Bubbles lowered his submachine gun and tapped his headset. “Guards in front cleared.”
Affirmatives echoed over the headsets. Finally, Smith’s. Thank God. “Roger. Update on captives. Of the twelve taken captive, two dead, four wounded. Images show at least one is critical.”
Not Stella, damn it.
Even as his instincts screamed at him to go after her now, his brain went on autopilot, training imprinted so deeply in his muscle memory his body reacted without thought. He flattened himself to walls, whipped around corners. The steady slug, slug, slug of his heart stayed even, in control. Reports echoed low in his headset, students secured. Both bodies retrieved. Four wounded, located, and loaded.
Only Stella remained, deep inside, in the interrogation room. Guarded. He reached for his weapon.
Bubbles was the first to shoot again.
Jose didn’t have time to worry his reaction time might be off. He had to move, step over the downed guard, and pray when he and Bubbles opened the door and stormed the room that muscle memory training would be spot-on.
He plowed through and found… Stella. She sat tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Her wiry interrogator stood behind her with his fist in her hair, a knife at her throat.
Chapter 2
Stella fought back the urge to launch toward Jose.
The knife at her throat pressed an icy reminder of the need to hold very still. Her senses went on hyper-alert to the stench of her captor’s garlic breath, the stickiness of his sweat, the steely press of ammo strapped to his chest.
Focus, damn it. She was a trained professional. That should be what carried her through. Instead she drew strength from the conviction in Jose’s eyes. Somehow he’d found a detached professionalism that was deserting her. She ached to call out to him, even knowing she couldn’t afford the least movement, not even the tremble of her lips as her mouth watered.
But she could soak up the sight of him.
Jose. Here, decked out in camo, survival gear, and pointing an MP5 directly at her captor. She’d expected him to be brought in to break her code, not participate in the actual rescue operation.
But he’d more than heard her. He’d come for her. For a split second the adrenaline poured from her toes. Every ache in her body throbbed to the surface. Every bruise. Scratch. Fear. And yes, even an aching vulnerability when it came to this man. All of it bundled together, firing inside her, then doused, pushed aside as she focused on survival. If he’d infiltrated the compound without setting off land mines, without a sound of alert, someone must have picked up on her codes.
Her codes.
She needed them now. She could blink without moving her throat, without alerting her captor behind her.
Simple Morse code. Something easy to understand.
She held Jose’s deep chocolate eyes but found none of her former lover in those depths. He was still one hundred percent focused on the mission. As he should be. As she should be.
She blinked. On three. One. Two. Three.
Stella inched left, the slice of the blade cutting into her throat, but God, if Jose could just take the—
Shot.
Bullets whistled past her ear.
The hold around her eased, thank God. She pushed back into her guard’s stomach and his arm fell away altogether. She toppled her chair in case Jose needed her clear to continue shooting. Her shoulder slammed the ground and she bit back a scream.
Still, a groan slipped between her gritted teeth. Jose charged over to her, yanked some kind of cloth from his pocket, and knotted it gently around her throat. It was okay. She was okay. He was alive and so was she. She gulped in air, breathing deeply for the first time since her captor had pressed that blade to her throat.
“I’m fine,” she gasped while he untied her, the familiar scent of him settling her nerves with each shaky inhale.
“You will be.”
“And the others?”
“Taken care of.” He grabbed her elbow and eased her to her feet. “Let’s go.”
His touch seared her skin, his strength so welcome after the past three days—an eternity. She tucked closer to Jose’s side for balance as spots danced in front of her eyes.