Chapter One
“Join the army, see the world,” Master Sergeant Alex Shepard mocked under his breath.
He hated jungles. Yet here he was, stuck in another one. Central America this time. Why couldn’t he be sent to the Arctic or Siberia? What drew the bad guys to the heat and humidity? Or did the atmosphere make them the bad guys in the first place?
He wiped sweat from his eyes with a shrug of his shoulder. Almost midnight and hotter than midday back home in Texas.
He and his team of Rangers joined a group of DEA agents crouched on a hillside, surveilling a sprawling home in a manmade clearing in the middle of the jungle, a compound as out of the way as Santiago Saldana could make it.
Saldana was the baddest of the bad when it came to drug kingpins. He’d kidnapped, tortured and killed DEA agents, and used the scum-of-the-earth MS-13 gang to get his product over the border. A DEA agent had infiltrated Saldana’s inner circle, but hadn’t been heard from in weeks, so here they were.
Problem was, they might be too late. They hadn’t been able to confirm Saldana’s presence in the compound. After three days, there was no sight of him, or the American infiltrator who had been their source of information.
So they waited. In the heat. With the bugs. And the rain.
“Showtime,” Sergeant Julian Cervantes murmured from Alex’s left, his binoculars trained on the compound.
A light flickered on in the house below and a goddess stepped into the bathroom, a goddess with dark wavy hair, eyes that tilted up in the corners like a cat’s, and creamy skin that glowed in the soft light. Alex didn’t have to raise his own binoculars to know—they’d managed to be on this side of the compound the past two nights at this time. The side on the hill, with the view of the bathroom which held the luxurious large tub and glassed-in shower.
The goddess wore a silky white robe tonight and flipped back the sleeves as she reached over to turn on the water. She poured in a pink glob of some stuff she’d had sitting on the side of the tub, no doubt sweet smelling, and it foamed under the stream of water. Then she twisted her shoulder-length hair up and pinned it with a clip, exposing a long, graceful neck.
Yeah, he was watching through his binoculars now. This job had damn few perks and she was just about the best he’d seen during his twelve years in.
Then facing the window—she had to think she was alone, with this damn jungle all around—she let the robe slide down her arms in a slow, sensuous movement.
Beside him, Julian uttered what sounded like a prayer.
She was a fantasy woman, with full, round dark-tipped breasts, her nipples erect from the friction of the silk. Her skin was flawless. He could almost feel the smoothness of it under his rough palm, and he folded his fingers against the sensation. The curls at the apex of her thighs were dark and neat.
She stepped into the tub—hell, even her feet were graceful—and slipped beneath the bubbles.
This time Julian swore.
She lathered up some fluffy cloth and smoothed it over her arm, leaving tiny bubbles in its wake.
The sight of a woman indulging in a bubble bath in the middle of the jungle was so incongruous. She poured soap on the thick cloth, lifted her legs from the bubbles to smooth it on, such feminine actions. So out of place in his world.
Then her hands disappeared under the water. For a while.
She closed her eyes, scooted lower and her lips parted.
“Jesus,” Alex breathed.
“I hate bubbles,” Julian said in a choked voice.
Alex shouldn’t be watching. He should tear his gaze away as she tilted her head back, offering her throat to her invisible lover. Who was she imagining over her, touching her? Saldana? The thought almost gave him the strength to turn away before she reached out of the tub and picked up a bright pink object.
He recognized it from last night, when there had been no bubbles, only the woman, standing with her robe parted, one leg on the edge of the tub and—
“Is that her—?” Julian didn’t say the word. “Are those things waterproof?”
She arched her back, revealing soapy breasts. Alex imagined his own touch smoothing away the bubbles to make way for his mouth. Her body undulated with pleasure, sending water and bubbles over the side of the tub.
He jerked his gaze away with a curse. He had no business watching this woman, Saldana’s lover, not when he had sweet Rebecca waiting for him back home.
Rebecca, who he’d never seen naked, never touched, never more than kissed. She wasn’t ready for a physical relationship after her bastard of a husband had taken off on her, and Alex treasured her too much to push for it. Rebecca Kelso was his ideal, not the goddess in the tub. Rebecca was the kind of woman who would make him sane again after the things he’d seen and done. She would give him balance.
He reached over and smacked Julian’s arm. The younger man turned with glazed eyes and inclined his head. The goddess was rising from the tub now, soap bubbles sliding down her flushed body, her movements languid with the aftereffects of her ministrations. The cat eyes were heavy lidded, the look of a satisfied woman.
Alex hadn’t seen that look in a long time.
“Let’s get out of here,” he mouthed to Julian.
“Who is she, do you suppose?” Julian whispered as they slipped through the foliage on their way back to the rudimentary camp. “Saldana’s girlfriend? We don’t have any intel on a girlfriend.”
“Who cares?” Alex said. “She has to know what kind of person he is, and she doesn’t care. If that’s what floats her boat, she ain’t worth fantasizing about.”
“Were you not watching the same thing I was? Damn, have you ever seen a woman do that? I’ve never seen a woman do that.”
Alex didn’t think Julian expected an answer. Thank God. “She’s given up her soul for the lifestyle he offers her.”
Julian frowned. “Way out here? Not a lot of women would go for that. The question is, why would he leave a woman like that out here alone so long? Something’s wrong with that picture. You don’t think he’s already moved to the States?”
Alex shook his head. He didn’t know. He had to hope they weren’t too late. “Maybe there’s a leak. The agent who gave us the intel on Saldana also could have given him the heads-up that we were coming. Maybe he tortured it out of him. No matter how, Saldana isn’t here. We’re wasting time and resources waiting for him to come back.”
He pulled away from Julian, as they entered the camp, already reaching in his rucksack for the spiral he kept there. When the younger man went to make a report to Keith Vasquez, the agent in charge, Alex dropped against a tree and flipped open the battered spiral to write to Rebecca.
But he couldn’t get his mind off the raven-haired goddess. He had to do something.
“We’re wasting time.” Alex confronted Vasquez when he couldn’t calm down enough to finish his letter to Rebecca. They weren’t going to complete the mission by waiting Saldana out. The man was long gone. “Saldana isn’t coming back. He’s not stupid enough to just drive past us to get home. We missed him. Time to regroup.”
“Master Sergeant,” Vasquez said coolly, keeping his voice low to avoid detection. “He left something valuable behind.”
“What would that be?”
“The woman. Isabella Canales. She’s an American citizen.”
“Saldana’s whore,” Alex spat.
Even Vasquez drew back. “You know her?”
“We saw her on surveillance. You think she’s worth his freedom? More importantly, does he?”
“Hell yeah,” Julian murmured.
Alex shot him a look. “You don’t get it. Women like that are a dime a dozen. It’s not like he loves her for her mind.”
“Maybe not. But she is an American citizen,” Vasquez said.
“Who shares her bed with the scum of the earth.”
Vasquez tightened his jaw. “One more day. We haven’t seen Agent Cortez yet.”
They wouldn’t. If Saldana was gone, he wouldn’t have left his associates behind. If he’d knocked the agent off as a spy, well, they’d likely stumble over his body in the jungle. But this wasn’t Alex’s call. Vasquez made it clear his opinion didn’t count.
“Send me back down to watch, then. Let’s make the most of these twenty-four hours.”
“I already have Lee and Jordan out there.”
“Another man can give you another angle.”
“I need you fresh.”
Alex looked at him pityingly. “I’m a Ranger. I do what needs to be done.” He turned to find Julian.
“You know she’s asleep, right?” Alex asked Julian a few moments later as they hiked the short distance to the compound.
“Yeah, but if you think I’m going to be the only Ranger snoozing while the rest of you are on the mission, you got another think coming.”
“Did it sound to you like Vasquez wants to go in for the girl?”
“That is what it sounded like.”
“He better have damn good information on the inside of that place. I do not want to be booby-trapped in the jungle.”
They moved clockwise around the perimeter, west of where they had been at their earlier post. A spider the size of a tennis ball dropped on Alex’s arm, and even after he flicked it away, he could feel the hairy legs on his skin.
He hated the jungle.
“What the hell is that?” Julian muttered, directing Alex’s attention to a corner of the compound and the slight figure emerging from it.
“A kid?” Alex theorized. “Out for an adventure?”
“In the jungle?” Julian scoffed. “At night?”
“They aren’t always smart.” Damned if he didn’t know that from experience.
“This one is.” Julian motioned to the way the figure glanced over his shoulder. “Doesn’t want to get caught.”
“Running away from a parent.”
“You see anyone besides the girl and the guards in there since we’ve been watching?”
“Christ.” Alex focused his binoculars on the kid, only it wasn’t a kid. Dark hair hidden under a dark cap, pulled back into a ponytail that curled in at the nape of a slim, graceful neck. When she turned to look behind her, he saw the feminine tilt of her nose. “What the hell is she doing?”
“Who is it?”
Alex lowered his binoculars and started moving down the hill. “The goddess.”
“Who?” Julian asked from behind him. “Where are you going?”
“Vasquez says she’s the only thing Saldana cares about, the only thing that will draw him out. We need to get her.”
Isabella Canales’s heart pounded. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea. How would she find the American soldiers in the jungle at night? Clearly they didn’t want anyone to know they were here. If that was the case, how would she, with no training and no real jungle experience, find them?
When Eric Reyes had told her soldiers were on their way to take Santiago into custody, she’d hatched her plan. But Santiago had seen the American talking to her, alone, secretively, and he’d gone into a rage. She didn’t want to remember what he’d done to the man.
She didn’t want to think about what Santiago had done to her. So she’d planned her escape.
She’d staged her show every night at midnight, luring the guards into an unofficial schedule. They would stop outside her window at that time, then they’d move on, leaving her a window of time to get out of the compound unseen. No one would miss her till the morning.
If Santiago even dreamed she was thinking about escaping, her life would be so much worse. She couldn’t afford for him to catch her. She couldn’t be his prisoner anymore.
Her stolen boots rubbed with every step despite three pair of socks, and the rough fabric chafed her skin after years of wearing only the finest fabrics. She hoped the soldiers had transportation, and that it wasn’t far. She hoped she could charm them into taking her home. She didn’t want to play her trump card yet.
A stealthy rustling to her left froze her in her tracks. Jaguars were nocturnal, right? But surely they’d be intimidated by her size.
If she were a hundred pounds heavier.
Too late, she realized the jungle had gone silent, as if the creatures in the trees froze as well, hoping the predator would ignore their existence.
Great. She was out in the jungle, in danger of either being discovered by Santiago’s guards or being eaten.
Then a face emerged from the brush, only it wasn’t the face she was expecting. It was…green and black streaked, and a moment passed before her terror-stricken brain processed it as human, beneath a helmet wound with vines.
A soldier.
Her relief was short lived, because the soldier had an automatic weapon pointed at her chest.
“Isabella Canales?” His American accent skipped over the nuances of her Spanish name.
“Yes?” Her voice was shaky.
“Toss your pack over there and put your hands in the air.”
Goddamn. Up close she was even more stunning, a tiny little thing, the kind of woman a man wanted to care for, protect. The kind who, while he was watching her back, stabbed a knife in his.
“You stay there while Cervantes goes through your pack, then he’s going to pat you down.” He wished he didn’t have to hold a gun on her so he could do it himself. To make sure she was safe before he brought her back into camp. That was why.
His grip tightened. Yeah, right.
He glanced over to see Julian unzip her pack and swear.
Alarm raced through Alex, and he weighed possibilities and solutions. Was she armed? Wired? He scanned the area for cover. “What?”
“It glows in the dark.” Julian gingerly lifted a familiar pink object from the bag with two fingers.
“Christ.” Alex turned back to the goddess. “You’re going out into the jungle to get off? Putting on a show in front of a window wasn’t enough?”
She didn’t answer, every line in her body tight as Julian dug through her things. Keeping one eye on her, Alex noticed Julian paw past a colorful piece of fabric, saw the flash of high heels. Where the hell did this woman think she was going?
“Clean,” Julian pronounced after another minute. “You want me to search her?”
“I’ll do it.” Instead of shouldering his gun, he passed it to Julian, never taking his gaze off her.
He reached to remove her hat, forking his fingers through her hair, dragging the rubber band free, ignoring the silky strands catching on his rough fingers and the flowery scent rising as he dragged his fingers along her scalp. She looked up at him, eyes large and wary, her gaze not leaving him as he moved his touch down her slender back and into the waistband of her cargo pants, skimming his palms over silky panties. The pants were loose enough that he could reach her thighs, but that would mean bringing her body even closer to his. Already he could smell her on his clothes, no doubt the scent from that pink stuff she’d poured in the tub.
Stepping back, he snatched his hands out of her pants. The expression in her eyes was daring. A thrill of admiration ran through him.
He squashed it like the spider.
He reached under her tank top, over her smooth flat stomach, under the underwire of her bra, his fingertips brushing the plump undersides of her breasts.
Soft.
Then hard. Her nipples pebbled at his touch and he tried to quell the lust that rose up. He didn’t linger, but searched under her bra, beneath her arms.
Still she looked at him with those dark eyes.
Then he slid his hands down inside the front of her pants, kicking her feet apart.
The flesh of her belly jumped under his palm, but other than that she didn’t move when he reached down the front of her panties, over those neat dark curls that he could see in his memory. He probed her heat briefly, businesslike, ignoring the tightening in his groin, then removed his touch to pat down her thighs.
“Take off your boots.”
“May I sit?” A thread of fury underlay her voice.
“Be my guest.”
She dropped to the ground, untied one boot and shoved it at him. He inspected it, marveling at the large size, then dropped it to the ground beside her and took her other boot.
“What exactly did you think I’d be hiding?” she asked as she retied her boots and got to her feet.
Her voice was too loud, so he hushed her, leaned close to answer. “I’ve seen women stick some nasty things in some nasty places to kill soldiers.”
“You think I’m coming to attack you?” She glared, and her words whipped out. “I’m coming to you for help.”
He eased back, the scent of her overwhelming the scent of the jungle and his own stink. “We’re to believe you because you tell us? You’re not exactly trustworthy.”
“Why not?”
He inclined his head toward the compound. “The company you keep.” He motioned her to walk ahead of him back to camp. What the hell was she doing out here in the first place? He squelched his curiosity. He was the muscle, not the detective. He’d let Vasquez take care of it. The more distance he kept from Isabella Canales, the better.
But he could still smell her on his hands.
This was a bad idea. Isabella’s skin hadn’t stopped crawling since the silent soldier had stopped touching her. She was a prisoner, a suspect. She hadn’t foreseen this, the disdain, the suspicion. The near-hatred.
The man the soldiers took her to introduced himself as Vasquez and looked down at her like he had found some prize. Her whole body tightened so much she thought her muscles would snap.
“Where is Saldana?” Vasquez asked, his voice smooth.
Isabella didn’t fall for the attempt at charm. “You think he’d tell me?”
Vasquez lifted an eyebrow. “You’re his lover, aren’t you?”
She felt herself flush. The young Hispanic soldier who had gone through her pack studied her, and the others didn’t hide their smirks. Only the silent one, the one who had searched her, had no expression. But he watched her.
“He left when he heard you were coming.”
“Where did he hear it?”
She swallowed her fear. If they hated her this much now, how would they feel about her if they knew an American had been tortured and killed in the compound and she had been the reason? “I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
She recognized the tone. Santiago used it often enough to intimidate her. “Why would I lie to you? I need your help.”
Vasquez drew back a little. “You need our help?”
She didn’t look away, though she wanted to. God, she hated how he was looking down his nose at her. “I want to go home.”
“Saldana wouldn’t take you?”
She had to turn her head then. “I served him better here. And I didn’t have money to leave on my own. You’re my only chance.”
“You’re saying you’re his prisoner.” The silent soldier spoke at last, and all the contempt she’d gotten from Vasquez was nothing compared to the tone of his deep voice.
“I haven’t been allowed to leave the compound in four years.”
“In my experience, hostages don’t get silk robes and vibrators.”
She kept her head turned away. Of course he’d assume she was lying, but she was still humiliated by the search. “Those things were for his pleasure, not mine.”
“Not from what I saw tonight.”
She whipped around on him then, needing to release the tension that threatened to shatter her. “You have no right to accuse me. You don’t know what I’ve endured.”
“I know drug dealers. I know what whores endure.” He pushed away from the tree at last, looking down at her with hate in his dark eyes. A contempt even Santiago didn’t show.
“Shepard, that’s enough.” Vasquez’s voice was calm but firm, and the soldier stepped back.
Shepard. That was the name of the man who’d touched her so roughly. He straightened at the order but didn’t look away. So she didn’t either.
“If you won’t tell us where Saldana has gone, we use you as bait,” Vasquez said, drawing her attention.
That forced a laugh from her. “You overestimate my value. If I was so valuable, do you think he would have left me here?”
Vasquez moved closer. “I don’t believe I do. I know Saldana—I know he doesn’t tolerate having something he owns being taken from him.”
So, in four years, she had made no gains. She was nothing more than a pawn. Her safety, her happiness was important to no one, and the only person who loved her was thousands of miles away.
She had to get to him.
These men, the three agents and four soldiers, planned on using her. She would use them in return. She just couldn’t let them know.
Surrounded by DEA agents in a Humvee, heading back home, and still Isabella didn’t feel safe. Would she ever feel safe again? She would spend the rest of her life waiting for Santiago to catch up to her. What Vasquez had said about him was right. He didn’t like things taken from him, and she was his property. If she didn’t get back to the States before he found out she was missing, he knew just how to hurt her most. She hadn’t thought that part through.
Maybe this wasn’t the best plan, but it was the only one she had.
At least the silent soldier, Shepard, was in the other vehicle. She was operating on the last reserves of the courage that had brought her out of the compound, and didn’t need his constant judgment.
The ground shook and the men in the front seat swore. There was a rattling, and the man beside her grabbed the back of her head and shoved her down behind the seat onto his lap. She tensed instinctively. This had been a risk, but here? Now?
“Don’t fight me.”
What did he mean? Did he think she would do what he wanted here?
“They’re shooting at—” He grunted, but as soon as she heard the word shooting, she was down. The rattling sound was louder, almost constant, sometimes in harmony. God, how many were shooting at them?
The vehicle lurched forward, the front end dropping at an angle, flinging Isabella against the back of the front seat and pushing the other man on top of her.
The shouting in the front seat had stopped, and the man on her made no effort to get off of her, his dead weight pushing her to the floor, bending her waist at a painful angle, something wet soaking into the back of her shirt.
Dead weight. Wet and warm, a coppery scent of…
Oh, God.
She gagged, then forced the thought away and gathered her strength to push out from underneath him. He must weigh over two hundred pounds. She couldn’t get enough leverage with her legs to lift him off her, so she had to squirm toward the door sliding out from underneath him.
She reached for the door and the metal handle was hot. She snatched her hand back. God, the car was on fire. She was going to die here, burn alive. Would she never get home, never see—?
“Come on.”
She turned to the other door, saw a hand reaching in and followed the arm to the dark eyes of Shepard.
“Come on,” he said, sharper this time.
“I can’t. He’s—” The weight of the man still pinned her to the seat. But the other door was beneath her. “Can you open this door?”
“No.”
The heat was unbearable through her pants, and Shepard withdrew his arm, probably figuring she wasn’t worth saving. She didn’t want to burn to death. She shoved harder against the dead man on her back, and suddenly the weight was gone, she was free, and Shepard was stretching toward her again.
She reached for him, and the truck lurched forward, putting another foot between her hand and his. It felt like she was standing on the door she’d been trying to escape from. Another lurch, another few inches. She screamed his name and saw him throw himself forward, his fingertips brushing hers.
“You have…to climb…on him,” he grunted, every word an effort.
Oh God. Climb on a dead man to lever herself out. Could she do it?
“Now. The truck’s about to go.”
Go where? She wanted to ask, but the strained expression on his face told her now wasn’t the time for questions. She put one booted foot on the man lying against the door, then the other, sinking into the soft tissue. Heaven forgive her.
He grasped her wrists firmly, and when she looked up into his eyes, she saw the first hint of approval.
But when he started to lift her—she could see the strain in his face, his arms—she remembered. She couldn’t leave her pack behind, not after what she’d risked to get out. She pulled one hand free and twisted to look for it, found it wedged between the dead man and the floorboard.
She pulled her other arm free and bent to tug it loose.
Above her, Shepard swore a string. “What are you doing? Do you want to die? The truck is going over.”
She tugged it by the straps and the truck lurched, along with her heart. Another tug and it was free. She looped it over her arm and turned back to see Shepard still waiting, reaching, and she lifted her arms to him.
He pulled both wrists, making her arms ache as the slender bones held the weight of her body. He slid one hand down to her elbow, then the other to her shoulder as her feet scrabbled for purchase first on the seat, finding a place on the back of the front seat, pushing her way toward him. The truck shifted. Over the sound of her pounding heart, she heard the groan of metal, the rattle of more gunfire, which had grown louder now, closer.
Finally Shepard had her, his arms hooked under both shoulders, her face pressed to his sweaty, stubbled throat as he lifted, as the truck fell away in a screech of metal and she tumbled onto Shepard’s chest.
She couldn’t even catch her breath because he was yanking her to her feet and shoving her—his hand on her ass and back, keeping her bent over as she moved—shoving her toward the sound of the gunfire, the intermittent muzzle flashes. She hesitated, turned to protest, and he tackled her, sending her face first down a muddy incline with a mouthful of vegetation. He skidded beside her on his back, gun cradled to his chest. When she turned to give him a dirty look, she saw that the shooting was coming from the other soldiers, providing cover.
So Shepard could save her butt.
She opened her mouth to say thank you and spit out some leaves.
Shepard turned to her, his eyes hard with a layer of desperation sheening them. “Put your arms around me.”
“What?” She fought to focus, still shaking.
“We’ve got to go down there.” He pointed.
She turned. In the moonlight, she could see that a few feet away, the ground dropped off. A cliff.
Shepard was pulling her toward it. She dug her heels in and clutched her pack to her with both arms.
“Are you crazy?” she shouted over the continuing sound of gunfire, both from their enemies and from the other soldiers.
He glared, jaw set, lips tight. “If you don’t we are going to die. I don’t think you can make it down on your own. Put your arms around me.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t even look down.
Shepard stuck his face in hers. “Would you rather go back with him?”
That riveted her. She slipped the knapsack against her chest and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He pulled her against him, harder than she expected, knocking her breath out.
“Don’t let go,” he said, his muscles bunching so she could feel the tension running through his body as he stepped back, and the world dropped out from beneath her.
Chapter Two
Isabella didn’t even have the breath to scream so she tucked her face into his neck, slick and muscular and straining as he held both of them in midair. She was terrified to even look to see how he was holding them. The earth bumped against her back, hard, knocking her breath loose, and with it, a small scream.
“Oh God,” she had breath enough to whimper when they dropped in what felt like a freefall.
“Look, I need my other arm to hold us up. You have to hold on to me.”
His voice was tight with strain. She felt the vibration of his voice in his throat, could feel his gasps of air in-between the words.
Nausea choked her as they dangled over God-knew-what, and she made a small sound.
“Goddess,” he snapped.
The word pulsed through him, beneath the effort of holding up both their weights. “Okay,” she whispered.
“Wrap your legs around me for a better anchor.”
That was easier said than done with gravity pulling at her feet, and her movement had them swinging. Shepard grunted with the effort to hold them up, and they slid down several feet. He hissed in pain. Had he ripped up his hand?
“Here.” He managed to turn them so that he was between her and the cliff. “Climb the mountain.”
It took her a minute to figure out he meant her to walk up the side of the cliff with her legs on either side of his body and wrap her legs around him.
Her stolen boots skidded on the loose soil, and one of her steps slipped, sending them both swaying backwards, in midair, jerking a curse from his lips.
Then she was plastered against him, still not looking.
“I’m letting go now,” he said.
She barely had time to tighten her arms around him before he released her. Her ability to cling to him was the only thing keeping her from death.
Her stomach churned. She was pretty sure Shepard wouldn’t appreciate her vomiting down his shirt.
He turned so her back was to the mountain again, his feet on either side of her hips, his arms on either side of her shoulders, walking them down. She felt each labored breath, felt the sweat that soaked his collar, smelled his fear.
That did not make her feel better.
“Is there—can I help?”
He let out a puff of breath between his teeth. “No.”
“Are the others—?”
“They’re coming.”
The strain in his voice terrified her. “Shepard—”
“Shut up. Goddess, if you don’t mind.”
If Alex thought she could do it, he’d get her to turn around, grab on to the vines he was using to climb down the cliff side. But she was already trembling like a leaf and about to choke him, she was holding on so tightly. Her breath came fast and terrified against his throat.
“I see a ledge,” he said. “Down and to my left.”
“Okay.”
If he had gloves on, he would slide the distance, but his left palm was already raw from the uncontrolled slides earlier. So he continued climbing down, ignoring the strain in his shoulders.
He reached with his left foot and pulled them sideways. He needed to release the vine he was on, then find another to get them closer to the ledge. Which meant he had to let go with one hand.
Sucking in a breath, he tightened his grip with his good right hand before reaching out with his left.
He missed and the motion sent them swinging, bouncing off the cliff and dropping another two yards before he was able to brake them by dragging his feet against the wall.
When his breathing evened out, he heard panicked little whimpers against his throat.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, and he scanned to find they were almost even with the ledge. Almost in reach.
He took a step, and then another until he felt the strain on the vine he was holding. Bracing both feet against the mountain, he reached again and grabbed. Wrapping his grip around the new vine, he tested its strength before pulling their combined weight over to it.
He managed two more transfers before his boot touched the ledge, and he used the momentum to pull them both onto it. With his last energy he turned onto his back, cushioning her as she fell on top of him.
She didn’t let go, didn’t lift her head from his neck. He rolled so her back was to the cliff, so she was secure, so she wouldn’t get hit by any bullets should Saldana’s men follow.
When his arms stopped shaking from the strain, he dislodged her death grip on his neck. She unwrapped her legs from his hips, but didn’t open her eyes, and clutched her pack to her chest, like she had to hold on to something.
“I bet you’re no fun on roller coasters,” he muttered, sitting up and resting his forearms on his knees. The ledge they’d landed on was about the size of a twin bed, and God knew how far from the forest floor. He looked at his hands, ripped up from the rough vines he’d descended. The moonlight dimmed and he glanced up to see clouds rolling in over the stars. It wasn’t called a rainforest for nothing.
They were screwed.
“Roller coasters have metal bars to hold you in. And tracks. And maintenance workers who check it every day. It’s not the same as dangling off a cliff because people are shooting at you.”
“What?” He edged back against the cliff beside her and pulled his pack in front of him. He wasn’t wild about heights, either, truth be told. He just knew what he had to do and he did it.
“Roller coasters.”
She did open her eyes then and looked at him. More specifically, his bloody palms.
“Good Lord, Shepard. What did you do?”
He wouldn’t dignify that with an answer, instead opened his pack for his antibiotic cream and gauze. Infection in the jungle was bad news.
“Let me do it,” she said, once the first aid stuff was in his lap. “It’ll give me something to think about besides how we’re going to get down from here.”
She took his left hand, closer to her, reached in his pack for his water, and splashed a bit on his palm before dabbing it dry with the hem of her shirt. He could feel the heat of her body when she lifted the shirt. Just inches away would be smooth skin. Soft hands pampered his. He could imagine them on his chest, on his stomach, on his—
Soft because she was spoiled. Because she was the whore of a drug lord. Her luxuries came at the cost of other people’s lives. He knew that too well.
He wanted to pull away, but didn’t want to give her that much power. She might as well make herself useful.
“Where are the others?” she asked.
“They should be coming along soon. We were first over the cliff. They were covering us, remember?”
He hoped to hell they’d made it over the cliff. He couldn’t get back up to them, not with these hands.
“Can you get them on the radio?”
He snorted. “You think they’ll be free to answer me? We just have to give them some time.”
“How much farther to the ground?”
“Don’t know till the sun comes up or we get down there.”
“Do you think there will be vines all the way down?”
“I’ve got a hundred feet of rope in my pack. We’ll anchor it here and ride it down. I may even be able to rig a harness.”
“With these injuries?” She smoothed the antibiotic cream on his palm, gently, thoroughly. Sweetly.
He pulled away. “We can manage. You may have to haul your own weight.”
She lifted huge eyes to him. “What?”
“I have gloves in my pack, and I’ll help you, but I can’t carry you down.”
She sniffed. “They’re just going to have to find my skeleton up here, then, because I can’t do it.”
He shifted to put more space between them, as much as he dared. “No skin off my nose.”
“I thought you needed me to get to Santiago.”
He rubbed the edge of his thumb between his eyes. “Yeah, well, we’ll find another way.”
“I can’t do it.” Her voice grew shriller. “I am not athletic at all.”
“Whatever you say, Goddess. This pack is about seventy pounds without the rope. I’m not hauling another hundred and thirty pounds down.”
“I am not a hundred and thirty pounds.”
“Whatever. Your choice. You need to decide before the rain starts and makes the rope slippery as hell.”
“This isn’t my fault, you know.” She wasn’t as gentle when she wrapped his hand in layers of gauze. “Do you have scissors or something?”
He fished his pocketknife out with a flick, offering it to her blade first. “What?”
“I timed it so they wouldn’t miss me till morning. It’s not my fault those men are dead.”
He didn’t say anything. Isabella waited for absolution. But she was asking the wrong person to bestow it. Why couldn’t the nice young Hispanic soldier have been the one to save her? He seemed so much more sympathetic. This one was tight with suspicion.
She sawed through the bandage and tucked it into the rest of the gauze, then reached for his other hand. It was pretty raw, with loose strips of bloody flesh. Of course he wouldn’t be able to carry her down. But could she make it?
“Sergeant?”
The voice crackling over the radio made them both jump. He fumbled for the radio.
“Yeah, Cervantes, where you at?”
“Where you left me, man. Tangos are history. Get back on up here.”
“Everyone okay?”
“We lost the agents in the first truck, and Lee was hit by some shrapnel when the truck blew. Jordan’s got him patched up. Get back on up here.”
“Can’t. We’re pretty far down. We slid. Look, we’ll meet you at the extraction point.”
Isabella quailed at that. He was sending the others away? She would be alone in the jungle with this man?
“We’ll come down there.”
“Too dangerous. Just meet us.”
“Our vehicle was shot to shit. We’re on foot.”
“Yeah, all right. Try to reach command and see if they can move the extraction closer. Get us a little more time, since we’re on foot. Let me know.”
He signed off and looked at her. “Get the rope out of my pack and find the gloves.”
“Don’t you need to rest?” She pulled his pack open wider.
“I’ll rest while I make a harness. Not like we have all the time in the world here, Goddess.”
“We will if we’re dead.” She dragged out the rope.
“We’ll get to the bottom.”
“In one piece?”
He ground his teeth. She could see it in the flexing of his jaw. “Funny how you can trust Saldana with your life and not me.”
Safe was not a word she would use to describe how Santiago made her feel, but she didn’t think she could convince Shepard of that.
He worked the rope, twisting it into unfathomable knots.
“I thought sailors were the ones who knew all the rope tricks.”
He looked up, mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. “You know a lot of sailors?”
Fine. So he didn’t want small talk. “Just one. He was into ropes too.”
Shepard’s eyebrows jumped and she could have sworn the smile turned real, just for a second, before he turned back to his rope.
“Did you find the gloves?” He lowered the knotted rope to his lap.
She held them out.
He shook his head. “Put them on.”
“You need them.”
“Your hands are too soft. This rope will rip you up.”
“You’re injured. You need them more. I can wrap my hands in gauze. That should protect them.”
Since that was how he intended to protect himself, he couldn’t argue. While she wrapped the gauze around her hands, padding them but still able to close into fists, Shepard muscled a large eyehook into the ledge and threaded the other end of the rope through it. He knotted that end and tested it to make sure it couldn’t slide through the eyehook, then dropped the other end off the ledge.
“What are you doing?” She hated the shrill edge in her voice, but couldn’t stop it.
“Making a pulley. Can you stand up?”
She eyed the narrow ledge and her stomach dropped. “God.”
“Hold on to the vines there.” He motioned to the cliff above the ledge. “I need you to put your legs through this.” He held up the harness and she could see the leg holes. Wow.
“Are you sure?” she asked, grabbing the vines before she even stood, using them to pull herself up in the growing light of dawn.
“I’m not going to let you fall.” He held the harness so she could put her foot through.
She clutched the vine as she worked up the nerve to lift one foot. “How do I know that? You don’t seem to like me very much.”
“Doesn’t mean I want to see you splat.”
“Why don’t you like me?” Talking gave her the courage to lift one foot and he slid the rope over her boot.
“Now the other.” He tapped the heel of her left boot. “I’d think it would be obvious.”
“That you don’t like women?” She lifted her foot and stepped through the loop.
He snorted. “I got no problem with women.”
“Could have fooled me.”
He stood close behind her, so that the only way she could get away was to step toward the cliff. He grabbed her hips and pulled her back. Off balance, she stumbled into him, making him lose his balance. He gripped her harder and threw them both forward. She barely had time to put her hands up to catch herself before she fell face first into the rocky hillside.
“Christ, Goddess. You trying to kill us?” he demanded, his mouth against her ear.
“I don’t—”
“Look, we’re in this harness together. We have to be close. Get it?”
She took a deep breath, adjusting to the heat of him, the strength of him against her back. “Got it.”
“Just relax.”
That was going to happen.
His knees nudged the backs of her thighs when he lifted his feet to slide them through the loops, then pulled the ropes up and snugged them around their butts.
Tying their hips together.
She twisted to look at him when she felt an extra nudge against her butt.
“Are you kidding me?”
He smirked. “I’ve always been an ass man.”
“Leave off the last word and I’ll concur.”
“Concur—big word for a whore.”
She purposely pressed her butt into his groin. “I doubt you’d know what big is.”
“Yeah?” He tightened his arm around her waist and stepped backwards.
The air was sucked out of her lungs as they dropped down the side of the cliff. She couldn’t even scream as the dirt and vines zipped by. Was he controlling their descent? Could he stop them before they crashed and broke all their bones?
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. The scream was stuck in her throat as they plummeted down. He wouldn’t be able to stop them, not as fast as they were falling, not with his injured hands. She grasped at the rope that whipped past, but snatched her hands back as the rope tore into her bare fingers.
The scent of heated leather hit her—Shepard’s gloves on the rope, their only brake. Dust rose up as they hurtled toward the jungle floor—Shepard’s boots against the cliff wall as he tried to stop them.
She squeezed her eyes shut against the dirt and rocks he kicked loose, but when she did she saw the view again that she’d seen from the ledge—straight down.
Behind her, over the screaming in her head and her own pounding pulse, she heard Shepard’s grunts as he tried to slow them down, his heavy breathing hot against her ear.
With a jerk that snapped her head back into his shoulder and her butt into his groin, they stopped. He lowered his feet, pulling hers with him, and she was stunned to find ground with her toes.
As soon as he loosened the rope from around her hips, she turned around and hit his chest as hard as she could.
“You asshole,” she wheezed. “What the hell were you thinking?” She punctuated her question with another smack.
“You didn’t like being up there,” he said matter-of-factly, though out of breath himself as he peeled off his gloves.
His shredded, bloody gloves.
“You asshole.” She pushed him, and he took a step back. “You did it just to scare me, and now look. I hope your hands rot off.”
And she bent double and vomited at his feet.
The goddess was trembling, and for a moment, Alex thought she’d drop into the puke at his feet. That was the reason he held on to her arms, not out of any need to comfort her. He just didn’t want the smell of puke to follow them through the jungle, attracting animals.
She tilted her head back. Her face was pale in the early-morning light, her lips swollen and dark against her white skin. Her eyes were huge.
“Sorry I scared you,” he said, but to break off the apology he released her. She staggered before regaining her footing. “You going to puke again?”
“If I do, I’ll have better aim.” Her tone was sharp.
He stripped off his ruined gloves and stuffed them into his pocket. “Let’s go, then.”
With jerky movements, she shifted her pack onto her back and fell into step.
Humidity drenched his skin as they made their way through the dense underbrush. The goddess had trouble keeping up, stumbling along in her boots, unable to keep her footing. No matter what kind of shape her body was in—and there hadn’t been an inch he hadn’t seen—she panted with exertion.
But she didn’t complain. He gave her grudging credit for that. He tried to imagine Rebecca in this same situation, but her idea of an adventure was a picnic in the park. He’d teased her about it, but damn if he didn’t wish he was there with her right now.
He wasn’t able to reach his men. They were on the mountain, he was in the valley. He sure as hell hadn’t expected to be separated from them. They had to find high ground, and soon, if they were to learn the new extraction point.
Only the goddess was really slowing down now. He turned to see her at least five yards back, her face grim and determined.
But damn, five yards. He couldn’t keep her safe back there, and God knew where Saldana’s men were. Maybe they thought they’d already killed her, and him with her, but more likely they were looking for her.
Then there were the jungle animals.
“You better get a move on if you don’t want to be some animal’s breakfast.”
Instead of getting scared, she glared through narrowed eyes—a trick, really, given how big and round her eyes were.
“Breakfast, huh? There’s a concept.”
“Would you rather eat or be shot?” He waited, shifting his weight.
“Ah, the new Terror Diet.” She caught up in a few steps, her focus on her feet. “I saw something about it in Entertainment Weekly. If you stop to eat, you die. Based on the movie Speed, I think they said.”
He scowled. “Can you eat and walk at the same time?”
She rolled her eyes. “I can barely breathe and walk at the same time.”
“Good to know your strengths.” Nonetheless, he dug an energy bar out of his pack, ripped it open and passed it to her.
She took a bite and her mouth twisted in distaste. Okay, so he’d given her one he didn’t like very much to see what she’d do. She didn’t disappoint.
“God, it tastes like something you scooped off the forest floor,” she said around the mouthful of bar, like she didn’t want any part of her mouth to touch it, lest she taste it.
“Sorry. No éclair-flavored energy bars.” Sure enough, she’d stopped walking. He backtracked to grab her arm and propel her forward. “But taste isn’t the point.”
She swallowed gamely—or maybe it was because he yanked her along, and swallowing was just a reflex. But no, she stopped and took another bite.
“Water?” she asked around the mouthful again.
“Finish that first.”
“It’s like sawdust.” Bits of bar flew out of her mouth with her words.
“I can’t have you wasting all the water washing it down.”
She sniffed. “It’s called a rainforest for a reason. In that it rains every day. Water from the sky.”
“I have no way to capture it, and no inclination to stop and try. We need to go up and try to get back in contact with the others.”
She swallowed again, with more effort. “Up? As in, the mountain?”
“Higher ground, at least.”
She looked back the way they’d come. “We left the rope.”
“We’re not going to climb. There’s bound to be a road, an easier way.”
“Easier,” she repeated, like he’d made a promise. “Okay.”
But she didn’t move any faster. Hell, even when he turned to help her, she moved like an old lady. Only when he heard her hiss of pain when her foot turned over did he realize what the problem was.
“Where did you get these boots?” He motioned to the footwear that was out of proportion to her body.
“I borrowed them.” She swiped the back of her wrist over her forehead. “I didn’t have clothes for this.”
“Who did you borrow them from?”
He inspected a fallen tree, looking for snakes or anything else that might be using the log as a hiding place. Tossing his pack down, he motioned her to sit. She looked at him warily, then did. He reached for the laces, but she drew her feet back, the quickest he’d seen her move in hours. For the first time he saw that her pants were too big as well, rolled at the hem and at the waist. She was tiny, and these were men’s clothes.
“Saldana’s clothes?” He squinted up at her.
“No.” She folded her arms over the loose waist and dipped her head. “No, if he knew they were missing—”
“Someone you trusted?”
She shook her head. “If he found out someone helped me, it would be terrible for them. I couldn’t ask anyone for help.”
“Well, you’re not asking me.” He gripped the heel of her boot in one hand and untied it with the other.
She sucked in her breath when he tugged the boot, and he looked up at her. She was in real pain. This wasn’t going to be good.
Blood had soaked through the thick white socks—three pairs, she’d had sense enough for that.
“Jesus.” He peeled the socks gently, one at a time, feeling her tense with each layer. If there was this much damage after only walking this morning—the outer sock was little more than a rag—what were her feet going to look like? Hell, he knew. What he didn’t know was how he was going to deal with an injured woman in the middle of the jungle with no transportation.
He peeled down the third sock. Her ankle was so small he could wrap his fingers around it. It was ripped to hell, the skin over her Achilles tendon shredded and the flesh over her anklebone where the heel of the boot had rubbed. The tops of her toes—tipped with red nail polish—were raw.
He rested her heel on his thigh, then gave the same attention to the other foot. Only after he dragged his pack over did he look at her face. She had braced her weight on her hands behind her, her whole body tense as she stared at her feet.
“I thought nothing could hurt as bad as stilettos.”
That comment surprised a grin out of him. “Yeah, you wouldn’t look too great in them now.” He pulled out the peroxide, gauze and antibiotic lotion. “You’re going to have a hell of a time walking and we’ve got a long way to go.”
She stilled. “You can’t leave me here.”
He sat back on his heels and sighed. The objective had changed on the mountain—get her back to the States. But how was he going to make that happen when her feet were in this shape and he was on his own? He couldn’t protect her and get her out of here. He’d have to stash her until he could do both. “They won’t hurt you. We’ll get you to the road, they’ll find you, take you back.”
“To Santiago.” Her voice rose in panic. “If he knows I left on my own—”
He dragged a hand over his hair. “You tell him we took you.”
She shook her head violently. “He’ll know. There’s no way you could get in, and I’m forbidden to leave.”
“Ever?” He opened a new bottle of water, splashed a bit over each foot, soaking the thigh of his BDUs, and he passed the bottle to her. She took it but didn’t drink.
“In four years. I even—” She stopped herself, pressing her lips together.
“Even what?”
She shook her head, her gaze following a trail of ants on the jungle floor.
He cut a strip of gauze, cleaned her wounds with gentle swipes and dabs, applied the antibiotic and started wrapping her foot.
“If you give it an extra layer or whatever I could make it,” she said. “It already feels a lot better.”
“Your socks are bloody rags.” He looked up. “I have to send you back.”
“You can’t!” She shot forward and grasped his wrist. Her dark eyes were pleading. The kind of eyes that could make a man do anything. He turned his gaze down. “You don’t know what he’ll do to me.”
He pulled his wrist away. “Your choice. You went with him.”
She reached for her pack and dragged it close as he wrapped her other foot with less gentleness than the first, needing to get her away from him. But God, how could he make her walk on these feet?
“You’re not going to leave me all by myself?”
Damn, she was about to cry.
“We’ll find a village. I’m not going to leave you in the middle of the jungle. But even that won’t be easy.” He held out his hand. “Give me that.”
She pulled her pack closer, protective, wary.
“I need to stuff the toes or something so your feet won’t have room to slide around.”
“I don’t have anything.”
He tugged the pack free, frowning at her determination to hang on to it. What was she hiding? “I already saw the vibrator. Not that you’re likely to be embarrassed by something like that.” He unzipped the pack and pulled out a brightly colored silk dress, something fine and expensive, something Rebecca would never wear. No, she liked soft colors and cotton, and had probably never paid more than fifty dollars for a dress. This garment was probably worth four times that, at least.
The goddess whimpered, her gaze focused on it.
He grabbed the garment by the shoulders, took just a moment to imagine how the fabric would mold to her body, and ripped it in two.
You would have thought he’d stabbed her in the heart, the way she cried out and reached for it, trying to pull it from his grasp, too late.
“What the hell?” he demanded, holding it away. “It’s a dress.”
But the woman who’d refused to cry when she was in a truck on fire, or hanging off the side of a mountain, was sobbing over a dress. Jesus.
He snatched up her boots, one at a time, and shoved the fabric inside, wadding it in the toes. Then he held out each boot expectantly. Lower lip trembling, she took them, eased her sore feet inside and laced them up.
He stood, backing away and grabbing his pack, not taking his gaze off her. Goddamn, he’d never understand women.
She didn’t speak as they trudged through the jungle. Pissed about the dress, no doubt. She’d stopped crying, though. She was making an effort to keep up. After seeing the state her feet were in, he knew what an effort that was. He couldn’t quite make himself admire her for it, though.
“Are you going to sulk about the dress till we get to the extraction point?”
She didn’t respond.
“Saldana bought you that dress? That why you’re so upset?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” Her tone was dull, different than before.
“I bet. I don’t get women who sell their bodies to scum of the earth for pretty things.”
That put her back up and her tone sharpened. “I’m not going to explain myself to you.”
“Explain this to me.” He fell back to walk beside her. “How did you end up in Central America?”
“Studying.”
Right. “Studying drug lords? Terrorists?”
She tossed her ponytail, strands of hair coming loose every which way. “Spanish. Immersion.”
Shepard turned, incredulous. “Yeah, I hear Saldana has a real thing for linguists.”
“I danced to pay my tuition.”
She didn’t even blush at the admission.
“Stripped, you mean.” Why was he surprised? Maybe he was just surprised she was so open about it. And surprised that the image of her in a G-string hanging on a pole came so easily.
Goddammit.
Isabella knew they were approaching a village because the trees cleared out. The path in front of them was wide enough for a vehicle. In fact, she could see wheel ruts. Not a car, but four wheels.
Amazing what you could see on the ground when you didn’t have the energy to lift your head.
The pain was constant now, each step sending shocks of it through her system. Each time she lifted her foot, the weight of the boot pulled it downward, rubbing the boot across her raw toes. The insides of the boots were soggy. She didn’t think it was from the rain. The wetness only added to the friction.
When she got home, she would only wear flip-flops, no matter how mangled her feet looked.
When she got home. The hope was even farther away now than when she was in the compound. She hadn’t thought of all the obstacles to cross in escaping Santiago, in getting out of the country.
Now Sergeant Shepard wanted to leave her in this village so she could go back to Santiago. Clearly he didn’t want her blood on his hands.
He’d just as soon leave that responsibility to Santiago, which is what would happen if she went back to him. She’d seen what he was capable of, firsthand.
Ahead of her, Shepard halted, motioning for her to stop as well.
Stopping hurt worse than walking, and she swallowed a whimper.
Okay, maybe not, if the look Shepard shot her was any indication.
They drew back to the trees, Shepard pulling her with him. Her muscles were so stiff, she staggered at the movement.
Her heart thudded as Shepard palmed his pistol and moved forward, his lean body at once taut and graceful as he moved into the village. She’d never seen anyone so focused. But of course their lives depended on that skill.
She wondered what had him worried and hoped he didn’t shoot a villager by mistake. He was that tense.
He disappeared, and her pain disappeared as she held her breath, waiting for him to return.
She was alone in the silent jungle. Quiet jungles meant danger. Her legs were water, her boots planted in the mud, as every nerve in her body screamed for her to run after him.
Her muscles finally heeded her nerves and she stumbled in the direction she’d seen Shepard go. She rounded a hut only to be yanked back against a hard body, a large hand over her mouth.
Before panic choked her, she realized the hand was rough and bandaged.
Shepard.
Still, he’d scared the hell out of her. She plowed her elbow into his stomach—his hard stomach—and threw her weight forward but he held fast.
“Hold still.” The words brushed against her ear.
It was then she realized they were in the shadows, and that there was no movement in front of them. Over the scent of Shepard’s sweat, she smelled something else, more acrid.
Behind her, she felt Shepard working to control his breathing, though she could feel his heart thundering against her back. What had him so uptight? The silence?
Then he eased his hand from her mouth, turning her at the same time so she could see his finger over his lips.
Desperate to know what was going on, she opened her mouth, but she stopped herself before the words came out, his razor-sharp look casting a warning. Once he was sure she would be quiet, he edged her behind him, training his gun from side to side in stiff-armed sweeps.
God, were those—she choked back a cry of despair when she realized—
She must have made some sound because Shepard turned his head infinitesimally in warning. What did it mean that she understood him?
Bodies. God, bodies everywhere. The smell she hadn’t been able to identify was blood. Everywhere.
This time she had to stifle a gag, because now she understood he thought whoever did this might still be there.
She twisted her fingers in the back of his shirt as she moved behind him. To the side, she saw a woman sprawled on her stomach, her back ripped and bloody. Beside her lay a small body.
She turned her head, pressed her face between Shepard’s shoulder blades. He stopped, mid-step, his muscles tight. Understanding he couldn’t move freely with her plastered against him, she eased away a little. Still, she didn’t take her eyes from the back of his neck, where sweat trailed from his neat hairline to the collar of his T-shirt. She stumbled after him, afraid to look at her feet to see what she might be stepping on.
Finally, she felt his tension ease, and he lowered the gun.
“They’re gone,” he said, keeping his voice low, sounding disappointed. Disappointed.
“What happened?” she asked, her own voice rough.
“Automatic weapons.” When he turned to look at her, his eyes were hard, flat. That hate again. “Know anyone with automatic weapons in these parts?”
Santiago. “But why?”
“My guess? A message to you, sweetheart. That he won’t let you go easily.”
“But how does he know where we’re going?”
“I don’t know.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, looking uncertain for the first time since she’d seen him.
That was scarier than his angry, hot eyes.
Which flashed at her as if the moment of weakness had never happened. “But clearly this was a warning, to you, to us, to anyone who might help us.”
She staggered a step back. “You think these people are dead because of me?”
“Would Saldana’s men be out of the compound if they weren’t looking for you?”
Oh God. Her stomach heaved but nothing was left. Still, the bile burned her throat, her mouth, and she turned her head to spit it out, holding her hair back as her body, her soul turned inside out.
Her life for these people. Could she survive knowing that these people had died because of her? She wanted to ask Shepard, but he was looking at her with such disgust.
The same disgust she felt for herself.