“In that tent?” he asked.
“Yes.” She swallowed her fear. “I’ll get you whatever you need, but don’t kill anyone else. You didn’t need to kill anyone.”
“Shut your mouth, woman.” He drew her into the medical tent, stopped, looked around, two of his buddies following them inside, rifles raised.
Patients huddled together. Those in beds stared, wide-eyed.
“Wh-what do you need?” Was this really happening? “You won’t find it without my help.”
He let her go. “We need to treat a bullet wound that has gone bad.”
Kristi fought back her fear, let her training carry her. “Where is the wound? Is the bullet still there?”
He hesitated, as if this were secret information. “The bullet is in his leg.”
Infection. Blood loss. Tissue damage.
“You could have just brought him here. We would have treated him without asking questions.” She picked up a bag and opened one plastic supply crate after the next, packing things into an empty duffel bag.
Gunshot wound kit with hemostatic bandages. Drain kit. Trauma kit. Sterile gloves. Oral antibiotics. Oxycodone. Suture kit. Lidocaine gel. IV kits. IV fluids and broad-spectrum IV antibiotics. A pre-op scrub kit with extra sponges. Ibuprofen and Tylenol for fever. A vial of Versed. Syringes.
There was O-neg blood and plasma in the surgical van, but she wasn’t about to lead the bastard to where Dr. Adamu was working.
She held out the bag. “That’s everything you need.”
He grinned, grabbed her by her hair. “You’re coming with us.”
“No!” Kristi fought to hold her ground, her mouth dry, her heart flailing in her chest. “Let … me… go!”
If they took her away, she would likely never see home again.
But he was stronger than she was. Fist in her hair, he pulled her along with him to a battered white SUV, rough hands pushing her into the back seat. Men with rifles climbed in beside her, one firing his weapon into the air and laughing at people’s terrified responses. Then someone put a hood over her head—and the vehicle began to move.
* * *
Malik Jones parkedin the garage at Cobra HQ, jogged to the elevator, and punched the call button with the side of his closed fist, rage thrumming in his chest.
Kristi had been abducted. Assailants had attacked her mobile medical unit, killing the security guards and taking her by force. Witnesses said one of the attackers had threatened to kill her patients and had dragged her away by her hair.
Fuck! Son of a bitch! Damn it!
Malik wanted to find him—and rip him to pieces.
He had gotten the news twenty minutes ago from Samantha, who’d heard it from Kristi’s parents, who’d just gotten word from the State Department. They’d said it had happened at about three in the afternoon Nigerian time—five hours ago—but they had no idea who had taken her.
If it was Boko Haram…
Malik had gone up against those fuckers in a few covert ops in his Army Ranger days. They had no respect for human life and treated women like chattel, kidnapping young girls, raping them, forcing children into sham marriages, and killing those who refused. They abducted boys, too, using them as child soldiers and unwilling suicide bombers. If they had Kristi, they would hurt her, and, eventually, they would kill her.
He punched the call button again. What the fuck was taking so long?
Malik wanted to find Kristi—and kill every bastard who’d been part of her abduction. If he had anything to say about it, he and the rest of the Cobra crew would be wheels up in a few hours, bound for Lagos.
Goddamn it!
He should have stayed in touch with her. Not a day had gone by since leaving Antarctica when he hadn’t thought of her. So many times, he’d come close to sending her an email. Every time, he’d stopped himself. They had agreed to no strings, and there was no chance that they could be together. He’d figured his feelings for her would fade with time and distance, but they hadn’t. And now…
He’d warned Kristi. He’d told her to go somewhere else—Botswana or Tanzania. As beautiful and vibrant as Nigeria was, it wasn’t safe. Boko Haram was to blame for most of the brutality Malik had witnessed, but not all of it. Corrupt special police, so-called bandits, and drug rings committed their share of atrocities, too. That’s why Cobra had been tasked so many times with protecting US government representatives and business executives who traveled there.