He leaned his head so close that his lips brushed her ear. “Stay here, behind the cabinet. That was a rifle shot. Don’t move. I’ll be back.”
She grabbed a fist-full of his shirt. “No, you won’t!” she whisper-shouted.
Her protest carried a terror he hadn’t seen in her before.
He placed his hand on her mouth again, his eyes begging her to stay silent.
“I will come back.You have to stay quiet. Can you do that?”
She nodded, tears running down her face.
Why did she think he wouldn’t come back? She was probably in shock. He didn’t want to leave her. He wanted to hold her. He wanted to do more than that. But had to protect her. And to do that, he needed to get moving. His gaze locked on hers. “I will come back,” he whispered.
She didn’t respond, but she wasn’t arguing. Praying she would stay put and stay quiet, he army crawled into the living area and retrieved his sniper rifle case.
Continuing in a ducked position to the living room picture window, he unzipped the case and took out the rifle. He peeked behind the drawn curtains. Using his scope, hefound his target—a shooter with a sniper rifle of his own, about forty yards away.
This wasn’t one of the goons from earlier. He looked professional, maybe former military. Some wild shots at his feet wouldn’t scare him off. Jason prayed he wouldn’t have to shoot him. But he knew he could, and would, if he had no other choice.
He watched the shooter move through the trees to a spot closer to the cottage, and repositioned again, even closer. Jason was about to lose sight of him from his vantage point. Didn’t matter. The shooter’s plan was clear. He was going to breach the back door.
Jason scanned the area once more. Reasonably satisfied the shooter came alone, he ran in a crouch to the back door and flattened himself against the wall next to the doorframe.
Silent seconds crawled by. Finally, a creak sounded on the back porch. He readied himself. The door eased open. The shooter took one step inside the cottage, and Jason sprang.
His swift, skilled greeting was physical and brutal, but not fatal.
More prepared than earlier that day, he pulled some handcuffs from his pocket and cuffed the man’s wrists. He took a second set of cuffs, looped them around the set on his wrists and cuffed his ankles—rendering walking impossible if he happened to wake soon. And for good measure, he duct taped his mouth. Then sprinted back to Tayla.
He found her right where he left her, lying on the kitchen floor. “Hey, are you okay? He’s unconscious and tied up.”
She rolled to her side. Her eyes acknowledged his words, but she didn’t speak.
For some reason, he felt compelled to brush his thumb across her cheek. “I need to check outside. To make sure we’re alone. I won’t be long. Stay down, just in case.”
She looked pale, but nodded.
He jogged to the front door, seriously wishing the cottage had video surveillance.
A satisfactory assessment of the perimeter took longer than he liked. The jungle was dense. And he couldn’t listen for movement because of the incessant roar from the waterfall. But after a few minutes, he felt sure there was no threat.
Returning to the cottage, he verified the shooter hadn’t moved. Although awake, and staring daggers at Jason, the shooter was secure.
Jason rejoined Tayla, who hadn’t budged from the kitchen floor. “We’re safe, for now. I’m going to contact Leland with the sat phone.” He crouched beside her and offered his hand to help her up. “You okay?”
Gripping his hand, she stood and nodded. She lifted her chin in a show of strength, but the rest of her body trembled. And it tore something inside him.
He stepped closer. “Come here,” he whispered.
She stepped into his embrace, and fell against his chest. He held her close and felt her head rest over his heart. Slowly, her tremors subsided. She clung to him, and part of him wished she’d never let go. As irrational as that was. He wasn’t sure if ten seconds or two minutes passed. But when she retreated from his arms, he immediately missed her closeness.
“Thank you,” she said, without meeting his eyes.
He swiped a water bottle from the kitchen cabinet and handed it to her. “Here.”
“Thanks.” She looked at him, more composed than moments ago. She took a sip of water, and he grabbed a bottle for himself.
Looking beyond the kitchen, her brief confidence faltered when she saw the shooter on the ground.
