Page 60 of Sutton's Shadow

“Holy fuck. Who is that?”

“I don’t know.”

He tore his eyes from the horrific images to glance at Sutton. She was hunched over, her gaze on her hands trapped between her knees. But it was the tremble in her lips that concerned him the most.

“Sutton,” he gently probed. “Tell me.”

“I... I can’t.” Her voice sounded tight and raw with her undeniable pain. His chest ached for the quiet sorrow in her voice. Then he knew. This was where Liam was killed.

He’d known his friend was killed while protecting Sutton, and he knew they’d been running from terrorists, but he didn’t know all the details. Wyatt had never needed to know more. His friend was gone, and knowing couldn’t change that. But with the gut-wrenching grief in Sutton’s eyes, he needed to know. He couldn’t help her if he didn’t know what she’d been through, what she’d survived.

He also knew she blamed herself for what happened, and so did Liam’s teammates. Wyatt thought that was bullshit, and if she told her story, he could prove it to her and the guys.

It gutted him to push her, but he thought of Liam and what his friend would have wanted for Sutton. He would have hated to see her so closed off, hunched into herself as if to shield her mind and body from the memories that could crush her.

He knew that feeling, had experienced it after his leg injury. Others had been hurt that day as well. One had died, and he’d been unable to prevent it or even help in the aftermath of the unexpected attack. Only after he’d talked to Liam about it had he begun to heal, not just his leg, but also his heart and mind. He accepted that there was nothing he could have done differently.

Now he wanted to help Sutton heal her heart and mind, the same as Liam had done for him. He swallowed to stem his emotions as he watched a single tear slide down her cheek. Placing two fingers beneath her chin, he lifted until she met his gaze. “Yes, you can. You have to get it out,” he encouraged, his throat so tight he could barely get the words out, his voice a hoarse rasp in the quiet. “Tell me.”

Chapter 19

Two Years Ago

ThescreamsthatwokeSutton had her reaching immediately for her camera bag. Fighting against the sleeping bag to free herself, she dashed out of her tent but froze as the first body lying in a pool of blood came into focus. Acid churned in her gut, and she fought against the bile rising in her throat while raising her camera to her eye. The horrors happening right in front of her lens were difficult to comprehend after a day filled with peaceful fellowship.

A spray of bullets from a submachine gun pummeled the tent she’d been sleeping in only moments before. Instinctively, she ducked, then ran. The acrid smell of gunpowder filled her nostrils as she vaulted over the bodies of the friends she’d made. She tripped and went down hard, breaking her fall with her hands, coming face to face with the wide-eyed stare of Mina. The pain in her knees went unnoticed as Sutton gaped at the teenage girl’s unblinking gaze.

Stifling a sob, Sutton crawled through the blood pooling around Mina’s head. The girl was beyond her help. More gunfire erupted behind her. She flattened herself to the ground and waited for the pain of bullets riddling her body. When none came, she dragged herself into the cover of the heavy jungle foliage that surrounded the village. Once confident she was out of sight, she turned with her camera in hand. Knowing it needed to be done but hating herself for it, she focused on Mina, a life cut too short, and pressed down on the shutter, taking a quick burst of images before the contents of her stomach emptied.

The day had been a success. Sutton had collected a treasure trove of photos of these new strong and independent Colombian women. The proud expressions of their accomplishments were prevalent in the images she’d captured. Working hard to bring them into the twenty-first century, the work they’d done to improve the role of women in Colombia pleased them. But they had a long road ahead of them to be accepted among all Colombians. And the atrocities unraveling right before Sutton’s eyes were proof.

But how had this happened?

Sutton wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, panting in quick, shallow breaths as she crouched behind a tree. Raising her head, she spied Mina lying there. She’d been a determined young woman with the drive and ambition that was sorely needed among women in her country. The hope and passion for their cause that she could have passed on to younger generations of girls was gone. All that potential snuffed out... and for what?

An angry resolve burned through Sutton. Lifting her camera, she focused on the violence happening beyond Mina.

Soldiers in jungle camo were everywhere. The few female guerrilla fighters who’d had a bit of training were quickly trounced. Friends Sutton had made over the last two days slaughtered. Pushing her grief down deep inside, Sutton documented everything, fighting the trembling in her hands as she depressed the shutter button.

Image after image filled her memory card. They pulled women and children from their burning huts and separated young boys from their mothers while the girls were placed in a line. Like some demented version ofA Chorus Line, the soldiers walked down the row of girls, pulling out the older, more attractive ones. Satisfied with the selection, the lead soldier motioned to his subordinates. Sutton gasped in shock as the remaining girls in the line were shot. Mowed down like they were in an old mobster movie. Her stomach churned again, but she pushed it down, the need to capture the murders with her camera overriding everything else.

Hiding in the jungle on the outskirts of the village, Sutton swallowed her cry of anguish and raised her camera again, squinting against the smoke from the burning village.

Document, she ordered herself.

Photographs were evidence of the atrocities. Document the faces. The horror. The death. It was important for the world to know what happened in the jungles of Colombia. The world needed to know who was responsible.

“Sutton! Thank God! Let’s go!” Liam hissed. “We have to go now!” He motioned for her to crawl away from the village. He held his rifle in front of him, ready to defend her. She heard him. Heard the desperation in his voice, but she couldn’t make herself move. The need to do her job, to record every image she could, capture the sins on film, overriding her common sense.

Sutton took one last photograph of the evil leader. A full frontal, so to speak. His entire face was visible, as if he was looking directly into her camera.

True evil.

She had just captured true evil with her camera. Her pulse hammered in her ears, drowning out all other sounds. Sickened, she observed through her viewfinder as he kicked the body of a young girl out of his way. She captured his movements, following him with her lens. She hardened her heart, continuing to take quick bursts of images while he laughed as his men forced themselves on the girls left alive.

Blocking out the cries and screams, she focused on the leader. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Dark skin. Dressed from head to toe in camo with a black beret on his close-cropped dark hair. She didn’t recognize the insignia on the beret. Could she be a witness to a new guerrilla group taking control of this region? One that didn’t want to empower women, if the abuse she chronicled was any indication?

Except for the woman standing beside him, who seemed to be immune to the brutality.

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