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  He couldn’t imagine what might have happened otherwise.

  Throughout their childhood, she hadn’t said much about her dad. Mostly, she went quiet whenever he inquired, giving a shrug and a quiet, “You know…” But he hadn’t known. He couldn’t have begun to imagine. He’d assumed the man had taken up with another woman or some other such thing.

  But that quiet night on the radio in Iraq, Max had finally shared the truth with him.

  “I remember. At the time, he’d just written to me,” she said. “Surprised the hell out of me. Hadn’t heard from him in nearly fifteen years.”

  Jackson grimaced, remembering the son-of-a-bitch had actually asked her for money.

  “Did you ever write back to him?” he asked.

  “No.”

  He couldn’t blame her.

  “I still wonder if I made the right decision.”

  “Whatever decision you make is always the right one.”

  He could envision her mulling that one over. “I still remember what you said.”

  He grimaced, checked his M-16 and scanned the area again.

  “You know, about your willingness to give anything to see your dad again…”

  He was afraid she’d remember that. “That was before you told me everything.”

  “Yeah, but people change. And there was that picture…”

  He hadn’t seen it then, the photo in question. But she had shown him back at the base that morning. It was a standard grade elementary school shot of a ten-year-old girl with a grin that showed teeth too big for her tiny face. Max’s half-sister.

  “Did you ever tell your mother?” he asked quietly. “You know, that he contacted you?”

  “No.”

  He nodded.

  “Hey,” she said. “Whatever happened to that girl you were dating back then? You know, the one with the fake knockers?”

  His responding chuckle caught him off guard. Not good. He told her he was going to go silent for a few minutes then switched back to the main channel. All was good and twenty yards later, all was still clear.

  He switched the radio back on. “They weren’t fake.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Trust me, I know the difference.”

  He pictured her giving one of her infamous eye rolls. “Right.”

  “Anyway, she wasn’t my girlfriend. She was just a girl I was dating before I left.”

  “Ditzy Diane,” she said. “I remember now.”

  He grinned at the nickname everyone had given her after she’d knitted a sweater for him two sizes too big and sent it to him…in the middle of summer with temps soaring to 110 in the shade.

  “Yeah, not exactly the brightest bulb on the string,” he admitted.

  “Good thing you weren’t dating her for her brains, huh?”

  “They were real.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Anyway,” he said quietly, “yours beat out hers any day.”

  Silence.

  “Max?”

  “What?”

  “You still there?”

  “Obviously.”

  “Trying to come up with a smart-ass response?”

  He heard the smile in her “Yeah.”

  “Not getting anything?”

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  She laughed. “I think it’s about time for check-in. Talk later?”

  He could spend the rest of his life talking to her.

  The thought caught him up short and he stopped in his tracks.

  “Out,” she said.

  He lifted the radio to his mouth but she’d already switched channels…

  9

  HOURS LATER, Jackson met Max and the crew at base camp. It was time to go. They had an easy five-klick hike to their destination to free the two civilian hostages and the three Navy Seals who had been taken captive on a previous failed rescue attempt. Once this was over with, they’d meet their transport out at 0500 hours.

  He glanced over at Max in her camo gear and felt ridiculously turned on. The girl was hot. And he liked knowing he was the only one who knew exactly how hot.

  Okay, maybe he had thought of her in that way from time to time over the years, had unconsciously indulged in a wet dream or twenty. Woken up drenched in sweat, his cock throbbing, his thoughts full of her. But seeing as they were friends, and Max would have just as soon sucker punched him as kiss him, there’d been no danger of anything happening before.

  Now…

  Well, now he found it curious the word danger entered the equation anywhere. And not just in their current physical situation in the middle of an African rain forest. Jackson had always known Max wasn’t the kind of girl a guy could love and leave. Not that he’d any interest in that before.

  But now?

  “Same formation as before,” Lenny said, interrupting his thoughts in a not altogether unwelcome way. Best he not think about Max as forever material now. “Go! Go! Go!”

  Max took off at an easy jog and the others lined up after her. For an unreasonable moment, he felt the urge to object: he wanted to trade places with Max.

  He grimaced as he brought up the rear. Where did those thoughts keep coming from? In some profound way he was incapable of working out just then, everything had changed. She wasn’t just Max anymore, she was something else. And the undeniable desire he had to protect her grew with every breath he took. If something happened to her…

  Ten minutes into the hike, he heard a crack to his right.

  He automatically pushed the guy in front of him forward, then dropped to a crouch, his M-16 instantly in front of him as he scanned the surrounding trees.

  “Nine o’clock!” he shouted.

  Everyone scrambled, taking cover.

  He switched on the night scope and honed in on the subject. It was an African national half hidden behind a tree, his own weapon aimed at someone other than Jackson. The guy wore what looked like old fatigues from which the arms had been raggedly cut, along with the legs. He focused on the face: hell, he was a kid. No more than fifteen or sixteen at most.

  Jackson knew this area was filled with kid-populated militias run by warlords who didn’t give two cents worth of thought to protecting their men. There were plenty of poverty-stricken boys just like this one hungry for a square meal and attention.

  Jackson also knew not to underestimate the boy. The kid would kill him just as soon as look at him.

  Damn.

  Was the shooter alone? He couldn’t tell. Now that the targets had scattered and no clear shot was to be had, Jackson scanned one-hundred-and-eighty degrees, then shifted on his feet to scan the area to his right. It looked like the kid was alone, which might explain why he hadn’t squeezed off a shot yet. He was probably doing what Jackson was: namely, taking stock of the situation, counting the number in their team, gauging risk and success.

  Had he called in their location? He couldn’t see a radio, but although it was best to prepare for the worst and hope for the best.

  How far away might reinforcements be?

  Gauging his own risks, he took aim…and shot, the crack reverberating through the forest and startling slumbering wild life.

  He watched in his scope as the target fell. He’d aimed for a flesh wound to the shoulder, something that would take the kid down and hurt like hell, but wasn’t fatal.

  He dashed the twenty yards to the target. In the light from the half moon filtering through the trees, he saw that the boy’s face was contorted in pain and he desperately gripped his right shoulder…but it didn’t stop him from reaching for his weapon.

  Jackson grabbed the gun, looking at the old rifle that could probably produce a good shot at close range, but would likely have been worthless for anything else.

  He emptied it of ammo and threw the gun one way, the rounds the other, then checked the boy for a communication device. Nothing. Good.

  “He’s still alive.”

  Jackson considered where John, one of Lenny’s men, had come
up beside him, his M-16 pointed directly at the kid’s head.

  Jackson reached out and moved John’s weapon away. “I missed. He’ll probably die of the wound anyway. Why don’t you get back to the line and radio in the all clear?”

  John stared at him, then at the kid. “We should finish him off.”

  “He’ll suffer more this way.”

  John squinted at him. “You sure?”

  His response was an unwavering stare.

  “Fine. Let me know if you change your mind.”

  He made so much noise getting back to the path, Jackson wanted to shout at him to be quiet.

  He glanced back at the kid’s face: he was more hurt than scared.

  He bent over, ripped a length of material from the hem of his shirt, then tucked it under where the boy’s hand was gripping the wound. A glance at the front and back showed the bullet had gone right through, as intended.

  “Here,” he said, pushing the kid’s hand down on the fabric. “Hold tight.”

  He muttered something in his native tongue Jackson didn’t understand. Jackson patted him on the other shoulder then rose to his feet.

  “Clear!” he shouted.

  He heard Lenny over the radio shout for double time, apparently having come to the same conclusion he had—even though the kid hadn’t called in their location, there was no telling where the rest of his group was. And there was always the chance someone had heard the gunshot and were even now on their way.

  As he jogged to catch up with the line, Jackson tried to catch sight of Max, but she was too far ahead. Damn…

  MAX LEANED IN with the rest of the team to take in the map Lenny had stretched out on the ground. He quietly outlined the target compound located some two hundred and fifty meters away on the other side of a crumbling and recently reinforced wall. Once the home of the ousted president of the third-world, conflict-ridden country, it had long since been taken over by one of the most powerful warlords in the region, serving as but one of his command centers. Thankfully, intelligence showed he wasn’t currently staying there. Instead it was being used by one of his commanders and was the place where the recovery targets were being held captive.

  “Are we to rendezvous with Corps troops already in place?”

  Max looked across the circle to where Jax had asked the question.

  Lenny rolled up the map. “No.”

  “It was my understanding—”

  “Understand this, Savage—plans change. But this one remains the same. We’re going in to get those targets out.”

  Silence reigned as the group stared at Jackson; it appeared they were questioning his sanity when they should be questioning that of their leader.

  Max stretched the tight kinks out of her neck. In the service, you were taught to follow. That was easy. Then again, the leaders were worthy of the honor.

  Out here, in the private sector…well, while she didn’t have much to base her doubts on, neither did she know enough to feel comfortable putting complete faith in the man who’d essentially just dressed down Jax for insubordination.

  “We need to tighten the circle,” Jax said next to her.

  She looked at him in the dark. His eyes were luminous in the dim moonlight. He was so handsome she had trouble breathing. She nodded.

  They had fifteen minutes to regroup before they advanced. They’d been given a crude layout of the main house inside the wall, along with two guesthouses, guard shack and storage units. The sleeping quarters of the main house was where their targets were being held.

  Jackson brought together his team. Max had to agree with his choices; the five of them were by far the most competent of the group. The team listened intently, asked intelligent questions, were clear-eyed and focused. The others… She looked around. The others were in various states of distraction, stretching, running in place, trying to cover the fear they were so obviously experiencing, allowing it to control them instead of asserting control over it.

  She glanced at Storehouse who spoke on a satellite phone phone, wondering who he was talking to and whether or not it had anything to do with backup should they need it.

  “BEST HS.” That was the acronym she’d given to the team based on their names.

  “What?” Jax had said incredulously when she’d shared the tidbit with him back at camp. “Bachman-Evans-Savage-Taylor-Hershey-Selznick,” she’d explained.

  “And you?”

  “What’s your shortcut?” she’d asked instead of answering.

  “THE MOB.”

  “No S.”

  “Nope.”

  “Selznick?”

  “O’Selznick.”

  She’d laughed. “Well, you didn’t include yourself either…”

  Fifteen minutes later, their team within a team was set.

  “Go! Go! Go!” Lenny called.

  Max and Jackson went out first, as agreed, leading two-by-two with the only other female on their team, Taylor, bringing up the rear. One of Storehouse’s cockier rogue team members pulled out in front of them, doing his best impression of Rambo, while she noticed the others were perfectly content hanging back and allowing Jackson’s team to go ahead.

  They reached the seven-foot wall. Max instantly picked up on sound: it appeared at least two men were talking on the other side.

  She held up her hand to halt advance and to indicate they should split up and move farther down the wall in opposite directions. Unfortunately, Braden, aka Rambo, had other plans.

  “Screw this…”

  He scaled the wall.

  Max stared at Jackson and they both hustled fifteen feet on either side of Braden’s position and then scaled to perch on top of the wall.

  Automatic gunfire broke out. Max grit her teeth as she watched rounds disappear up Braden’s flack jacket and undoubtedly through his vest below. Then he took a couple to the head. She flinched as he slumped over and then fell over the wall.

  It all happened within a blink and there’d been nothing she and Jax could do.

  Now, however, was different story…

  She opened up fire and so did he, taking out the two guards with minimal trouble.

  Damn.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  She gave the all clear to the men behind her and then jumped to the compound grounds.

  Just in time to watch what looked like an entire battalion file out of a nearby building, weapons at the ready…

  10

  IT WAS A CLUSTER FUCK, pure and simple…

  The instant they hit the ground, all hell broke loose. The compound had been much better manned than they’d been led to believe. Militia emerged from every shadow and appeared prepared for their arrival.

  For a brief, paralyzing moment, all Jackson could think of was Max… He battled his way to cover, knowing there was nothing he could do for her if he was no longer there to do it.

  Now, five agonizingly long minutes later, he hunched down behind a crude circle of stones that served as a water well, his M-16 reloaded and ready. He immediately spotted where Max was, standing across from him flat against the wall of an outdoor shower.

  He knew such a flood of relief he took an unprecedented moment to close his eyes and send up a prayer of thanks. She was okay…

  When he looked at her again, he found her face communicated the same sense of relief at finding him alive.

  He didn’t know what he’d do if he lost her now that he felt he’d just finally found her…

  The thought alone was nearly paralyzing, not merely because of the physical threat the distraction posed but the emotional one.

  Focus, Savage…

  He scanned the area around him, taking in the situation. He couldn’t be sure where his other team members were, or how many had survived the initial counterattack.

  Shit. What an unqualified mess.

  He couldn’t help thinking they’d been sent in there like sacrificial lambs. Nothing was as it had been outlined. Intelligence was bad. And he was afraid the reason why the co
mpound was so heavily fortified was because the warlord, the number one guy, was in residence, not one of his commanders, as they’d been told.

  He’d learned early on in his career there were two things you needed in order to succeed in any mission: capable soldiers and accurate intelligence.

  And they had neither. Yes, it was a clusterfuck. Pure and simple.

  The question was, how were he and Max going to survive it?

  He steeled himself and looked over the well wall, gauging the situation, then quickly ducked back down without incident. Five guards to the left, three to the right. He looked to see Max doing the same. Their gazes met. Then they both nodded.

  They swung around at the same time, aiming and firing before taking cover again.

  Two to the left, none to the right…

  Max motioned that she was coming to him. He stood and delivered cover fire, taking out the remaining two.

  Unfortunately, there were at least ten others somewhere on the compound…and those were only the ones he knew about. He could only hope none of them were behind them.

  “This is messed up,” Max said, crouching next to him.

  “Agreed.” He checked his radio: silent. Attempts to contact Storehouse were unsuccessful. “You see any of the others?”

  “Taylor’s hit. She’s tying off a leg wound in the NW corner. She’s a sitting duck unless we can get her out of there.”

  “We lost Davidson,” he said, nodding to his right.

  She looked, taking in, as he had, the unnatural angle the man’s body had fallen, twisted and broken and devoid of life. He watched her blanch. “I say we fall back.”

  He stared into her beautiful face, smeared with camo paint. “Yeah. You’re right.”

  He had no intention of falling back. He did, however, want her to get the hell out of there.

  “Liar,” she said.

  He couldn’t help his smile.

  “So what’s the plan…?”

  MAX’S BLOOD RUSHED past her ears, her adrenaline running at levels she hadn’t experienced in years, not since leaving Afghanistan, where she’d been stationed after Iraq, two years ago.