Operation Zulu Redemption: Hazardous Duty - Part 3 by Ronie Kendig Page B

But perfect. Exactly what she needed. “My ankle.”
    He offered his hand and she reached up, clasping his forearm. His strong fingers tightened around her arm and pulled her up. Hissing through the pain, she struggled to stay balanced. “What happened?”
    “Dogs.” A shiver traced her spine, the morning cooler than she’d realized.
    Trace nodded. “Chopper’s on the way back. But we have almost a full klick to cover.”
    At their side, Boone communicated with the chopper, shedding his pack, then removing his tactical jacket. He wrapped it around Annie’s shoulders, and she shuddered in the cradle of its warmth. “Thanks, Boone.”
    He gave a nod and lifted his gear and weapon again. “Two mikes to rendezvous.”
    This was better. The precision, the strategy, the focus. “Okay,” she said with a single nod.
    Trace’s arm slipped under hers and hooked around her waist. “Other injuries?”
    Annie gave a quick shake, her gaze skirting to Sam.
    He stood to the side, his expression dark. Stricken.
    Unable to sort what she felt, the confusion, the anger, the. . .she didn’t know what. It was a tangled mess like a plate of spaghetti.
    I hate spaghetti.
    “Squid, give a hand,” Trace said.
    Without hesitation, Sam trudged over to Annie’s right and hooked an arm beneath hers. The two men formed a cradle and supported her. They hurried up the hillside to a clearing. They’d no sooner gotten there and the chopper, still blacked out, hovered over them. Ropes snaked down.
    Trace quickly worked a rope into a harness and helped her into it, creating an awkward and unladylike mess of her dress. Annie no longer cared. She just wanted to get out of here. Once the men were onboard, the chopper veered away from the estate.
    Sam took the seat beside her, and Trace remained in the jump seat, eyes trained out. Weapon ready. Boone sat on the other side, watching as well.
    Guilt choked Annie. She could feel the tension she’d created between Sam and her. It was palpable. But he—it didn’t make sense for him to be here. He had no business entering her life like this.
    Does he know who I really am? That I lied to him for two years?
    She thanked God a thousand times on the twenty-minute flight to the airstrip that the rotor wash and engine noise was too loud for any conversation to take place. Mostly because she had no idea what to say.
    Before the wheels touched down, Trace hopped to the ground. He shifted the sling so his weapon was against his back. He turned and looked into the chopper at her. It was crazy. Really crazy how much she just wanted Trace to be here. Only Trace. It made no sense. Made her feel like a traitor. Unfaithful.
    “Will your leg hold?” Trace hollered as the chopper whined down. He held out a hand.
    Terrified to face Sam, to face the hurt she’d inflicted, to face the deep, bewildering confusion she felt, Annie scooted across the strap seats toward Trace, keeping her leg elevated.
    She reached for his hand.
    “Here,” he said, tugging her into his arms.
    Annie tumbled, her foot jarring against the chopper. She tensed at the burst of pain, but relaxed as she felt Trace’s firm hold tighten. He carried her to the SUV where Boone had a door open. Inside the vehicle—that’s when Annie finally felt safe. When the terror she’d felt, the hypervigilance she’d needed to survive began to melt away.
    Sam climbed in next to her.
    The doors shut and Annie realized they were alone. Her conscience pricked, warned her she should apologize.
    For what?
    For shoving him away. With both hands. In front of Trace.
    But she wasn’t sorry.
    “You’re mad.” His voice poured over her like warm chocolate. As always.
    Annie steeled herself. Told herself to talk to him. Explain what she felt. Why she was angry—and that was so weird to be angry with him. Hadn’t she spent the last five weeks pining over the fact that Trace wouldn’t let her see or talk to him?
    The doors opened and the vehicle rocked as Boone