Bound for Keeps (Men of Honor) (7 page)

Reed gave him a half grin after he’d taken a gulp of his. “Yeah, yeah, it can be your job from now on.”

“Awesome. Hope it pays well.” The word “well” caught on his yawn, which morphed into two more. He took another couple of sips before he put it down and wrapped the blanket around himself. Just going to close my eyes for a second, he lied to himself.

He swore he heard Reed laugh at him, even though he hadn’t spoken out loud. Swore he felt the blond man’s hand on his cheek, too, but that might’ve been even more wishful thinking.

Keith caught some shut-eye on the jet that took him from Washington into the insertion point in the jungles of South America, near one of the British Embassies. His pilots were Trace and Gary, both former Air Force, who could put down planes on boats in the middle of the ocean with ease. These trips were cakewalks for them, but they were no less vigilant.

He went over the papers Prophet gave him this morning, getting familiar with the maps of the area and the like. He and Proph were supposed to meet up at the airstrip but Proph got busy with something and couldn’t show. It was all right—the man always gave him more than enough intel to complete the job. The visits were extra, the friendship they’d developed over the years always intact.

The embassy layout was perfect—had a bottom layer of catacombs that were closed off from the top floors by wooden boards—nothing permanent, and also no security cameras, because in order to get inside, you had to dig a tunnel—or find one that was hidden and jump down six feet. It would be easy enough for him to get in that way, but there was no way he could take the mother and young son back that way.

He scratched his chin thoughtfully as he studied all the options, then put his head back and took a nap. For him, sleep always equaled the answer. He had to feed all the information into his mind and then he’d sleep and wake up with the solution.

He wished he could do that with Shane, but there was a distinct lack of information about the young man—and a great deal of confusion. But he brushed him from his mind now, put his head back and rested as the jet sped along to their destination under the cover of night, the flight plan only known to a select group of people.

When he opened his eyes an hour later, he began writing out his map, drawing what he needed to. Plotting the times along with coordinates, plus the equipment he’d be taking in. He’d share it with his back-up, who’d been asleep the entire flight, having just worked two back-to-back jobs for Prophet. Mick was former Army, a big guy with an impressive record as a solider and a more impressive one as a mercy. This was his element and, like Prophet, the man thrived under the lack of supervision.

Ten hours later, they were on the ground in a remote field. Keith would be walking in—Mick would wait at the halfway point. This part of the op would take about four hours, a conservative estimate if things went as planned.

He humped it through the jungle, NVs in place, his rifle at the ready, his mental compass guiding him toward the embassy. It had been deserted for well over a year, since a bombing and renovations had begun months ago. But the kidnappers had holed up in there three days ago, doling out their ransom demands that fell on deaf ears. At least that was the government’s party line. In reality, they called to Prophet who ran Butler’s teams, filled with mercs and dropouts from the CIA and random other men and women, to get those hostages out. Prophet’s idea of negotiation was:
we’re taking the hostages and shooting you
.

Keith agreed with those tactics.

He stuck to his plan, entering the catacombs, moving easily through the wooden boards that had been damaged with the original bombing and creeping silently into the middle room where he’d used his heat sensors to find the people.

Three kidnappers, plus the mom and kid in one room. Two men in the hallway. No men outside. He wondered why, had to assume the front and back doors and paths were booby trapped and cursed silently. A pain in the ass, but not a deal-breaker. Not when a woman and child’s life were on the line.

He heard the boy crying as he got closer. His stomach tightened and he shoved his temper down where it belonged, along with any other emotions. He moved forward, took out the first guard almost silently, a knife to the carotid and a clean catch so he could place the body on the floor. The second guard came when he heard the gurgled cry and got the same treatment.

Now, to draw out the others, away from the mom and kid. It seemed like mom would be the type who could handle a gun—at least a handgun, and he would slide her one while he fought the others.

It was the best chance they had. He slammed the door open with his foot, knocking one out and letting the gun slide across the floor to the mom. Thankfully, the woman knew exactly what to do—he figured anyone living in this country knew how to handle a firearm and then some. She pushed her son behind her and held the gun out as he disarmed the two other men and killed them, because they couldn’t afford for them to come after them as they made their escape.

“We’re going to have to go back out through the catacombs,” he told them, and they followed him quickly down the stairs. He stopped them before they went through. “Are either of you hurt?”

Because in these jungles, wounds got ugly fast.

“No, they didn’t hurt us. I’m Sarah—this is Kevin.”

“Keith.” He shook her hand. “I’m going to get you both home.”

She nodded and squeezed her son’s shoulder. “We’ll do whatever you say.”

And they did, followed him fast through the underground, climbed out of the big hole and into the jungle with nary a complaint. Halfway through the walk, Keith picked the boy up and slung him over his shoulder so no branches would catch his face, told him to hang on and they picked up the pace.

It was too damned easy. And whenever things went this well, they went tits up just as fast. But he had the boy on his back and the mom holding his belt and keeping up and he just kept marching forward. Because that was his goddamned motto in life, keep marching forward and leave the other shit behind.

Until he had to break course and head in the other direction, thanks to a band of soldiers roaming the jungles. Whether or not they were searching for him or others, it made no difference. He’d quickly become a target.

He sent out a distress message to Mick, knowing that Reed would get it as well. These were the times he depended on them to get him the hell out of the jungle.

Shane was on his feet in front of the desk where Reed sat before he’d fully woken up. He remained there, dazed, swaying, the blanket falling off his shoulders as he stretched to shake the sleep off him. He blinked a few times, yawned a few more and rubbed his cheeks with his palms.

Reed grinned at him. “Old military habits die hard.”

“Tell me about it.” He massaged the back of his neck, stiff from the way he’d slept. “I guess I abandoned you.”

“Not really. Nice to have another warm body in the room, no matter the state of consciousness.” Reed bit his bottom lip as he typed something and then moved closer to the screen. “There’s still some coffee left.”

“I’ll stick with soda.”

“I’ll take one,” Reed said. Shane padded to the kitchen, grabbed a couple of Cokes and some Twinkies and headed back into the office. The fire was still going strong in the living room, and outside, the storm was definitely picking up. Pretty soon, the porch would be completely covered again, much the way it had been when he’d stumbled literally over it and landed with a bang against the front door.

He handed Reed a soda and tried to hold on to the cakes possessively, but Reed grabbed one for himself, gave Shane a smirk. “I hid the chocolate.”

“I found it and rehid it,” he said, and Reed’s face furrowed into a frown.

“You can’t fuck with a man’s vices like that,” he muttered, and Shane ignored him in favor of stuffing the golden sponge cake that would survive any nuclear attack into his mouth.

He wanted to walk to the other side of the desk and take a look at things for himself, but didn’t want to be all that presumptuous.

“What’s he doing?” he asked instead around a mouthful of Twinkie. When Reed just stared at him, he washed it down with the cold soda before continuing, “I mean, can you tell me anything more specific?”

“Freeing hostages,” Reed said.

“How many?”

“A mom and her son. Dad’s a diplomat.”

“So they’re collateral for the rebels in return for what, a vote?”

“Something like that.” Reed handed him a file folder and Shane flipped through, his stomach churning as he read along.

“Keith’s in real danger.”

“Always.”

“And he’s alone?”

“For this part. Force Recon, remember? He can take on the world.” But he was worried too, just refusing to admit it. “He carries a chip so I can track his movements.”

“Do you guys ever go on missions together?”

“All the time.”

He opened his mouth to ask, why not this time, but he knew and that sat like a rock in his stomach. He went to stand up, not sure where to go when Reed’s hand came down on his forearm.

“Yeah, we split up this time because you’re here and you need someone to take care of you. And don’t give me that pissed-off look because you know it’s true. It’s not a big deal. We don’t do every job together and neither of us minded Keith flying solo on this one.”

“I’ll bet Keith minded.”

“Maybe a little more than I did,” Reed admitted with a slight twist of his lip. “But he’ll get over it.”

Shane swallowed hard, trying to reconcile the two sides of the Marine he’d seen so far. Tough-guy asshole and gentle, let-me-touch-your-face guy. Then again, Shane wasn’t exactly one who could complain about hiding things from strangers.

But these two men had become the farthest thing from strangers in a short amount of time. And he sat there on the couch and listened to music and thumbed through a week’s worth of newspapers idly as Reed traced Keith’s movements. It went on for hours and Shane refused to leave or sleep again, because he’d become invested when he’d promised himself he wouldn’t. This was one stop of many, and he had to move on.

Except he wasn’t pushing to leave and they weren’t exactly showing him the door.

Suddenly, Reed’s entire demeanor changed. It would be impossible to tell for the most part, but Shane wasn’t most people.

“What’s wrong?”

Reed shook his head and typed, then started pulling out books and looking through them. Shane fisted his hands so hard his nails bit into his skin, forced himself to breathe calmly, not to bother Reed when he was obviously working through something major.

But… “Reed, let me help. I can help.”

Reed looked at him for a moment, narrowed his eyes as if assessing that fact and then nodded.

“Take this.” Reed handed him an iPad. “Try to find me a recent map,” he added as he rattled off coordinates.

Shane recognized the numbers almost immediately but pulled the map of the country up anyway. “Got it.”

“I need a way out that doesn’t include the water.”

He stared at the map, hyper-focused on the area Keith was currently in. Probably hiding in the jungles behind the embassy. “Is he moving west?”

“Yes, toward the bridge.”

“There’s no bridge there,” Shane told him.

“There’s a bridge.”

“There’s not,” he insisted.

Reed looked at him. “When’s the last time you were in country?”

“Seven months ago. I blew up the fucking bridge.”

Reed blew out a long breath, cursed and muttered something along the lines of, “You win.”

“Tell him if he goes through the road that branches away from the bridge—the one through the jungle—it’ll lead out to a farm. It looks like it’ll take you over a cliff but it doesn’t.” He held his breath, not wanting any more questions but wanting Keith to just get the hell out of there safely.

Reed typed. Then picked up a phone and barked to someone who Shane assumed wasn’t Keith. The person on the other line cursed but Reed held to Shane’s assertions and finally, he heard a grudging acceptance.

Reed hung up and tapped his fingers as they waited through the silence. Shane estimated it would be at least fifteen minutes before they heard if Keith got through, especially if he’d been successful with the hostages.

“He’s not traveling alone, right?” Shane couldn’t help but break the silence to ask.

“No, he got the hostages out.” Reed said.

That meant Keith’s job was halfway done. It was going to be a long night. It was almost five in the morning now, but the storm raged in earnest and it would look black as night for most of the daylight hours anyway.

“It’s always easier when you’re the one in it, no matter how bad it is,” he heard himself say. At least that had always been his experience.

Reed glanced up from the computer for a moment, his expression dark, his hand on his chin. “Not always, Shane.” And then his expression shuttered again into the stoic soldier.

Shane let that sink in as he counted the seconds in his head while pretending to read the paper. Wasn’t fooling Reed but he was sure Reed appreciated it. Even his toes ached from the tension of sitting so damned still and waiting and praying he was right. Because he couldn’t have more deaths on his head.

If you hadn’t said anything, there could’ve been deaths too…

No matter what, he’d had to say something.

After what seemed like forever but was actually under the time Shane figured Keith could hump it with civilians, Reed typed something and sighed. Said, “He’s back at the LZ and just boarding the helo. He’ll be home tomorrow morning, with any luck.”

Shane smiled and stretched. “You gonna sleep now?”

“Not until he’s home,” Reed told him.

Chapter Nine

Shane slept on and off for the next day and a half, woke when he heard the door, his old instincts beginning to kick in. Reed went past him, giving him a light touch to his shoulder, letting him know he’d seen Shane stir.

Shane wasn’t sure if he’d be intruding on a private moment but couldn’t help himself. Even coming from the most successful mission, decompression was necessary and Shane wondered how Keith would act.