Page 5 of Duty Bound

He met Pat's gaze, unflinching. "I'd be a liability, man. I'll help you find a team, but I can't go out there."

Pat stood, towering over the table like some avenging angel. "You led one of the fiercest teams the military ever put together. You've still got that fire."

“That was then, Pat. Not now. Besides, I'm not combat ready. I wouldn't be able to ruck 20Ks without stopping."

Pat's eyebrow quirked, a silent call-out on Blade's bullshit. The guy was still an iron fortress, running and lifting like his life depended on it. His spare room was a damn home gym. Old soldiers never really died. They just bench pressed their sorrows away.

"Blade, she needs us. We're the only chance she's got."

Blade chewed his lip, the old wounds throbbing. Going back to that sandbox would rip open every scar. But Lily... she didn't deserve to be a pawn in that messed-up game.

"What about gear? You can't take it on a commercial jet." He was looking for a reason not to go. Any reason.

"Got it sorted. My guy's got gear and a chopper to take us into the mountains."

Blade raked a hand through his hair. "Christ, Pat. I don't know if I can."

Pat stood solid as an oak. "Joe believed in you. Don't you forget that. And he'd want you to help her."

Damn it to hell and back.

Tell Lily I love her.

Blade hadn't done that yet. To be fair, she hadn't been around to tell, but maybe it was time he did.

"Okay, Commander. You win. I'm in."

CHAPTER 3

Lily opened her eyes. For a heart-stopping second, she didn't know where she was. Then reality crashed down—voices raised in anger, the staccato of gunfire, clawing panic.

She bolted upright then winced. Every part of her body ached. They'd walked for a grueling eight hours yesterday over rocky and uneven terrain, and her feet were riddled with blisters.

It was late last night when they'd finally arrived at this sorry excuse for a shelter. Exhausted, she hadn't been able to do much more than collapse before crying herself to sleep.

Now, in the harsh light of day, her skin crawled as she eyed the dirty room—small and stifling, with no furniture other than a bucket in the corner, a filthy mattress on the floor, and a wooden chair with a missing leg that wouldn't support anybody's weight. She vaguely remembered trying it last night, only to end up on the hard, unforgiving ground.

Outside, children wailed and dogs barked incessantly… faint sounds of life indicative of a small town or village. The aroma of cooking food wafted on a stale current of air, making her stomach rumble.

Damn, she was hungry. No one had offered her as much as a morsel or a sip since she'd been taken.

It sucked that she'd been separated from the other hostages and locked in here for the night. Talking with the reporters had made the nightmare more bearable and staved off the creeping dread.

One of them had even spoken Pashto and translated for the rest of the group so they'd known what was going on.

This way!

Keep going!

Don't fall behind!

Basic commands, punctuated by the prod of a gun barrel or poke of a stick, but it was much better knowing what their kidnappers were shouting at them than being left to wonder.

Now she had no way of communicating with her captors unless they spoke English.

Lily knew the score. Four months in Kabul had given her a front-row seat to the workings of the place. The Taliban factions were a mixed bag—some dragged into the fray, others true believers trying to stitch their country back together after the West pulled out.

She also knew why she'd been taken.

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