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But there’s still the small matter of Smith holding a gun to my head. The colonel and I both realize what’s happening at the same time; I can tell by his grip tightening around my waist.
“Let the girl go,” one of the armed newcomers orders, pointing his rifle at us—at Smith—along with three other members of his commando unit. That makes it a total of one gun and four assault rifles pointed at me.
Smith snickers. “That would be really stupid on my part, wouldn’t it? You can’t shoot me while I’m—”
Something hisses in the air below my ear and passes beside my neck. Smith goes limp without warning, his body slumping down behind mine. As he hits the ground, Smith’s hand falls open and the Beretta scatters in the dirt.
I hear screaming, and it takes me a while to understand it’s me. Smith’s dead! All the fear, tension, and exhaustion of the past few days erupts out of me in strangled screams.
“Miss, miss.” A soldier is holding my shoulders and shaking me.
“You killed him!” I shout, in shock, feeling the side of my face for blood that isn’t there.
“Miss, he’s just taking a nap.” The soldier turns me, forcing me to stare down at Smith. And, indeed, the colonel’s features are relaxed, his mouth slightly turned up at the corners in a serene, contented smile. “We used a powerful sedative dart, not a bullet.”
I grip the soldier’s arm. “Smith’s alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s probably having a better time than we are.” The soldier gently squeezes my shoulders and lets me go. “But I promise the music will change when he wakes up.”
“And how come you’re going around with a tranquilizer gun? Is that standard equipment for the army?”
“No.” The soldier smiles. “We were on a search and rescue for an American tiger that got lost in the jungle—”
“What’s an American tiger doing so far from home?”
“She’s a rare species, and was here for reproductive reasons when she escaped…”
“Oh,” I say. “And are you still going to retrieve her?”
“That’s our next stop, miss, once we’re done dealing with these fine gentlemen.”
The soldier unceremoniously flips the colonel’s unconscious body in the dirt, not bothering to be gentle, and binds his hands behind his back.
The shock is passing now, and I turn to meet Logan’s eyes. He opens his arms, and I fly into them, collapsing in a fit of sobs against his chest. I don’t even know why I’m crying, or if they’re happy or sad tears.
Logan shushes me, while he holds me tight and gently caresses my back in a soothing motion. “It’s over now.”
“Err…” Someone clears his throat next to us, and we pull apart. “Sorry to interrupt.” It’s a different soldier, still wearing his netting-covered helmet. “Are you Dr. Logan Spencer?”
“Yes,” Logan says.
“I’m Colonel Sanchez, responsible for the operation.”
Logan smiles brightly. “Never been more pleased to meet someone, Colonel.”
The colonel acknowledges Logan’s implicit thanks with a curt nod. “I just need to confirm all the armed parties have been apprehended. There were only three, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And you said you had a gravely injured man in your midst?”
With a sinking feeling of guilt, we both turn to the prisoners’ encampment. I’d forgotten all about them in the drama of the moment. Archie is being helped to his feet by Tucker and another soldier; it’s clear he still isn’t strong enough to stand on his own. Next to them, Dr. Boonjan and Somchai are drinking water in long, thirsty gulps.
“Yes,” Logan says. “The blond man. He’s in need of immediate medical attention.”
We watch as Tucker sways slightly under Archie’s weight. A second soldier takes his place, and both Tucker and Archie are given water.
“The rest of us should be fine,” Logan says. “Except for mild dehydration.”
