Her Seal Protector

Vaguely she heard her rescuer curse and she tried to stifle the sobs. “I’m sorry.”

“No, ma’am, don’t you apologize.” For the first time, she noticed his heavy Southern drawl. Maybe Georgia or South Carolina? But not Texas. Her own Texan twang had been remarked upon by her Northern coworkers, but this man’s accent had a softer, slower cadence. Thinking about something trivial like that helped stifle her embarrassing outburst. She sniffed and before she could wipe her nose on her sleeve, he placed a large, thick green camo bandanna in her hand.

“Thank you.” She cleaned her face with the bandanna, inhaling the clean, crisp laundry scent. She breathed it in and felt calmer.

The hulking soldier snapped off his helmet and crouched beside her. “Hey.” He cupped her shoulder. “You’re doing good. Don’t worry. I’m going to get you out of here.”

His eyes. They were a soft brown, so full of reassurance and concern, so incongruous with the frightening dark-green-and-black face paint and the grim set of his mouth.

“What about Mr. Van Horton? And James?” James’s terror had never subsided. Inside the well it had gotten worse. Gabby had tried to comfort him as best she could, but he’d grown steadily less stable as the hours passed. “They’re going to make it home, too, right?”

He nodded. “Mr. Pender is on his way to the American embassy.”

“And Mr. V?”

The soldier hesitated.

Oh no. Gabby could feel her eyes sting with more tears. Mr. V was dead? She’d never known anyone who’d been murdered before. She’d tried to nurse him as best she could, asking their captors for water and medicine for his fever, but Mr. V had never regained consciousness.

“Can you get up?” The soldier slid a strong arm around her waist and she cried out.

He yanked it back, blood smeared on his palm. “What the—” He looked at his hand. “You’re bleeding? You were hit?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice shook. She twisted to try to see and whimpered at the stab of pain.

The soldier spat out a curse word, dropped his helmet and backpack, then dug inside the pack and pulled out a first aid kit.

She’d been shot? She could feel panic rise up and choke her. She’d survived two days with homicidal kidnappers only to be shot? What if she bled to death? Mr. V was dead and now her. What if this soldier couldn’t get the bullet out, or it was lodged in her spine or—

“Take off your shirt.”

Gabby froze and blinked at him, but he wasn’t even looking at her. He was busy pulling out a pack of wet wipes, a tube of ointment and a roll of gauze.

A wild urge to laugh bubbled up. She must be in shock. Of course the GI didn’t mean anything sexual by his demand, but this wasn’t exactly how she’d pictured herself undressing for a guy for the first time. Well, she wasn’t panicked anymore.

“Ms. Diaz? I need to see to your injury.”

“Yes. Okay.” She turned away from him, forcing her fingers to undo the buttons on her formerly white silk blouse.

He helped her lower it off her shoulders and down her arms, then she felt gentle fingers wiping something cold across the middle of her back. It stung and she tensed. There was sharp surface pain, but she didn’t feel anything internal. That had to be good, right? “Is it...?”

“Just a graze. You’ll be fine. I’m applying a topical antibiotic.”

Just a graze. She breathed out a relieved and grateful breath.

She felt him smear some ointment on and then heard ripping paper as he pressed a bandage to her back and began winding the roll of gauze around her. His arms wrapped around her waist and his whiskered jaw grazed her cheek. He froze, the sides of his hands touching her rib cage. She sucked in and then realized that only lifted her breasts higher. He had an up close and personal view of the cleavage above her bra.

She turned her head to look at him and their gazes met.

His lips were parted and she could see that they weren’t as harsh as they’d looked before. They were sensual and—they flattened as he sat back on his heels and continued wrapping the gauze around her. But when he returned to her front he very carefully kept his arms at a distance. And his gaze averted.

What would it be like to kiss those lips? What if...

“There you go.” He tied off the gauze and draped her blouse across her shoulders.

What was wrong with her? She could still die and she was thinking about kissing? She gingerly stuck her arms back in her sleeves and buttoned her shirt.

“Here.” He extended a bottle of water and she grabbed it and drank greedily.

“Thank you.” She tried to give the bottle back.

“Take these.” He held two small pills in his palm. “For the pain.”

“Thanks.” She tossed them in her mouth and swallowed with another sip of water while the soldier started packing up the medical kit. He was cute. In a boyish kind of way. Which seemed a silly description for a large, hard-muscled, military guy. Maybe it was the buzz-cut hair, or his kindness in caring for her.

She shook her head. “How far to the Jeep or helicopter or whatever?”

Zipping up his pack, he slung it over one shoulder, replaced his helmet without snapping the chin straps and stood. He drew in a breath before finally looking at her. “Are you ambulatory?”

She nodded, but before she could straighten, a deep, menacing feline growl echoed somewhere close to them and Gabby froze. She’d grown accustomed to the constant background noises of the jungle. The chirp and buzz of insects, the weird shrieks of birds, the clicks of beetles, even the screeching monkeys, but this—this panther, or leopard, or whatever it was that lived in this jungle, sounded ominous.

Large hands grasped her under the shoulders and lifted her to her feet as if she weighed no more than a feather. She stood face-to-hard-chest with the soldier, so close she could smell a subtle—and pleasant—masculine musk. She became hyper-aware of his hands cupping the sides of her chest. His thumbs rested just above the slope of her breasts. If he slid them down a few inches he could rub the tips of her hardening nipples. Her breathing hitched and she looked up into his eyes.

His Adam’s apple moved as his tongue came out to lick his lips. “We gotta go.” He removed his hands and stepped back.

Reality intruded on her thoughts. The griminess of her skin. The rough texture of her mud-caked clothes. The ragged tear in the side of her best pencil skirt. And the absurdity of wearing pumps with one heel broken off.

How could she even be thinking about anything sexual right now?

Besides, he hadn’t answered her question. “There is a Jeep or a helicopter coming for us, right?” she asked.

“Affirmative.” Confident. No hesitation. That was good.

He reached into a Velcro-sealed pocket on his pant leg, pulled out a tube of ointment and handed it to her. “This will help with the mosquitoes.”

A little late. Bites covered her arms and legs. As she smeared the ointment on exposed skin, he took the bottle of water from her, screwed the lid back on and stuck it in another large pants pocket low on his thigh. “We need to ration this.”

Okay, that was less good. “Um...how long—”

“Let’s go.” He put words into action, sticking his other arm through the backpack strap and hitching it over his shoulder as he strode off.

Tamping down a niggle of dread, Gabby followed. “Look, I realize I kind of lost it back there, but I promise I won’t get all hysterical if you tell me the truth. Whatever it is, I can handle knowing bad news better than not knowing.”

He stopped and twisted to meet her gaze. “We need to travel about ten clicks—roughly about six miles—by nightfall. I’d rather not travel in the dark.”

Panic almost swamped her again, but she drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. She’d promised not to get hysterical. “Nightfall? We’re not...leaving today?”

“The helo will meet us at the extraction location at dawn.”

She blinked away irritating tears.

“Look, we need to be moving.”

“Right.” She nodded.

Facing forward again, he strode away. “If you can’t keep up, just let me know, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” She hurried to catch up.

“Clay.”

Gabby studied the ground but didn’t see any. “Where?”

“What?”

“Where’s the clay?

“No, that’s my name. Call me Clay, Ms. Diaz.”

“Oh!” Even in the heat of this forsaken—no, not forsaken, Abuelita’s voice corrected her, God was even in this jungle—Gabby felt her face grow warmer. The soldier must think she was slow-witted. As she had constantly for the past two days, she gripped the medallion on the chain around her neck and asked for faith that they would make it home alive. Abuelita had given her the silver medal for her First Communion and it always comforted her.

“Ms. Diaz?”

The soldier’s face came into focus. His concerned face. Because she’d halted.

“We have to keep moving.”

“Right.” She straightened her shoulders and forced a smile. “Call me Gabby.”

* * *

CLAY COULDN’T DECIDE if this woman was the bravest civilian he’d ever encountered, or the craziest. Maybe she was both.

For instance, that smile she’d just flashed. After what he’d just told her she should be complaining about something by now. They’d missed the rescue helo. They weren’t going to make it to the secondary extraction. And surviving overnight in this jungle was going to prove challenging. But knowing all this, she’d...smiled? And that smile had hit him right in the gut. She’d been held captive, shot at, bitten and scratched up, and wasn’t smelling too sweet.

But that hadn’t stopped him checking her out. He wasn’t called Hounddog for nothing.

Her thin, used-to-be-white shirt was damp and clinging to her, showing through to her very practical, plain white bra. Her dark brown eyes were fringed with thick lashes and didn’t miss a thing. And those lips. Made to be thoroughly kissed. Plus she had the kind of figure he loved on a woman. Full and lush in all the right places. He’d had to muster up an extra ounce of discipline wrapping that gauze around her waist.

But he had a job to do.

He heard an abbreviated shriek behind him and spun to check on her.

With a flinch she whisked off a beetle that had landed on her chest. Her lips trembled, but she pinched them together. They’d been traveling about an hour and she was keeping up pretty well, but she looked done in.

Keep her distracted. “So, Gabby.” He resumed heading west, hacking through twisting vines and thick fronds with his knife, holding a tangle of ferns out of the way for her. “Where you from?”

“Texas. In the Rio Grande Valley. A little town just outside of Corpus Christi called San Juan.”

“And how’d you get into banking?” He glanced back at her.

After seeming confused by his curiosity, she drew in a deep breath. “What can I say, I’m a mathlete. A nerd. Yeah, my Twitter sign is even at symbol nerdy bank analyst. How nerdy is that?”

As he slashed through the dense undergrowth, he listened while she chattered. He could hear the pride in her voice when she talked about going to college. She’d won a scholarship to the University of Corpus Christi, earned a Bachelor of Science in Mathematics and Statistics. Then got her Master of Science in Finance at the U of Texas, San Antonio. Geez, a master’s? He’d barely graduated high school. If he hadn’t crammed for the ASVAB like a son of a gun, he’d have never passed the Armed Services exam. Book smarts were not his strong suit.

“What about you?” She sounded out of breath.

“What about me?” She wanted to know if the guy who was saving her butt had a degree?

“Where are you from? Somewhere in the South, right?”

Defensive much, Bellamy? “Yes, ma’am. Talladega, Alabama. Home of the Superspeedway and the Peach Jam Jubilee.” Would she catch the edge of bitterness to his tone?

“Jubilee? That sounds fun.”

Fun? Nothing associated with home sounded fun to him. Except, now that she mentioned it, he guessed maybe he did have a recollection of sitting on his stepdad’s shoulders and watching some floats go by. Catching a piece of candy the beautiful Peach Queen threw. Giving the candy to his little sister and her grinning up at him like he was her hero.

And he’d end up playing that role for her over and over again.

“Clay? Is something wrong?”

Wow, that flash of memory brought a tightness to his chest. A distraction he could not afford right now. He cleared his throat. “Not a thing.” He checked his diver’s watch. Oh-nine-fifty. And they’d only traveled about two clicks. Still, her breathing was labored. The humidity was a factor. And she probably hadn’t eaten much, if anything, in the last couple of days. A few feet ahead was a small clearing of sorts. “Let’s stop and rest a sec.” He sheathed his knife.

As she gave a relieved sigh and moved to sit on a fallen tree branch, he dropped his pack and dug out a protein bar and the water bottle. “Here.”

She took them eagerly and he unsnapped his metal flask and allowed himself a mouthful of water, watching the woman for signs of pain, fatigue or mental breakdown.

She was short, but sturdy enough. Other than a wince of pain every so often—probably related to her bullet graze, she seemed in fairly good condition. Her torn skirt showed off her shapely legs. His gaze followed the length of her legs, imagining the rest of her thighs hidden by the skirt. Wondering if her panties matched her plain white bra. For some reason they seemed more erotic than any of that lacy underwear most women he hooked up with wore.

He really was a hound dog.

She tucked her legs under her and folded her arms over her chest, and he met her gaze. Damn. She must feel violated enough already and he’d gone and—but that wasn’t anger or fear he saw in her eyes. It was desire.

Which there was no way he was going to act on.

He put away his flask. “We’d better get— Don’t move, all right?”

“What?”

“I said, hold completely still.”

Though he kept his volume low, she must’ve responded to the command in his tone because she obeyed. He slid his knife from the holster on his hip, aimed at the long red-black-and-yellow-striped coral snake next to her right foot and threw it with enough force to pin the reptile’s head to the ground.

Gabby warily turned her head a fraction and moved just her eyes to glance at the dead snake at her feet.

Her eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream.

Then she started hyperventilating.

3

GABBY COULDN’T BREATHE. Her vision wavered. All the greens ran together around her, and then everything turned black in her peripheral vision.

The next thing she knew, her head was cradled in the crook of Clay’s arm and he was stroking her head and murmuring soothing words.

“Just take a deep breath in. That’s it, you’re gonna be fine.”

Gabby opened her eyes. Clay was so close she could see a healthy growth of stubble beneath his dark green face paint. He’d taken off his helmet again, but his sheared hair could’ve been any color between dark blond to black. With a cowardly whimper she grabbed the front of his shirt and clung to him, pressing her nose into his neck.

She felt his arms tighten around her, aware that he was careful to avoid her bandage. And he rocked her, shushing her, even though she wasn’t crying. At that moment she fell just a little bit in love. She wasn’t crazy enough to believe the feeling flooding her heart was real. It was just the situation. The shared danger. The heroism of his rescuing her. What woman could resist that? But still... Right now it felt very real.

She reveled in his comfort while at the same time thinking any minute he would push her away and tell her they needed to keep moving. But he didn’t. He caressed her shoulder, rubbed her lower back. His shirt was wet from sweat and she wanted to unbutton it and slide her hand beneath to feel his heated skin, feel his strong heartbeat.

Sitting here, cradled in his masculine embrace, she wanted to kiss him. And more. She wanted to make love with him. Right now. Before the next snake, or leopard or kidnapper really did kill her.

But, of course, she wouldn’t.

She exhaled, long and cathartic. “Clay?”

“Yeah?” He eased his hold and she raised her head to look into his eyes.

“You’re going to get me home, right?”

His eyes narrowed and he smoothed a hand over her snarled hair, fingering a strand away from her face. “You have my word, darlin’.”

Darling. She’d never been any man’s darling before. Or sweetheart, or any endearment. Of course he didn’t mean it that way. It was just a Southern thing. But she still liked him calling her “darlin’.”

She wanted to stay like this forever, safe in his embrace, secure in the knowledge that nothing could harm her. He wouldn’t let it. But she managed a smile, pushed out of his arms and got to her feet, shaky, but steady enough. “Okay, then.” She wiped her palms on her skirt. “We need to keep going, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he retrieved his knife, reached for his backpack and helmet, and rose in one fluid motion. His smile spoke to her and squeezed her heart.

Snapping his helmet onto his backpack, he led the way, storming forward through the thick vegetation, hacking at vines with his huge serrated knife and glancing back to check on her every once in a while.

She’d give him the thumbs-up and a smile, and concentrate on not falling behind. Her wrecked shoes chafed the backs of her heels, and what parts of her weren’t covered in mud were covered in mosquito bites. But at least they seemed to be heading downhill. Unfortunately, the farther they traveled down the mountain, the hotter it got.

The heat was suffocating; the air so thick, each breath she drew was like drinking. She’d lived through many a blistering summer in South Texas. But none could compare to the humidity of this jungle.

Still, they trekked on for what seemed like hours.

“Want some more water?” Clay’s concerned tone must mean she’d started to lag behind.

She picked up her pace. “No, I’m good.” Despite her thirst, she’d had to...go for a long time now.

Sitting in that hole with James for all day and night, she’d quickly given up any expectations of privacy and did what she’d needed to. James had been oblivious to anything except his own fears and discomforts, anyway.

But this was Clay.

Plus...snakes.

“Well, I could use a rest.” He stopped and pulled out the bottle of water from his pants pocket and handed it to her.

He wasn’t even breathing hard, so she highly doubted he was tired, but he produced a flat, plastic canteen from another pocket, and took a small sip.

This was horrifying and ridiculous at the same time. In a minute she’d have to cross her legs. She might as well get the humiliation over with and admit her dilemma. “Um, I have to...”

He blinked at her. Then his eyes widened. “Oh! Yeah. Sure. Me, too.” His expression reverted to soldier-on-a-mission. “I’ll take the north, you take the south.” With a nod of his head he indicated to his right, then his left. She hadn’t seen him check a compass, so how could he possibly know which way was north?

Even as he disappeared into the vegetation to their right, she stood frozen. The crunching of leaves beneath his feet silenced. But even in the stillness, insects buzzed and birds called. Monkeys chattered. What if he was attacked by an animal or bit by a snake? What if he didn’t come back? Irrational fear seized her. No way could she tramp off into the dense jungle forest alone, no matter how badly she needed to—

“All done?”

Gabby snapped her head toward Clay. “I don’t think I can.”

His gaze drifted away and his jaw muscle ticked. The green face paint was wearing off in patches where he’d wiped at sweat. A shaft of sunlight hit his cheek as he stepped forward. “Sure you can.” He took her arm and propelled her a few feet into the undergrowth. “I’ll be right here. You go ahead, now.” Putting a thin tree between them, he spun on his boot heel and folded his arms, staring off into the distance.

But Clay’s close proximity caused a different dilemma. He might not be able to see her with his back turned, but he would still be able to hear her. Maybe the deafening sounds of nature would drown her out.

But...snakes.

“Um, Clay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I borrow your knife?”

No answer. Maybe he didn’t trust her with a dangerous weapon. Then he unsnapped the leather holster at his hip and pulled out the wicked-looking knife, flipped it, caught it by the blade and extended the handle toward her.

She swallowed and took it. “Thank you.” Only then did she realize what needed doing actually required two free hands. After dithering a moment, she stuck the handle of the knife between her teeth, thoroughly checked the ground for anything slithering nearby and then got on with it.

When she approached him, he handed her the water bottle without a word and she returned his knife and rinsed her hands, and they headed back to the makeshift path he’d been cutting for them. A wave of exhaustion overcame her when she thought about continuing on. Her back stung. She was hot, and sticky, and her feet burned where the heels chafed, and— “Listen to yourself, you whiny baby! At least you’re alive.”

Clay was waiting for her, watching her with a wary expression. She realized she’d spoken out loud. Great, now he’d think she was bonkers. She knew she tended to talk to herself a lot. Most of the time, it didn’t matter.

“You good to go?” He was waiting for her, so she smiled and nodded, and trudged on.

She lost all sense of time as the day wore on. She thought about being home in San Juan, how glad her parents would be to see her again. About Jorge, and Bernard, and Patricia. She missed them. And she fingered her Mary medal as she prayed to her Abuelita. She couldn’t wait to see Mama and Papa. Finally, twilight settled over the tall trees. Clay hadn’t said a word. Even when he occasionally handed her the water bottle. “By tomorrow I’ll have a cool shower and clean clothes.” One foot in front of the other. “And I’m going to brush my teeth twice, and wash my hair three times and buy a new—”

Clay spun and clamped a hand over her mouth.

* * *

CLAY HELD A finger in front of his lips. He’d heard voices at three o’clock, speaking in what he thought must be Guarani, a native language of Paraguay. That, by itself, didn’t mean much. Over 80 percent of Paraguayans spoke Guarani. And he’d only been able to catch a few words. But one of them had been a Spanish word thrown in: Americano.

They were going to have to double back. He hoped not very far or they risked missing the helo. Then he recognized what else he heard in the distance. The roar of rushing water. They were closer to the Rio Bermejo than he’d thought. Thanks to Gabby’s fortitude, they’d made good time. Even if she had talked for most of the afternoon. He didn’t think she was even aware she’d been talking out loud. And the crazy thing was, he hadn’t minded. He’d liked listening to her voice, liked hearing about her close-knit family.

Mentally going over the map he’d studied on the plane ride down, he guesstimated the distance to the river. If they could travel by water tonight—depending on the current—they could make up the time they’d lose doubling back. He just really hadn’t wanted to travel at night. Lighting their way might as well shine a big bull’s-eye on their position.

But before he could worry about that, they had to avoid detection by the men who’d been asking about the Americanos. Slowly, he lifted his hand off Gabby’s mouth, slid his Sig from its shoulder holster and signaled to Gabby to stay put while he investigated the possible unfriendly’s position.

Careful to step light and move slow, Clay inched up to the edge of the clearing. He took up position behind a tree, pulled out his binoculars and spied a farmer in his wide-brimmed hat leading an ox away from the creek. No sign of anyone else. He scanned the meadow, but daylight was fading fast. Then, on the edge of his vision he caught a shadow. Two shadows. He lifted the binoculars again. They were armed. And they were headed this way.