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Not wanting to tread on Jared’s steel-toed boots, but not wanting Colby to topple over in a pile of rock-hard, shot-up muscle, Mia said, “Why don’t you get some rest? Lie down on that bed over there. I’ll keep you company. That bed isn’t so bad. Scratchy, but you won’t even notice.”
He nodded and stumbled over. Cash and Brock took an arm to help him down, then he shut his eyes. She scooted by the guys and plopped beside him. His eyes pinched tight as if in tremendous pain. Sleep wasn’t helping. His harsh, jagged snores couldn't find an even cadence.
Mia stood, found the packet of moist wipes, and went back to the mat. He didn’t stir as she wiped off his face, starting at his forehead and working down to his chin. Fresh sweat bubbled up, creating a pathway of droplets from one temple to the next. His scruff was now a full beard, and she tried to smooth it down.
He looked like hell. Like his twitchy body revolted against his offered peace treaty of sleep. His shirt was drenched. The pants, torn and shredded, clung to his huge thighs. One pant leg fell open at a tear, showing a very red, very raw, wound.
“Jared.” She waivered, not wanting to interrupt the men now bent over the table, working on their extraction plans. No one heard her. She didn’t want to do anything to slow down plans to get the hell out of Colombia. But her gut saidemergency, emergency.
She approached cautiously. From the part she heard, a chopper would be there the day after next. It was running an unexpected extraction for another team. A few more days, she could handle it. Bug juice and MREs. One mat and a bunch of grumpy, stinking men who’d probably been awake going on thirty-six hours. And then there was the uncomfortable dilemma of communing with nature. They didn’t seem to have a problem wandering off. She, on the other hand, did.
Jared hadn’t been a fan of her interruptions when he ordered men around the shack. And an interruption while in the midst of strategy and plans, Mia would’ve bet huge money that was a worse offense.
“Jared.” She cleared her throat. “Something’s wrong with Colby.”
“Yeah, he extracted a bullet, ran a marathon through the rainforest, and has to deal with you. He needs to sleep. He’ll be fine.”
Deal with me?Jared was a tool of the lowest order. But she was in the right, and he needed to at least check on Colby.
“I wouldn’t bother you if I didn’t see a change.”
Jared rolled his eyes. Did he do these things just to make her spitting angry?
“You think I want to slow our departure? That I like peeing in the woods, or sitting around with all you smelly men? You think I don’t want a dang shower? Take a look at him. Something’s wrong.” Jared brought out the worst in her. Had she ever yelled at one man so many times?
Jared tilted his head at Brock. “Humor her.”
Mia would have kicked him if she thought it’d help her argument. Instead, she glared at him, pursed her lips, and silently cursed him every way she could dream. And lately, her dreams had been particularly mean.
Brock, who was balancing on the back legs of a chair, let it fall, and put down the map he had been reviewing. “Stubborn ass should have taken a pain pill.”
He pushed his hands off his knees and stood. Mia wanted to grab him by his belt loops and drag him over to Colby, but Brock didn’t seem the type to be pushed around by anyone. Not that their off-putting grumbles brought her to a full stop before. Still, she was going to give him a hot second before she forced him into gear.
Brock ambled to the mat and dropped down to a knee. Mia hovered over him, ignoring his annoyance. He put the back of his hand on Colby’s forehead and took it away. Placed it again, then moved it to the back of his neck. “Shit.”
Two fingers on his neck, Brock waited, taking his pulse. “Shit.”
Two shits? What did that mean? Would he say something besides shit?
Jared raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“We’ve got a problem.” Brock’s hands moved back to Colby’s forehead.
“What is it, asshole?”
“His brains are cooking. He’s got a hell of a fever. He’s sweating his ass off and shivering.”
Jared stalked over, his face stern. “What the fuck, Brock? I thought you gave him some heavy hitting antibiotics. Penicillin so strong, it’d stop the plague.”
“I did. Something’s wrong.”
Mia felt tiny in the room of raging testosterone but spoke up anyway. “Well, yeah, he’s been shot.”
“No, Winters gets shot all the time.”
Oh, of course he does. What the hell?
He must have seen something on her face. Brock back peddled. “Well, not all the time. But enough that he knows how to handle it. Let’s see what our boy missed.”