Bridal Op

She had to hide. Now.

Dense bushes edged the woods to her left. She made a dash for them and pushed inside, flattened herself to the ground. In another few minutes she could see military boots, six pairs, as men marched by toward the base.

She waited several minutes after they passed before coming out of the bushes, then another five minutes or so before moving closer to the pig farm. She breathed shallowly, her stomach turning at the stench even though plenty of open space divided the pens from the woods. Too much, in fact, to get close enough, so she had to use her binoculars to make her careful observations.

Come on. Give me something. Anything. She inspected every square foot but could see nothing out of the ordinary, nothing that aroused her suspicion.

The next stretch ahead seemed empty save an entrance gate to the base. She pulled back to the woods, planning to avoid that part altogether, not wanting to run in to soldiers. Better not to come out into the open again until she was sure she was well past the gate.

She walked carefully, knowing the woods this close to the base would hardly be deserted. The army would be training here, men hunting, older children playing.

She was right on top of the derelict hut before she could see it, so overrun by vines it was, its weather-beaten wood blending in well with its surroundings. Isabelle stopped and crouched low to the ground, took in the remains of a fire and the empty bottles a few feet from her. Every instinct in her body screamed this was it.

She circled the clearing step by careful step, stopping every few yards to listen for any sound from inside the shack. First time around, she could detect no sign of life. The second time around, she ran into Rafe.

“Any movement?” He whispered the question, his clothes a lot dirtier than when he’d left her.

She probably looked just as bad. Crawling in the dirt on your stomach tended to do that.

“Haven’t seen a soul. They could be laying low,” she said.

“Come up with a plan yet?”

“We wait to see how many men are in there. One of us stays here, the other could keep checking the perimeter, make sure there’ll be no surprises from any side.”

“Want to go?” he asked.

Putting her foot down with the machete business had apparently achieved its goal. He was taking her more seriously. Good. She liked quick learners.

But should she go? She shook her head after a moment of thought. “You have more experience in the woods.”

“Okay.” He pointed to the left. “If you do go anywhere, don’t go near those. The thorns are full of poison.”

She checked out the bushes and registered with relief that they seemed different from the ones she had thrown herself into earlier. She was definitely staying put until he got back.

By the time she returned her attention to him, he had disappeared back into the jungle. He did that well. She stared after him, unable to spot where he was.

The wind was picking up, ruffling the trees above. She couldn’t detect any sound from the hut. No movement indicated the presence of men. Maybe they were sleeping. Could be they were keeping a low profile, going for the abandoned hideaway look. After the first hour went by, she began to think otherwise. The place seemed too quiet.

Was it the wrong place, after all? Was Sonya kept somewhere else?

Or had they gone off to a new hiding place? Where?

Then it occurred to her that Sonya could be in there alone, bound and gagged. Maybe they only checked on her from time to time. It would sure make the rescue easier. But even as hope fluttered through her, her instincts said it wasn’t so. If they’d left her in there alone, they hadn’t left her alive.

The urge to go and see for herself was overwhelming, but she stayed because it was the smart thing to do and acting stupidly now would risk not only her own life but Rafe’s and the success of their mission.

She kept low and mapped the clearing in her head, the distance from the woods to the door, from the small window to the game trail on the other side.

Forty minutes passed before Rafe returned, appearing out of nowhere.

“They might all be gone,” was the first thing he said, confirming her worst fears.

“Find anything?”

“Tracks. Two four-wheelers. They left sometime during the night.”

She nodded and moved forward, using the vegetation for cover. They had nothing else left to do but check out the hut itself and see if they could find any clues to where the kidnappers had gone. They approached carefully, despite expecting the place to be empty. She crept toward the shabby abode while Rafe covered her, then he stole forward foot by foot while she trained her gun on the single door.

When they were both there, he opened the door a crack. Nothing happened. She pushed the door open the rest of the way with the tip of her gun.

Discarded plastic bottles littered the dirt floor, in addition to a worn-out blanket, an old wooden plate and a couple of moldy crates. The hut was small enough to be appraised with one glance.

“I doubt they’re coming back.” Rafe kicked the crate over, sending bugs scampering in every direction.

A shiver ran down Isabelle’s back at the thought of Sonya being kept here, tied up, helpless.

“Do you think the kidnappers are taking her back to the U.S.?” Maybe they’d been wrong and Fuentes’s buddies did plan on returning her in exchange for the money.

Rafe looked at her then looked away. “Wish I could be that optimistic.”

He moved aside another crate, and she saw the half-dug hole at the edge of the wood plank wall—a hole that had been clearly dug from the inside by someone trying to get out, not by an animal from the outside trying to get in.

The gap was fairly large, but not large enough for a person. Sonya hadn’t succeeded.

Rafe bent over to inspect the bottom of the planks, some of them damaged. She bit her lip as she crouched next to him to see what he was looking at and spotted the dried blood. She could see in her mind Sonya trying to pull the boards loose until her fingertips bled. Isabelle’s throat tightened.

“We’ll find her.” Rafe’s voice sounded clipped as he straightened.

“Any idea where they’ve gone?” The sooner they started out, the better. No sense in wasting time here.

“Their tracks point south. We’ll follow them.” He was already heading for the door, which was stuck ajar, held in place by one of the crates he had moved there to let light in. He gave the crate a frustrated kick, sending it flying outside.

By pure chance she glanced up and saw something odd among the vines that grew on top of the hut and had sneaked inside, something that didn’t belong there—a blue plastic-coated wire. Her brain moved faster than her eye. By the time she spotted the shapeless lump of plastic explosives she knew the hut had been booby-trapped.

“Bomb!” she yelled as she lurched forward.

Incomprehension flashed over Rafe’s face even as he acted on reflex and grabbed for her, flung her from the hut in front of him, out toward safety. They didn’t quite reach it. The next second the building blew, the force of the explosion lifting them both from the ground and sending them flying through the air.

Oh God, oh God, oh God. She flailed her arms as if that could slow her. Then she was smacking into the ground, hard. She couldn’t breathe for a long moment. Everything hurt. Flaming boards rained from above. She covered her head, the most she could do. She didn’t have it in her to try to crawl away.

After a few moments, once things quieted down, she looked up and spotted Rafe in the clearing smoke.

He wasn’t moving.

“Rafe?” Odd, she could have sworn she spoke, but she could hear no sound coming out of her mouth. “Rafe?” she said louder, with the same result.

The explosion. Right. She was still deaf from it. She pulled herself up, did a routine check. What hurt? Everything. What broke? She tested her limbs. They all worked. Other than the scorch marks on her clothing and a few gaping tears here and there that revealed some serious abrasions, she seemed to be all right.