She unconsciously shifted closer to Hancock, seeking the warmth of his body, some of the rapidly coiling tension in her stomach loosening as his heat bled into her skin.
Then she stiffened, blinking as a vague recollection taunted her, licking at the fringes of her memory. She frowned, straining to call it forward. She’d been in Hancock’s arms, her cheeks wet, chest tight with grief and fear. He’d held her. When?
Last night.
She must have been crying in her sleep. Hancock had lifted her from the cot where she slept and lowered her to his bedroll beside him and he’d wrapped his arms around her, anchoring her, rocking and soothing her, murmuring gentle words the entire while.
It took all her discipline not to yank her gaze to the side and stare at him as if she could somehow decipher the puzzle by looking into his eyes.
She wasn’t imagining it. She hadn’t dreamed it. She’d lain in his arms until some point when she’d drifted into sleep solidly enough that he transferred her back to the cot without her ever remembering. Until now.
Struggling to keep the betraying frown of puzzlement from deepening, she bit into her bottom lip and pondered why she was even making a big deal out of it. He was human, after all, despite her doubts to the contrary. Last night just proved he wasn’t a complete dick and that he did have compassion. He obviously kept it under wraps for reasons unknown, but then she supposed that if he did this all the time, unselfishly put his life on the line for others, it didn’t pay to get emotionally involved in any capacity.
She could understand why he’d view her and the countless others he’d helped as . . . things. Not human beings with feelings or emotions. Because then if things went wrong he would feel that much more. Maybe it was the way he stayed sane. Whatever his methodology, she was grateful, because it was working. And whatever got her out of this hellhole and back on U.S. soil, she was one hundred ten percent behind.
Still she couldn’t help but glance up at Hancock when he wasn’t looking, studying the firm outline of his jaw and his chiseled features that seemed set in stone. She wondered what his story was. What he and his men officially did or if they even officially existed.
What a terrible half-life that must be, to live and yet be nothing to the world, nobody to anyone. To continually put their lives at risk for strangers they didn’t know and would never see again. Did anyone ever thank them? Truly thank them? She made a mental vow that whenever they got to wherever they were going, she was going to thank each and every one of them by name. They would know that she wouldn’t forget that they gave her a chance at life. That they saved her from certain torture and death.
And at the same time, as incongruous as it might sound, it only reaffirmed her commitment to her relief efforts. No one would blame her if she never took another assignment. If she stayed safely inside the confines of the United States and enjoyed the protection and freedoms of living within its borders. Living in the ignorant bliss that so many Americans enjoyed—embraced. Most people would think her insane to wade back into the fray after such a close brush with the unthinkable.
But there were people in need. People without others to fight for them. To help them do something her countrymen took for granted. Survive. Be free. Hancock and his men were people who took up that fight. She’d devoted her life to the cause of helping others. Just because she’d faced adversity—and overcome it—didn’t give her justification to simply step aside and quit. Allow others to assume the risk in her stead.
If anything it only made her that much more determined not to allow these assholes to silence her efforts. Her family wouldn’t like it. They wouldn’t go down without one hell of a fight, as they had the first time she’d come to this war-torn, embattled region. They would need time with her—time she’d gladly grant them—so they could ensure that she was well and truly safe. Alive. Unhurt.
But then she’d pick up the banner again and nothing would deter her from her calling. It wasn’t something she could ignore, opting for a safe nine-to-five job. It was who and what she was, and to walk away was not only a betrayal of the people so desperately in need but a betrayal of herself, her ideals and her beliefs.
“Whatever it is that has you so deep in thought, it better not be a plan I’m not privy to.”
Hancock’s drawl broke through her thought process, startling her into lifting her gaze to see him studying her intently. What, did he think she was planning to run from him and escape on her own? Not likely. He was her best and only hope of getting home alive and she knew it.
So deeply entrenched in her fierce thought process was she that she spoke before censoring her words.
“I was merely making a vow not to let these assholes make me quit,” she blurted out.
Embarrassed by her impassioned outburst, she ducked her head, her voice more of a mumble now.
“Most people would run home and never leave again,” she said quietly. “I’m not most people and I’m needed here. And other places. Places most people won’t go. But those are the places where the need is the greatest. And just as you have all risked your lives to save me—one person—then so too will I risk my life to help countless others. Your risk won’t be in vain. My life means something. It has purpose. I won’t go quietly, nor will I let those bastards frighten me into sticking my head into the sand and staying at home with Mommy and Daddy like a coward.”
Her tone had grown fiercer with every word until they blazed with heat to match the intensity of her emotions.