Exhaustion won and Audrey had fallen into a deep sleep almost instantly. The hard part was staying asleep after that first blissful hour of rest. It remained dark in the tent when she surfaced, but she knew it was daylight outside. Their tent was well and truly buried. With Xavier pressed to her back, she was enveloped in a warm, dark cocoon.

His breathing was deep and even, and she forced her body to remain calm and still. She didn’t want to disturb his slumber. If they were going to survive this, he was the one who needed sleep.

His skills, his team—those two things were her only hope of walking out of this forest alive. He’d never said a word about his shoulder, but she knew he was in a great deal of pain. He’d been injured again after he left her, when he’d fought whoever he’d gotten the NVGs and rifle from, but after she told him about the baby, they hadn’t spoken more about what had happened in the woods last night.

It was probably a mistake, but part of her was glad they’d gotten to share that moment without the nightmare intruding.

He wanted and would love their child. She would hold on to those thoughts in the coming desperate hours. And she had zero doubt this day would be as desperate as the last. But the father of her child had her back—he was literally pressed against that part now as he slept—and would protect them. She would do her part to help. No one knew this part of the park better than her. Well, except George.

She’d spent months in these woods over multiple years, but George had spent years over multiple decades.

George.

He’d been in Jeb’s shop last night, making bombs. Which meant he knew what happened to Jeb. Knew there were enemies in the forest.

He’d prepared to engage them, resurrecting the guerilla fighting skills he’d learned fifty years ago.

George was an ally, but if the SEALs found him before she and Xavier did, would they know he was friend, not foe?

Chapter Nineteen

During daylight hours, the platoon took turns sleeping in shifts. Chris wished he could be searching the forest for the missing Fire Team, but they all knew that the four men would be hunkered down during daylight as well. A search would be risky and likely yield nothing.

Still, concern for the missing team members gnawed at him.

As he lay inside a thermal blanket covered with moss and ferns with rain pattering his makeshift shelter, he went over again in his mind the size and shape of the body he’d witnessed being dumped over the side of the fishing boat. The person had been thick, with broad shoulders. Broad enough to be MCPO Mueller? Mueller was stocky. Thickly muscled.