Shane turned toward the sliding door and looked at Ghost. “Not with civilians in the line of fire.” He slid the door open and eased out of the van, holding his hands away from his body.
“Shit. After you,” Ghost said.
Kinley spared him a quick glance and then scooted across the bench seat, taking the hand Shane held out to help her from the van. He pulled her behind him and used a hand on her hip to keep her there while he sidestepped away from the vehicle. Ghost languidly unfolded his large frame from the van and ambled over to them as if they’d stopped to enjoy the scenery and not because they were held up at gunpoint.
Oakley joined them as the driver rounded the hood.
“You see what kind of guns they have?” Shane asked in a low voice.
“Yup,” Oakley said. “Standard issue M16.”
Needing something to do with her hands, Kinley gripped the back of Shane’s shirt. What did it matter what kind of guns they had? They were guns. She swallowed hard and tried to control her breathing. It probably wouldn’t help their situation if she started hyperventilating. They might be used to having guns pointed at them, but she wasn’t. Not exactly the experience she was hoping to have on this trip.
“We doing this?” Ghost asked.
“Let’s see what they want first,” Shane replied.
What? Doing what?She was so lost.
One of the men gestured with his gun and spoke in Spanish.
“He said to stop talking and move away from the van,” Jorge said.
Following the instructions, they moved to the side of the road. Two of the men stayed with them while the other two opened the back of the van and rummaged through the luggage, throwing bags and miscellaneous boxes out of the cargo area.
She leaned her head against Shane’s broad back. As long as they didn’t take her laptop or notebook, it would be fine. All her work over the last year was in her laptop. She had backups on her cloud drive, but didn’t hold out hope that she’d be able to access them while in the jungle, which was why she’d brought it with her. Her notebook had all her notes and research—it was the whole basis to her research. Clothes and shoes and her little bit of makeup were replaceable, but her work was not.
“Kinley,” Shane said in a low voice. “When I tell you to run, run for the tree line. Find a place to hide until I find you.”
She lifted her head from his back. “What?”
One of the men behind the van shouted something and one of the two in front of their group reached around Shane to grab Kinley.
“Hey!” Shane pushed the guy away. “Run!”
Kinley stumbled back and hit the ground with a low grunt. She crab-walked as she got her feet under her while Shane wrestled with the guy who tried to grab her. Finally finding her footing, she scrambled up and raced for the tree line behind her. A quick glance over her shoulder showed Oakley, Ghost, and Shane fighting with the three men.
The bandit fighting with Oakley hit him with the butt of his rifle, making the blond man stumble back. The bandit looked around, spotted her and ran toward her.
Shit. Kinley pushed through the trees, dodging vines and boulders. About twenty yards in, she stopped and looked around. Shouting came from the direction of the van, but she couldn’t tell who was yelling.
Thick vines fell from one of the trees and created a curtain. If she could squeeze in, she might be able to hide.
She parted the vines and turned sideways to step closer to the trunk of the tree. “No snakes, no spiders. No snakes, no spiders,” she whispered. There was just enough space for her to crouch on her heels.
A shot rang out. She flinched, squeezed her eyes closed, and tried to sink into a smaller ball. Two more gunshots. Then…silence.
“Please, please, please, please.” She didn’t know what she was pleading for. For it to be over. For no one to be shot. For Shane, Oakley, Ghost, and Jorge to not be dead.
That last one was selfish, but she didn’t want to be left alone with a group of bandits who wanted who knew what. There had only been three shots. Three guys—three shots. What else was she supposed to think?
She listened intently for any indication that someone was coming after her. What would be worse—no one coming after her, or one of the bandits coming after her?
How long should she stay hidden before venturing out to find out what happened? She decided to count to three hundred. Five minutes should be enough time for someone, anyone, to look for her.
At seventy-four seconds a man ran past her hiding spot and stopped to look around in much the same way she had. She peered through the vines and could tell it was one of the bandits. He kept glancing back and forth as if he expected to see or hear her running ahead of him. The space between the vines was enough for her to see out of her hiding spot. If she could see out, could he see in?
What she needed was a weapon. Glancing around, she found a rock slightly larger than her fist. It wouldn’t do anything against a gun, but if she could surprise someone and hit them in the head with it, she might stun them enough to continue running.
