Chapter Sixteen
How did you kidnap a doctor from a hot zone without risking infection yourself?
Mercedes had been working on the problem for days, ever since she and Seb tracked Dr. Oliver to the field hospital and set up camp on the opposite side of the river. She’d considered prying Claire out of her tent in the middle of the night, but the woman hardly slept, and when she did, it never seemed to be in her own quarters.
Through her binoculars, she watched the woman come out of the largest of the tents—the main hospital, she guessed—and walk over to join Marcus Deangelo where he stood in front of one of the smaller tents—likely the mess hall judging by all the traffic going in and out.
Beside her, Sebastian tensed and raised his rifle. “He’s right fucking there. Let me take the shot, Merce. Let me finish the job and we can run away. Disappear and start again.”
Mercedes placed a gentle hand on the barrel of the rifle and pushed it toward the ground. Rain pattered against the leaves around them, reminding her strangely of children, of tiny bare feet running. It also made her think of Seb as a father. He’d be great at it. A natural. She, on the other hand… Well, that wasn’t the kind of life she’d ever lead, as much as Seb wanted it to be.
“You know there’s no disappearing from Defion,” she said. “Especially if I bail before my job’s complete.”
“Your brother did it.”
Her spine snapped straight at the mention of her brother and she couldn’t help the coolness that seeped into her voice. But, dammit, Seb knew the topic of her brother was off-limits. “He never escaped, and you know it.”
With a sigh, Seb lowered the weapon and shook his head. “Okay, sorry. That was out of line, but you gotta listen to me, Mercy. What are your options here? You won’t get Dr. Oliver out of there without a fight, and you can’t go in without risking infection. I won’t let you go in.”
She arched a brow at him. “You won’t let me?”
“No, I won’t. I will knock you out and carry you away from here before I’ll let you go in that fucking hospital.”
She should be offended, but she couldn’t bring herself to be when his words made her melt into a gooey puddle. But she couldn’t let him see that. She mustered up as much derision as she was able. “Caveman.”
“If being a caveman means I don’t see you die of some horrible virus, then yeah, I’m a caveman.”
Ugh. For such a stone-cold killer, Seb could be an amazingly sweet man. She kind of wanted to kiss him, so instead she lifted her binoculars to watch Dr. Oliver and Marcus Deangelo have an apparently intense conversation. Marcus stared out across the river, and for a moment, she feared he’d spotted them. This was it. Game over.
Marcus turned away and followed the doctor inside the mess tent.
Seb sat back against a tree and dragged his rifle bag over. Probably to clean the weapon again. He did that when he was bored and itching for action. One night, months ago, when they’d met for a drunken night of sex in Barcelona after each completing successful jobs, he’d told her he’d loved his SABR 308 more than anything else in the world…until he met her.
“Too bad we don’t have a disposable army we could send in to flush them out,” Seb muttered as he started breaking down the weapon.
She turned to him. “What?”
“You know, grunts. The guys generals send out onto the frontlines because there are always more to take their place. Don’t suppose Harrison would lend us a few of his less desirable men?”
“No.” But a new idea started to form. “You’re right. We need to flush them out.”
“Fucking great idea,” Seb said, sarcasm heavy in his tone. “And how are we gonna do that?”
After days of camping in the rain without a fire to warm them, he was getting cranky, and she couldn’t blame him. She didn’t like this any more than he did. She was ready to end it, too. All of it—maybe including her career with Defion. Seb’s constant refrain of running away and starting fresh sounded more and more appealing each passing day.
“Remember the militants we passed on the way in?” she asked.
He paused halfway through unzipping his cleaning kit. “The ones we avoided because they looked like trouble?”
“Yeah.” She gazed back out over the river and lifted her binocs again. Dr. Oliver and Marcus hadn’t re-emerged from the tent. All was quiet. “Maybe we should go have a chat with them. Bet they’d love to know where this hospital is.”
Seb stared at her for a solid five seconds. Then closed his mouth, zipped up his cleaning kit, and snapped his rifle back together. He stood. “You’re a crazy woman, Mercedes, but I love it. Let’s go stir us up some grunts.”
…
Claire couldn’t put her finger on it, but something was different about Jean-Luc since he’d woken up. It was expected that he’d be wrestling with survivor’s guilt. Anyone would in his position. The other survivors were struggling with it, too. But his dark mood seemed to come from somewhere else, somewhere deeper inside that enigmatic mind of his, the place that he hid behind smiles and charm and jokes. Was it depression? Did he have a history of it? She had no idea, but she knew exactly who to ask.
She found Marcus standing just outside the mess tent in the rain. He stared intently out across the dark water of one of the many tributaries that made up the Niger Delta. “Marcus?”
He didn’t seem to hear her. She reached out to touch his arm, but thought better of it before making contact. In Martinique, she’d seen how deadly Jean-Luc could be, and had no doubt Marcus was just as highly trained. She didn’t want to startle him.
Instead, she stepped up beside him. “Marcus?”
Still no response. He seemed to be holding his breath, as if waiting for something significant to happen.
She followed his gaze to the opposite shore of the river. “Did you see something over there?”
He shook his head like he was trying to shake off a bad dream. “I thought I saw…” Another head shake. “It’s not possible. Never mind.”
Now she touched him, placing a gentle hand on his upper back and turning him toward the mess tent. “Why don’t you come in out of the rain?”
The tent was crowded as other doctors and staff grabbed a quick lunch before heading back to work. Claire found a table that a pair of nurses had just vacated and sat Marcus down. He was pale, and the hand he rubbed over his face shook. Like he’d seen a ghost. She left him long enough to pick up a couple bottles of water, but paused on her way back when she saw the tears streaming silently down his face. She set the water in front of him, then took the seat across the table. She said nothing. Only waited there, sipping her water, until he acknowledged her presence again.
He finally moved, reaching out to pick up the water. “I think I’m losing my mind.” He took a long drink, draining half the bottle in one breath. The knuckles on both of his hands were bruised and scabbed. She’d noticed other wounds and contusions on his arms and legs as well, all at different stages of the healing process. Marcus hadn’t been infected like Jean-Luc, but he’d also had to fight to survive after the militant attack separated them. She wondered what had happened to him during that week or so he’d been on his own, but wasn’t about to push for an explanation. Jean-Luc had said Marcus had his own demons, and he was obviously battling them now.
“You both have been through so much,” she said gently. “You’re allowed a moment to break down every now and again.”
And maybe that was also what had happened to Jean-Luc back in the hospital. He was having his own breakdown moment. A more than plausible explanation for his sudden distance with her and, still, she couldn’t shake the feeling it was something more.
Either way, Marcus wasn’t going to be much help right now. He needed a friend, not questions.
Marcus rested his head on the table, knocked his forehead lightly against the wood a couple times. “Are there tests you can run on me, doc? Tell me if I’m losing my mind.”
“Why do you think so?”
“I keep seeing him,” he said, his words muffled by the table.
“Who?”
“Danny. He was my best friend. No, more like a brother. He was family. We went through the FBI academy together, rose through the ranks together. I saw him every day until I left the FBI and joined HORNET. He died in Martinique.”
Oh, so many people had died that night, and all because of her research. How could he not blame her? “I’m sorry, Marcus. It’s inadequate, but I truly am sorry for what happened that night.”
“It’s not your fault, Claire.”
“It certainly feels like it is.” When he lifted his head and she saw his expression ravaged by grief, she shook off the self-pity. She’d drown that later in some palm wine. Right now, he needed help, and she was a doctor. Okay, not a head doctor, but she was all he had. “Is that when you started seeing Danny? After Martinique?”
“No. It was after Jean-Luc and I got separated here in Nigeria. I was trudging through the jungle, trying to find civilization, and I didn’t know if I was gonna make it. I have survival and combat skills but I’m no Rambo. I was in bad shape. I’d whacked my head hard when we were attacked and I wasn’t quite with it. I fell, passed out for a while, and when I opened my eyes, I saw Danny in the distance, like a mirage. I crawled over to the spot, and found a road. Some workers from one of the oil companies scooped me up and took me to their facility, had their doc bandage me up, then put me on a flight to Lagos. I thought I saw Danny because I hit my head, but that was weeks ago and…”
“And you saw him again,” Claire finished and nodded in the general direction of the river. “Outside just now, on the opposite bank.”
“Like a mirage.” He looked defeated as he sat up and screwed the cap back onto his water bottle. “Am I bonkers?”
“No,” she said flatly. “You’re grieving.”
He sniffed hard and swiped at his eyes. “How’s Jean-Luc?”
And that, she knew, was the end of that conversation. She took a sip of her own water before answering. “He’s…not himself. He’s…” She searched for the right word. “Sad.”
“Grieving?” Marcus said with an edge of sarcasm in his voice.
She didn’t let it bother her. He was snapping at her because she was the only person available, just like how Jean-Luc had snapped when she found him wiping blood off that poor girl’s face. “Maybe. Was he also close with your friend Danny?”
Marcus shook his head. “They were friends, sure. But not like—” He stopped. “It hurt everyone on the team when Danny was killed. He’s the first man we’ve ever lost.”
So Danny’s death probably hadn’t affected Jean-Luc the same as it had Marcus. Maybe his sour mood had been just survivor’s guilt, after all. “Has Jean-Luc ever suffered from depression?”
“The Ragin’ Cajun?” Marcus laughed, though there was little humor in it. “To hear him tell it, he’s the happiest man on Earth.”
“Do you believe that?”
“Listen.” Marcus sighed and stood up. “Jean-Luc avoids. It’s what he does best. He learns new languages so he doesn’t have to think about anything too deep, and when that doesn’t work, he uses alcohol and sex. And, word of warning, he’ll use you too if you let him.”
He’ll use you, too.
Marcus’s words replayed through her mind as she watched him leave. She stayed seated for a moment, then shook her head and shoved to her feet. It was only midday, but after getting so little sleep this week, she was beyond exhausted. Could barely keep her eyes open, not to mention work through the messy entanglement that was her growing attraction to Jean-Luc. She needed sleep, but Sunday caught her before she could escape the mess tent.
“Claire!”
Suppressing a groan, she turned to face her friend. “Is everything okay?”
Sunday thrust a tablet into her hands. “I just saw Jean-Luc’s last blood test.”
She glanced down at the test results, but nothing had changed since she’d examined them earlier that day. “What’s wrong with it? Everything looks good to me. If his test tomorrow comes back like this, I’ll release him from the hospital.”
“Exactly. Cured.” Sunday pulled the tablet out of her hands and stared at her with wide, astonished eyes. “What the hell did you give him?”
Oh. That. She never told Sunday about Akeso.
She rubbed the back of her aching neck. “It’s something I’ve been working on. An anti-viral. Can we talk about it tomorrow? I’m beat.”
Sunday opened her mouth, no doubt to protest, but then closed it without uttering a sound. Her scowl softened. “Yeah, you look it, love.” She tilted her head toward the door. “Go on, get out of here. Take tonight off. But tomorrow you owe me an explanation over breakfast.”
“And you’ll get one.” She started out. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Hey.”
She glanced back and Sunday grinned.
“You saved his life, Claire. Just like you said you would. You should be proud.”
She was. Maybe. Except even having had Marcus’s permission, using Jean-Luc as a guinea pig still sat like lead in her gut. And, God, what if there were horrible side effects that just hadn’t manifested yet?
Oh, she didn’t know. She was too tired to think straight.
She left the mess tent and sprinted through the rain to her quarters. Without undressing, she collapsed face-first on her cot and expected to fall asleep instantly.
She didn’t.
He’ll use you, too.
Marcus’s words snaked back into her mind, a refrain that kept her tossing and turning in the muggy heat. Frustrated, she sat up.
Unfortunately, no matter how many times she turned it over in her head and dissected it, it rang true. Jean-Luc would use her to dull whatever psychological pain he was trying to avoid. And maybe she’d let him use her. After all, he couldn’t break her heart if she never gave it to him, right?
Too late, a small voice said in the back of her mind.