Page 17

CHAPTER 16

The phone call in the early morning hours woke him from the best sleep he’d had in years. He reluctantly disentangled himself from the warm, sweet body beside him and climbed out of his truck to answer.

“Get your gear. Wheels up in two hours,” Flint stated.

He rubbed a hand over his face, hoping to rid himself of the last vestiges of sleep. “Where to?”

“Colombia.”

That woke him. “No shit?”

“Yeah. Baker and Haley think they found him. You’re going to team up with the SEAL team from Hawaii.”

“The same team that rescued Cammie?”

“One and the same.”

“Okay. I’m in the mountains, but I’ll head home now.”

“Sorry to disturb your rest.”

“I’m not. I’ve been waiting for this day,” he confessed anxious to get started. He hoped this was it. He hoped El Sombra wouldn’t slip from their grasp again.

“See you soon,” Flint said before hanging up. He turned to wake Cammie, his heart pounding with anticipation to finally end his three-year battle with a shadow.

Jeeves arrived in Bogota early the next day and met up with the SEAL team. They spent the daylight hours driving to their destination where he’d gotten to know a bit about the team, surprised to learn they were all either married or in committed relationships. Mustang, who led the team, even met the love of his life while saving a cargo ship from pirates. Each of the others also had their own harrowing tales to tell regarding the women in their lives. But they all had one thing in common―they were all deeply protective of the people they cared about. And that included Cammie.

Learning about his burgeoning relationship with Cammie prompted his new friends to advise him to come clean about learning her story from Baker long before she’d told it to him. They loved Cammie like a sister and only wanted the best for her. He wasn’t so sure if that was him, but he didn’t think he could walk away now.

A few clicks out from their target, they pulled over and walked the rest of the way. Stalking through the jungle, Jeeves turned his focus to the task ahead. Baker assured them through satellite imaging that there had been no movement at the compound, meaning their target was still present. The hi-tech facial recognition program, a creation of Haley’s that was far beyond Jeeves’ understanding, had successfully matched an image of El Sombra. Now, as he stalked through the trees, he had to hope and pray the intel was correct and nothing had changed since their last contact with Baker.

The jungle pressed in on all sides—humid, dense, alive with sound and danger. Jeeves crouched low in the underbrush, sweat clinging to the back of his neck beneath the weight of his gear. His breathing was steady, controlled, but every muscle in his body was coiled tight. He wasn’t a SEAL, but he’d worked alongside enough of them in his time as an Army Ranger to know the rhythm, the unspoken language between operators. And right now, he was running with one of the best teams out there.

The trees of the surrounding jungle were cast in an eerie, ghostly green light by the night vision goggles. The SEAL team around him moved like shadows, efficient and silent, each one a professional in his own right. They’d made room for him—because he’d brought the intel, and because he had skin in the game.

Colombia was a far cry from the clean lines of his civilian life. No overpriced coffee. No need to be stuck at a desk for hours on end. Just the damp, the heat, and the knowledge that the man they were tracking was a monster.

And that she had once been in his grasp.

That thought alone kept his finger ready on the trigger, his senses honed sharp. The SEAL team knew all about Cammie, having rescued her. He had already expressed his gratitude, a show of thanks they had readily dismissed. They wanted nothing more but to carry on with the hunt. They all knew the real reason they were here.

Cammie.

The woman who’d come back from hell with shadows in her eyes—and who’d trusted him enough to tell him what happened. She’d been taken by the man they were hunting now. Imprisoned. Hurt.

And somehow, she’d survived.

He owed her this.

“Target compound in visual,” came the whisper through his comm. It was Mustang, the team leader—calm, clipped, no wasted words.

Jeeves adjusted his position, peering through the night vision scope. The compound was tucked into the trees like it belonged there—shackled together with tin roofs, chain-link fencing, and the bones of stolen things. Men with rifles patrolled lazily, too confident, too comfortable.

They have no idea what’s coming.

“On my mark,” Mustang said.

Jeeves flexed his fingers around the grip of his rifle. He could feel it building—the tension before a strike, the moment before the break. The others, Midas, Aleck, Pid, Jag and Slate, were spread out around the compound. Ready to begin. Ready to take down the shadow.

But in the back of his mind, he wasn’t thinking about the target. He was thinking about her —his tree sprite. How her voice had trembled when she’d told him about her kidnapping. How she’d looked at him, as if she was still half-waiting for someone to walk back through her past and drag her there again.

Not on his watch.

Mustang’s voice crackled through the coms again, low and final. “Go.”

Jeeves moved like the shadow they were hunting, his boots silent on the forest floor. The night erupted in controlled bursts of violence—muffled shots, flashbangs, the chaotic ballet of an op going exactly to plan.

But Jeeves wasn’t there for the takedown.

He was there to end a nightmare.

And make sure no part of it ever touched her again.

They breached the perimeter in under a minute. Silent takedowns. Muffled grunts. The thump of boots on dirt. The SEALs were phantoms—methodical and lethal. Jeeves moved with them, a shadow among shadows, rifle steady, vision laser-focused.

Inside, the compound was a maze of concrete and corrugated metal. Faint light flickered from overhead bulbs. Jeeves followed the trail, mind whispering her name like a prayer.

Please let this end it. Please let this be the last chapter of her nightmare.

Pid pointed to a heavy door guarded by two men. Two succinct shots, and they were down.

Jeeves was through the door before the dust cleared.

There he was.

El Sombra.

Even though only three years had passed, he appeared older than the photos showed. Grayer. But his eyes held the same cold calculation. The same smirk he’d worn when he murdered women and children. Cammie had mentioned it. The same smug, self-satisfied smirk that graced his lips as she’d described when he gave the order for Cammie to be subjected to torture, a smirk that perfectly encapsulated his cold-blooded nature.

Jeeves didn’t wait for an introduction.

He drove the butt of his rifle into the man’s face, then his gut, sending him crashing back into a metal desk. “Remember her?” he growled, stepping into the man’s space, pressing the muzzle of his weapon to El Sombra’s head.

The man spat blood. “Which one?”

Rage detonated behind Jeeves’s ribs. It took everything he had not to pull the trigger.

“She got away,” Jeeves hissed.

“ Zunga ,” El Sombra spat, and Jeeves knew enough Spanish curse words to know that he’d just called her a whore.

Jeeves saw red. “She survived you. And now I’m here to make sure you never touch another woman again.”

Pid, Aleck, and Mustang moved in. Secured the room. Shackled El Sombra―the Colombian government had requested he be brought in alive, if at all possible.

Jeeves stepped back, fists trembling.

He wanted vengeance, yes. But more than that, he wanted peace for Cammie.

Outside the windows, the dawn mist clung to the canopy like a veil, and Jeeves kept his rifle raised, every nerve on high alert. El Sombra stood, hands zip-tied, flanked by Aleck and Pid. Even bound and bruised, the bastard held himself like he still owned the ground under his feet, as if capture was just a temporary inconvenience, not the end of the road.

They were about to march him out of the building to head toward the landing zone where the chopper would extract them—when everything unraveled.

A rustle of fabric . A screech of metal on concrete. Jeeves caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. A flash of steel. Aleck stumbled back, blood oozing from his leg. A boy, no older than twelve, the culprit.

“Son of a bitch,” Aleck cursed. The boy had startled them all, having popped up seemingly out of nowhere. In reality, he’d been hiding under the cot in the corner.

Amidst the distraction, El Sombra lunged.

He didn’t hesitate. Didn’t look back. In the chaos, he broke his zip ties, grabbed the wounded Aleck’s sidearm with the precision of a man who’d done this too many times.

“ Hijueputa !” El Sombra fired once while yelling motherfucker—wild, erratic—and then turned, jumped through the glassless window and disappeared into the thick green with the precision of a man who knew the terrain better than his own name.

“Fuck!” Jeeves took off after him, diving out the same window. He rolled and shot to his feet in one smooth move, heart thundering like it wanted out of his chest. Leaves slapped his face, mud kicked up around his boots, and every inch of him screamed for this to end.

The bastard was fast. Wounded, maybe, but desperate—and desperation made people dangerous.

Jeeves broke into a small clearing just as El Sombra turned, gun raised.

For one suspended second, their eyes locked. Cold cruelty stared back at him, mocking, unrepentant.

“She’s my property,” El Sombra sneered. “She will be again?—”

Jeeves fired.

Once. Then again. Clean. Center mass.

The cartel leader staggered backward, a look of stunned disbelief twisting his face. He crumpled like a felled tree, hitting the jungle floor with a sickening finality.

The air around Jeeves went still. No birds. No wind. Just the ringing silence of aftermath.

He stood there, breath ragged, heart aching—not for the man he’d just killed, but for the girl who’d suffered under him. Cammie.

The air hit him like an oppressive wave. He looked up through the break in the trees, stars scattered above winking out like shattered glass. Somewhere under that same sky, she was sleeping. Safe.

Jeeves lowered his rifle slowly, staring down at the man who’d once called himself a shadow. El Sombra.

Not anymore.

He was just a man. And now, he was gone.

But in the back of his head, he knew it wasn’t over yet. Not for her. Not for him.

Her father was still free. Valeria was still at large.

Only when those two were brought down would he breathe a little easier.

He exhaled hard, running a hand down his face. His palms were shaking—not from fear, but from fury. He’d ended the man who’d tortured her.

He’d do it again.

Without hesitation.

Would the man who’d shattered her life meet the same end? Only time would tell.

One thing he knew for certain. Whatever it took, he would protect her.

He just hoped when he told her the truth, she’d understand why he misled her . . . and how much she meant to him.