The metal is cold against my skin.
It’s a sharp contrast to Smith’s warm, rancid breath, which grazes past my ear when he speaks next. “You know the drill, Dr. Spencer. Tell me where the gun is, or…” He joggles the Beretta against my temple. “ONE…”
I always imagined having a gun pointed at my head would be more terrifying. Well, not that I’ve ever really pictured myself being taken hostage before today. I never thought I’d find myself in such a predicament. But now that I’m standing here, literally looking down the barrel of life and death, the experience is surreal. As if it were happening to someone else. Honestly, I half-expect a camera crew to jump out of the bushes and scream, “You’ve been Punk’d!” any time now.
The psychology behind such a reaction is pretty straightforward: our bodies respond to life-threatening situations by creating a rush of adrenaline, supplying us with courage we don’t normally have. Providing a willingness to fight when exhaustion should’ve taken it away.
So here I stand, brave in the face of death. If I have to kick the bucket today, I’ll go with my head held high, staring into the eyes of the man I love. Not the worst way to die, I suppose.
“TWO…”
But as I stare at Logan, I don’t see the same resolution in his hazel eyes. He’s too afraid for me. He’s going to cave and tell Smith all about the satellite phone and help being on the way. And then the colonel will pack us all off before the Thai police can get here.
But I don’t blame Logan. I’d do the same if it were him with a gun pointed at his head.
“THR—”
The bushes around the camp explode into life. In a blur, heavily camouflaged soldiers emerge from the jungle, and before our captors have time to realize what’s happening, the newcomers overpower Carter and Montgomery. Guns pried from their hands, they’re made to lie flat on their bellies, faces smashed into the dirt, while our saviors bind their wrists behind their backs with zip ties.
But there’s still the small matter of Smith holding a gun to my head. The colonel and I both realize what’s happening at the same time; I can tell by his grip tightening around my waist.
“Let the girl go,” one of the armed newcomers orders, pointing his rifle at us—at Smith—along with three other members of his commando unit. That makes it a total of one gun and four assault rifles pointed at me.
Smith snickers. “That would be really stupid on my part, wouldn’t it? You can’t shoot me while I’m—”
Something hisses in the air below my ear and passes beside my neck. Smith goes limp without warning, his body slumping down behind mine. As he hits the ground, Smith’s hand falls open and the Beretta scatters in the dirt.
I hear screaming, and it takes me a while to understand it’s me. Smith’s dead! All the fear, tension, and exhaustion of the past few days erupt out of me in strangled screams.
“Miss, miss.” A soldier is holding my shoulders and shaking me.
“You killed him!” I shout, in shock, feeling the side of my face for blood that isn’t there.
“Miss, he’s just taking a nap.” The soldier turns me, forcing me to stare down at Smith. And, indeed, the colonel’s features are relaxed, his mouth slightly turned up at the corners in a serene, contented smile. “We used a powerful sedative dart, not a bullet.”
I grip the soldier’s arm. “Smith’s alive?”
“Yes, ma’am. He’s probably having a better time than we are.” The soldier gently squeezes my shoulders and lets me go. “But I promise the music will change when he wakes up.”
“And how come you’re going around with a tranquilizer gun? Is that standard equipment for the army?”
“No,” the soldier smiles. “We were on a search and rescue for an American tiger that got lost in the jungle—”
“What’s an American tiger doing so far from home?”
“She’s a rare species, and was here for reproductive reasons when she escaped…”
“Oh,” I say. “And are you still going to retrieve her?”
“That’s our next stop, miss, once we’re done dealing with these fine gentlemen.”
The soldier unceremoniously flips the colonel’s unconscious body in the dirt, not bothering to be gentle, and binds his hands behind his back.
The shock is passing now, and I turn to meet Logan’s eyes. He opens his arms, and I fly into them, collapsing in a fit of sobs against his chest. I don’t even know why I’m crying, or if they’re happy or sad tears.
“Shhh,” Logan shushes me, while he holds me tight and gently caresses my back in a soothing motion. “It’s over now.”
“Err…” Someone clears his throat next to us, and we pull apart. “Sorry to interrupt.” It’s a different soldier, still wearing his netting-covered helmet. “Are you Dr. Logan Spencer?”
“Yes,” Logan says.
“I’m Colonel Sanchez, responsible for the operation.”
Logan smiles brightly. “Never been more pleased to meet someone, Colonel.”
The colonel acknowledges Logan’s implicit thanks with a curt nod. “I just need to confirm all the armed parties have been apprehended. There were only three, correct?”
“Correct.”
“And you said you had a gravely injured man in your midst?”
With a sinking feeling of guilt, we both turn to the prisoners’ encampment. I’d forgotten all about them in the drama of the moment. Archie is being helped to his feet by Tucker and another soldier; it’s clear he still isn’t strong enough to stand on his own. Next to them, Dr. Boonjan and Somchai are drinking water in long, thirsty gulps.
“Yes,” Logan says. “The blond man. He’s in need of immediate medical attention.”
We watch as Tucker sways slightly under Archie’s weight. A second soldier takes his place, and both Tucker and Archie are given water.
“The rest of us should be fine,” Logan says. “Except for mild dehydration.”
The colonel nods. “Our medic will have a look at your colleague, and we have a helicopter on standby. I’m calling it now. We’re flying your friend to Bangkok.”
When the helicopter arrives, there isn’t a stretch of flat ground large enough for it to land, so they hover as close to the ground as they can and pass down a stretcher.
The two soldiers holding Archie upright act as human crutches as he limps toward the gurney.
“On my belly, please,” Archie pleads.
The soldiers help him turn and lower him down, securing him to the cot.
Logan and I kneel next to Archie’s head, the wind and noise of the rotating blades roaring above us. Logan takes his hand and shouts, “I’m going to see you soon!”
“Yeah, not so easy to get rid of me,” Archie jokes feebly. His eyes flick to me. “I owe you my ass, Snowflake—twice over!”
Fresh tears threaten to spill from my eyes, and I bend down to stamp a soft kiss on his left temple.
“Please stand back,” a medic in uniform requests. “We have to hoist him up now.”
We take a step back and crane our necks up, waving as Archie is hauled onto the helicopter. The men on board pull him in, and then the powerful machine rises higher in the sky and quickly disappears from view.
“Dr. Spencer,” Colonel Sanchez calls. “The embassy has arranged for a military convoy to escort you from the nearest village to Trat’s airport. Horses should arrive soon to transport you back to the village. I assume you’ll all want to leave today, yes?”
“What about the site?” Logan asks, the archeologist in him prevailing over the exhausted man.
“The Thai police are on their way to secure the perimeter and make sure no pillaging takes place.”
Even after the colonel’s reassuring words, the struggle is easy to read on Logan’s face. Part of him wants to stay and ensure his discovery is not tampered with, but the rest of him is dying to be at Archie’s bedside and help our friend recover.
Dr. Boonjan drops a heavy hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Go look after your friend,” he says. “I can stay behind and make sure everything is handled properly. I watched them load the treasure onto that poor mule—I’ll make sure that’s properly cataloged as well.”
“Are you sure?” Logan asks. “You don’t want to go back, take a shower, sleep in a real bed?”
Dr. Boonjan’s lips part in a rare grin. “I’ve slept in worse places, and I’ve never taken a more scenic bath than by the river here. You, on the other hand, look like you could use that shower.”
Logan, his face and body still covered in mud, laughs. “I suppose we could.”
“Take care of Archibald,” Dr. Boonjan says. “I’ll handle things here until you can come back.”
Logan nods at him, and then turns to Colonel Sanchez. “Colonel, we’re ready to leave whenever you are.”