Page 35 of Shadow Target

Nodding, she gave him her pack, watching him quickly squat and stow the pistol in it. As he seamlessly rose, he zipped it back up.

“Are you a good swimmer, Willow?”

“Yes. You?”

“I’m good,” he told her. “We need to put our boots in your knapsack as well. Keep them dry with our socks. We’ll take them off at the bank and then I’m going to put my knapsack on and carry yours by hand. I don’t want you wearing it while we swim, Willow. You could go down with the weight.”

“No, I can carry it, no problem,” she growled.

He gave her a patient look, keeping her knapsack in his hand. He cupped her elbow. “Come on, we have to go, Angel.”

Wanting to protest, Willow swallowed her words, hurrying down toward the river. This wasn’t the time to argue. Their lives were at stake. His hand was damp, but firm and stabilizing. Willow was no stranger to threat, but she’d always been in the arms of the sky, never on the ground. And this shook her as nothing ever had up in the cockpit of her jet fighter. They ran down to the sloping reed-filled bank. Shep sat, placing the knapsack between them, swiftly unlacing his hiking boots. She did the same. Taking Shep’s socks and boots, she pushed them, along with her own, into the bulging knapsack, zipping it shut.

“I’m taking the knapsack,” she told him firmly. Shep scowled and stood up, about to protest. “I’m a good swimmer. It’s bulky, not heavy.”

“Let me,” he pleaded, opening his hand toward her. “I can handle both of them.”

Willow shook her head. “I’m a strong swimmer. Come on, let’s get wet,” and she quickly waded into the turgid green water, her feet sinking inches into the mud. Without waiting, she launched herself, diving out into the deeper part of the river. The water was shockingly cool, but she shook it off. Pulling one strap of the knapsack up her arm, she struck out for the center of the river where the current was strongest. She heard Shep leap in behind her.

Soon, they were in the middle of the river, being carried at a slow pace. Willow balanced the strap, pushing it up on her shoulder again and again every time it slipped down. The river tasted muddy. She kept her head above water, treading it, Shep nearby. Quiet settled in around them except for birds calling to one another as they flitted across the river.

The fear in Willow’s heart began to calm the further downstream they went. But her gaze was always on the bank she felt the most afraid to see armed soldiers coming their way along it. Shep had maneuvered himself to her left side, so, once more, he was a shield between her and that bank where the soldiers might show up. There was that old familiar stubbornness in his expression, and she wanted to tell him how much she loved him. Willow had never been around him in a combat situation before, but if this was any indicator, she was seeing his tough, hard side. It made her feel a little better even though she knew there was no safety for them here.

The water began to chill Willow. The current was slow, and she wanted to hurry and hide from the soldiers that might be looking for them. Had anyone else in the area heard the gunshots? She didn’t think so because the monastery was literally out in the middle of nowhere. She glanced over at Shep. He was doing fine from the looks of things. They didn’t want to talk, for fear of being overheard. He threw her a thumbs up, as if reading her mind. She nodded, her heart blossoming fiercely with love for him.

The water temperature was beginning to eat at her strength reserves. Her teeth were beginning to chatter, and she could feel her muscles start to twinge, telling her she was already in mild hypothermia. How much further? After almost twenty minutes in the water, she spotted a thick grove near the muddy bank that might provide cover and a decent landing point. But just ahead, she saw a lot of tangled trees and other jungle flotsam that had floated down the river right in their way, partially blocking them from striking out for the grove. But they’d seen no better option. This was it.

“Watch the trees,” Shep warned, swimming strongly to the right to avoid them.

Willow followed, but she was slower because her limbs were beginning to feel stiff, almost unresponsive. Dammit! She didn’t need this right now!

Just as she kicked hard with her feet, her pant leg snagged a branch beneath the surface. It pulled her around. Willow croaked and, as she flailed, the strap of the knapsack’s harness slid off her arm and fell into the water, sinking immediately.

“Shep!” she cried. Water closed over her head. She fought the current, her pant leg still snagged on the branch of the log, holding her under. Panic started to rise in her, the cold water and current dragging her deeper. Twisting, holding her breath, she tried to jerk her leg free. It wouldn’t budge! Now, real panic hit her.

Strong hands gripped her from behind, beneath her arms, thrusting her upward.

Willow’s head broke the surface. She vomited water, cried out, and struggled.

“I’ve got you,” Shep rasped, holding her head and shoulders above the water. “Try to relax,” he pleaded, swimming hard against the current, trying to take her upriver.

“My pant is caught on a branch underwater!” she cried, coughing violently.

“Stay still, Willow—”

She tried, but the panic surging through her from almost drowning, her throat burning, her lungs hurting from swallowing water unexpectedly, all conspired against her. Shep was strong, steady, and he brought her around so that, as he leaned down and tugged on her pant leg once hard, it tore the fabric, and she was released from the hidden branch. Relief shot through her.

“Relax, I’ve got you,” he rasped against her ear and temple, sliding his arm around her chest, keeping her afloat.

Gulping, terror ripping through her, she surrendered herself over to him. Her mind was jumbled with fear from almost dying. Water was still funneling out of her nose, and she kept coughing up more of it from her mouth. She felt Shep’s strong body take her against him, as he struck out with one arm toward the far shore. Feeling terrible that she’d lost the knapsack, Willow realized she hadn’t trusted Shep with it as much as she’d falsely trusted herself. Feeling humiliated, knowing she’d now put them in even worse danger, she wanted to cry, but forced back the reaction. She kept trying to relax as Shep did all the work. He grunted and she could feel he was fighting hard to save them both. Teeth chattering, she could feel her body cramping and locking up on her. She’d have drowned if he hadn’t been here with her.

Sodden, weakened, she barely got to her hands and knees as Shep pushed her ahead of him and up onto the muddy bank. Tree roots were everywhere, reaching into the water for sustenance. She hated that she was trembling and felt so damned weak. Willow grabbed onto the nearest root, cutting her hand as she did so, but grimacing through the pain and hauling herself upward. Shep got behind her, hands around her waist, lifting her, pushing her up the low muddy slope of the bank. More than grateful, she finally found herself back on land, gasping, hot tears running from her eyes, mixing with the streams of murky river water pouring down her face from her wet hair. She’d failed them both.

***

Shep was breathing harshly as he pushed Willow up and over into the yellowed grass growing along the bank. His only priority was to get them out of sight. Straight ahead, he saw a deeply forested area, the trees packed tighter together than the other cover options around. He heard Willow gasping, saw blood on her lower leg, her pant trouser ripped opened. She was pale and shaken. No wonder. She was used to the air war, not ground combat. But, even if scared, it didn’t stop her from struggling up to stand shakily on her bare, unprotected feet.

Rising, Shep slid his arm around her waist. “Lean on me.” The only thing he cared about right now was hiding. Looking over his shoulder, he took them both, as fast as Willow could go, into the woodlands. He could see no one. Not yet. His gut told him that Tefere David and his men hadn’t quit hunting them. They wanted them for whatever sick reasons they had. His arm tightened around Willow’s waist as she wrapped one of her own arms across his shoulder, leaning heavily on him. She was limping. Blood was leaking down her leg. Had she injured herself on something beneath the surface of the water? More than likely, the hidden, jagged tree branch she’d been hooked up on.

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