Danger Close (The Echo Platoon Series, Book 1) (30 page)

"I'm faking half the words. My Thai is very rudimentary."

"Just sing," he said. So she did, and then she sang a song that a little orphan girl had taught her back in Haiti.

"Music is a gift from the gods," she reflected. "It gives us all a tool for coping, don't you think?"

"Absolutely. We even use it in the military."

She pictured Sam and his SEALs singing folk songs. "You're teasing me, right?"

"Not at all. What are cadences if not songs?"

"Oh, I guess you're right. What's a good cadence? I need something to keep me going," she huffed, her toes and heels burning.

"All right. Here's one we use for the War on Terror:

Some say freedom is free

Well I tend to disagree

Some say freedom is won

Through the barrel of a gun

My daddy fought in Vietnam

Went to war with the Viet Cong

My granddad fought in World War Two

And gave his life for me and you

"There's another six or seven verses, but I've never memorized them all."

"I hate to say it," Maddy interjected, "but the premise is all wrong. There wouldn't be a War on Terror in the first place if we treated our neighbors as we treat ourselves." She warmed to her argument. "Put an Afghan and an American on an island in the middle of nowhere and you can bet they'd become the best of friends."

"Yeah, but the world's not an island. You can't change a thousand years of hatred by being kind to your neighbor."

"You'd be surprised," Maddy replied, panting with the effort it took to slog across the soft soil. "The schools and hospitals we've built in Afghanistan and Iraq have done more good for the people than either war has."

"I agree with that," Sam said, without a hint of defensiveness. "That's why I like being a SEAL. Precision targeting means we take out only the bad elements and leave the rest. Plus we work closely with tribal and religious leaders to help them oust the Taliban who terrorize their villages. There are some things SEALs can do for people that humanitarian aid workers can't."

She considered the laments she'd heard from Bosnian refugees asking where help had been when their family members were being raped and killed. NATO military intervention had put an end to the bloodshed, not the Red Cross.

"I think you've got a point," she admitted, casting him a sidelong glance. "So we're both doing our best to make the world a better place."

His teeth flashed in a brief smile. "Like a tag team," he agreed. "We're here by the way," he added, pointing to a spot ahead of them where Ricardo stood staring down an endless expanse of highway.

"Thank God," Maddy sighed, quickening her pace to get there. The heat was still rising off the asphalt from the previous day's warmth. It heated Maddy's backside as she collapsed on the edge of the road along with her companions. It had been 11 PM when Ricardo first called his colleague for assistance. They'd walked at least another hour over the rough terrain. She wished fervently that she was back in her condominium safely tucked into bed.

Sitting next to her, Sam and Ricardo had fallen silent, no doubt taxed by the ordeal of crashing and the lateness of the hour. Sam scooted closer, shielding her from the breeze that whipped at her hair.

"Have some water," he invited handing her a bottle from the pack. He handed Ricardo a second bottle.

Maddy assessed Sam's thoughtful expression as she tipped her head back to drink. "Are you okay?" she asked, handing back the bottle for him to share. Something seemed off about him.

"Hit my head pretty hard in the crash," he explained. "It's nothing."

Concern shot through her. She lifted a hand to feel the spot he'd pinpointed, and her fingertips encountered a lump behind his ear the size of an egg. "Oh, Sam," she exclaimed. "Is there something in the pack for that?"

"It's nothing a little Tylenol and sleep can't cure."

"There's got to be Tylenol in this pack somewhere." She sifted through the contents until she came up with several foils containing acetaminophen. "Here, swallow these," she instructed, handing Sam a packet. "What about you, Ricardo?" she asked, turning toward her former colleague. He'd stretched his entire body out across the concrete. "Would you like pain pills?"

"Maddy, it would take a full bottle of rum to kill the pain I'm in," he rasped.

"I'm so sorry, Ricardo." Stretching out a hand, she clasped his ankle. "I'm sorry about your plane, too. I'll get my father to buy you a new one."

Sam snorted with derision practically in her ear.

She focused her attention back on him. "It's the least he can do after Ricardo saved my life," she insisted.

"I thought you still believed your uncle was innocent."

"Well, it's hard to believe that after what just happened to the plane, isn't it?"

"You could have just taken my word for it." He rubbed his forehead tiredly, not even looking at her.

"I'm sorry," she said, realizing her lack of faith in him had nearly pushed him away forever. "It's just so hard for me to accept that my uncle could turn against his own family." And if he'd turned against his own sister as she now suspected, his crimes were beyond forgivable.

"Some people have no conscience, Maddy. Your uncle is a psychopath."

Oddly, she still had to squelch an impulse to defend her uncle.
Blood runs thick
, she realized. Sam was right, though. Uncle Paul probably was a psychopath. After all, what normal brother would push his sister out of a tree, let alone cause her plane to crash?

Exhaustion overwhelmed her suddenly, and she lay back on the road the way Ricardo was doing and shut her eyes. With Sam nearby to protect her, she didn't fear that a snake or tarantula or even a jaguar would creep out of the wilderness to threaten her. The greatest threat came from within her own family, she ruminated, reeling inwardly. Miraculously, they'd all survived her uncle's heartless endeavor to end their lives.

Thank you again, Mom. I love you so much
.

Chapter 16

Maddy cringed, turning her head instinctively from the source of bright light and the corresponding sound of a curtain being whisked open.

She rolled over, groaning at the stiffness in her neck and spine. Memories of the plane crash chased the pleasant dreams from her mind and brought her fully awake. She found herself in a hotel room in the queen-sized bed Sam had tucked her into at the crack of dawn that morning.

"Rise and shine,
querida
," he called out, sounding far more energetic and looking fully recovered.

As he came to stand over her, she noticed that he'd swapped his military attire for a pair of jeans and a green T-shirt that matched the color of his eyes. His tolerant smile gave her hope that he'd truly forgiven her for not believing him right away the previous night and for defending her uncle until the evidence became too overwhelming to ignore. "Feeling a little sore, I bet," he wagered.

She gave a tentative stretch and groaned. "Every inch of my body hurts."

"That's normal," he assured her.

"But you don't look like you hurt." If anything, he looked rested and bright-eyed.

He shrugged. "I'm used to crashing," he explained.

Her eyes widened. "Is that supposed to make me feel better?" She sat up slowly.

He shrugged. "Better get used to it. We both face danger as part of our jobs."

Excitement bubbled inside at the implication that a long-term relationship was now in the works. She sniffed the air catching a whiff of something delicious. "Do I smell breakfast?"

"More like brunch." He turned toward the desk where she caught sight of a tray heaping with food. "I took the liberty of ordering room service."

"Good. I'm starving." Putting her feet to the floor, she found herself completely naked which was, of course, how she normally slept. "When did I lose my dress?" she asked, a tad self-consciously.

"When you passed out on the bed the minute we got into the room. I was glad to find you wearing underwear," he added on a dry note.

"So pleased to have met your expectations," she countered sweetly.

"Don't worry, I snagged a change of clothes for you before we left town yesterday. They're in the bathroom."

Touched by his thoughtfulness—he'd grabbed her most sacred keepsake, too, her mother's journal—she thanked him as she moved into the bathroom. She showered briskly and scrubbed her teeth with the complimentary toothbrush. A pair of her most practical pants and a cotton blouse hung on the back of the door. The prospect of making love kept her from putting them on, however. Instead, she donned the fluffy white robe, courtesy of the Marriott and rejoined Sam in the bedroom. He'd already laid their meal on the desk and drawn up the recliner so they could both have a seat.

"This is cozy," she remarked, shivering privately as his gaze lingered on her plunging neckline.

Two steaming cups of coffee filled the room with a delicious aroma. He'd ordered them fresh fruit, a crepe, and an omelet, all piled onto a single plate. Casting the bed a regretful glance, she took a seat in the recliner and he pushed her closer before sitting next to her in the chair.

"Thanks," she said, picking up a fork. "Where are we again?" The final hour of their adventure was nothing but a blur.

"Near the Asunción International Airport. Which would you prefer, the omelet or the crepe?"

"I'll take the crepe if that's all right with you."

He carved a piece off the omelet by way of an answer.

"And Ricardo stayed with his contact?" she inquired, taking her own first bite from the assorted fruit.

"Yes, his friend was going to drive him back to his wife and baby."

"Now, that's dedication," Maddy mused.

"That's the kind we're going to need," he gravely informed her. As he chewed his first bite, he studied her face intently. "You know the odds are stacked against us, right? A long-distance relationship is one thing. My being a SEAL and you being a global environmentalist doesn't make things any easier."

Only slightly daunted, she selected a melon wedge. "Trying to get out of it?" she inquired, arching an eyebrow at him.

"Actually, I thrive on challenges." A glint of determination shone in his green eyes.

"So do I," she insisted with a determined smile. "But I hardly know anything about you, whereas you've been told everything there is to know about me," she pointed out. "I hardly think that's fair."

"There was nothing in your files about your propensity for going commando," he objected, working on the omelet.

"But you found that out on your own."

"Yes, I did." His gaze dropped again to her cleavage, now visible between the two halves of her robe.

"You're trying to distract me," she realized, hunting down another piece of fruit. "What makes you love challenges so much?" she asked him, wresting his gaze from her cleavage.

He chewed thoughtfully. "Being born without privileges, I guess. When I realized hard work and determination actually got me somewhere, I didn't want to stop."

Intrigued, Maddy waited for more, but that was all he said. "Why are you being so vague? You can tell me specifics, Sam. I'm not going to judge you. That's not my style."

His expression remained shuttered. "You want to know where I come from?" he asked on a harder note, but he didn't look up at her. He played with his food, instead.

"Yes. I want to know every hardship and obstacle you ever overcame," she insisted.

He blew out a long breath. "That could take a while." He glanced over at the clock beside the bed. "And your father is due at the airport any moment."

Darn.
So much for making love after breakfast. She relinquished that hope while pursuing the topic more avidly. "Sounds to me like you're making excuses. What are you afraid of, Sam?"

She knew he wouldn't like the inference that he was afraid of anything. Putting down his fork, he sat back and crossed his arms in a defensive posture. "Fine," he said, staring hard at her. "I'm the grandson of a Cuban refugee."