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Callie pushed to her feet, swaying a bit before offering him her hand — helping him up. “Sure. We’re on a riverbank in Puerto Rico. Probably still in El Yunque.”
“Your powers of perception are frightening. Okay, we stick to the riverbank and hope we find a trail or two-track that leads to some sort of shelter. Pray this weather keeps Keith and his mercenaries busy. Just, try not to go for another swim.”
She leaned in close, dragging one strong, tiny finger across his chest like she’d done a few times, already. “What’s wrong, Booker? Swimming not part of that training you took?”
“Let’s just say this body was born to fly.”
“I’ll try to remember that. Stay close. With everything whipping around, it would be easy to become separated.”
“Are you asking me to keep my hand on your ass? Because that’s a sword I can fall on.”
“Wyatt’s right. You’re a jerk.”
“Hell, yeah. Okay, we stick close. And once we find someplace to rest, we’re having a long chat about why you thought it was a good idea to confront your old boss on your own. And yeah, I know it probably saved our asses but…”
But he wasn’t sure he could survive another round of her trying to sacrifice herself for him. And the sooner she understood that, the better.
CHAPTER8
Talk about a shitstorm…
Callie wasn’t sure which part of the mission was the most screwed up because they’d been dodging one catastrophe after another since they’d landed. First the car chase, then the helicopter. She’d thought they’d faced the worst of it until her damn boss had turned out to be the asshole who’d set her up. Even falling down the mudslide and nearly drowning in the river seemed oddly comforting compared to realizing her entire career had been a lie.
Or at least, the people in it.
That’s what stung the most. That she’d looked up to him. Considered him a mentor. Hell, a friend. Discovering he’d been playing both sides for god knew how long had her questioning if she still believed in what the DEA stood for. If she’d be able to find her way back once this op was over.
Assuming they didn’t die from exposure or get swept away by the damn storm threatening to tip a tree over on top of them at every turn. While she’d survived tropical storms and hurricanes before, she’d never been hiking through the forest during one. And knowing she might be the reason Booker didn’t make it…
No, she wouldn’t think like that. Booker was tough. More than tough. The man was a machine. Even now, he was leading the way, breaking branches and ensuring nothing surprised them while keeping them moving when she knew they both just wanted to sit down and sleep. Right there in the jungle, the tropical storm raging around them. Every inch of them soaked and shivering.
But after all he’d done — following her down a freaking embankment — she wouldn’t be the reason they didn’t find someplace to wait out the storm. He’d been right. There was no way Keith or any of his men would be out searching for them, now. Sure, if they hadn’t disappeared, she had no doubts the bastards would have trailed behind them until they’d run out of rainforest. But whether she wanted to acknowledge it or not, nearly dying falling down that stupid escarpment had stayed any confrontation until the worst of the storm had passed.
Booker stopped in front of her, and she nearly plowed into him before she caught herself — managed to only knock into his back. He didn’t say anything, holding up one first before crouching behind some trees. Waiting for her to copy him then waving at something off to their right.
Callie scanned the forest, squinting in an effort to see anything amidst the rain and leaves, only to inhale when she saw the wall hidden within the brush not far off. What she assumed was another shack the cartel used to store drugs or weapons. One of the ways they avoided capture if local law got too close.
Booker glanced at her, making more hand signals. He’d go left while she went right. She nodded, slinking around to one side as Booker disappeared in the opposite direction. She moved slowly, checking every direction before taking another step. Wishing she hadn’t lost her damn weapon in the river.
Booker had offered her his Sig, but she’d refused. Between the double vision and the pounding in her head, she wasn’t ashamed to admit he was probably the better shot, right now. Might be the better shot, regardless. And with the amount of kickback his Sig had, he had more of a chance of eliminating a target than she did when her arms felt so heavy, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to lift the damn thing, let alone keep it steady. He hadn’t argued, giving her a knife instead. One she assumed he’d kept in an ankle holster. Or maybe he’d had it on his belt. Regardless, it gave her a slight advantage if they met with any resistance that wasn’t armed.
She nearly laughed at the thought. Since when were mercenaries or cartel members not armed? Never, in her experience. But she allowed herself a bit of false hope. Tried not to dwell on the fact she was the weak link in their current partnership.
Booker waved at her once she’d circled the perimeter, waiting at the door before shoving it open, then motioning her inside. “I was able to see enough through the cracks in the boarded window to be confident it’s empty.”
She nodded, still checking every inch of the small space before settling down beside him on an old crate pressed up against the wall. Just like the ones they’d hidden behind back in the shack where everything had gone for shit. Again.
Booker wrapped his arm around her, tugging her in close. “While I know we need to get out of these wet clothes, I just can’t seem to muster the strength to care, right now.”
She snorted. “You and me, both.”
“You okay? Still seeing double?”
“More just blurry shifting, now, but yeah, I’m fine.”
“You’re more than fine, but that’s not what I asked.” He lifted his arm, gently twisting her chin until she was looking at him. He held up two fingers. “Well? How many?”
“Two.”
