“Of course, it’s possible there was an actual flu outbreak.” Zane calmly took the reins of the conversation. “It’s also possible a microchip was inserted during that shot.”
“Okay.” Her chin lifted, her gaze shifting back to Mac. “What are our options?”
There was only one option, and she wasn’t going to like it. “We know where the shot was given. We take a look. See if something’s in there.”
The words just hung there, echoing in the thick, dusty air.
And then her chin tightened and tilted. “And how, exactly, do you suggest we do that?”
She already knew, of course. There was only one fucking way to see inside flesh without an MRI or X-ray machine.
“We cut into the spot and look. If there’s something there, we remove it.” He hardened his face and tone. It wasn’t like he wanted to cut into the kid’s arm. Regardless of what she apparently thought, he didn’t enjoy torturing children.
“Without a doctor? Or sanitary conditions? Or the necessary equipment? Absolutely not.”
“He’s right, Mom,” Brendan said, stepping up beside them and instantly dissolving the standoff.
There was no way that adult tone had come from an eleven-year-old—more like a seasoned warrior with numerous campaigns under his belt.
Brendan shifted to face Mac, holding his gaze with steady dark eyes. The expression on the kid’s face was as old as his voice. “The shot left a scab. It will be easy to find the injection site.”
Respect stirred. Christ, if the kid was this self-possessed at eleven, what the hell was he going to be like at thirty? At forty?
He was going to be pretty damn formidable, that much was certain.
Amy’s face tightened, she glanced at her son’s calm, resolute face, but before she had a chance to countermand him, Jude stepped forward.
“This will not be necessary. Wolf comes. He will take us to betee3oo hohe’. We have the facilities there to remove such devices.”
Mac scowled. Betee3oo hohe’? Where the bloody fuck is that?
And then the first part of Jude’s speech hit him. Wolf was coming? When the hell had that happened, and how did Jude know? Had he called Wolf somehow? If so, how? The radios didn’t have enough range . . . and the sat phone was in the kitchen. Rawls wouldn’t have had time to contact Wolf above the tunnels, and there wouldn’t have been enough reception below—besides, how would he have gotten the info to Jude? If it had come via radio, everyone would have heard it—including the assholes attacking them. A third possibility struck. Did Jude have a sat phone? Had he called his CO prior to escaping into the tunnels?
He shot a questioning look at Zane, who shrugged.
With an irritated roll of his shoulders, Mac dropped the questions. From past experience, he knew the impassive bastard wouldn’t answer unless it suited him.
“If the boys are tagged, our enemies will follow you back to your base,” Mac said. Not that the Arapaho badass needed the reminder. Jude had damn well understood the implications of his suggestion.
Jude folded his muscled forearms and lifted heavy black eyebrows. “They can try.”
Faith awoke slowly, vaguely aware of a strong, rhythmic throb against her ear. Heat cocooned her, rocked her in a firm embrace. She sighed, a low hum of satisfaction, and snuggled closer to the warmth toasting her right side from cheek to hip.
The rocking stopped.
“Faith? Open your eyes for me, sugar.”
The entreaty in the deep, Southern-spiced voice forced Faith’s eyes open. Not that she could see much through the shadows surrounding her. But what she did see was confusing—like a band of arms encircling her and a broad chest against her cheek.
“You awake, baby?”
She would have thought she was dreaming, except for the tension in the smooth, rich voice rumbling against her ear. She recognized that voice. Responded to it.
“Rawls?” She started to stretch, but the bands of steel encircling her constricted, holding her in place.
“How you feelin’, baby?” The normally smooth voice was rough, raspy.
She frowned slightly, unease jiggling. Why did he sound so raw? But the disquiet was impossible to maintain when she felt so wonderful—warm, cozy, cared for.
“I feel great.” She sighed again, nuzzling her cheek into his chest. And it was true. She did feel great. Better than she could ever remember feeling. Which begged the question. “Why are you carrying me?”
There was a noticeable lift and fall to his chest, as though he’d taken a deep breath, followed by an even bigger exhale. And then the rocking started again.
“Do you remember what happened?”
She thought back, images unfurling in her mind.