Roscoe, sensing her emotions, lumbered across the kitchen and set his jaw on her knee.
Thoughts and feelings bombarded her. A baby. Wolfe’s baby. They’d just started dating and a psychotic killer was hunting them. They’d been drugged and not in their right minds when having unprotected sex. A little girl with Wolfe’s startling bourbon-colored eyes and her gift for writing. Or a little boy with Wolfe’s face and her eyes.
Wolfe had mentioned maybe dating her when this was all over. He’d never talked about a future. It was way early in the pregnancy, and most things went wrong in the first trimester. She hadn’t even missed a period yet. Most folks didn’t announce until after three months just in case something went wrong. Would Wolfe want a baby? She wasn’t ready, but she was pregnant, so she’d have to get ready.
It was impossible to grab on to just one thought.
Except that Wolfe was somewhere in a remote part of a different country surrounded by killers with guns while trying to bomb a building full of heroin. There with only one man for backup, an unclear plan for extraction, and an uncertainty about even the correct location of the drugs.
Plus, Wolfe was still wounded from the bomb explosion the other night. He might not be as quick as usual or even as strong. Sure, he was incredibly tough, but his ribs were bruised and he’d limped when he’d thought she wasn’t watching him. At this very moment, he might be in extreme danger. He’d promised to come home, but sometimes things were out of one’s hands, even Wolfe’s. He could be getting shot at right now. Or maybe he was still parachuting from a high altitude, where so many things could go wrong.
She was pregnant and he didn’t know it.
“Oh, Roscoe,” she murmured. “This is huge.”
Chapter Forty
Wolfe fired once, the suppressor on his weapon making barely a small pop. The guy went down fast and quiet.
Jethro nodded, dropped his pack, and drew out several devices. He moved to the back of the room, placing bombs as he went, starting the timers for three minutes. Wolfe set one near the doorway, gave Jethro a signal, and dodged back into the corridor.
The timing was good for this op; there were few people inside the facility. The second it exploded, he and Jet would have to run. It was impossible to see how many insurgents were crawling the hills, but they’d deal with that next. He hustled down to the end of the corridor, setting a device and engaging the timer.
Jet met him and they moved back the way they’d come, guns first.
Wolfe reached the occupied lab and stood in the doorway while Jethro covered the corridor. He briefly lifted his mask so everyone could hear him clearly. “You have four minutes to vacate this building before it explodes.”
Several of the techs, dressed in white with masks covering their faces, looked up from their equipment.
Wolfe looked for threats, but saw no guards. Maybe they stayed mainly outside. He tried again.“Hay explosives en esta instalación que detonarán en menos de cuatro minutos. Sal de aquí y corre tan lejos como puedas. Ahora!”he yelled.
A woman to the far left gasped, and the group scrambled for the door.
“There you go,” Jethro said through his own mask.
Wolfe nodded, turned, and started to run to get out before the techs. He emerged first into the night. Bullets zinged by his head, and he ducked and rolled, coming up firing toward the bursts.
Jethro did the same, and the gunfire stopped.
Wolfe scrambled up and started running away from the underground lab.
The sounds of people screaming orders and scrambling away filled the night, along with more gunfire. Wolfe ran in a zigzag pattern, heading between scraggly trees and climbing the next hill.
Gunfire erupted, and he turned to return fire, adrenaline bursting through him.
Jethro grunted in pain and went down.
Wolfe skidded to a stop and ducked low, reaching his friend. “How bad?” His voice was muffled through the mask.
“Bad.” Jethro clutched his bleeding right thigh.
Shit. Wolfe grabbed Jethro by the shoulders and yanked him around a tree, propping him up. Then he dropped his pack, grasping the knife from his sheath and slicing up Jet’s pants leg, cutting the material away.
He peered down to look via moonlight, not wanting to give away their position.
The scent of blood and dirt filled his nostrils.
Jethro looked down at his leg, his mask safely in place. “Bugger.”
