Page 57 of Brawler
“What intel?”
She smiled faintly, stubborn warmth in her gaze, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to tug a strand of copper hair.
“You kill me by degrees when you do that,” he muttered, repeating her words back to her.
She chuckled, eyes shining as they met his. “Sombra’s deviated from her path. Jaguars are predictable. They prowlthe same routes, hunt the same zones, nest in the same places. Something spooked her.”
“So changing her pathing means?—”
“She’s rattled,” Emily finished with a nod. “Something happened near that camera, something traumatic enough to push her off her pattern.” She shifted and sighed. “That’s going to cause me a shit-ton of work. I’m going to have to write a whole new section on my dissertation because of it. All the data I’m collecting will support my theory. I just have to figure out what happened.”
Brawler shifted. He knew. The drone had gone down near her and the cubs. Someone had tampered with the coordinates, and Brawler and the team had been moving toward the wrong crash site. At the same crash site the chopper had gone down. Marines possibly ambushed.
He saw it clearly now. Emily couldn’t write a damn thing in her dissertation about what had caused Sombra to change her pattern. The US wouldn’t allow the drone information to leak out. The fact that there could be hellfire missiles in enemy hands would be something the State Department would keep under wraps. Also, they were covert, as black as pitch. No way would JSOC approve any information release on a clandestine, secret SEAL mission. Which probably meant she’d be screwed. His heart sank for her.
“Can you show me and the team where you found this fragment?”
“Yes. Like I said, I know every inch of Sombra’s territory. I can find that camera location in my sleep.”
For her, it was a goatfuck. For him, it meant he’d have to tell her, eventually.
She wasn’t going to have the outcome she wanted. Academia didn’t reward vagueness. The minute those men had chased her into him, her research had been compromised.
For her, nothing was going to be all right, not if the team did its job.
He nodded once. “Tex will want to know. I’m sorry you got pulled into this, Emily.”
She bit her lip, slid a hand over his forearm. “I’m not,” she whispered.
The intel she’d just handed him was gold. After what they’d shared, he was reeling from everything: her, the mission, the sudden fear of losing both.
The dread was overwhelming. How was she going to take the hit to her research? Would she blame him? Would she pull away? He couldn’t bear the thought of it. But compromising the op wasn’t an option. Not now. Not ever.
The morning had begun with small comforts, instant coffee, a ration bar split in half, and Emily cross-legged, her laptop balanced on her knees. The light slanted through the cave mouth, pale and unhurried, and for a fleeting moment it almost felt normal, two people sharing breakfast instead of fugitives carved out of the jungle.
Brawler gathered his comms, checked the seals, then slipped outside to test the net. He seated the earpiece and depressed the receiver.“Tex, come in.”
Static hissed back at him, grating, empty. He tried again, leaning into it, pulse tightening when the silence didn’t break. His CO needed this information yesterday.
He strode back into the cave, jaw tight, the hum still gnawing at his skull. Emily was no longer sprawled casually over her notes. She was upright, shoulders drawn, her gaze locked on the glow of her laptop. Tension radiated from her, sharp enough to slice through the heavy air.
“Em?” His voice was low, coaxing.
She startled, then exhaled, a breath she’d clearly been holding. One hand rose to adjust the screen as if buying herselfa second of control. When she looked at him, her eyes burned steady, though her throat worked hard.
“You have to see this.”
He crossed the cave in three strides, the damp stone cool beneath his boots, and crouched at her side. She tapped the trackpad, the hesitation in her fingers belying the resolve in her voice. The footage came alive, grainy at first, the jungle framed in shades of shadow.
For a long moment, nothing. Just the night, restless with cricket-song. Then something dropped fast from the canopy, slammed into the ground, and the screen flared white with impact.
Brawler’s gut clenched. His body knew the shape of detonation before his mind caught up.
The flare dimmed. Across the lens, a spotted silhouette glided into view with lethal grace. A jaguar. Power rippled through her shoulders, every line of her body a hymn to the wild. Her eyes glowed pale, eerie lanterns in the dark. Two smaller shadows tumbled after her, cubs clumsy but alive, their small bodies darting close to her flank before disappearing into the green.
Brawler’s breath caught. Christ, she was beautiful. Fierce and untamed, a warrior sculpted from shadow and muscle, carrying her young like royalty through a kingdom no man had any right to own.
His chest tightened, the awe sharp and unexpected. This wasn’t just a big cat. This was survival made flesh. He’d fought wars, seen destruction, held his brothers’ lives in his hands, but this, the primal sweep of her shoulders, the cubs scattering like sparks at her side, was something else entirely.
