The Edge of Trust: Team Edge (35 page)

She silently echoed the sentiment. 

“Breakfast is ready,” he
bit out.  Then,
“Check your boots before you put them on.” 

The command was given without a second glance her way.   As Dillon finished dishing up breakfast, she eyed her boots wondering what he’d do if she threw one at him. 

She grabbed her boots, shook each one upside down, hoping nothing creepy had crawled in during the night, then put them on, laced them up, and stomped over to the fire. 

Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and dried fruit.  It wasn’t half-bad, the coffee was better than decent and she felt her temper rise.  Dillon always did make really good coffee, even apparently, in the middle of nowhere. 

How nice for him.

And how nice it would have been for her if the man she was having breakfast with hadn’t become such a complete prick.

He handed her his empty plate.

Fuming, she snatched it from him and started toward the small pond in the back of the cave to wash up.

“Let’s make it snappy, we need to get moving.”

Snappy?
  Sara whirled, opened her mouth, then clapped it shut.  Her eyes narrowed and her fingers clenched around the metal dish. 

“The guppy look is cute, Sara, but if you bean me with that plate, you’re going to stay here with the bats.”

“Considering the company, it might just be worth it.”

He made a point of looking at his watch.  “You’ve got five minutes.”

Minutes later she returned and they silently packed up the last of the supplies, Dillon strapped on his gun, checked his ammo, and zipped up his duffel bag.

“Business as usual, right, Dillon?  Sure you don’t wanna fuck first?”  When he froze, she added, “You’re no better than my father.”

He stood, straightening slowly, and for a heart stopping moment she saw all of her emotions reflected in his eyes.  Without a word, he turned away, once again sending his emotions underground, into hiding where they were safe.  

But she’d seen them.  The regret, fear, worry, and tenderness were all there. 

So, she thought, last night had cost him.

And then her next thought--Dillon actually wanted her to hate him. 

But why?  Why
really
?

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Journal Entry

The details are hazy, but the sound of the bomb still echoes in my ears, the smell of dirt and dust and burning debris still linger. 

Just minutes before, I’d gotten a smile and a wave, unwitting and innocent.  I remember people, just regular people going about their day, working, shopping, hurrying from here to there, living life as they knew it.

I did not feel a tremble, or even a slight rumble.  No, what I did feel was a monstrous blast that blew from inside the car like the hand of God, shaking the earth, shredding the car into a million tiny pieces.  Blowing Adoña and Dreena to mist.

The concussion of the blast knocked me back, sent me flying through the air.  It must have hurt when I landed, but I don’t remember pain.  I seemed to have a faint realization that my momentum had stopped suddenly and that something awful had just happened but I couldn’t quite grasp what. 

My vision was obscured by smoke and debris.  I could smell the caustic scent of burning rubber, gas, smoke and flesh.  These were smells I knew from my tours in the middle east, and it came to me then, that a bomb had gone off and people were dead. 

I lifted my head, blinking the smoke from my eyes.  The car was gone.  Nothing left but a ball of burning metal.  When the worst of the smoke started to move and clear, I saw bits and pieces of the chaos around me.  People were running, ducking, arms flailing, mouths moving in screams I couldn’t hear. 

The world that had been so bright before was now a dull, dim gray.

That is what I remember of the morning Adoña and Dreena died. 

I had not done my job to the best of my ability. 

Sanchez went a little insane that day, blamed me as much as I blamed myself.  I knew then, that no matter what else happened, I was a dead man.  If I had stayed, even one day longer, I would not be alive to write this journal. 

I grabbed what I needed and left that night.  I did manage to blow the escape tunnel, but I did not dance or feel smug satisfaction.  I didn’t feel anything.

Rafe, however, did.

And never in a million years had I expected the kind of retribution Sanchez had planned.  ~~ D.C. 

<><><>

He’d finally done it.  Dillon had become the monster he hated.

Sara was right and Dillon felt…sick.  His eyes squeezed shut as pressure built in his chest.  It swirled, pressed, lashed into his conscience.  Because after all, hadn’t what he, her
husband
, done to her last night been the very same as her father?

The ground was muddy and saturated from the rain, and with every step they took, the mud sucked at their boots, making the simple act of walking an athletic trial.  The jungle was miserable, they didn’t have much time left before they met up with Sanchez, and even though his self disgust was eating at him, Dillon still had one question Sara hadn’t answered yet.

“You never did explain your disappearing act.”

“Why don’t you explain how you can be such a cruel bastard?”
 

Sara was right.  And she was wrong.  He made a strangled sound.  Then he stopped dead in his tracks and whirled on her, spitting fire.  His hands clenched into fists and he said, “I’m cruel?
 
What the hell do you think you are?  You kept my child from me!  One I may never get to see or hold!  And to beat a dead horse one last time,
why in the hell didn’t you let me know you were alive twelve months ago!”

“Because it was better that way!” 

Face tight, he looked at her like she was insane.  “God Almighty, Sara, better for who?”

“For you!  Because Craig was right.  You would’ve found me.  Sanchez would have found you.  We’d all be dead.  Do you think it was better, or in any way easy, for me to go from place to place always looking over my shoulder, always wondering when the hammer would drop?  Do you think that was easy?”

He turned, feeling defeated, and kept walking.  Trudging.  “Yeah, well, we’re even then, because I’m the one who put flowers on your grave.”

“I thought Craig had told you.  For a whole year, I thought you knew I was still alive.  I kept waiting to hear from you, hoping you’d make contact.  But I never heard a single word.  And every day and every night I mourned you.  Finally I gave up.  Finally I believed you meant it when you said you were sorry you married me.  Finally I knew those weren’t just rash words
said in the heat of an argument.  I didn’t know until a week ago that Craig had never told you.”

He stopped short, turned.  “Then I apologize.  Sincerely.”  He looked over her head, into the distance, remembered what lay ahead, what lay behind, and his anger vanished.  Sara would never understand the sorrow he felt.  The loss before the loss.  The loss after.

He turned around and headed off again, leaving her to follow.

“Sorry for things like resentment, hate, revenge, murder?”

For the first time since they’d started out, he actually stumbled.  “Let it go, Sara.”

“Why?  Why should I?  This is my life too!”

“Let.  It.  Fucking.  Go.”

“Fine.  Whatever.
 
Kid yourself all you want.”

His back went stiff.
 
“Maybe I am.
 
Maybe I’m not.
 
Either way, it doesn’t matter.
 
Not anymore.”

“Because you blame me for Sanchez having our baby?”

His shoulders slumped in defeat.
 
“Because you were right.  I should have somehow told you the danger involved.  What you might someday be up against.  Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened.
 
Maybe we’d have our baby--” 

“I shouldn’t have followed you.”

He shook his head.  “It doesn’t matter now.  There’s still my job.  Or, if not, then prison.  There’s still Sanchez.”

“There’s still us,” she said, and he couldn’t tell if that was hope or despair in her voice.   

“Let’s just worry about finding Sanchez for now.”

As they continued to trek forward, the terrain changed slightly; they were in more of a jungle now than a forest, the undergrowth was becoming thicker and denser, which meant they eventually had to slow their pace. 

Armies of mosquitoes went literally for blood, going for every spot that wasn’t covered by T-shirts and fatigues.  Gnats and flies stung, and they were both drenched in sweat. 

Dillon dropped his duffel bag and turned to check on Sara.  She looked like she’d taken a left turn into exhaustion and was about to keel over.  Even though he was in decent physical shape and had been trained to handle pretty much any kind of terrain, slogging through the mud and vegetation wasn’t easy for him, and by all rights should be nearly impossible for her.
 

He was already starting to worry that she was going to get heatstroke, or worse, and they hadn’t even gone more than a few miles yet.  The heat was a bitch. 

“Here, drink some water.  You’re starting to look a little...mushy.”  Handing Sara a canteen of water, he thought mushy described her to a tee. 

“Mushy?  I look mushy and you’re handing me water?  How about a towel and some air conditioning?”  She pushed her soggy hair out of her face, straightened her shoulders and probably would’ve glared if she’d had the energy. 

“Sorry, fresh out.  Now, drink the water or you’ll get dehydrated.”  Hoping to lighten the tension and put their anger on hold--anything to keep from arguing--he decided a little teasing might help.  “You’ll start puking, maybe even hallucinate, probably get all whiny too, just like a woman.  And then, just so I won’t have to listen to you grumble, I’ll have to stuff your dried up body into this duffel bag which is already heavy enough, thank you very much, so drink.”  

She swallowed down at least a pint of water before handing the canteen back to him then turned her attention to the machete he was busy pulling out of his duffel bag.  The blade was wide, probably a good two feet long, and sharp enough to split coconuts.

“Holy crap, what other stuff do you have in there?” 

“Enough to stay alive, I hope.”

Dillon cleared the way through the tangle of vines and tree limbs with quick, clean slices.  “Think you can go another couple of miles before lunch?”

Sara stumbled, catching her foot in a tangled tree root.  His hand snaked out and caught her before she fell face first into the green slime.  “You okay?” 

She nodded and gave him a tired look, and he watched mutely as her shoulders drooped.  “You look miserable.” 

She shrugged and he figured she could probably use a nap, a cold shower, and a decent meal.  And then another nap for good measure.  Her energy reserves looked nil. 

She faked a small smile.  “A few more miles?  Sure.  You bet.”

He wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve and actually felt himself smile back at  her.  “You’re doing great.  Really.” 

Slivers of sunlight broke through the umbrella of branches overhead and danced off the feathers of parrots and macaws.  Spider monkeys swung from branches and vines, all chattering nonstop and Dillon wondered just how much further they had to go.

<><><>

Lunch came and went.  Morning became afternoon and after walking nonstop for several more hours, Sara just kept putting one foot mindlessly in front of the other.  Any moment now she knew she was going to fall face first into the mud and get swallowed up whole by the gook.

Everything blurred together, it all looked like the same jumble of green and it didn’t seem like they’d made any progress at all.  In fact, the more she looked around, the more she was sure she’d passed the same tree and stepped over the same roots a thousand times. 

With a shake of her head, she blinked, and then stared accusingly at Dillon’s back.  He, of course, seemed to be as tireless as a waterfall and moved like a well-oiled machine, obviously immune to fatigue and the burden of his surroundings. 

He must have heard her struggling to catch her breath behind him, because he finally stopped to give her a once-over.  She knew her hair was matted with sweat, her face had streaks of mud all over it, her clothes were sticking to her, and she felt completely empty inside.  If he poked her in the shoulder, she’d topple over like a hollow tree. 

Just as she was about to suggest sitting down to take five, he stiffened.  His head cocked sideways, listening to something she didn’t hear, and his gaze locked on some distant spot in the treetops. 

Her skin prickled in alarm.  “What?  Do you hear something?  Are we being followed?  Is someone out there?”

He opened his mouth to say something, glanced at her face and shrugged a little too nonchalantly.  “Probably just monkeys.”

Sara stuck her hands on her hips and whispered, “I’m not two anymore.  If someone is out there, you need to tell me.”

“If somebody’s out there, they’re not close.  Later, if I have a chance, I’ll take a look.  Until then,” he transferred his attention to his watch and frowned.  “Damn.”

“What now?”

“Four hours until showtime.”

Only four hours left to find Sanchez?  “Are we close?”

“Yes, we’re close.”

“Then, let’s go.”

Hot and tired, they picked up their pace. 

<><><>

Dillon saw how miserable Sara looked and thought maybe he could take her mind off the sweltering botanical prison they were in.  And take his mind off the men he knew were following them.  “Okay,” he said, “here’s a story for you.”

“When I was new to the SEALs, we were in the Middle East, and six of us were hightailing it out of the city toward a waiting chopper when my foot stepped down onto a landmine.  Not an IED, but a relic from the second world war.  At first I thought it was a Bouncing Betty or maybe a claymore and, man, I thought we were dead for sure.”  Shaking his head at the memory, he continued.  “I’d been running flat out, I was loaded down with gear, and I didn’t think I could stop my forward momentum.  Somehow, I did.  And since I was in the lead, the other five guys behind me all stopped dead in their tracks thinking I’d lost my bloody mind.  Our pickup chopper was about fifty yards ahead, and enemy guns weren’t far behind.  The guys just couldn’t figure out why in the hell I’d stopped cold in the middle of an escape, with freedom just yards away and waiting.”