On the Move Read online

  On the Move

  Soldiering On Security #6

  By Aislinn Kearns

  On the Move: Soldiering On Security #6

  Copyright © 2018 by Aislinn Kearns

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  http://www.aislinnkearns.com

  Cover by Amanda Walker

  Editing by Nikki Rose

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 1

  The wind from the open plane door whipped at his face. Beneath him, the canopy of a vast rainforest lit by moonlight stretched endlessly into the distance, past where even his excellent vision could see.

  Almost there.

  Mike tested the straps on his parachute for the hundredth time. It had been a few years since he’d done a jump, but muscle memory should take over once he was in the air. Maybe he should’ve done a few simple test jumps first, before going straight to the highest level of difficulty. Treejumps were the most dangerous.

  Still, he’d be fine. Hopefully.

  The pilot—his friend and colleague, Charlie—waved one hand to get his attention. The other stayed locked on the controls, keeping the shuddering plane steady. They’d hired the piece of shit aircraft when they’d arrived in Zolego, the South American country they now flew above. It was the best they could find, but that wasn’t saying much.

  “We’re coming up on the drop site. You ready?” Charlie asked, turning enough for Mike to read his lips by the flickering internal light of the plane.

  Mike gave a thumbs up. “Always,” he yelled back.

  “See you in about twelve hours,” Charlie said with a grin.

  Mike nodded. Anticipation roared through him. His palms dampened and his heart thumped in his chest. He’d missed this.

  He stuck one hand in his pocket and rubbed his finger over the coin he kept there. A good luck charm, as well as a reminder of different times, when Mike had done jumps like this regularly, with a different team by his side. When he’d still had his hearing and his best friend.

  Charlie peered out of the window to his left, then gave a thumbs up over his shoulder. Mike launched himself out of the plane without hesitation, shaking off the melancholy mood that always hit him when he thought about Ramirez.

  Then, he was falling.

  He grinned. The familiar sensation of plummeting towards Earth was like coming home. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, reveling in the sensation of the wind plastering his jacket to his chest. Then, he snapped them open. He couldn’t get complacent. He was here to do a job, and the jump could kill him if he wasn’t careful.

  He tugged on the tab to release his parachute. It burst out, yanking him violently into a drift. Mike took a deep breath and surveyed the area.

  He spotted his destination—a rebel camp—a few clicks away. If all went well, he’d reach it before dawn.

  The canopy came up fast, even with his descent slowed by the parachute, a result of jumping from a low altitude. He tugged at the controls, gliding towards his landing site. As planned, the moon hung on the opposite side of the sky, so it wouldn’t cast him in shadow over the camp. He still hoped no one looked up.

  He made a final adjustment, then braced for impact as his feet brushed the canopy. He crashed through the treetops with violent force. Branches, leaves, and God knew what else whacked at him. Pain stung his arm as a sharp offshoot scraped him. He’d be hurting tomorrow.

  Finally, the parachute snagged on something and he jerked to a halt. He took half a second to breathe in relief as he swung from the momentum of his fall. It hadn’t been his smoothest landing, but considering it was his first in a long time, he’d take it.

  Heart still pounding with adrenaline, Mike reached up to tug at the parachute above him. Secure.

  Then, he looked down.

  And saw nothing.

  Mike waited for his eyes to adjust, but nope. The moonlight simply didn’t penetrate that far down. He couldn’t see the ground beneath him to estimate how far up he was. No surprise, given how tall the trees were and how thick the canopy.

  Well, he hoped it was less than thirty meters down, since that was all the rope he had. If not…he’d figure something out.

  Mike twisted behind him and pulled out the heavy rope. Holding it carefully, since he’d be screwed if he dropped it, he found the end. He looped it through the descender at his waist and then attached it to the risers of his parachute as an anchor. Before he let go, he tested both the parachute and the rope would hold his weight.

  It held steady.

  Mike exhaled, then dropped the end into the darkness below.

  Keeping a firm hold on the rope, Mike unclipped himself from the parachute. He swallowed, then descended into the darkness.

  His eyesight got progressively worse as he went farther down, until he couldn’t see a thing. Mike was deaf, had been since an explosion in Iraq damaged his eardrums, so the lack of sight made him more vulnerable than he’d been in a long time. He reached out to plant a hand against the enormous trunk of the tree he hung from, orienting himself using the rough bark beneath his fingertips.

  Faint shapes appeared out of the darkness. His eyes were finally adjusting.

  He was nearly at the end of the rope, so at least he could—vaguely—see where he’d drop to.

  He eased off his pack and threw it to the side. When it hit the ground, some creature he couldn’t identify scurried away from the noise. Hopefully nothing deadly that would come back and bite him on the ass later. Literally.

  Mike lowered himself down until his hands gripped the very end of the rope.

  He let go.

  And landed with a bone-jarring thud.

  He bent his knees to absorb some of the impact and rolled head over ass in the springy earth to distribute the rest of the force. His teeth rattled, but he’d take it. He’d made it back to Earth safely.

  Mike allowed himself a brief moment of relief, then stood. He had a mission to complete, and the hardest part was still to come.

  He hefted his pack onto his shoulders. The rope still dangled where he left it. He hated leaving it behind, but there was no way to get it down. He also dropped his jacket—unnecessary in the oppressive heat beneath the canopy—and the harness with the descender on it. He needed to travel light.

  He took out his compass and a pocket flashlight to double check his directions, then headed off into the undergrowth. As he went, he unsheathed his kukri blade to hack his way past the worst of the plants, slicing at vines, branches, oversized leaves, and anything else that got in his way. The long, curved blade had a dull sheen in the weak moonlight.

  He moved quickly, and as quietly as he could manage, considering he couldn’t hear his own footsteps. He didn’t want to disturb the locals of either the human or animal varieties. He kept the flashlight on, though, determined not to run into anything nasty. His mission could be over before it began if he wasn’t careful. The undergrowth was thick enough that it should hide the light from anyone until they were right on top of him.

  The glow of firelight finally appeared in the distance. He sheathed his kukri blade as he
crept closer, in case the noise attracted attention.

  A hastily-constructed fence loomed over him, twice his height. Torches made from branches and rags dotted the fence to scare off animal predators. They wouldn’t be expecting a human predator this deep in the jungle.

  Mike backed into the shadows and carefully shimmied up a tree to see over the fence. He was careful where he put his hands and feet, both to avoid any dangerous creatures, and to limit the noise he made. Hopefully, the rebels in the compound would think it was a panther or other large animal if they heard him, but he didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

  Not until he had the target with him, anyway.

  The compound was small, maybe enough for thirty people to comfortably walk around. It was constructed entirely of wood, and not designed to be a permanent structure. To the left, there were five one-room buildings. In the center, a large fire, likely for cooking.

  The camp was quiet given the early hour. Dawn was still an hour away. A few rebels stood at even intervals around the camp, semi-automatic rifles held loosely in their hands. They weren’t expecting trouble. One guy dragged on a cigarette. Two friends chatted in the shadows.

  Mike would prefer no guards at all, but he’d take non-vigilant ones over professionals any day.

  To his right, was another small building, no different from the others. Except this one had two guards stationed out front.

  That was his destination. It had to be.

  The building had no windows, so Mike couldn’t see what was inside, but surely they’d only post guards if the contents of the room was worth money to them.

  Now, the question was how to liberate their prisoner without alerting the guards.

  If he had the time, he’d watch the rebels to discover their schedule. It would be much easier to help a prisoner escape during the relative chaos of a guard change, but Mike didn’t know when that would be. And he couldn’t wait, because every second she was in there was a second she was in danger.

  Dawn was coming, and he needed her out of the compound before then.

  He needed a distraction.

  Mike leaned over to pluck a torch from its holder. None of the guards noticed.

  He dropped to the ground and circled the fence until he found the perfect spot for his distraction. He held the burning torch to the fence until the flames caught, radiating heat, then immediately rounded the compound until he was behind the building acting as a prison.

  It didn’t take the rebels long to notice the fire. Mike could see their panicked movements between the fence spikes as the guards scrambled to find enough water to put it out. If the fire got too out of control with this much burnable wood around, the entire rainforest could be in trouble.

  Mike forced the guilt aside. He had to focus on getting Jessica Vanderslice to safety. As long as the fire burned long enough to distract them, it would do its job.

  Mike tore the fence spikes from the ground. He peered through the gap he’d made, but no one raced towards him.

  His heart pounded with adrenaline. He loved missions; loved their energy, loved the challenge. More challenging since he’d been medically discharged, but that made it all the more exhilarating.

  Mike squeezed through the gap he’d made. He hesitated a moment. The door to the hut was around the front, in full view of the rebels. Should he risk it, and hope they were distracted enough by the fire not to notice? Or should he tear a hole in the back of the rickety hut, which they might hear anyway?

  He opted for speed over invisibility. He didn’t want to waste his distraction.

  Mike slid around the side of the building, staying in the shadows as much as possible. When the rebels’ backs were turned, he sprinted the few remaining steps and slipped inside. He closed the door behind him, leaving an inch open so he could peer through the gap. No one moved towards him.

  Perfect.

  He turned to the room’s other occupant. The only illumination in the room came from the cracks in the hastily-constructed wall, which let in the flickering firelight. And, yep, he’d been right.

  Jessica Vanderslice sat on a poorly constructed wooden chair. Her hands were bound behind her, and fabric was stretched across her mouth to keep her quiet. She wore cargo pants and a loose linen shirt over a tank top, but none of her clothes looked like they’d been washed in weeks. He couldn’t see much of her features in the dull light, but enough to form an impression. Dark hair hung limp and matted around her dirt-smeared face.

  But the dirt did nothing to detract from her beauty.

  She had the kind of face that spoke of centuries of good breeding. Her mother, Senator Vanderslice, came from a family with a long and venerated history, and it showed in every line of Jessica’s delicate face. Her father was one of the last Vanderslices born into the family’s vast fortune. It made Mike want to sneer, at the money and the breeding, and all the things he hated about rich, privileged people. But her face also wanted to make him fall to his knees and pledge loyalty, like a knight of old swearing fealty to a lady.

  The thought made Mike even more annoyed, so he ignored it.

  Instead, he focused on the woman. He’d taken in the sight of her in seconds, his military training having taught him to observe situations at a glance.

  He stepped forward and said, “I’m here to rescue you.”

  At least, that’s what he would have said.

  If she hadn’t taken that moment to kick him in the nuts.

  Chapter 2

  “Fuck.”

  Jessica winced. The man was American. When he’d come in, all huge and intimidating, she’d simply reacted. Hadn’t considered he might be on her side.

  She couldn’t even apologize, gagged as she was. Instead, she scrunched her face in sympathy as the big man glared at her. He hadn’t gone down with her kick, but he breathed heavily through the pain.

  “What I was going to say,” he growled. “Was ‘don’t panic, I’m here to rescue you’ but it looks like you’ve got that part covered.”

  Jessica narrowed her eyes. She apologized, but the gag garbled the words. Was he really blaming her for instinctively lashing out at a huge man coming towards her while she was tied up and vulnerable? She knew men were precious about their nuts, but really.

  He stepped forward, arm reaching towards her, and Jessica flinched back, heart pounding. He paused, then moved slower. She didn’t freak out this time as he hooked a finger into her mouth and dragged the gag out.

  “Thank you,” she choked out, mouth painfully dry from the lack of water and the gag soaking up what little moisture remained.

  He ignored her. “We have to go.”

  She nodded enthusiastically, then twisted to show him her hands were bound to the chair behind her. He yanked a knife from his belt. Jessica swallowed at the sight of the blade.

  He stepped behind her. With both speed and care, he sliced through the braided vines binding her. As soon as they were no longer wrapped tightly around her wrist, all the blood flowed back into her limbs, stabbing pain through her shoulders, arms, and hands.

  She shook her arms to get feeling back, even as she focused on her rescuer. “What’s your name?” she whispered, conscious of the guards outside. Distant yelling reached her, but it wasn’t clear enough for her to understand what they said.

  The rebels’ panic was clear, though. What had her rescuer done to distract them? Was it something to do with the flickering light coming through the cracks?

  He didn’t reply. Instead, he pulled her to her feet and gave her a once-over. Checking for injuries, she assumed. There wasn’t any blatant male appreciation in the gaze, which she was both appreciative of and disappointed by. She felt like a disgusting swamp monster, since she hadn’t bathed properly in over a week, and the rainforest made her sweat constantly.

  But even though Jessica was the dirtiest human in the world right now—and not in the good way—she had to admit she wouldn’t mind a guy like this checking her out. He was tall and solidly built
beneath his army-green t-shirt. The low light in this hut did nothing to disguise those muscles.

  His face was strong, too. Not handsome, exactly, but compelling. Harsh planes softened by laugh lines. His expression was intense now, focused. He was on a mission. And Jessica couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like to be the subject of all that focus.

  But now wasn’t the time to think about that. Not while he strode to the door to peek out into the compound of rebels. The noise outside had increased in the last few minutes, the panic reaching fever pitch.

  Whatever her rescuer saw outside, it made him yank open the door. Two rebels stumbled to a stop, staring at him in shock. They didn’t raise their guns, or yell, too surprised to see a large American man in their midst.

  Her rescuer didn’t hesitate, though. He strode two steps forward and then used his large hands to whack the two men’s heads together.

  They dropped like stones.

  Her rescuer—damn it, what was his name?—wrenched the semi-automatics from their loose grips and slung one of the straps over his shoulder. He turned and held the other one out to her.

  “Know how to use this?”

  Jessica blinked. “Sort of?”

  He gave a sharp nod. “Good enough. Just point and shoot if you need to, but not at me.”

  So, he was still sour about the nut shot. Well, it served him right for looming over her without introducing himself.

  “Sure,” she said, but didn’t intend to do any such thing. She wasn’t a killer.

  Jessica looped the strap over her neck and pointed the barrel at the ground. She’d only held one of these things a couple of times, and never by choice.

  She hated guns.

  “Don’t shoot the rebels if you can help it,” she pleaded.

  “What?” he asked, confused as if he hadn’t heard her right.

  “Don’t shoot them,” she repeated, gesturing to the rebels beyond that were still focused on—Jesus, where had that fire come from? It was huge, roaring up the trunk of an ancient tree. Jessica swallowed. That wouldn’t end well.