumbling.

Reese looked for the alpha male but didn’t see him. He had to be there. All troops had an alpha male, and the alpha could be extremely fierce.

Where was Diesel?

“Shh,” came a soft whisper close to her ear.

The sound was so quiet, she almost didn’t hear it. Reese turned toward Diesel on the other side of the mosquito net.

He pointed down and mouthed the words alpha male.

Reese gulped. She worried that, if the alpha male caught their scent, he could climb the tree and rip them apart. Holy hell. And she thought being caught by Congolese rebels was bad. At least they hadn’t been capable of ripping her apart with their bare hands. There would be no reasoning with a male gorilla.

Reese remained still, afraid to move and disturb the branches of the nest Diesel had built. Thankfully, they were at least twenty-five feet from the floor of the jungle. More importantly, they were twenty-five feet from the male gorilla. At the very least, they had a head start at climbing higher.





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