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the direction to go.
    “What the hell did he say?” Ethan demanded.
    “They found Rachel. Garrett’s carrying her back. They’ll meet us at the chopper.”
    P.J. broke through a snarl of leaves, her rifle seemingly too big for her small frame.
    “Let’s make tracks,” she said. “Chopper is two and a half miles over that ridge. Going to be a bitch on our current trajectory.”
    “You got an easier way?” Donovan asked.
    “Nope.”
    Ethan strode ahead, not waiting for them to hash out the best route.
    “Wait up, man,” Donovan called. “Since I’m the one with the GPS, you might want to let me take the lead. Otherwise you’re going to end up in Venezuela.”
    “Then go already,” Ethan snarled. “We’ve had enough delays already.”
    They stalked through the jungle in silence, eyes and ears alert to any noise or movement. Though they’d crippled the small village with their surprise attack, they were still outnumbered, and when the enemy had time to regroup, they’d be on KGI’s asses.
    Ethan wanted to be the hell out of Colombia with his wife well before that happened.
    All the breath left his chest, leaving him deflated. His pace slowed as the events of the day caught up to him. He hadn’t even been able to revel in the discovery of Rachel—alive—before all hell had broken loose. Even now she was with his brothers, and he was dependent on them to get her safely to the helicopter. Not that he didn’t trust them. He trusted them with his life—and Rachel’s. But he ached to be the one with her, offering her reassurance.
    He picked up his step when Donovan gained distance on him. He couldn’t afford to mentally wander off like that. It could get him and his teammates killed.
    He glanced over at P.J. She’d kept up with no problem, and she looked unruffled by the fight.
    “Thanks for the cover,” he said.
    She looked startled by the thank-you. Her ponytail swung as she glanced sideways at him. “No problem. It’s my job.”
    “It’s a job you’re good at,” he said sincerely.
    “For a woman you mean.”
    “I didn’t say that.”
    He looked over to see a smile nudging the corners of her mouth.
    “You’re doing that on purpose to make me feel like a slime bucket,” he accused.
    She shrugged. “You’re a SEAL. You’re not used to going into combat with women. It stands to reason you’d be impressed. I doubt you’re as impressed by Cole, and his job is the same as mine.”
    She had him there.
    “Okay, busted. You’re right. I’m impressed because you’re a woman. A really small woman.”
    Donovan snickered in front of them. “Quit while you’re ahead, little brother. She’s kicked people’s asses for saying less than that.”
    P.J. rolled her eyes at Donovan’s back.
    “Got an ETA, nerd boy?”
    “Ouch,” Donovan said. “You hurt me with your insults. Half mile more.” He pointed at the slope ahead. “Just over that ridge and we’ll be looking down at the helicopter.”
    “Then what do you say we walk more and talk less,” she said as she surged ahead.
    And again, summarily dismissed like an errant schoolboy. The woman had a way of making a man feel about an inch tall.
    Donovan and Ethan exchanged amused glances and picked up the pace.
    They were dirty, sweat-drenched, and Ethan had dried blood caked on his neck and shirt, when they topped the rise. Below, the helicopter sat covered in a camouflage net.
    Donovan spoke quietly into his mic, and slowly, the men surrounding the chopper came into view.
    Ethan, Donovan and P.J. hurried down and were met by Dolphin.
    “Give me a report on Cole,” Donovan said briskly.
    “He’s in the chopper. Gave him a shot to ease the pain. Ricochet. Bullet’s still in the leg. We’ll have to stop over in Costa Rica and let Maren look him over and hope we can refuel there.”
    Donovan nodded and then looked over to where Baker and Renshaw stood, their gazes wary as they stood guard. “You guys okay? Any other