And then she’d shot down his permit, and his world imploded.
Getting the training approved was a national security imperative, but that could hardly be revealed in the application. Even though it fit the technical parameters, they couldn’t slip it through operations—which weren’t subject to environmental review—without putting the eventual mission at serious risk.
When the rejection came, in desperation he’d floated to his superiors the idea of going around the park archaeologist, suggesting that they could lean on her boss to sign the FONSI and override her objections if he presented evidence the park archaeologist was biased against the applicant.
He hadn’t really expected them to bite, but his supervisors had jumped on the idea, not even flinching when he offered the argument he eventually presented to the park superintendent and Advisory Council on Historic Preservation.
The Navy didn’t know or care if he’d really banged the archaeologist. They just wanted the permit. All was fair in war. Love had nothing to do with it.
But still, he’d hesitated. How could he do that to her? Then there’d been the chemical weapon attack in Prague. A dozen people hospitalized, two dead. According to intel, they had precious little time.
February was approaching fast, and it looked increasingly likely the attack would happen.
The team needed to prepare. Run every scenario possible to determine the best strategy. If the mission failed, many, many deaths would follow.
Still, he’d hated himself for using their night together against her.
Now, here he was, in the frigid rainy forest, and his actions in December could well make Audrey the next victim in an invisible war.
He’d created this mess, and in so doing, he’d endangered a woman he maybe could have fallen in love with. A woman he certainly had feelings for.
Seeing that man come at her with a knife had triggered something feral inside him. It rose again now.
Focus.
Rain pattered on the branches of the tall cedar at his back. The wind rustled the same branches, dumping water on his head. Normal sounds. It was nearing twenty-one hundred hours. Still early, but the deep dark of the woods with wind and pummeling rain made it feel much later.
Had the SEALs managed to breach the lodge, or were they hiding in these same woods, still unaware this was no longer a training exercise?
A branch snapped behind him to the right. A soft noise, but he’d been waiting for it. Counting on it. Another step, another snapped branch, followed by a muffled curse.
Definitely not a SEAL. Even if the team still believed this was an exercise, they wouldn’t make casual noises. Part of this training was practicing silence in the woods. It was sort of the whole point.
And then there was the fact that the guy cursed in Russian. Xavier would bet anything these tangos were mercenaries, and now he had a clue to where they were from.
Was this guy a sentry guarding a perimeter, or a scout looking for Audrey and him?
Had the guy on the ledge somehow survived?
Three minutes passed. Another sound. The guy was uncomfortable, shifting positions. Impatient.
Finally, he took several steps. Quiet, but Xavier could see his dark shape. He passed in front of Xavier, and he lunged, tackling the man and shoving his face into the moss-covered ground. The guy turned his head to keep from being suffocated in the saturated soil, and Xavier shined his light to get a glimpse of the man’s profile.
He’d never seen the guy before. The tango bucked upward, trying to dislodge Xavier. He freed a hand that held a pistol. Xavier knocked the weapon aside as it fired. No silencer this time. The crack of the bullet was deafening even in the pounding rain.
If there were SEALs or tangos in the vicinity, they would hear it and know what it meant.
Xavier caught the man’s wrist before he could take aim again and slammed it into a rock. The handgun dropped from his fingers. It was a wrestling match from there as they rolled downslope in the muck.
The mercenary was heavier, but not stronger. Until he punched Xavier in the shoulder.
Pain exploded.
Fuck.
The blow had dislocated his left arm, rendering the limb useless.
He punched with his right. Even as his mind wanted to blank out with the pain, he held on. If he died, Audrey would surely be taken. Tortured. Raped. Killed.