Page 11

CHAPTER 11

D eacon stepped into the larger shelter, shaking the rain from his poncho. The fire's soft glow reflected off the wet ground, casting flickering shadows that seemed to dance with the storm. The rain outside was deafening, a constant roar against the thatched roof, and the air inside the shelter was heavy with the earthy scent of damp wood and mud.

Bandit had just finished patching up Ranger’s leg. The gash on his knee looked raw, and the stitches glimmered faintly in the firelight. It would be sore for weeks, but Ranger didn’t flinch. The kid—no, the man—was tougher than most operatives Deacon had worked with. He’d proven that repeatedly.

Deacon motioned to Bandit. “Let’s go check on Echo.”

Bandit wiped his hands clean on a rag before donning his soaked poncho and following him across the clearing. The rain pounded the jungle, the relentless torrent turning the ground into a mess of sucking mud. Each step was a battle to keep their footing. The sound of rushing water from the flooding below filled the air. The trail between the shelters was barely visible, and vines hung low, dripping water like thin ropes.

They reached the smaller shelter, its walls trembling slightly in the wind. Deacon opened the door and peeked inside. The fire burned low but steady, casting warm light on Echo, who was huddled in a blanket near the flames. Her pale face was tinged with a flush of warmth, but her exhaustion was still evident. Satisfied she was covered, he let Bandit in and closed the door against the storm.

Deacon turned and trudged back to the larger shelter. Outside, Ranger, Ace, and Rip were securing the perimeter, their movements methodical despite the downpour. Rip was near the tree line, his rifle at the ready as he scanned the dark jungle. Ace was reinforcing a makeshift barricade of fallen branches, his scowl deepening every time the mud sucked at his boots. Despite his injured leg, Ranger stood watch near the edge of the village, his stance firm even as the rain plastered his hair to his head. They worked silently, communicating with hand signals and glances—a team honed by experience and trust.

No one believed they’d been followed, but no one was willing to take the chance either. The jungle was a natural eraser, and the rain obliterated any tracks they might have left. However, it also made visibility nearly impossible, and every rustle of the leaves sounded like a potential threat.

Deacon stepped inside the shelter, shaking water from his poncho as he activated his comm device. “Click, do you have our location?”

“Roger that,” came Click’s familiar voice, steady despite the storm’s interference. “I’ve been listening—it sounded like one hell of a journey.”

“You could say that,” Deacon muttered, glancing at the fire. The heat barely penetrated the dampness in the air. “Do we have anything on an extraction point?”

“We can get a helicopter in low,” Click said, his tone hesitant. “But you’ll have to wait until the water recedes. And, Cap, the worst part of the storm hasn’t hit you yet.”

Deacon ran a hand through his wet hair, letting out a breath. “You mean it gets worse?”

“It just keeps coming, Cap. Speaking of which, your brother has called several times. He wants me to patch him through ASAP. Do you have time?”

“I’ll make time. Set it to confidential.”

“I always do when you talk to him,” Click replied with a faint chuckle. “Hold on. I’ll get him.”

Deacon sat in a small, handmade chair that creaked beneath his weight. He stared into the fire built by one of his team, watching the flames dance and flicker. It was a miracle that the villagers had taken them in. The storm had turned the jungle into a death trap, and without shelter, they would’ve been in serious trouble. Maybe it was luck. Maybe it was divine intervention. Who the hell knew?

Ronan’s voice cut his thoughts, sharp and laced with concern. “What the fuck is happening?”

“It’s raining,” Deacon replied with a wry laugh. “And when I say raining, I mean all hell has busted loose. The river’s flooded out of its banks, there’s flash flooding, and it’s a mess here.”

“No kidding. The meteorologists are calling it the storm of the century,” Ronan said. “That phrase gets thrown around a lot, but from what I’m seeing, it might actually be true.”

“We’re not going anywhere soon, are we?” Deacon asked.

“No,” Ronan admitted. “We’ve analyzed every angle of retrieval, and there’s no safe option right now.”

Deacon leaned back, the chair groaning under him. “I think I know how Fleur feels.”

There was a pause. “What are you talking about?” Ronan finally asked.

“About emotions hitting quick and hard—and not knowing if they’ll last.”

“Okay, fill me in, D. What’s going on?”

Deacon sighed, glancing at the door as the rain hammered down outside. “Long story short: I met a woman before this mission. We hooked up, not knowing who we were to each other. Turned out, she’s my principal and a CIA officer. She’s amazing, smart, capable—and today, for a moment, she was dead.”

Ronan’s voice sharpened. “Explain.”

“She got caught in a flash flood and pulled underwater. When we found her, she wasn’t breathing. We did CPR and brought her back, but for a few minutes …” Deacon paused, his voice tightening. “She was gone.”

Ronan let out a long breath. “And now?”

“She’s okay. We carried her up the mountain to this village, but, man, it hit me like a ton of bricks. This woman … she’s something else. She’s touched something inside me I didn’t even know was there.”

Ronan said softly. “It sounds like you’ve found someone worth fighting for.”

Deacon rubbed his face, the firelight casting deep shadows across the room. “Maybe. It’s too early to know for sure, but I’m not willing to let go. When I thought I’d lost her, it felt like losing a piece of myself. The night we had together was amazing,” Deacon said, his voice low and thoughtful. The memory of her laugh, her sharp wit, and how she’d looked at him lingered like a warm fire in his mind. “She told me she was from Virginia, and before I knew she was my CIA contact, I’d already decided I wanted to get to know her. We’ve been together twenty-four hours a day for a while now. She fits this team. She knows my people. She knows my job.”

“Does she know who you are?” Ronan asked, his tone sharp with curiosity.

Deacon snorted. “Hell, no. She knows I’m Deacon Alexander, and that’s it. I don’t know what you did for Fleur regarding nondisclosure agreements, but I’m not telling anybody my real identity without talking to Mom and Dad first—as Gabby did. I don’t think I’ll handle it like Charley did, but then again, Charley’s unique.”

“Charley is weirdly lovable, and we all know it. I still haven’t told Fleur everything,” Ronan admitted after a pause. His voice softened, the weight of his words evident. “She’s it for me, man, but she has to realize that for herself before I ask her to sign an NDA and tell her the whole truth.”

Deacon rubbed his face, the motion slow and weary. The constant roar of the rain outside and the oppressive humidity in the shelter pressed down on him like a physical weight. “Don’t you think that will put a wedge between you?”

“No, I don’t think it will,” Ronan replied firmly. “I love her. She loves me. She’s afraid I don’t know my mind, which is ironic as hell when she’s the one debating this connection, not me. But as soon as she works through everything in her head, I’m gonna marry her. Are you telling me you have feelings for this CIA officer?”

Deacon let out a short, humorless laugh. “Feelings? Yeah, I got all the fucking feels. Especially when she was caught in a flash flood, pulled underwater, and died.” He stopped, the words hanging in the air like a weight, before continuing. “I don’t know how she has affected me as much as she has. I was all business in the moment, but, man, I was freaking out while going through the emotions. I’ve never had that happen before. Don’t get me wrong—I mean, she was underwater. Her eyes were open. She was dead. We did CPR, and she came back to life. Then we carried her up the mountain to this village. Halfway up that damn rock is when everything fucking hit me. Like a boulder—a Raiders of the Lost Ark -sized fucking boulder. This woman touched something inside me I didn’t even know existed. Fuck, that sounds stupid, doesn’t it?”

“No, it doesn’t sound stupid,” Ronan replied, his voice firm and calm. “It sounds like you found somebody who you could have a life with. What’s the one thing that attracts you the most to this woman?”

Deacon leaned back against the creaking chair, staring at the flickering firelight as he thought. “Well, besides the fact that she’s absolutely beautiful—at least to me—she has a massive personality that I jive with. I mean, like, immediately we connected. There was no awkwardness, no feeling each other out—we just clicked. She can stand up against Ace and all of his grumpy bullshit. She walked for miles with blisters on top of blisters without a single complaint.”

“So, stubborn like you. That’s good.” Ronan laughed.

“Right? But she’s more than that. She’s super intelligent … Hell, man, there isn’t just one thing. Echo is the whole nine yards.”

Ronan chuckled, a warm, knowing sound. “Cool name. If I didn’t know better, I’d think the love bug has bitten you.”

“Love?” Deacon snorted, shaking his head. “It’s way too early for love—hence me saying I know what Fleur’s talking about. But there’s something there, dude. There’s something there, and I’m not willing to let it go. When I thought I’d lost her, I was devastated—not only because she’s my charge during this mission but because of that connection.”

“Then don’t ever let her go,” Ronan said simply.

“I have zero plans of that happening,” Deacon replied, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Now, do me a favor and figure out how to get us the fuck out of this water barrel.”

Ronan groaned loudly. “If I have to build an ark and float it there to get you, I will. But if you’re safe, we’re not gonna put anybody at risk. You’ll have to wait. According to the weather maps, it looks like about two to three weeks. One front after another is rolling in.”

“Two to three weeks? We can do that. Unless Echo develops complications from what happened today. If that happens, I don’t fucking care what the Laotian or American government says. Come and get us.”

“That’s guaranteed,” Ronan said firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

“For as long as it takes,” Deacon replied, his voice leaving no room for argument. “I need to get back to Echo.”

“Copy. Take care of yourself, and I’ll stay in touch with Click,” Ronan replied before the line went quiet.

Deacon shifted his attention back to his surroundings. The storm outside was relentless. The distant flooding water was a roaring monster, swelling beyond its banks. It swallowed trees and debris in its path. Each flash of lightning illuminated the jungle. Their newest fight was the tangle of vines, the dripping foliage, and the relentless mud that clung to everything.

Standing, he grabbed his pack from the pile of soaked equipment, and when he unzipped it, the damp fabric clinging to his fingers, he discovered a small bag with a pair of dry socks tucked inside. A rare stroke of luck. Thank God. Echo’s lips had been nearly blue earlier, her skin cold. Even in the suffocating humidity of the jungle, she’d been freezing—a troubling sign. Bandit had explained it was a result of the shock from her experience, but it still gnawed at Deacon.

He grabbed a couple of MREs and slipped on his poncho, tucking the supplies under it to keep them dry. When he stepped outside, the rain pelted him, and the storm fought to push him sideways. The jungle seemed to close in. The sound of the stormwater rushing added to the leaves thrashing and the distant rumble of thunder to make one hell of a racket.

His team was out there, working silently and efficiently. They moved like shadows in the storm, their coordination seamless as they checked the perimeter and secured the area. The rain might have wiped away any tracks, but vigilance was a habit none of them would ever break.

Deacon pushed through the muck, the firelight from the smaller shelter glowing like a beacon in the chaos. His steps were deliberate, his focus sharp. He was going back to Echo, back to the woman who’d turned his world upside down in ways he hadn’t seen coming.

Deacon spoke with Bandit as he stepped into the smaller shelter. The rain outside pounded against the thatched roof. The humid air inside was thick, laced with the scent of damp wood smoke from the burning fire. Bandit stood near the door. His face shadowed, his tone calm but firm as he relayed his instructions.

“She’s doing well,” Bandit said, his voice steady. “Keep an eye on her. Make sure she keeps her food down and takes in liquids slowly. Call me immediately if she spikes a fever or anything seems off.” His sharp gaze locked on Deacon. “She needs to follow my instructions to the letter. No exceptions.”

Deacon nodded, determination tightening his resolve. He shrugged off his poncho, the soaked material slapping against the floor, then crossed the small space to Echo. Her fragile appearance stirred something deep in his chest. The fire’s flickering flames illuminated her pale skin and tired eyes, but there was a spark of life in her gaze as he approached.

He held out a small bag. “Dry socks,” he said simply.

Her eyes lit up, a flicker of gratitude breaking through her exhaustion as she took the bag from him. Deacon moved back to the door, crouching to remove his boots. The leather was soaked through, the weight of the water making them feel like lead weights. He sighed, knowing the jungle’s unyielding moisture wouldn’t make drying them easy, but they were all he had. He set them by the fire alongside her boots.

Echo’s soft voice broke the silence. “I’ll share my blanket and socks,” she said, holding the bag with a teasing smile.

Deacon chuckled under his breath and began stripping out of his uniform. The wet fabric stubbornly clung to him, the layers he peeled away sticking to him like plastic wrap. He carefully laid the damp clothes out, draping them over chairs and makeshift racks around the room, ensuring they had the best chance to dry. Clad only in his boxer briefs, he sat down beside her, the heat from the fire licking at his skin.

“You keep the socks,” he said firmly. “As far as I’m concerned, I could run around the jungle in just my boxers. It’s warm enough in here.”

Echo glanced at the fire, her brows furrowing slightly. “I’m sorry. We can let the fire die down if it’s too hot.”

He shook his head, his expression softening. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen until you tell me you’re warm.”

Draping an arm over her shoulders, he pulled her gently against him, and she leaned into his chest, her breathing steady until a sudden cough wracked her body. She groaned softly, clutching her ribs. “My chest hurts,” she murmured. “It feels like an elephant sat on me.”

Deacon smiled faintly, his voice low and soothing. “I’m glad your chest hurts. And before you get mad at me, I’m not saying I want you in pain. I’m just glad you’re alive to feel it.”

His hand moved slowly along her arm as she let out a soft laugh that turned into another cough. “It does make sense,” she said quietly. “I’m still trying to put what happened into perspective.” She paused, her voice dropping even lower. “I swear I saw my aunt.”

“You said that before. Why is that so strange?” he asked, tilting his head to look at her.

She lifted her head from his shoulder, her eyes serious. “She died five years ago.”

Deacon’s gaze darkened with curiosity as he studied her face. He could see the sincerity in her eyes, the weight of whatever she’d experienced. “Can you tell me what happened? I’m interested in what you saw.”

She rolled her eyes, leaning back against him. “You’re going to think I’m insane—more than you already do.”

“First,” he began, his tone firm but kind, “I don’t think you’re insane. I think you’re an incredibly intelligent woman. Anybody who says otherwise or ridicules you for any reason will have to deal with me. Second, I want to know what you experienced. I know you were gone. You didn’t have a pulse. It could’ve been several minutes. I want to know what you felt—what happened.”

He tightened his arm around her slightly, his hand moving softly along her arm. “If you haven’t realized it yet, I’m not the kind of man who judges and finds people lacking. I’m the kind of man who supports you and tells you that you can get through this.”

She made a small sound, almost a sigh, and whispered, “She hugged me.”

Deacon tilted his head closer, his voice softening. “She hugged you?”

Echo nodded. “It was the most wonderful sensation. There was peace—total contentment. Nothing hurt. There was no sadness, no fear. It was just … quiet.” Her voice wavered, and she paused before continuing. “She told me I couldn’t stay. When I asked why, she said I had to go back. She said …” Her voice cracked slightly, and she swallowed hard before finishing. “She said Deacon needed me now.”

Deacon turned to face her fully, his hands taking hers gently. When her gaze met his, he offered her a reassuring smile. “Your aunt was right. I don’t know how it happened so fast, and I’m not going to play games—I realized how important you are to me on the way up the mountain. Hell, I probably realized it the first night we met. But after you were swept away, after we pulled you out of the water, and after you started breathing again, everything happened so fast. We were moving, climbing, fighting to get here. There wasn’t time to process any of it. But halfway up the mountain, all those emotions hit me like a freaking freight train. I don’t want this connection between us to stop. I don’t want a life without you in it. Don’t let that freak you out—I’m not some stalker or psycho. But there’s an undeniable connection between us. Don’t you agree?”

She nodded, her voice soft. “I think there’s a remarkable connection. But it’s kind of crazy, isn’t it? I mean, shouldn’t we date for a couple of years before we reach this point?”

He chuckled, lifting her hand to his lips and brushing a kiss across the back of it. “Only if you want to take the scenic route.”

“I like the scenic route now and then. But perhaps not this time.” Her lips curved into a soft smile. Her exhaustion was evident in the way her eyelids drooped.

He tapped his thigh gently. “Lay down and sleep. I’ll watch over you.”

She rested her head on his thigh, her gaze fixed on the fire. “I’ve never been religious,” she murmured, “but I know in my heart there’s something after this. Some scientists might say my brain was running out of oxygen, trying to rationalize my last moments. But I don’t think that’s what it was. It was too real. It lasted too long.”

Deacon untangled her braid slowly, his fingers running through her hair as he listened. She continued to talk, her voice soft and thoughtful as she processed what she’d been through. He offered quiet comments, but mostly, he let her speak, giving her the space she needed.

Did he believe in the afterlife? In his line of work, death was ever-present. He couldn’t prove or disprove what she’d experienced, but he could respect it. It was real to her, and that was all that mattered.

As the storm raged outside, rain pounded against the shelter. Deacon remained by her side, allowing her to talk and heal. It wasn’t much, but it was all he could do at that moment. When she fell asleep, he shifted her onto the rolled-up pillow and settled down beside her. It had been one hell of a day.

Deacon woke instantly, his senses sharp and alert. Something had pulled him from sleep, cutting through the relentless pounding of the rain against the shelter's thatched roof. The storm outside was unrelenting, and the jungle was alive with a symphony of rain pelting leaves, water rushing over what had once been solid ground, and the occasional crack of thunder splitting the night. Yet amid it all, another sound had been faint, almost drowned out by the storm.

He strained his ears, the air thick with the smell of damp earth and smoke from the fire's dying embers. There it was again—a small, plaintive cry. His gaze shifted to Echo. Her hands twitched against the blanket, her legs jerking as though trying to outrun something in her dreams. A soft whimper escaped her parted lips, and the sight twisted something deep inside him.

Sliding closer, Deacon reached out and gently pressed his hand to her forehead. Relief washed over him when he found her skin cool and free of fever, but the tension in her body told him she was trapped in a nightmare. He ran his hand carefully down her shoulder and along her arm, his touch light and meant to soothe.

She startled awake with a gasp, her wide eyes filled with confusion and fear. The sudden movement triggered a violent coughing fit. Deacon quickly shifted, pulling her upright and holding her close as tremors wracked her body. Her breath was ragged, each cough echoing painfully in the small space.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “I’m here. You’re safe. Were you dreaming?”

She nodded weakly, the tremble in her body slowing but not stopping. “Dreaming,” she whispered. “Yeah … It was a dream. A nightmare.” Her voice cracked as she continued, her words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “Everything that happened this morning … it replayed in my head. I could feel it all over again. The water. The suffocation. My lungs filling up.” She clutched her throat, her hand trembling as she pulled in a shallow breath. “It all came back.”

She leaned heavily against his shoulder, her forehead pressing into his chest as if trying to hide from the memories. The firelight played across her pale face, the shadows dancing with the storm raging outside.

“God, I hope that dream doesn’t come back,” she whispered.

Deacon arranged the pillow behind her, gently helping her back down onto the mat. Stretching out next to her, he pulled her close, sharing the pillow and draping his arm protectively over her waist. The warmth of her body against his reminded him of how fragile life could be.

“Someone once told me dreams are our subconscious trying to make sense of what we’ve been through,” he said softly, his voice barely audible over the rain.

She let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. “Then I have a lot to make sense of,” she replied, her tone laced with weary humor. “Like I didn’t have enough baggage before I took a dive in the floodwaters.”

Deacon didn’t laugh. Echo was probably one of the most composed women he’d ever met, even after everything she’d been through. But he knew the weight of her words, the vulnerability beneath her humor. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, the motion gentle and grounding.

“Everyone has baggage,” he murmured. “What happened today was something exceptional. It’ll take time to process. Don’t worry—I’m not going anywhere.”

Her arm slid over his, holding him close. “I like that,” she said softly. “But, Deacon, I don’t want you to stay with me out of some sense of duty. I know I was your mission—that you needed to get me in and out. I’d understand if you needed a break. Right now, I’m probably more than you bargained for.”

He tightened his arm around her, a low chuckle rumbling from his chest. “Woman, you are not getting out of this relationship by using the fact that you almost died. I don’t run from trouble.”

She shifted slightly, glancing over her shoulder at him. “So, you admit I’m trouble?”

“Oh, yes, you’re trouble,” he said with a grin. “But trouble in the best possible way. You’re going to wreck all my plans for the future. You’ll haunt my thoughts when we’re not occupying the same bed. You’ll be in my thoughts every time I’m running a mission. Yeah, you’re trouble, all right. But it’s the kind of trouble I signed up for the moment I gave you my cell phone number.”

Echo turned to face him, adjusting her position until she was comfortable. He let his arm fall back over her waist, his hand resting lightly against her back. She stared up at him, her fingers brushing his cheek, her touch featherlight.

“Mentally and emotionally, I’m all over the place right now,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “But I want you to know … if it weren’t for you, I don’t think I would’ve come back.”

Deacon stared into her eyes, her words sinking deep into his chest. Maybe her admission should’ve been a warning, a reason to pause. But instead, it filled him with a quiet warmth, a sense of purpose he hadn’t expected. The storm outside raged on, the rain a deafening roar as it battered the jungle, but there in the shelter, everything felt still.

As she closed her eyes and nestled closer, Deacon rubbed slow, soothing circles on the small of her back. His thoughts drifted to the jungle beyond the shelter walls. The Laos terrain was unforgiving. It was a dense, tangled expanse of vines and towering trees, now slick with rain and treacherous to navigate. The swollen flood waters roared like beasts, and the thick mud swallowed every footprint, erasing all traces of their passage.

Somehow, amid the chaos, he couldn’t shake the feeling that today had been part of their destiny. The jungle might have been merciless, the mission brutal, but this connection—this woman—felt like the one thing that made sense.