The Reunion Mission. Beth Cornelison

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      They’d only gotten half of the way back to where she’d left the Cajun, and something deep inside her wouldn’t let her leave the jungle without him. She’d opened her mouth to argue, when one of the dark shadows moved with a lurch and a groan.

      Nicole’s heart stutter-stepped in admiration and compassion. Despite the obvious pain he was in, the Cajun was struggling toward their extraction point. As he neared, she made out the branch he used as a crutch while he dragged his bloodied leg behind him. He’d taken off his goggles as she had, and no longer had his backpack. Everything in his body language, from his rigidly set jaw, taut mouth, fisted hands and forward canting body as he staggered through the jungle exuded a sheer grit and steely determination. This man was a warrior. A fighter. A survivor.

      Your father tried to kill me.

      Nicole shook her head to clear the baffling accusation from her thoughts. She’d have time to work through the Cajun’s assertions later. Right now, they had to get back to the helicopter.

      She hurried toward him with Alec on her heels. Hearing them, Cajun jerked his head up, along with his gun.

      She inhaled sharply. “Don’t shoot. It’s us.”

      He blew out a harsh breath. “Damn it, Nicole! I told you not to—”

      “I know what you said,” she countered, as Alec wedged himself under his partner’s left arm, and Nicole moved to his right side. “I chose to ignore your orders. I knew and accepted the risk of helping you.” She tensed her legs as he shifted some of his weight onto her and limped forward a couple steps. She angled a quick glance at his grimacing face and couldn’t resist adding, “I figure it evens the score between you and me.”

      He stiffened. Whipped a startled look toward her. The thin dappled light still cast his face in shadow, but she felt the intensity of his glare. Without commenting, he hobbled forward. “Faster. I can take it.”

      “But you’re—” The rat-a-tat of an automatic weapon echoed through the jungle behind them, getting closer.

      “Don’t baby me,” he snarled. “Let’s move!”

      Holding tightly to his arm, his waist, Nicole half jogged, half staggered as she and Alec all but dragged the Cajun. He screamed in pain but demanded they keep up their pace. By the time they reached the clearing where the chopper waited, her legs were jelly, and her arm muscles quivered. As they left the line of trees, Alec shoved his weapon at her and hoisted his partner over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. “Cover us!”

      Nicole gaped at the automatic weapon in her hands and shuddered. She’d only seen guns like this one fired. Had never held, much less fired, one.

      But a new hail of bullets peppered the clearing as Alec ran for the chopper door with the Cajun across his back. Nicole swung the big gun up and fired toward the muzzle flashes in the jungle. Spinning on her heel, she darted across the open field, praying that everything she’d heard about moving targets was true. She kept her eyes fixed on the open door of the helicopter. Inside, she could see Tia in her pink shorts, huddled with her hands over her ears.

      Alec dumped his partner unceremoniously on the floor of the chopper, then ran to the copilot’s seat, yelling to the pilot, “Take off, cowboy!”

      Panting for breath, Nicole dove into the open side of the chopper. The instant she was aboard, the helicopter lurched off the ground. Her stomach pitched as they ascended and swooped over the treetops. Dropping the weapon in her hands as if it were a rattlesnake, Nicole gasped for air and took a mental survey. She was in one piece, even though nicks and cuts on her arms and legs trickled blood.

      And Tia was safe—even if the gunfire and tumult had clearly revived whatever nightmare she’d survived earlier. Nicole scuttled awkwardly across the rocking helicopter floor until she reached the frightened child.

      With a whimper, Tia wrapped her arms around Nicole and buried her face on her shoulder. Tia’s warm tears dripped onto Nicole’s skin, reminding her that she’d sacrificed her shirt to the Cajun’s knee, so she wore only a bra. She closed her eyes and sighed, unable to find the energy to care. Modesty seemed a ludicrous indulgence in light of the situation.

      “Nicole …” The strangled-sounding voice was almost lost in the roar of the helicopter turbines.

      She raised her head to meet the Cajun’s gaze. His dark eyes were wild with agony, and his face contorted in misery when the chopper hit an air pocket, jostling him. She hated seeing him suffer, no matter what vile allegations he’d leveled against her father. Whatever his reasons, his agenda, he had saved her—and Tia—from that cesspool prison camp.

      “Ni-cole,” he repeated and held a hand out, summoning her to come closer.

      Giving Tia a reassuring smile, she untangled herself from the child’s grip and moved to his side.

      Nicole grasped his hand with one of hers and stroked his stubble-covered face with her other hand, wishing she could do something, anything to ease his pain. At that moment, the morning sun broke over the tops of the trees and shone through the open side door of the helicopter, casting his rugged face in sharp relief. For the first time, she could truly see the man who’d risked his life for her. Even with heavy black stubble covering his jaw, mud smudged on his cheeks and his features drawn in a grimace of pain, her Cajun rescuer was a devastatingly handsome man. Her heart clenched, and the prickle of déjà vu returned. He seemed so familiar.…

      “I … need—” He stopped, clenching his teeth and growling in torment. “Please … I need—”

      Tears puddled in her eyes. “What do you need? Tell me.”

      She had no idea what medical supplies, painkillers or other provisions the helicopter had, but she’d move heaven and earth to get him the best care when they were back in the States.

      He drew a couple shallow breaths, his jaw tightening again. “I need to know … you remember.” He swallowed hard, his eyes drilling into hers. “Tell me … you remember.”

      His request, and the obvious emotional distress behind it, rattled her. Witnessing his physical pain was hard enough. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but the tortured plea in his eyes stole her breath and her resolve.

      “I remember,” she lied, leaning closer to be sure he heard her.

      He held her gaze for a moment, sweat beading on his forehead and expectant hope lighting his gaze. Then he scowled darkly and jerked his gaze away. He ground his back teeth together and scrunched his face in agony.

      With lightning speed, he seized the back of her head and wound his fingers in her hair so tightly her scalp prickled. She gasped, as he pulled her down so that her face hovered right above his. “Then say my name!”

      She stared at him, stunned by his vehemence and trying to reconcile the nagging intuition she’d had since he’d kissed her at the camp that something didn’t add up. The niggling familiarity of his voice. Her body’s response to his touch.

      “Say my name, Nicole,” he repeated, raggedly this time. “I want to hear you say it.”

      And in a heartbeat, an echo from her past yanked her back five years to a hotel room in New Orleans. Her heart wrenched, and tears spilled from her eyes.

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