Page 46 of Duty Devoted
“He won’t accept that the American bitch got on that helicopter,” another replied. “Keeps saying she’s still here, that she’s waiting for him.”
My blood turned to ice. They were talking about me. Mateo had his men out searching specifically forme.
“Waiting for him?” The first man laughed bitterly. “Like any woman would wait for someone like him. He’s loco. You see what he did to that girl in Santo Domingo? And she was actually interested in him.”
The second voice dropped lower, but the wind carried it to us. “Diego had to pay off her family to keep them quiet. Too much attention.”
I tried to process what I was hearing while simultaneously dying of mortification about my position. I attempted to shift again, just enough to take some weight off Logan, but his hands tightened on my back. Damn it.
“—to be careful what you say, Luis,” the first guard was saying. They were getting closer, boots squelching in the mud. “If Mateo or Diego knew we talked like this…”
Both men fell silent just a few yards from us. Through the curtain of rain and vegetation, I could see movement. My heart hammered so hard I was sure they’d hear it, between that and my fear of crushing Logan, I could hardly breathe.
Then suddenly, the world tilted. In one smooth motion, Logan rolled us, and I found myself on my back in the wet leaves with him on top of me. The movement was so fast and silent, I barely had time to register it before his weight settled over me, one hand cradling the back of my head to keep it from hitting the ground.
My first thought was relief—thank God I wasn’t squashing him anymore. My second thought hit about two seconds later as my body registered the full length of him pressed against me.
This was…different. Very different.
The solid weight of him, the way he’d positioned himself to keep most of his weight on his elbows while still covering me completely—it was protective and oddly intimate. If we weren’t about to possibly die, this would be a shockingly intimate pose.
I felt more than saw Logan carefully draw his weapon, the movement so controlled that it didn’t disturb the vegetation around us. His other hand found mine in the mud, squeezing once.
When he spoke, his lips barely moved, the words more breath than sound. “If this goes bad, you run. Straight back the way we came, then east to the river. Don’t look back.”
I squeezed his hand in response, though every part of me rejected the idea of leaving him. The guards were right there now, so close I could hear their equipment rattling. One more step in our direction and they’d see us for sure. Logan’s body was coiled like a spring above me, ready to explode into violence if necessary.
“Hurricane’s supposed to hit tonight,” Not Luis said. I heard him get out a cigarette then curse as he struggled to get it lit in the wind and rain. The smell of it—not just nicotine but also something strangely floral—tickled my nose.
“You think Mateo gives a shit about a hurricane? He’ll have us out here until we find her or we’re dead.”
“He’s not his father, that’s for sure. Diego would never risk men like this over some woman.”
“Diego would never get this obsessed in the first place,” Luis said, disgust dripping from his tone. “Man knows how to separate business from pleasure.”
A burst of static made me flinch. Radio chatter, rapid Spanish I couldn’t quite make out over the storm.
“Finally!” Luis claimed. “Did you hear that? All patrols return to compound immediately. Secure for incoming storm.”
“About fucking time. Come on, let’s go before Mateo changes his mind.”
The footsteps moved away quickly, eager voices fading into the storm. Logan remained frozen above me for much longer than I would’ve, weapon still drawn, listening. Only when the jungle sounds returned to just wind and rain did he move, pushing up and off me in one fluid motion.
The loss of his weight and warmth was immediate and unwelcome. He was already scanning the area, weapon still in hand, all business. I sat up slowly, trying to wring some of the water out of my hair and feeling foolish for the directions my mind had gone while we were literally in mortal danger.
“We need to move.” He helped me to my feet, his touch brief and impersonal. I couldn’t blame him. “Mateo pulling his men back is good for us in terms of patrol, but it means the storm is going to get pretty damned bad.”
“Worse than this?” I gestured at the sideways rain and bending trees.
“This is just the outer bands. When the real hurricane hits…” He shook his head. “The cartel’s no longer our primary threat. We need shelter, and we need it now.”
As if to emphasize his point, a gust of wind hit us so hard I stumbled. Logan caught my arm, steadying me, and I tried not to think about how easily he’d rolled me over, how his hands had been strong but gentle when he’d cradled my head. Professional, I reminded myself. He was being professional.
“Can you keep going?” he asked, and there was genuine concern in his voice that made my chest tight.
“Do I have a choice?”
“There’s always a choice. It’s just that most of them suck.”
