Page 10 of Secret Mission

“These might not be rebels,” he says, almost to himself. “Two. Maybe three.”

I swallow hard, wishing I’d stayed far away.

The man’s words chill me more than the rain soaking my back where my coat has ridden up.

He might be right, or it might be far worse than the local bandits that run roughshod over Vandemora.

I press my mouth close to his ear this time, catching a hint of his spice and citrus scent.

For a second, I forget what I was going to say, then a fat raindrop hits my face.

Right. Shootout in a downpour. Now I remember where I am.

“They could be my father’s men.”

“Copy.” His hand brushes mine briefly, squeezing. “I won’t let anyone near you.”

He relays my message. Again, it’s in a language I don’t fully grasp. Or maybe I would if the fleeting touch of his hand didn’t make my heart stutter. Not because it was gentle—it’s anything but—but because it was intentional.

He drops his gaze to me again, fast. “You’re safe.”

I desperately want to believe him.

Even as another round of gunfire gets closer. Even as the rustling in the jungle grows louder.

Truck taps the ring on his hand again and murmurs urgently into his comms gear. His voice is low and sharp. "Tango, two klicks west. Moving fast. We’re shifting north."

Before I can react, he grabs me by the arm, yanking me up.

His strength shocks me, forcing a startled sound between my open lips.

His weapon gleams in the rain —a sleek black gun I hadn’t seen until now.

"Move." He pushes me forward, still holding onto my arm with a biting grip.

I stumble over the slick ground, mud sucking at my boots. Long strings of hair cling to my face like the arms of an octopus as I try to look around.

"The others?—"

“You’re my only concern. Keep moving."

The next few minutes are a blur of heavy breathing—mine and low curses—his.

He presses his palm to the top of my head. “Lower, woman!”

Good grief. “I’m trying!”

But apparently, not enough.

He pushes me until I’m in a low lunge-walk, my breathing like a walrus on a treadmill and my legs shaking furiously.

His steps speed, and I wonder if I might actually pass out from all the lactic acid in my legs.

The pain somehow overrides the fear. A momentary reprieve.

But then we crest the ridge, he stands up, unfolding to his full height.

He’s a tower compared to even my tall height.

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