Page 6 of The Woman Left Behind

Darth Vader didn’t make a sound, just waited, his soulless dark gaze on her.

She glanced over her shoulder. All six of the others were standing shoulder to shoulder, watching. Even if they offered help, she couldn’t accept, not that it mattered, because none of them looked as if they had any intention of offering.They weren’t her friends.She had to remember that. She was here because she’d been more or less forced on them; she suspected straws had been drawn, and Levi had gotten the short one.

Short one.Hah! She cracked herself up.

ByGod,she’d get in that truck if she had to stick a knife in all the tires and bring it down to her level. She enjoyed that mental image enough that she managed to put some extra effort into her next lift and heave—for all the good it did, because she still couldn’t manage to get her foot quite high enough.

One toe,she thought grimly; she needed just one toe. She didn’t need her whole foot on the sill. She looked around, searching for a block, a bucket, a...rock,about as big as her fist, right beside the front tire as if God had placed it there to see if she’d yield to the temptation to throw it at her tormenters.

“Hold on,” she said, stretching her leg under the door toward the tire and using her foot to drag the rock toward her.

“What’re you doing?”

“There’s a rock here. I need it.”

“Don’t throw—”

“I’m going tostandon it,” she said tersely. “Don’t be a moron.” Oops. She probably shouldn’t have called the boss a moron. “Sorry,” she tacked on, while thinking,Not sorry.

He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, waiting.

Okay, this was it. If the rock didn’t work, she doubted he’d hang around while she scouted for something else to stand on. She could bum a ride with one of the others, but damn it, this was atest.She might fail, but it wouldn’t be for lack of trying. She put her left foot on the rock and lifted herself a couple of precious inches. Gripping her handholds again, she mentally yelled at her quivering muscles to get their act together forjust a few freaking seconds,bent her knee, and launched—well, kind of launched—herself upward at the same time as she pulled up for all she was worth.

Her left arm gave up the effort, the weakling, but her right arm hung in there. She twisted, swung her right leg, and by God got her foot high enough to hang her toes on the doorsill. Her leg muscles quivered, her arm shook, and the bastard sat there watching her with that inscrutable expression as if he didn’t care whether she got in the truck or fell dead to the pavement, where he would undoubtedly run over her body as he left. She ground her teeth together, biting back her anger before she said something she might regret—though the “might” was just a faint possibility—and concentrated her puny store of remaining energy into boosting herself up using one arm and a tenuous connection with one foot.

Okay, maybe “boost” was optimistic. In reality, she hauled herself partway up, then her foot slipped out from under her but she landed on her knee, and that was better, more secure. She grabbed the far edge of the seat with her left hand, wedged more of herself into the floorboard, and from there laboriously crawled into the seat and sat down.

The six men watching from outside, lined up like cheerleaders, applauded and hooted. She shot them all a middle finger, then slammed the door, fastened her seat belt, and silently stared straight ahead. That was the only way she could resist shooting another finger toward the man behind the wheel.

He started the truck and put it in gear. The smooth, deep rumble of the engine caught her attention. No factory engine sounded like that, as if it had never had a catalytic converter anywhere near it. Considering the appearance of the truck and the sound of the engine, the modifications he’d done or had done had likely voided every warranty on the truck.

She wrinkled her nose. The truck stank. Or rather, Levi Butcher stank, fouling the air with his sweat and dirt and testosterone. After another sniff, she admitted that she herself was adding to the stench. Lord, she was rank! She needed a shower even more than she needed to lie down, which meant the situation was dire. Good thing the truck seats were leather, because cloth seats would be ruined.

“So you know where you stand,” he said without preamble. “We don’t want you here. None of us, and I’m talking about all the teams, like having to drag amateurs along with us. Untrained personnel can get us killed. Because you’re a woman you’re even more of a liability; I got saddled with you because Mac judged if anyone can deal with the handicap, we can.”

“Wow,” Jina said. “I’m honored.”

The sarcasm in her tone wasn’t subtle. He shot her a dark, level glance. “That isn’t sexist. We work with female agents all the time. But they’re trained, and they want to be there. You don’t tick either one of those boxes.”

She’d like to argue with that, but couldn’t... damn it.

“If it comes to a choice between you and my men, I’m going to choose my men, every time. Don’t think you being a woman means we’ll jump in front of a bullet for you, because that won’t happen.”

Okaaay. That was plain. In case she ever mistakenly began thinking she might be of value to this bunch, all she had to do was remember this conversation. “Got it,” she said. “I’m of no value.”

Again the dark glance, but he didn’t jump to reassure her. He let his statement stand. “You won’t be going with us for a while. You have a lot of training to get through, not just physical training with us, but the tech stuff with the camera drone, plus enough weapons training that you aren’t a complete burden in a tight spot, jump training—”

What?

“What?” she interjected. “Jump training?”

“Sometimes we have to insert by parachute. We can’t run a special road delivery just for you.”

“Uh-uh. No. I donotjump out of airplanes.” She meant it. The very idea filled her with horror. She wasn’t afraid of flying, or of heights, but her sense of survival was too fine-tuned for her to even try bungee jumping.

“You will,” he said, his tone sayingDon’t argue.

She shut her mouth. She wouldn’t argue now, but that didn’t mean she was giving up. She’d find a way out of this, a suitable work-around—something, anything.

---