bow of the boat. If Jackson Kinkaid hadn’t been on the level with this hostage rescue, the lives of her team would be at risk. Crazed terrorists, one hurricane, and now Kinkaid had added a wrinkle that upped the ante.
Joe pulled him aside. “I don’t like this. Your skin is flushed. I bet that fever is back,” Joe protested in a low voice thick with concern. “If you can’t make it, contact me, and I’ll pick you up. Let Alexa’s people handle it. This ain’t worth dyin’ over—”
“Then what
“You could’ve fooled me,” his friend interrupted.
“—but I can’t let Kate down.” Kinkaid kept his voice low, out of earshot of Alexa and her team, but hiding his anger was a different story. He glared at a friend he thought he knew as if seeing him for the first time.
“Who’s this Kate person to you anyway?” Joe didn’t wait for him to respond. “You and me, we got a good thing going. If you get killed doing this—”
“Then I’ll be dead. And money won’t buy jack shit in hell.”
His friend stopped.
He had cut Joe in after the man had proven himself. And the money got even better. In no time, LaClaire saw how things would work. Their hits had run real smooth and regular as clockwork. They were a team.
But money made people crazier, even someone as solid as Joe.
Most days, LaClaire tolerated his penchant to play a modern-day Robin Hood because there was always more money coming in. He kept the greenbacks rolling, and Joe held up his end of their bargain. They were partners, even though LaClaire called him boss. Hell, he trusted the guy as much as he could trust anyone.
And until this moment, he thought his faith had been justified.
“Don’t push me into making a choice between you and this rescue mission, Joe.” Although Kinkaid meant what he said, the words came out harsher than he’d intended. He gripped the man’s shoulder. “Look, I’ll be okay. I have to do this.”
Joe nodded. Stress still edged his face as he forced a smile. “After this, you and me are gonna take time off. We’ll kick back on a real beach, maybe one of them topless ones. Somewhere with no one shooting at us.”
Kinkaid crooked his lip into a smile. Joe was blowing smoke. They’d never taken time off together. When they needed a break, they went their separate ways. And his friend usually went on the prowl for love.
“You and me on vacation?” Kinkaid shook his head and grinned. “Face it, Joe. Male bonding is highly overrated.”
His friend chuckled and shrugged. “You got me there. When I get time off, I’m usually looking for love in all the wrong places.”
“Yeah, and your idea of romance usually means money changes hands and liquor is involved. But hey, nice try.”
“Just don’t get killed this trip…or I’m gonna be pissed.”
“For your sake, I’ll give it a shot.” Kinkaid shifted his gaze toward Alexa. “I gotta go. Never keep an armed woman waiting.”
Southeast Cuba
Sierra Maestra Mountain Range
Late afternoon
Alexa gave a hand signal for her team to take a break. Her GPS readings were off. Given the dense jungle cover, that was to be expected. She’d been using her compass and the map she’d studied last night. They were crossing the Sierra Maestra, a mountain range that ran westward across Guantanamo Province in southeast Cuba. The range rose abruptly from the coast where they’d put to shore, and the elevations were a secluded haven for terrorist training camps.
They’d already encountered one camp after they’d heard the gunfire of training exercises. They had divided into teams and moved in closer to investigate until they’d seen enough and made the call to move on. It had taken time to rule them out as sympathizers aligned with the hostage takers—time they didn’t have.
After they resumed the climb, they’d seen shanties with stone walls and rusted metal roofs dappling the hillsides. They weren’t alone and would have to skirt the locals. In hostile territory, they’d have to remain alert.
She shrugged out of her pack and set it down before she sucked water off a tube from her hydration pack. Alexa held it in her mouth to quench her thirst and conserve her supply. Sweat was rolling off her body, and her hair and clothes were drenched. She had to keep hydrated to avoid muscle cramps or worse.
She crouched and peered through a break in the dense vegetation to catch a sporadic breeze. Below her position she saw clouds casting long shadowy fingers onto lush valleys as the sun flickered a sliver of light through the darkening clouds. The horizon was thick with haze, and the air smelled of humidity. The weight of the muggy air was oppressive. Gray tufts clung to the ridges ahead and obscured the view. They had more climbing to do before they’d reach a good staging area.
Alexa hoped they’d find something before the rain hit. Any rain would wash footprints away and force them to use other signs to find a trail to follow.
She had two men scouting ahead, looking for tracks and signs of movement. They’d report back soon. And she had two others standing guard while the rest of her team took a breather. Alexa stood and stretched before she rested against a boulder near the trail to drink more water.
The heat closed in.
Every member of her team had humped in a load and carried water, supplies, and munitions on their backs. She had done her part. And in the steamy jungle, the burden had taken its toll. They had stayed off the worn trails, fearing they might be booby-trapped, and trekked the steep climb running parallel to the narrow path. The going was slow. They’d covered only two klicks an hour. Fighting the underbrush had been tough. Lactic acid had built up in her muscles and made her legs burn, even as she rested. The mountainous terrain and the heat would normally be her first concern for the team, but the weather had her worried too.
He looked grateful for the break. Keeping to himself, he pulled away from the others to down what looked like aspirin when he thought she wasn’t watching. His skin looked pale and clammy—and not from the muggy heat. His normally alert eyes were sluggish and hard to read. Something was definitely wrong even though he was holding up his end of the bargain.
Carrying her Colt M4 Carbine assault rifle over her shoulder, she stood and walked to where he lay sprawled on a small rise with his back against a tree.
“You mind company?” she whispered.
He gestured an invitation with a hand and barely looked up.
“If we stick to high ground,” she said as she retrieved insect repellent from her belt pack, “we get better reception for our GPS units and SAT phone. This dense canopy can mess up our readings.”
While she talked, she sprayed bug juice on her clothes and skin.
“Yeah, that’s good,” he whispered with eyes closed. “Just don’t get us caught on a ridge with our asses showing. We’d make easy sniper targets.”
“How are you holding up?” she asked.
“I took a tumble off a ridge the other night. It’s nothing. I’m good.”
“Ah, thanks. That explains everything.” She leaned her head back against the tree she shared with him and closed her eyes, her assault rifle across her belly. “And you’re a lousy liar, Kinkaid.”
