Chapter Five
Reese pulled the yellow-and-white jumpsuit of synthetic fabric up over her legs, hips and torso, then pushed her arms through the sleeves.
Diesel seemed to struggle into his, barely using his injured arm.
Reese suspected the wound was infected and could turn septic if they didn’t get it cleaned out and fill him with antibiotics quickly.
Martha held up a hand. “Wait.” She helped him remove the shirt and the bandage, exposing the wound. She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “We need to tend to it immediately.” She helped him into the suit and slipped the head gear over his face.
Martha and Dr. Kowalski suited up, as well.
Once they were all fully covered, the four of them walked out into the open, led by Martha and Jerry. They walked around to the front of the tent and entered.
Cots lined the walls inside, and a section in the very back was blocked off by walls of waterproof tent material with a zippered door as an entrance. Martha unzipped the door and held it to the side as Dr. Kowalski, Diesel and Reese entered. Martha entered behind them and zipped the door shut again. No one could see in or out of the small area.
As quickly as they could, Martha and Dr. Kowalski shed their protective suits and went to work. Martha switched on a battery-powered light hanging from the ceiling and set up a tray of medical equipment, gauze and a bottle of clear saline solution. Dr. Kowalski washed his hands, slipped into a surgical shirt and mask and stepped up to Diesel. “Have a seat.” He indicated the end of the cot with a tilt of his head.
Diesel didn’t argue. His wound was hurting, the pain radiating throughout his arm.
As a former soldier, Reese knew as well as anyone what happened to wounds that were left untreated. She hoped they weren’t too late to fight the infection.
The doctor irrigated the site and cleaned it thoroughly. Martha handed him what he needed, without having to be asked. They worked well as a team. When they had the site completely cleaned of dirt, dried blood and pus, Dr. Kowalski sewed the skin shut, applied a bandage and held it in place with adhesive tape.
“Now lie down,” Martha said.
Diesel obeyed.
Martha set him up with an IV of clear liquid and added something to the tube.
He frowned. “You’re not giving me a sedative, are you?” he whispered, careful not to let his voice carry beyond the thin walls of the tent.
She shook her head. “No. Just an antibiotic to ward off infection. You need to have your wits around you if those rebels show up in the village.”
He smiled at the woman and her husband and mouthed the words “Thank you.”
The smile melted everything at Reese’s core. She had to turn away to keep him from seeing how it affected her by the heat rising in her face.
Martha patted his shoulder. “The fluids will help keep you from dehydration.” She glanced at Reese. “I’ll bring you water and food. In the meantime, you look like you could use some rest.” She switched off the overhead light, plunging the room into darkness.
Reese hadn’t realized how late it had gotten.
Martha and the doctor dressed in their protective suits and left the isolation room, zipping the door behind them. A faint light shined through the thin tent wall.
Reese scooted a cot close to Diesel and lay on her side, staring across at him, wanting to be near him. “Feel better?”
“I will when the infection dies down.” He pressed his lips together. “We can’t stay here long.”
“I know. But let the antibiotics get into your bloodstream and the additional fluids. Then we can decide what to do next.”
Diesel held out his free hand, capturing hers. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
She snorted. “I’m fine. A few blisters and a little heat rash, but nothing a bath and a pedicure won’t fix.” She winked.
“I can’t imagine an MMA fighter getting a pedicure.”
She laughed softly, though her heart was flip-flopping at the way his fingers rubbed hers. “You’d be surprised what’s required. Not only did we have to have our hair and makeup perfect, but we had to have neatly manicured nails. We had to look good while we pounded each other’s faces into the mats.”
He touched a finger to the tip of her nose. “Is that why your nose is crooked? Not that it isn’t cute, but I wondered.”
She stiffened. “No.” Her nose had been broken by the Taliban.
“Was it always crooked?”
“No.” Reese released his hand, rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. The last thing she wanted to think about was her experience in Afghanistan. She prayed her current situation didn’t end up similarly. Hopefully, having a navy SEAL around would help keep her safe.
“Sorry. I take it I’m stepping into no-man’s land again.”
She shrugged and lay for a while without speaking, breathing in and out to calm her racing heart.
* * *
DIESEL CLOSED HIS eyes and drew in a deep breath.
Reese had some baggage she carried around. Trying to talk to her about it was like walking through a minefield. He suspected she’d open up eventually, if he was patient.
His fists clenched. The men who’d captured her in Afghanistan must have done horrible things to her. He wished he could find them and strangle them with his bare hands. Any men who mistreated women were barbarians who didn’t deserve to live.
Then out of the darkness, Reese’s voice sounded in a barely discernible whisper. “I was a driver in a convoy transporting supplies to one of the forward operating bases, when we were surrounded by Taliban fighters.
“The first vehicle hit an IED, killing the driver, the passenger and the gunner. The explosion disabled the truck, blocking the road. I tried to turn around, but we were rushed by men carrying rifles and machine guns.
“My passenger didn’t even make it out of the truck to lay down return fire before he was shot and killed. I was hit in the arm. I couldn’t hold my weapon in my left hand, much less shoot straight.” Her whispers grew strangled.
Diesel didn’t stop her or try to offer words of encouragement. He let her talk, the darkness providing her a little anonymity. His chest tightened with each of her words. He wanted to reach out and take her into his arms and hold her until all the bad memories disappeared.
Reese was silent for a few moments. “They grabbed me and hauled me off to one of their villages deep in the hills.” She snorted. “That’s when the fun began.”
Diesel heard the pain in her voice.
“Let’s just say, they don’t treat women well...” Her voice seemed to fade. Diesel almost didn’t hear her when she said, “And I’ll never be able to have children.”
Diesel had suspected the Taliban fighters had raped and tortured her. But hearing her quiet admission about children hit him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed the bile rising in his throat, his heart aching for the young woman so badly abused by her enemy. If he could, he would have taken away all of her pain and killed every one of the bastards who’d done the damage.
She gave a harsh laugh. “I was one of the lucky ones. A Delta-Force team had targeted that village to eradicate the Taliban hiding there. They found me and took me back to the nearest medical facility. From there, I was flown back to the States, where I had an almost ‘full’ recovery, but I was processed out on a medical discharge for PTSD.”
Diesel lay for a while, unsure of what to say. Nothing seemed appropriate, and he couldn’t get up and wrap his arms around her with a blasted IV in his arm.
“I was out of the army, out of a job and angry. I vowed never to be vulnerable like that again. So, I worked out, took self-defense and martial arts lessons. One day, a woman approached me about joining the MMA circuit. She thought I had what it took to succeed in the arena. I had so much hate and anger simmering below the surface, I needed an outlet.”
“That’s a tough job,” Diesel commented.
“You’re telling me. I gave it two years. When I was tired of broken fingers, cracked ribs and having my bell rung more times than I could count, I retired and started my own bodyguard business. That’s where Ferrence’s father came in. He was my first, and possibly my last, client.”
“You’ll have more. You can’t blame yourself for what happened while you were unconscious.”
“Yeah, I could have insisted we avoid the situation all together.”
“Hindsight is always twenty-twenty. You have to move on. Learn from your past, but leave it in the past.”
She grunted. “Easy to say, not to do.”
“I know.” And he did. He’d lost several of his buddies in operations that had gone south. For months afterward, he second-guessed his every move during newer assignments. When it began to impact every new operation, he sought help. Not with anyone in the military. One of his friends had a wife who was a psychologist who specialized in treatment for soldiers with PTSD. She’d helped him to come to grips with his past, to allow him to move forward into this future. Without her help, he’d still be hesitating when he should be acting, and possibly costing more lives due to indecision.
To Diesel, Reese sounded like she hadn’t found her way to the future. She was still beating herself up over the past, afraid to think there was a future for her.
War had a way of breaking perfectly healthy individuals.
Before Diesel could think of anything to say that would make everything better for Reese, Martha unzipped the door and entered, carrying a tray of food. Light shined in from the other tent compartment. Martha still wore the protective gear and remained in it until she closed the zippered door.
She reached for the overhead light, turned it on and set the tray on the end of Reese’s bed.
Reese sat up.
When Diesel also tried to sit up, Martha shook her head. “Lay still. I’ll bring it to you.”
“You don’t have to wait on us. We’re hungry and able-bodied,” Diesel reassured her, careful not to talk too loudly.
“You need to let the antibiotics do their job,” Martha warned him.
“Right now, food is as important as the antibiotics.” Reese licked her lips, staring at the crackers and peanut butter Martha proffered.
Other items were packaged like the US Army’s Meals Ready to Eat or MREs. Even those sounded good at that point.
Diesel’s mouth watered.
“Go ahead, then.” Martha smiled. “Eat and then rest. The doctor and I will keep watch.”
Reese grabbed for a cracker, slathered peanut butter over the surface and handed it to Diesel.
He waited until she had one for herself and then bit into it like it was a delicacy.
“I’d offer you some of the local cuisine, but I’m not certain your bellies could handle it right now. Eat what’s there, and I’ll get more.”
“Mrs. Martha,” Diesel said.
“Yes?”
“Is there a way to get to a larger town? One with a telephone or a cell phone tower?”
Martha nodded. “The boat comes once a week, carrying supplies and mail. You’re in luck. It’s due to arrive tomorrow.”
Diesel glanced over at Reese. “Do you think we can barter for passage on the boat?”
“Certainly. It’s how we got here and how the locals get to and from the market upriver. Do you have any Congolese currency?”
Diesel smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He reached into a pocket of his cargo pants and pulled out a plastic bag filled with different currency notes.
Reese chuckled. “Another item from your survival kit?”
He grinned. “Absolutely. You never know when you have to bribe your way out of a situation.”
Martha smiled. “You are a resourceful man.”
“I try,” Diesel said. “Will this be enough?”
Martha thumbed through the bills, separated a few and held them up. “Don’t offer more than this. If they know you have more, they’ll charge you more.” The older woman checked Diesel’s IV, fussed over his bandages and then slipped her hood back on and left the compartment.
Diesel and Reese didn’t talk for the next few minutes. Instead, they ate, concentrating on filling their empty stomachs.
Martha had gone to the trouble of heating some of the packages. Diesel found one of macaroni and cheese and ate every last bite.
Reese dug into one marked beef stew.
When they’d eaten their fill, Diesel lay back on the cot and stared up at the light dangling from the ceiling. “I didn’t realize just how hungry I was.”
“Me either.” Reese lay down beside him, closed her eyes and yawned.
“You should sleep. You heard our host. Martha and the doctor will warn us if the rebels find their way to this village.”
“At this point, I’m not sure I could keep my eyes open.” Reese yawned again and tucked her hand beneath her cheek.
Diesel stared over at her, admiring the way her lashes formed dark crescents beneath her eyes. She’d kept up with his grueling pace and hadn’t complained. She’d been through hell and back on more than one occasion and hadn’t cracked. Reese was one tough cookie. On the outside. But she was soft and vulnerable on the inside.
“Diesel?” she whispered.
“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answered.
“What I told you,” she yawned, “I don’t want anyone feeling sorry for me. I’m okay. And I never told anyone else.”
“Gotcha.” Diesel’s gut clenched. “Your secret is safe with me.”
“Thanks,” she said on a sigh. Soon the sound of her steady breathing let him know she’d fallen asleep.
He watched her until his own eyelids drooped. He needed sleep as much as she did to continue their journey.
Diesel reached across to the other cot and took Reese’s hand in his. For now, all he wanted to do was hold on to this amazing woman. Tomorrow, they’d be on their way toward civilization and freedom.
* * *
REESE WOKE WITH a start. She lay for a moment, trying to determine what had disturbed her sleep.
Shouts outside the tent made her jerk to a sitting position. Light through the tent panel from the other compartment gave the room a deep gray, just-past-dusk feeling. She could see well enough, but not all the nuances.
Diesel was off the cot and standing in two seconds flat, ripping the IV from his arm. He touched her shoulder. “Sounds like we might have company. There’s a raid on the village.”
Gunshots were fired outside. Men yelled. Women and children screamed in the night.
Diesel dragged the rifle out from beneath the cot, as the zipper on their compartment was yanked up. He aimed at the intruder only to lower his rifle when a woman’s white head poked inside.
Martha’s eyes were rounded, her face flushed. “Suit up. They’re headed this way. Dr. Kowalski won’t be able to hold them off for long.” She already wore the protective suit without the hood. She nodded toward the pile she’d placed in the corner. “If they come in, look like you’re half-dead. I’ll make an excuse for a patient to be in a suit. Just don’t talk.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Reese said. She grabbed a suit and jammed her feet into the legs, pulling the jumpsuit up her torso as quickly as possible. Once she had hers on, she helped Diesel into his. She’d just settled the hood over his head, when loud voices sounded from the entrance to the tent.
Reese slipped her hood over her head and lay on the cot.
Diesel lay on the other, his rifle tucked beneath his leg, completely covered by the baggy synthetic fabric.
“You can’t go in there. Those patients are infected with the deadly Ebola virus,” Dr. Kowalski said.
“We will go where we please,” a deeply accented voice said.
“Let him go, Dr. Kowalski. It’s his life. If he wants to die of Ebola, let him,” Martha said. She unzipped the compartment and held back the flap door. “Go. See for yourself.”
Reese lowered her eyelids almost all of the way. She could just see through the slits.
A big black man with a camouflage outfit and a vest filled with loaded magazines leaned through the doorway with two others similarly attired. He stopped short of entering. Instead, he brandished his rifle at Reese and Diesel. “Why are they wearing these clothes?”
Dr. Kowalski stepped up beside Martha. “The two in there are hyper-contagious, we had to put them in suits to protect the other patients from getting the virus. They come from a village where all the other people have perished.”
“Perished? What is this?” the rebel demanded.
“Died,” Martha cried. “They all died.” Then she turned and sobbed against Dr. Kowalski’s chest. “Every last man, woman and child are gone from their village.”
“Then why are they here? Why didn’t you leave them to die with their people?” the rebel demanded.
“We couldn’t leave them,” Dr. Kowalski said. “They were still breathing. Our jobs are to help those in need, no matter how sick.”
“You should shoot them so they don’t infect everyone else along the river.” The rebel raised his rifle.
Reese tensed. She had no weapon to defend herself. If Diesel pulled out his rifle, they’d have all the other rebels on top of them in seconds.
A shout from outside made the man with the gun swing around. “Get them out of here. They shouldn’t be around to infect the others.”
“We’ll do our best,” the doctor promised.
“And if you see a white man and woman pass through this area, you are to send word to us immediately. Do you understand?”
Martha sobbed, and Dr. Kowalski nodded, holding her close to him. “We understand.”
Then the man with the gun was gone, taking his sidekicks with him.
Diesel rose to his feet, ripped off the hood and held his rifle at the ready.
Reese realized that if the rebel leader and his goons returned, they might not get a second chance. Again, she wished she had a weapon of her own.
As if he’d read her mind, Diesel reached into a pocket and pulled out a small pistol. “Hang on to this. It won’t stop an eight-hundred-pound gorilla, but it could ruin a man’s day if he tries to hurt you.”
She clutched the pistol, ejected the magazine in the handle and slammed it back into the grip. It was light and almost felt like a toy. But like Diesel said, it could ruin a man’s day at close range.
Martha sobbed until the shouting outside faded into the distance. When they were finally alone, but for the patients in the outer compartment, the doctor and his assistant entered the compartment.
Martha righted the IV stand and collected the empty bag from the floor. “You’ll have to go as soon as the morning boat arrives. It usually gets here early. We’re the last stop before it heads back to the closest big town. If the rebels are gone when it arrives, you should have no problem boarding. If they hang around, you might have to miss this boat and wait for the next, a week from now.”
Diesel’s gaze met Reese’s. If she read it right, they were in agreement. They would be on that boat come hell or high water. Reese was ready to be done with the jungle, mosquitos, crocodiles and anything else that could eat her in the night. She needed to get back to Ferrence. Despite their detour, they still had a political agenda to fulfill. The time they’d set aside for his safari was nearing an end. If she had any chance at all at redeeming herself, she had to get back to civilization and back to her client, Ferrence Klein.
Martha and the doctor stripped out of their protective gear and left Diesel and Reese alone in the quarantine compartment. On the other side of the panel, the medical workers checked their patients, calming them after the rebel fighters’ visit.
Soon the noise in the village ended, lights were extinguished and the little town slept.
Not Reese and Diesel. They sat on the edges of their cots, listening, waiting for the morning light of dawn and the sound of a boat engine.
* * *
THE BOAT ENGINE arrived as the gray light of predawn filtered through the white walls of the tent.
Martha and Dr. Kowalski unzipped the compartment and entered, zipping the door back up behind them.
“A different boat arrived at the dock. We think it might be American,” Dr. Kowalski said.
“You might want to check it out from the safety of the jungle,” Martha suggested. “Perhaps they are friends?”
Reese stood and stretched, tired to the bone, but curious. “Do you think it might be your team?”
“Maybe.” Diesel tucked his rifle down the leg of his protective suit, settled the hood over his head and nodded to Reese. “Let’s go see.”
Reese slid the hood over her head and nodded. Together, they left the tent and rounded to the back, walking deeper into the shadowy jungle. When they were far enough away from the encampment, they stripped out of the protective gear and hurried around the perimeter to the shore of the river, keeping an eye out for crocodiles and snakes.
When they reached a position where they could see the dock, Diesel chuckled. “It’s them.” He started for the dock.
Reese shot out a hand. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
“Sweetheart, there’s enough firepower on that boat to level this village. The Congolese rebels wouldn’t stand a chance against them.”
Reese and Diesel walked out of the jungle and through the makeshift shelters of plywood and shipping containers that housed the villagers who lived around the dock.
A rugged-looking metal boat with machine guns mounted on all sides rested up against the dock. Several men dressed similarly to Diesel stood on the dock, rifles in hand, ready to take on anyone.
The village was just waking up.
As Diesel stepped out into the open, a couple of the men spun toward him, aiming their weapons at his chest.
Reese started to jump in front of Diesel, but the men with the guns lowered their weapons and grinned.
One stepped forward. “Diesel, you old son of a bitch, figures you’d find a way to vacation with a pretty girl.” The man engulfed him in a bear hug, pounding him on the back.
“Hey, Buck.” Diesel flinched and backed away, flexing his injured arm. “Watch the arm.”
The man Diesel called Buck frowned. “Were you hit?”
“It’s nothing, just a—”
“Flesh wound?” Buck’s frown deepened. “I’ll take a look at it when we get underway.”
“No worries. It’ll hold until we get to where we’re going. The doc here patched me up and fed me antibiotics. I’m good to go.”
Buck looked beyond Diesel to where Reese stood. “You must be Reese Brantley.”
Reese nodded, suddenly feeling like she’d been rolling in a pigpen. She needed a shower and a change of clothing.
“We heard all about you from Klein.” Another, taller man stepped up next to Buck. “I’m Jake.” He held out his hand to Reese.
Wincing inwardly, she took the big man’s hand and shook it. “I’m sure it was all bad.”
“Not at all. He was worried about you.”
“Don’t lie to the lady. He was worried about who he would take with him on his political tour of Kinshasa.” Another man stepped up on the other side of Buck. “Percy Taylor, but my friends call me Pitbull. And we call Jake, Big Jake, on account of his excessive height.”
Reese shook the man’s hand, a smile playing at her lips.
Pitbull turned to Diesel. “Thought we’d lost you, man.”
Diesel shrugged. “Couldn’t get back to the boat, so we took a stroll through the jungle.”
Buck snorted. “Some stroll. I’m surprised you weren’t eaten by a lion or crocodile.”
“We were actually more worried about the poachers, our Congolese rebel kidnappers and the gorillas.”
Buck’s brows rose. “Gorillas?”
“Just a small troop of around twenty.” Diesel gave a nonchalant shrug that almost made Reese laugh.
“No kidding?” Pitbull asked, his eyes alight. “Aren’t they dangerous?”
“A little.” Diesel tipped his head toward the boat. “We should be going before the rebels return. They were here earlier. And we were supposed to be in stealth mode. Why did you come now?”
“We were going for that no-man-left-behind adage,” Buck said.
“Right,” Pitbull added. “The team just didn’t feel like it was firing on all cylinders without our Diesel.”
Diesel hooked Reese’s arm with his hand and guided her to the boat. He helped her aboard and stepped in after her, ushered her to a seat on a hard metal bench and then he stepped up behind one of the mounted machine guns.
“No way, man.” Buck shook his head. “You’re injured. You can sit this one out for now.”
“I told you, it’s just a flesh wound.”
“Yeah, and a flesh wound in Africa can go south in a heartbeat.” Buck’s lips twisted. “Humor me, will ya?”
The man at the helm waited until every man on the team was aboard the boat before he turned the craft around and headed north.
“Why aren’t we going back to our helicopter pickup point?” Diesel asked.
“The chopper went on to an airstrip in Zambia where a private plane will carry Klein to Kinshasa for the African Union convention. We’re supposed to head down the river to the next big town. Apparently, there is a bush pilot who can take Miss Brantley the rest of the way to Kinshasa. Once we leave her there, we’ll head back down the river to our previously scheduled pickup point.”
“And the stealth mode?” Diesel asked.
“We hope to be off the Congo in the next twenty-four hours.” Yet another one of the SEALs turned away from his position manning a machine gun. “We’ll leave the cover-up for the politicians and diplomats.”
Diesel settled onto the bench next to Reese, his rifle resting across his legs, one hand holding it, ready to put it to use, if the need arose.
“Navy SEALs, huh?” Reese asked, staring around at the men on the boat. “I guess that accounts for the boat.”
“Not all navy SEALs are trained for riverine missions,” Diesel said. “We’re from a Special Boat Team. We train on these kinds of boats for missions requiring extractions via water.”
Reese studied the members of the team. Each of them appeared to be fit and intent on their mission, as the boat raced along the Congo River. The helmsman maintained a steady speed, even as he rounded the curves in the winding river, skidding sideways across the surface of the water. When they came upon hippopotamuses in a wide area of the river, he skirted the beasts, giving then a wide birth. They passed canoes, dugouts and small boats with outboard motors. At one point, they passed what appeared to be the weekly supply boat, heading toward the village where Martha and Dr. Kowalski performed miracles as part of the Doctors Without Borders effort.
Three hours later, they neared a small town on the edge of the river. The jungle had been trimmed back to allow for fields of agriculture and a small airstrip.
As the fully armed boat approached the dock, people scattered, running toward town.
“Harm, Buck, Pitbull, be ready to accompany me to escort Miss Brantley to the airstrip,” Big Jake said. “A plane will be waiting to take her to Kinshasa.”
Diesel stood. “I’m going with her.”
“Stand down, Diesel,” Big Jake said. “You’re in no condition to provide for her protection.”
“I’m going,” Diesel insisted.
To be honest, Reese wanted him to come. They’d been together for the past couple days. Going on without him would feel strange. But then, she wasn’t in Africa because she needed protection. She was there to protect Ferrence Klein.
Reese laid a hand on Diesel’s arm. “It’s okay. These men can escort me to the airfield. I’ll be all right.”
Diesel touched her cheek. “You’re my responsibility. I’m going.” He glared at Big Jake and stepped off the boat onto the dock. Then he held out his hand to Reese.
She rested hers in his and let him assist her off the boat. Harm, Pitbull and Buck, armed with rifles, gathered around the two, and they moved as a unit across the dock and through the small town, to the field on the edge where a small plane awaited. Three armed men stood guard around the aircraft. A person wearing jeans, a white polo shirt and a baseball cap pushed away from the side of the plane.
As Reese and the team closed the distance between them, she realized the person in the jeans was a woman with long sandy hair pulled back in a ponytail behind her.
The woman held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Marly Simpson, your pilot.”
Reese almost laughed at the expression on Diesel’s face.
He was practically scowling at the woman. “You’re the pilot?”
She nodded, her lips twisting into a wry grimace. “I am. Got a problem with it?”
Pitbull chuckled. “Only if you don’t know how to fly the plane.”
She shot a glare at him. “I have over twenty-five hundred hours flying in this plane and others. You’re welcome to review my logbooks.” Her gaze darted around the landing strip. “I suggest we get this plane in the sky. The longer it sits on the ground, the more chance of it being shot at, hijacked or stolen.”
Reese tensed, her belly knotting. “You’ve had that happen?”
Marly sighed. “More times than you can imagine.” She planted her fists on her hips and stared at the group. “Because I have a load of cargo, I can only take three passengers and no luggage. Who’s coming?”
Reese stepped forward. “As far as I know, I’m the only passenger.” It was time to say goodbye to her rescuer. Diesel was an integral part of the military. Surely he had better things to do than escort her around the Democratic Republic of the Congo. She turned to thank him. “Diesel, thank you for getting me out of the jungle alive.” She held out her hand to shake his, her heart clenching in her chest. “Without you and your men, who knows what would have happened to Ferrence. Thank you.”
He took her hand and refused to let go.