Renegade (Special Tactical Units Division 3)

Annie couldn’t get up this thing. Yes, she was tough and she learned fast. He could use paracord to string them together, give her a five-minute lesson in how to place her hands and feet, and maybe, maybe she could do it, but in the condition she was in?

Never.

The horse pawed at the ground. Dec patted the animal’s neck to calm it.

The horse was uneasy. Did it sense something? Hear something? Animals sometimes picked up signs and signals humans didn’t.

So what now? How the fuck were they going to cross this mountain?

Some kind of paracord sling to hoist Annie up? Forget it. He had no way to anchor a sling. Besides, slings had a nasty tendency to spin and bump and bang.

Running the risk of letting Annie slam into this wall of stone was out of the question.

A fireman’s carry? A military lift? Also no good. No matter how careful he was, if he slung Annie over his shoulder his center of gravity would be all wrong. He’d be fighting to keep the two of them from tumbling backwards into space and it would be a fight he—and she—would lose.

Dec took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly. He had to calm down, get centered. Think.

Think.

“Annie?”

She stirred in his arms. “Declan,” she whispered.

Carefully, holding her close, he slid to the ground and trotted to the nearest boulder. He sat her down so that she was leaning against the boulder, went back to the horse and took his pack from where he’d hung it on the saddle.

“Sweetheart? How do you feel?”

She made a face. “Won’erful.”

He forced a smile as he got out the water bag.

“Glad to hear it. Sit up a little. That’s it. I want you to try and drink some water.”

“I’ll prob’ly throw up.”

“Just water, Annie. No pills. Nothing but water.” He opened the bag and brought it to her mouth. “Try a sip. Slowly. No rush.”

She drank. A few drops only. He held his breath, damn near willing the water to stay down…

It didn’t. It spewed straight out of her mouth.

She made a little sound of distress. “I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay, baby. Don’t worry about it.” He took a dirty shirt from his pack, soaked it with water and gently applied it to her hot face.

“Mmm. Feels good.”

“Yeah. I’m glad. Annie? Look at me.”

She lifted her head and he patted her lips with the wet shirt. Her tongue came out; she licked at the drops. Yes! Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner?

He was a big proponent of keeping hydrated. The need for fluids had been drummed into him in the SEALs as well as in STUD; time in the field had only reinforced the conviction that one of the worst enemies you could face was dehydration.

“A little more,” he said, dabbing her lips with the wet shirt again.

“Nice,” she whispered.

His belly clenched.