"Are you sure?"
He wasn't used to people questioning him, but figured she wouldn't take well to one of his infamous don't-mess-with-me glares. "I've studied maps of the area. We're better off heading for a shallow crossing point. We have two choices. Option A, continue north along the waterline to a narrow bend where we cross and reach a—" Could he trust her with the location of a CIA safe house? "—safe place in a village where we can sleep for the night."
A treacherous hike even without a kid in tow.
Sara dabbed the T-shirt over the sweat dotting her throat and brow. "How far?"
"Roughly twenty-five miles. With the terrain and the little one, it should take us about two to three days."
"Option B?"
"Go back and hang out with your buddy Ramon."
Lucia dropped her caterpillar. "Tio Ramon?"
Uncle Ramon? The child didn't seem in the least scared of the bastard. A thought he could only file away to think about later, after he hauled their asses out of this mess.
"No." Sara shook her head, crossing her arms tight over her chest.
A chest, he suddenly realized, that was quite a bit more generous in spite of her slighter frame. From having a kid? With his defenses seriously dinged, his mind filled too easily with the image of her round with a baby. Whose?
Sara followed his gaze down to...
She dropped her arms. "What about a flare?"
"And bring Ramon to the rescue?"
"Or Padilla."
"Padilla?" Another name on the CIA's To-Be-Nabbed list.
Kneeling by the open backpack, she rezipped and lifted it to her lap. "Hector Padilla has been plotting a coup to fake out Ramon."
"With any luck Ramon and Padilla will take care of each other."
Gunfire popped again. Closer. Scattering birds flapping through the trees.
"We have to get out of here. Pass me the kid. I'll carry her and you take the backpack. We've got a lot of ground to cover before sunset."
Shoving away from the tree, he stifled a wince at the pull to his arm, flexed his fingers through the pain and reached for the little girl. She chewed her lip, eyeing his hand, then his face. At least she wasn't threatening to chew on him.
But they needed to keep her calm. Carting a screaming kid through the jungle would exhaust precious energy, not to mention attract attention. She released her lip and pressed her mouth tight. Her arms thrust out in the universal pick-me-up gesture. A surge of protectiveness shot through him at mach speed.
Who the hell was he kidding? No matter who'd fathered this child, she was Sara's, who'd for some reason cared enough to name the little one after him.
The child was a permanent part of his life, beyond any soldier-style responsibility. The reality soaked into his thick head now that he wasn't running flat-out from bullets and bombs. But he could use a little more time to process that fact.
Shifting into survival mode, he shut down his brain to the questions hammering as loud as his adrenaline-revved pulse. Explanations would have to wait until later anyway.
Because he was certain this would be no conversation for young ears to overhear.
Stick in hand, Sara smacked aside spiky fronds since the path continued to narrow the farther they walked from the demolished bridge. Beyond clearing the way, they also needed to scatter hordes of fire ants and countless other deadly insects Lucia would have enjoyed studying.
If only confused emotions could be as easily swept aside.
At least Lucia seemed content to ride on Lucas's back without biting him. He'd fashioned some sort of makeshift baby backpack for her from his vest and vines.
From her perch, her daughter drifted in and out of sleep, her head bobbing, tiny arms looped around Lucas's neck. Sara blinked fast. She wouldn't cry, damn it.