Special Forces Rendezvous. Elle Kennedy
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“B-bad, Jules … Don’t know wh-what’s wrong with me … stay away.”
Those last two words sent a chill through her body.
“Y-you hear me, Julia? D-don’t come here.” He repeated himself, more desperate now. “Don’t … come … here.”
And then the radio fell silent.
Chapter 3
“You’re at a church? You’re kidding, right?” The incredulous voice of Second Lieutenant Nick Prescott blared out of the satellite phone.
Chuckling, Sebastian swept his gaze over the single-story brick building a hundred yards away. Two simple wooden crosses were the only hints that it was a church, one adorning the door, the other affixed on the roof. A yellow glow spilled out of the window at the side of the structure, telling Sebastian that the elderly priest who’d shown him hospitality was still awake in his quarters.
“No joke,” he replied. “Though technically I’m in a barn.”
He glanced behind him at the darkened entrance of the little barn he’d be spending the night in. He’d already scouted the area to make sure it was safe, and now he was looking forward to collapsing on the big pile of hay in that empty stall and falling asleep listening to the snorts and neighs of the priest’s two Appaloosa mares.
“So you ran out of gas, and instead of hiking to the nearest gas station, you decided to spend the night in the San Marquez countryside?” Nick’s confusion only seemed to deepen. “And since when do you not carry an extra gas can with you? You’re like the poster boy for always prepared.”
“I had an extra can,” he muttered, swallowing a rush of frustration. “Someone stole it. Most likely one of the patients at the clinic, because I can’t imagine anyone on staff robbing the reporter who’s there to write a story about them.”
And if he hadn’t been so distracted by Julia Davenport’s big hazel eyes, maybe he would have noticed the missing gas container when he was leaving the clinic.
Fortunately, once the Jeep could no longer run on fumes, at least it had the decency to break down near this church.
“Fine. That doesn’t explain why you’re not walking to the gas station as we speak.”
Sebastian stifled a sigh. He couldn’t explain why he needed this respite. It didn’t make much sense—he definitely couldn’t afford to be lazy right now. Unless he wanted to spend the rest of his life on the run, he needed to find out who wanted him dead, and to do that, he had to learn everything he could about Project Aries and the mysterious virus Richard Harrison had been testing on those villagers.
But this was the first time in a long time he’d been alone. Without Tate or Nick lurking around, without that feeling of urgency weighing down on him. Not that the situation was any less urgent. It was as critical as ever. It just didn’t feel so … smothering at the moment.
A part of him wished he had stuck around in Valero, maybe talked Julia Davenport into having a cup of coffee with him.
Oh, fine, who was he kidding? He would have talked her into going to bed with him.
He’d been thinking about the woman all damn night, and he still couldn’t figure out how a skinny, overworked doctor could get his blood going like this. Hell, he’d barely even blinked when he’d met the drop-dead gorgeous Eva Dolce last month, and Eva oozed sex appeal. Julia Davenport was pretty, sure, but she wasn’t sex incarnate or anything.
So why had he been having X-rated thoughts about the woman ever since he’d left the clinic?
A sigh lodged in his throat. It was probably a good thing he hadn’t stuck around. Sex had the power to be distracting as hell, and at the moment, he couldn’t afford any distractions.
“I’ll catch a boat tomorrow morning,” he told Nick. “There’s no reason for me to rush, anyway. This malaria thing was a false alarm.”
“It would help if we knew what symptoms to look for. We don’t know a damn thing about the virus that killed those people in Corazón.” Nick grumbled in aggravation. “Are you sure Cruz didn’t offer any other details about the state of those bodies?”
“You can keep asking that question a hundred more times, Prescott, but it won’t change the damn answer. Cruz said the only visible signs of illness were nosebleeds and some foaming at the mouth. That’s it.”
The irony of the situation didn’t escape him. All the information they had on the virus had come from a source that could hardly be considered trustworthy—Hector Cruz, the former leader of the ULF, who was now very much dead thanks to Tate. But although Cruz had been responsible for killing Tate’s brother during that ill-fated mission in Corazón, the rebel leader had insisted that he hadn’t laid a finger on his countrymen and women, whose dead bodies had been strewn all over the village.
Cruz and his men had apparently burned the bodies in case they were contagious, but Sebastian still wished he’d seen the evidence of a disease with his own eyes rather than having to take a dead man’s word for it.
“Well, it probably isn’t something that’s found in nature,” Nick was saying, still sounding incredibly irritated. “Harrison headed up the biological weapons department at D&M Initiative, so we have to assume the virus he was testing was manufactured.”
Sebastian let out a breath. “Yeah, and it’s probably a mutated strain of something or other, which means it’s doubtful there’s an existing vaccine for it.”
Nick’s answering breath was equally glum. “Can’t be government-sanctioned either. President Howard has been firm about his position on the manufacturing of biological weapons.”
Unlike his glass-half-full counterpart, Sebastian was far more cynical. “Oh, this is government. But my guess is Mr. President knows nothing about it. I think we’ve got a bad apple trying to poison the rest of the tree.”
“Maybe.” Nick mumbled an uncharacteristic curse. “Look, just get your ass back here, Seb. Eva and her hacker friend are looking into Project Aries and trying to find out who worked on it. Once we have some names, Tate says you and I should go stateside and do some digging.”
His brows shot up. “The captain actually thinks it’s safe for us to go home?”
“The captain is tired of being on the run, and anxious to marry the love of his life,” Nick replied dryly.
“And perfectly willing to risk our necks to make it happen, I see.” The remark was only half-serious. He knew that Captain Robert Tate would gladly sacrifice his own life for his men, and Sebastian wholly returned the sentiment. Tate and Nick were the only friends he had in this godforsaken world.
“Okay, well, let me get back first and we’ll figure out our next move from there,” he said.
“Sounds good. Be careful, Seb.”
“Always am, Nicky.”
He disconnected the call and shoved the sat phone into his waterproof duffel, then slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the open doorway of the unlit barn.
He was just crossing the threshold when the whir of helicopter rotors echoed in the air. Narrowing his eyes, Sebastian gazed up at the inky sky, and sure enough, glimpsed bluish lights winking amid the black backdrop. A second later, a military chopper whizzed overhead, followed by a second chopper, and then a third.
Huh. Well, that couldn’t be good.
No sooner had the bleak thought entered his mind than the sound of car engines rumbled in the night air.
He didn’t bother ducking out of sight; he was shrouded by shadows, so nobody would be able to spot him all the way from the road. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he watched as half a dozen Jeeps sped along the one-lane dirt road. He couldn’t make out individual