Page 53 of Knot Yours

I dive next to Piper, and the grenade detonates in the water just a few feet from shore. I yell at the remaining men and women to move farther downriver, where the canyon walls will shadow us from the full moon. We’re sitting ducks right now.

“Call for the chopper to mow them down!” someone yells.

I can’t do it now because they’d have to get too close to see their target, putting them at risk of being blown from the sky. If that happens, we’re all dead.

Reece must have seen the explosion and reroutes to come at us from the northwest. The eight rookies and I are all that’s left. Freeman announces he’s tied on a third rope to get us out faster.

That means evac time for the nine of us should be down to ten minutes. Ten minutes to play dodge grenade.

The next explosion hits about twenty feet away from where we’re hidden. Fuck, ten. We won’t last three. We’re running out of ammo and time. And the damned moon and these black uniforms aren’t helping.

I glance at the black water and don’t stop to think or issue commands. None of my team can hear me over the echoing gunfire and explosions, even with our sophisticated radios. Firing as I run, I reach one of the newbies, forgetting his name. I grab his vest and toss him into the river, yelling for Piper to rescue him. She dives after the former Marine, even though he shouldn’t need saving.

At the next one, I point, and he dives in after his pal bobbing in the water. The gunfire on our end lessens enough that the rest of my team hears the warning. One by one, they abandon their positions and seek the safety of camouflage in the rushing river.

Once I’ve verified everyone is clear, I make a run for the water just as another thunk sounds. There’s no cover this close to the shore, so I take a running dive and hope for the best.

Fire licks across my legs just as I breach the water’s surface. The biting pain is bad news, but I don’t waste time taking stock of my situation. I push my arms to their limit, swimming underwater to gain needed distance from the enemy’s grenade launchers.

I surface more than thirty seconds later, not knowing how far I’ve gone. A hand grabs the shoulder strap of my vest and pulls me up. I don’t fight the assist because who the hell else would be out here if not for my team? “Are you alright?” he asks. “That last one was way too close.”

I ignore the question in favor of getting out of the water. McCann pulls me to my feet, and by the time I’m standing on shaky legs, I notice how far we’ve come. Aided by the current, we’ve passed a curve in the river, putting us out of the line of sight of the cartel shooters. Thankfully, our all-weather coms were unaffected by the swim.

The whole crew is sprawled out on the narrow shore, tired from the sprint in full gear. But we’re no longer being shot at. “Spatch to rescue helo. We’ve moved downriver to avoid grenade fire.”

“We’ve got you,” Knot declares.

After we’ve all been lifted to the secondary evac site, my crew strips off their gear and sopping uniforms after assisting Jones and his team into the chopper. I keep my boots and pants on, avoiding looking at my stinging legs until Jones’s people are taken care of.

McCann, the former Ranger that pulled me out of the water, approaches when Reece flies off with the injured. “You ready for me to look at that leg yet?”

I cut my eyes to the fellow tan beret. The two-time winner of the Best Ranger title smiles, showing a dimple on his right cheek—definitely not the face of a badass Ranger, but good luck to the man who underestimates him. Nodding to the deadly soldier, I sit on the rocky ground and stretch out my legs. Piper, still dripping wet, rests her chin on my thigh.

McCann cuts through the fabric of my tactical pants, revealing a few bleeding holes. I don’t watch him tend to the wounds. I’ve seen enough of that shit in my lifetime. By the time the bird returns, he’s finished stitching me up.

McCann hands me the two pieces of metal he dug from my skin, but I have no intention of keeping them. I drop them in the dirt and limp toward the landing chopper with the rest of the PMCs.

The helo picking us up isn’t Knot’s Bell but a border patrol bird. Chief Bronson steps out and jogs over to us. With a wink, he says, “We got word that someone needed rescue on the American side of the border.”

“I know of a few,” I reply.

“Your pilot’s on the way to Big Bend hospital with your wounded. Since it’s ninety miles away, you’d be waiting a long time for him to pick you up.”

I don’t argue. My team loads into the Black Hawk for the ride back to Lajitas.

Two hours later, we’re dry, full of coffee, and loading back into the jet. None of Jones’s crew wanted to leave teammates behind, so they’re all still at the hospital. Border Patrol offered to deliver their gear to them, so there wasn’t a reason for us to make the trip.

Meanwhile, Knot is working with CBP to transfer custody of the bodies of our fallen. He’ll send a plane to pick them up and dispatch another once the injured are discharged from the hospital.

There’s nothing more we can do here.

Marisol

The restaurant attire is semi-formal, so that’s another point in my favor. I did not announce our plans to Dario’s gorillas beforehand, so they wouldn’t be appropriately dressed. The pair won’t be permitted inside beyond the lounge.

I select a simple but elegant white gown and strappy heels from the clothes Dario bought and finish dressing for the role I have to play. For the next phase of my plan, I roll up a t-shirt, leggings, and flip-flops and stow them into a medium-sized handbag to avoid suspicion. I’ll make my break during dinner and duck into a bathroom to change. At that point, I should be able to disappear into the horde of people taking in the evening sights.

At six-thirty, I descend the stairs wearing the ruffled, white halter dress, my makeup done to perfection, and my hair in a romantic updo. My father waits for me at the bottom, holding out his arm when I clear the last step. “You look beautiful, Mi Tesoro.”

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