“Bring her to me,” she said in resignation.
Sumathi hurried over and readily relinquished the baby into Grace’s arms. Grace sank to the floor on her knees and then positioned the baby so she’d be warm and comfortable.
She was so listless. As if she’d already given up the fight.
Grace reached out to her, hoping to find a connection. She made the contact as warm and as soothing as she knew how. Closing her eyes, she narrowed her focus to nothing but this baby in front of her. She blocked out her surroundings, the distant noises, even the worried parents who loomed over her.
The pathway was so feeble that Grace almost missed it. There was only the faintest sign of life, and she knew that indeed it was nearly too late for this little one.
As soon as she was able to feel the pathway, she then concentrated on drawing away the weakness, the faint darkness that seemed to surround the baby’s soul. Death had come for her and it was up to Grace to deny it.
Even the smell of death hovered close by. Grace drew it into herself, pulling all the blackness away from the baby, replacing it with gentle warmth, encouragement and the goodness that had seemed so distant to Grace until the last few days.
She drew on the strength that Rio had given her. The will to live that he’d inspired. And she gave it to this child.
Weakness invaded her body. She moaned with the weight of it. It was suffocating, pressing down relentlessly. Despair tugged at her, sucking her i
nto a black hole she’d sworn she’d never return to.
She wobbled and felt Browning hold her up, supporting her as she slumped. But it was useless. Grace lacked the strength even to hold up her head.
She was no longer herself, but this tiny baby barely clinging to life. She was cognizant of the need to break away and summoned the last of her strength to sever the connection between woman and child.
A lusty cry split the air and Sumathi gasped in wonder. Grace stared dully down at the baby, who now kicked and threw her arms about as if demanding to be fed that instant. Her color was better and she no longer looked as if death was winning the battle.
But as she glanced up at Browning and saw the paleness of his face and the horror in his eyes, she knew that death had found a new victim.
CHAPTER 26
RAGE was a terrible, black thing, swelling out of control as Rio cut a path through the jungle. Terrence was barely able to keep up, and Decker, Alton and Diego followed close behind but no one was able to keep pace with their team leader.
The message had been simple. Browning had Grace and now Grace needed Rio. Browning had sounded bleak and resigned through the com. Fear as Rio had never experienced had struck him and then black rage that he’d been betrayed by a man he trusted. One of his team.
They weren’t just a team. They lived, breathed the same air, they had a bond unexplainable by most. And yet Browning had taken Grace. Had put her in unimaginable danger. He’d lied to Rio. Lied to his teammates.
For that alone he deserved to die.
But Browning had messed with Grace. The one thing Rio considerer whaas cognizad his own. A woman he’d die protecting.
He’d put his hands on Grace. He’d frightened her and God knows what else. He’d touched what belonged to Rio.
“Rio, man, you have to slow down,” Terrence called. “You’ll kill him before we get the full story.”
Rio paused only long enough to stare coldly back at his first, a man he trusted implicitly, but then he was fast learning that trust could be broken as easily as a bone.
“He’s going to die. There is no doubt about that. The question is how long he suffers before I kill the son of a bitch.”
Diego let out a curse and surged forward, trying to overtake Rio. But Rio resumed his ruthless pace through the jungle toward the southeastern bank of the river. His pulse was like a hammer, pounding furiously through his veins.
What had Browning done? And why?
He’d entertained countless scenarios. That Browning had turned traitor and delivered Grace into Hancock’s hands. But then why would he tell Rio where to find Grace and that she needed him?
He charged through the last of the thick overgrowth separating him from the village that was just down the river from his compound. His gaze swept the perimeter, his rifle raised and ready to lay waste to any threat.
Villagers scattered. Sounds of distress and fear rose, and children were quickly herded away toward the cover of the jungle. But Rio wasn’t focused on them. His gaze found Browning, standing outside one of the huts, unarmed, stiff and straight as if awaiting judgment.
Rio charged toward him, but Browning didn’t flinch away. Didn’t even try to defend himself when Rio drove him to the ground.
“Where is she?” Rio growled.
His voice was of someone possessed. A product of his demonic rage and overwhelming fear for Grace.
He grasped Browning’s shirt, yanked him upward until their faces were close.
“Inside,” Browning said, sorrow thick in his voice.
Rio dropped him and then got up, running for the door. He yanked it open and saw Grace lying on the floor, a young woman hovering over her. Across from Grace on a tiny pallet lay an infant swaddled in a blanket.
“Get away from her,” he snarled.
He dropped to his knees, nearly shoving the frightened woman out of the way. Grace lay completely still, pale, her breathing so shallow he could barely see her chest rise and fall. He felt for a pulse and it fluttered ever so lightly, erratic and weak.
Oh God. What had she done?
He picked his head up as the door opened and he locked on to the guilt in Browning’s eyes. Terrence stood behind Browning, his face a mask of rage.