Before We Kiss (Uncharted SEALs Book 6) (7 page)

“I’m sure he knew five minutes after it happened.” Mike gave him a quick sideways glance. “Your head in the game, Coyote?”

Wiley slammed his fist against the door. “This shouldn’t have happened.”

“Detail was solid, even had divers in the water in case the bastards tried to breach the beach. We had every avenue covered.”

“Obviously not,” Wiley said, giving him a blistering stare.

“This was a tight operation. Let’s just hope they took her for the ransom.”

Wiley prayed that was the case. This situation could be over inside a week. But some Mexican drug traffickers had ties with ISIS. Had helped ISIS get men across the U.S. borders to scout out locations for future attacks. If ISIS wanted her, they’d have her. Then God help Poppy.

The thought of her in a terrorist’s hands, tortured, burned, beheaded—in retaliation for her father’s victories against them—made him sick to his stomach. His body tensed, and he grabbed the dashboard. Fuck, if he’d let that happen.

Hold on, Poppy. I’m coming for you.

‡

P
oppy sunk inside
herself. No use panicking. She couldn’t help her situation. Whatever her kidnappers’ intentions, they couldn’t be good. When she’d been plucked from the water, her mind had worked at warp speed, imagining every scenario possible until she’d drawn a deep breath and deliberately began to withdraw.

Her abductors hadn’t traveled far, barely a mile down the shoreline until they beached the jet skis, hopped off, and then led her over sand and jagged rocks to a banged-up pickup parked on the side of the road that edged the ocean. Before they’d pushed her inside, they’d tied her hands together with rope and dropped a rough canvas bag over her head and shoulders.

Now, she lay on the small space behind the bucket seats, fighting nausea and panting due to fear and claustrophobia. The fact she was nearly nude and barefoot rankled, making her feel more vulnerable than she had to be. But she didn’t dwell on those facts or let herself think about their destination. Instead, she kept the image of Wiley, with his face reddening from fury, his eyes narrowing. Wiley wouldn’t let this go. Would move heaven and earth to save her. She knew it.

And not just because she was “the job.” He was personally invested and had let down his guard for just a moment. He’d rail against himself, but after he got the rage under control, he’d call upon his skills. He’d find the men who had taken her. She had to believe he’d do it before it was too late.

Unwilling to think about what was in store, she drew back from the precipice. She’d hope this was a kidnapping for ransom. Something that could drag on for weeks or months. Not something more nefarious. Her father would want this situation kept quiet. Off the books. Because if terrorists didn’t know she’d been taken and couldn’t pay her ransom, the men her father had hired stood a better chance of retrieving her.

Eventually, the heat inside the truck cab, and the lack of fresh air from the bag still covering her head, lulled her, despite the bumpiness of the ride. She relaxed, and finally, she gave herself over to oblivion. She’d need to be rested, alert, and ready.

Again, she thought of Wiley. Of the night they’d spent together. She was fiercely glad she’d allowed him into her bed. Sweet and intense, he’d seen to her pleasure. It was just a damn shame they might not have the chance to discover whether they had more in store in their future. She thought he might be the kind of man she could trust with her heart. One who’d weather any storm. A rock she could lean against. Thinking of his warm embrace, she slipped into darkness.

Wiley jumped from
the open door of the helo onto the hard-packed dirt airfield. All the operators, who’d come out of the woodwork when Poppy had been attacked, headed straight to Charter’s camp, deep in the Yucatan jungle, and far from any prying eyes set to watch their movements. Within minutes of the abduction, they’d had access to satellite surveillance. Government satellites, although Wiley didn’t ask for details. The general had his friends. Charter had their own. They’d tracked the movement of a vehicle along the coastal highway until it made a turn, heading into the jungle. Once forest canopy cut off their view, they’d used infrared to track heat signatures, keeping tabs, hoping they’d found the right target, because otherwise Poppy could be anywhere in Cancun. They’d let the Federales and the local police follow those leads.

Charter’s analysts didn’t believe she’d be found there anyway. Not after they’d caught a single transmission. One that, once decrypted, had spoken of a special package ready for delivery to “the sheikh.”

The moment Wiley had heard that final word his blood froze. Rumors had abounded for over a year of a Yemeni sheikh who’d allied himself with a Mexican cartel. In exchange for heroin the ISIS-affiliated warlord smuggled to the cartel, he was provided a safe place to train terrorists, and coyotes to help smuggle his fighters across the porous U.S. border. So far, the intelligence community had only heard of scouting missions. Fighters looking for soft targets in the southwest and Texas. And U.S. intelligence agencies hadn’t found the supposed camp.

If Poppy fell into the sheikh’s hands… Wiley tightened his fists.

His team commander, Deke Warrick, met him beside the runway, reaching out to shake his hand. His hazel gaze studied his expression. “You holding it together?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Wiley said, keeping his emotions carefully guarded, his expressions neutral. If Charter knew he was hanging on by a thread, they might make him sit this one out.

“Look, I’ve been where you are, Wiley. When my wife Nicky was taken, I only had me. I had to keep a lid on my emotions. Had to work fast. At least, I never lost track of her.” He pressed his hand harder before letting go. “We’ll get Poppy back. But I need you steady.”

With both hands fisting at his sides, Wiley gave Deke a curt nod.

“Good. Now, come see Teague. He’s been pulling together intel and is ready to brief us.”

Wiley followed Deke to the command center, an impressive title for a rather unimpressive little building. Close to the hangar, it sat on piers, with dirty whitewashed siding and a shingled roof. Inside, they passed empty desks, heading straight to the back where the real work happened, the guts of the operation. There, blackout curtains covered the windows. A long table held computers, monitors, and a radio.

Teague sat on a stool and swiveled toward them when they closed the door.

If he hadn’t been wound tight, he might have smiled seeing Teague. The guy had a face that looked like it had been chiseled out of rock. His hair was cut high and tight. And the bristles on top showed more silver than the last time Wiley had been here.

Teague gave him an icy stare. “Heard you fucked the pooch.”

His neck stiffened. “Yeah, I messed up.”

Teague grunted at his admission and crossed his arms over his chest. “Commander Martir,” he said, referring to the former SEAL commander who now ran special operations for Charter, “tapped his old buddies at the DEA. Remember that bastard Diego Guzman we took out last year?” He didn’t wait for Wiley’s nod. “A splinter group, not beholden to the son, has her. They’ve been trying to reconstruct Guzman’s supply chain, to gain back trust after his organization scattered to the winds.

“Martir says this is a good thing. Because communication is fractured as well. No one trusts anyone. The men who have Poppy want to trade her to the sheikh for exclusive rights to move his heroin over the border. It’s a power grab. Guzman’s lieutenants have been killing off each other, one by one. Last man standing gets the crown.”

“Who’s in charge of this particular group?” Wiley asked, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach. Poppy was being held by some desperate, ruthless assholes.

“Fernando Peña. The fact he’s kept her kidnapping under wraps is a good thing. It means we won’t have to fight an army to get her back. Just his most trusted men.”

Wiley still wasn’t feeling better. “Do we know where they are?”

“Heading straight down the coastline to an airstrip near Chetumal.”

Airstrip. She could wind up anywhere. A muscle jerked along the side of his jaw. “Where do they plan to take her from there?”

Teague’s lips tightened. “Straight to Chihuahua.”

And the Yemeni’s training camp. Cold sweat broke on his brow. Wiley ground his jaws. “I take it we’re intercepting them at the airfield?”

Teague arched a graying brow. “Too predictable for you, Coyote?”

Wiley glanced away at the computer monitor which showed the surveillance footage that followed the large heat signature of a vehicle traveling through the jungle. “Won’t they be ready for us?”

“Does that worry you?”

Wiley inhaled, filling his lungs with air and stalling before giving his answer. He was too edgy. Too ready to slam his fists into something soft. He needed control, needed his head straight, or he’d be no good to Poppy. No help to his team. Again, Poppy’s pale face as she’d glanced back while the jet ski pulled away flashed through his mind. Their gazes had locked. She’d been scared, but she was strong. She’d hold it together until he got to her. “I’m not worried. The bastards are going to pay for ever touching her.”

Teague pursed his lips, but then gave a slow nod to Deke. “I was going to suggest you sit this one out. But I suppose I’d be spitting in the wind to suggest it.”

Wiley crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. “Damn straight, Teague. I have to be there.”

The older man’s gaze narrowed. “Helo’s being refueled. We’ll do a rope drop into the jungle, not far from the field. You’ll have to hoof it there.” Teague jerked his head to the left. “Better get changed. Hit the armory.”

With a final glance at Deke whose expression was every bit as grim as Teague’s, Wiley turned on his heel. Relief was swift. He hadn’t been ordered to stay behind. Deke would have had to take him down to stop him getting on that helicopter. He’d be on location when Poppy was rescued. There to hold her and to beg her forgiveness for letting this happen.

God, keep her safe until then.

Poppy didn’t know
how long she slept, but the sudden application of brakes rocked her violently against hard metal. The door behind her opened with a creak. Rough hands reached in and grabbed her hips then slid up to her waist. She bit back a snarl at being handled, knowing it would be best not to react.

When she stood outside the vehicle, the bag was slowly pulled from her head. She blinked. Darkness was falling, dusk peeking through a thick forest canopy above. She stood at the edge of a cleared dirt track long enough to be an airstrip. Her stomach sank. If she was moved by plane, the team working to rescue her would have a much harder time—if they’d succeed at all. She fought to keep her breaths even to quell her rising panic.

A man stepped in front of her. Dressed in a camouflage uniform, he was of medium height, wiry build, and his skin was pale. He’d almost pass for Anglo except for his black eyes. He smiled as he swept her body with a thorough glance. Then he raised a cell phone to her face and tapped this screen.

She winced at the bright flash. “Are you sending that picture to my father?” she asked, unable to halt the question. She had to know.

His gaze narrowed and shifted beyond her shoulder to the men who had escorted her there. In a rush of Spanish too fast for her to follow, he said something to them. A moment later, fingers wrapped around her upper arm and turned her. Rotten Tooth led her to a metal hut at the edge of the forest. At the doorway, a knife sliced through her rope, freeing her hands, and then she was shoved inside the empty hut where she stood flexing her hands and shaking out her arms to bring back circulation.

A moment later, clothing sailed through the door before it was locked. Camouflage pants, a tee. She didn’t care that they didn’t smell fresh. Instead, she donned them quickly, grateful she didn’t have to stand nearly naked in front of the assholes again. “I need shoes,” she shouted at the door, although she didn’t expect an answer. The shout had been more to bolster her courage and remind herself she wasn’t some scared little girl.

Pulling the cinching ribbon from the bottom hem of her pants, she used it to tie back her hair. She rolled the bottom of her pants to her ankles, because she didn’t want to trip if she got the chance to run. Rescue was on the way. She had to be ready. Light through the single dirty window was fading fast. She glanced around at the floor, picked out a spot that didn’t appear infested with ants or spiders, and settled onto the ground with her back to the tin wall. Surely, no plane would land on that narrow dirt strip at night. Wiley would have until morning to find her. Leaning her head against the tin wall, she closed her eyes.

“
Tell me a secret. Something no one else knows
,” he’d whispered in the dark after the first time they’d made love.

As she stroked a finger over his jaw. she smiled, knowing he couldn’t see, but maybe he’d hear it in her voice. “I detest Sousa.”

His chest shook against her cheek. “Does your father know?” he asked, his disbelieving tone exaggerated.