canteen and poured all the water over his head. She swallowed as she watched the precious liquid get soaked up by the ground.
He’s got that right. I am thirsty.
“Come out and give me a chance to explain my position.”
“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll just trot mah happy ass right to you, so ya can bury mah body in one o’ those graves. I think not.”
“I just need the pictures.”
“Like I believe that.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Come on, Affrica. You can’t possibly think you’ll escape. Come out before I lose my patience.”
This man’s voice was smooth and charismatic. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine him charming his way out of any sort of trouble. She shifted slightly doing her best to ease her own discomfort. Keeping one wary eye on the snake, her breathing came easier when it never moved. Staring out past the coiled creature, she squinted, trying to get more of a view on the man who spoke. He wore darker colors which set him apart from the others.
“Affrica Semone O’Shea,” he hollered. “Sole daughter to Duane and Simone O’Shea, currently residing in Ireland. Big brother, Aidrain DeWayne O’Shea. US Navy SEAL.”
Her heart seized in fear. He knew everything about her family.
“Now,” he continued. “One could suppose you were hoping big bad Navy SEAL brother would rescue you, but…not going to happen.”
Okay, so sue her. She’d give anything to hear her brother’s deep voice. She really didn’t want to die. A shadow moved along the ground before the crevice, and she held her breath. Of course, some of his men would be looking while he tried to ascertain where she hid.
Legs moved into view, and she closed her eyes. Only for a second because a sharp pop reached her. Staring at the scene before her, she blinked a few times to ensure she wasn’t hallucinating. Oh shit!
Another person was out there. Their clothing the color of the sand to blend in. Whoever he was, he currently lowered the man, whose sightless eyes stared beyond her, to the ground. Streaks of brown were on the newcomer’s face, and her heart skipped a few beats. Past the black ear bud and the coil down the right side of his neck, the streaks of face paint and sweat on his face, she noticed a pair of alert gray eyes.
“Ross?” The name was forced past dry, cracked lips.
He froze and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Got her.”
Relief flooded her, and the tears gathered before spilling over. He moved to the entrance and she remembered the snake. Opening her mouth to warn him, she clamped it shut realizing it no longer sat curled up there.
“Affrica,” a smooth Southern male said. “Come on outta there, hon.”
She couldn’t get her limbs to move. Part of her wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t—actually believe what she saw. Trap. Trap. Trap. The word chanted through her mind. If anything, she pressed back tighter. Wanting desperately to trust what her eyes told her not to be a lie.
“She’s scared.” He scanned the area and shifted closer to the opening.
Affrica still wasn’t able to bring herself to move. A few charged moments passed before another similarly dressed man holding a machine gun, M-60 if she recalled correctly, appeared. A brown camouflaged rag had been tied on his head, but when he crouched beside her imaginary Ross and peered in at her, she knew it wasn’t a dream.
Tyson Kincade and his hazel eyes were there. He stared up toward her from his chiseled face and behind thick lashes.
Gunshots rang out, and he whirled around, his words snatched away. The next instant, a strong hand grabbed her arm and jerked. She couldn’t stop her forward fall even if she had the presence of mind to do so. Muscles which had been cramped uncomfortably for hours screamed in immediate agony as they were straightened.
There was no need to brace her fall for she never hit the rock. Instead, she found herself sprawled over Ross, chest to chest. As they lay there, he had one hand
He’s got that right. I am thirsty.
“Come out and give me a chance to explain my position.”
“Right,” she muttered. “I’ll just trot mah happy ass right to you, so ya can bury mah body in one o’ those graves. I think not.”
“I just need the pictures.”
“Like I believe that.” She rolled her eyes in disgust.
“Come on, Affrica. You can’t possibly think you’ll escape. Come out before I lose my patience.”
This man’s voice was smooth and charismatic. And it wasn’t difficult to imagine him charming his way out of any sort of trouble. She shifted slightly doing her best to ease her own discomfort. Keeping one wary eye on the snake, her breathing came easier when it never moved. Staring out past the coiled creature, she squinted, trying to get more of a view on the man who spoke. He wore darker colors which set him apart from the others.
“Affrica Semone O’Shea,” he hollered. “Sole daughter to Duane and Simone O’Shea, currently residing in Ireland. Big brother, Aidrain DeWayne O’Shea. US Navy SEAL.”
Her heart seized in fear. He knew everything about her family.
“Now,” he continued. “One could suppose you were hoping big bad Navy SEAL brother would rescue you, but…not going to happen.”
Okay, so sue her. She’d give anything to hear her brother’s deep voice. She really didn’t want to die. A shadow moved along the ground before the crevice, and she held her breath. Of course, some of his men would be looking while he tried to ascertain where she hid.
Legs moved into view, and she closed her eyes. Only for a second because a sharp pop reached her. Staring at the scene before her, she blinked a few times to ensure she wasn’t hallucinating. Oh shit!
Another person was out there. Their clothing the color of the sand to blend in. Whoever he was, he currently lowered the man, whose sightless eyes stared beyond her, to the ground. Streaks of brown were on the newcomer’s face, and her heart skipped a few beats. Past the black ear bud and the coil down the right side of his neck, the streaks of face paint and sweat on his face, she noticed a pair of alert gray eyes.
“Ross?” The name was forced past dry, cracked lips.
He froze and cocked his head slightly to the side. “Got her.”
Relief flooded her, and the tears gathered before spilling over. He moved to the entrance and she remembered the snake. Opening her mouth to warn him, she clamped it shut realizing it no longer sat curled up there.
“Affrica,” a smooth Southern male said. “Come on outta there, hon.”
She couldn’t get her limbs to move. Part of her wouldn’t—perhaps couldn’t—actually believe what she saw. Trap. Trap. Trap. The word chanted through her mind. If anything, she pressed back tighter. Wanting desperately to trust what her eyes told her not to be a lie.
“She’s scared.” He scanned the area and shifted closer to the opening.
Affrica still wasn’t able to bring herself to move. A few charged moments passed before another similarly dressed man holding a machine gun, M-60 if she recalled correctly, appeared. A brown camouflaged rag had been tied on his head, but when he crouched beside her imaginary Ross and peered in at her, she knew it wasn’t a dream.
Tyson Kincade and his hazel eyes were there. He stared up toward her from his chiseled face and behind thick lashes.
Gunshots rang out, and he whirled around, his words snatched away. The next instant, a strong hand grabbed her arm and jerked. She couldn’t stop her forward fall even if she had the presence of mind to do so. Muscles which had been cramped uncomfortably for hours screamed in immediate agony as they were straightened.
There was no need to brace her fall for she never hit the rock. Instead, she found herself sprawled over Ross, chest to chest. As they lay there, he had one hand
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