He nodded. “The rain should stop by then, so it will be easier to move. Easier to hear birdcall signals and we won’t be exposed every step of the way.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed up and down her own shoulders. She hadn’t quite wrapped her brain around how long this would take. She could be trapped here for days as they played cat-and-mouse in the forest.

The problem was, she was pretty sure she was the mouse.

“What do you think the team is doing now?”

“If they found Jeb or the merc’s body, then they’re alert to the danger they’re in. Probably looking at improvising weapons and figuring out a plan to assault the lodge.”

“I hope they’re giving the mercs hell.”

He tilted his back against the inner wall of the trunk. His voice turned soft and wistful. “Me too, Aud. Me too.”

Chapter Eleven

Something was very, very off about this training. The disabled SUV was too random and not at all in keeping with the parameters of the mission, and the gunshot that had echoed through the woods had been a discordant note in an explosive- and bullet-free exercise.

Plus, Chris was certain there were more tangos in the woods than there should be. The forest was fricking full of people. They’d been told to expect a few guards patrolling the lodge, but that was all. Their objective was to breach the lodge and rescue the hostage. Intel had said there were only four men in the forest.

Sure, they might give them bad intel on purpose—that had happened on a mission more than once, including the last one he’d been on with Rivera—but this didn’t feel like Rivera’s touch. Nothing that was happening here even remotely resembled the last op he’d been on with Rivera, making him certain this wasn’t a therapeutic mind fuck from his former team member.

He couldn’t help but wonder who the hostage was supposed to be.

These thoughts swirled through his mind as he followed the tracks of a tango through the miserable cold, dark rain. At least the trail was easy to follow. These guys didn’t care about covering tracks or snapping branches. Whoever Rivera had lined up to play the role of baddies was making it easy.

Either they were SEALs who were pretending to be less trained, or they were Army.

He smiled grimly at his mental joke. He’d have to rib one of his Ranger buddies with that one next time they went out for beers.

He paused and studied the ground where a bunch of leaves were smashed and branches broken.

“Shit,” Phelps said, obviously noting the same thing.

“A fight,” Chris said softly, thankful for the cover of the rain.

“One of our guys tangled here? With who? One of the trainers?”