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He pointed his rifle at the windshield as it backed out of the gully. He had no shot at the driver without endangering the woman he’d been sent to rescue.
The truck rounded a corner and disappeared from sight.
Chapter Seven
The SEAL hated her. She could see it in his eyes. She couldn’t blame him. He and his team had risked their lives for her, and she hadn’t played along. She closed her eyes and leaned against the back seat of the battered old vehicle.
Once they were out of sight of the SEAL and his partner, who’d been trapped in the tunnel, Jamal had made a fast one-eighty turn and they barreled through mazelike formations.
She wondered if the boy at the wheel knew his way through the labyrinth.
All at once, what she’d done hit her. She’d rejected her rescue.
Who was to say anyone would swoop in if—when—she eventually triggered the tracker?
The SEAL had been pissed. At her. With good reason.
She could right now be in the company of a team of special forces operators, on her way to being dropped safely at an American embassy, but no, she was going deeper into the quagmire of black markets and terrorism.
She’d chosen this.
She had to be batshit demented.
She remembered the morning she woke in the hospital after surgery on her ankle. Eighteen months ago. She’d felt hollow. Lost. Salim was gone.
Now she bit her bottom lip, remembering that first time her tongue had probed at the stitches that had repaired her mouth. She could only partially feel the pressure of teeth on lip. That cut, while the least of her injuries, was the most tangible. Every glance in the mirror or bite of her lip brought back the moment of impact. Salim’s agonized wail.
The very structure of her world had been wiped out.
She’d kept her foot, but that hadn’t meant she could still pursue the job that had been waiting for her. No. She’d lost that opportunity because she couldn’t run. She wouldn’t ever be considered fully abled.
She’d accepted the loss of mobility. It was the price of surviving a horrific accident.
What she struggled with was not having Salim and then being denied the job. No part of her future had matched the plans they’d made together.
She’d remained empty and adrift until this work for Morgan and Freya had given her a mission. It wasn’t the job, but it was close. So very close.
It gave her a reason to breathe. To get out of bed. To shower and brush her teeth.
Her work on the dig had been satisfying, but being a Friday Morning Valkyrie had given her life. A purpose.
The vehicle bounced as Jamal raced across uneven ground. After a hard jolt, she tasted blood but didn’t feel the pain of the bite.
Her ankle throbbed. Her arm itched.
She accepted that she was following that purpose straight into hell.
The flight back to the carrier was silent. Chris was still too stunned to fully process what had happened.
He’d been on failed missions. Even disastrous ones. Nightmare ones. But nothing like that.
She’d taken control of the situation, issuing commands to her captors, but Chris would be the one to pay the price for her actions.
They went straight to the briefing room and settled around the table. The top brass from Navy Special Warfare Command were either in the room or would join remotely. And Chris would have to explain why he’d let Dr. Edwards go.
He’d never even made a move to save her.
He was a damn SEAL. A highly trained special forces operator. She was an archaeologist, and they were two baby tangos who probably didn’t even have pubes yet.
