Deadly Obligations
By
Tamara McHatton

Prologue

Late June 2003

    Garrett Jensen watched the decapitated body roll down the hill and land with a sickening thud at the bottom of the ravine.
    Every muscle in his sinewy body froze in that moment.
    Ten years in the Army Special Force's elite team had drilled in the reflex like second nature. He breathed deep and allowed only his eyes to move; his gaze darted back and forth.
    Garrett silently damned the danger, and the beauty of his surroundings. Ancient trees of the dense rainforest wrung moisture from the damp air, releasing heavy drops beneath their massive canopies. Some splattered down on Garrett's face. He lifted his shoulder to wipe them away as he blinked to clear his vision. He knew how well the forest hid the enemy and the last thing he needed was impaired eyesight.
    Sweat beaded on his upper lip. His team had been waiting days to attack the cartel's stronghold and he prayed their positions hadn't allowed them to witness the body rolling by. Three trips to this same village in the last two years; every one of them knew the harsh realities of the South American culture. Nevertheless, this was the most barbaric act he'd ever seen.
    Garrett clenched his jaw.
    An innocent villager was dead just to teach the team a lesson. To show the team the protection they gave this village year after year didn't mean shit out here in FARC territory. Outrage ripped through his gut.
    Over the last three months he'd spent every day with these peasants, helping them thatch the roofs on their shacks, caring for their sick and young, teaching them rudimentary English, and in so doing, he'd come to empathize with their plight. They worked the fields from dawn to dusk, as generations before them had done, trying to earn enough money to keep from farming opium for the drug lords. They deserved better than the desecration he'd just witnessed. He'd tried getting them to take up arms to defend themselves from the cartel, but the peasants wouldn't do it...hell, they wouldn't even lift a stick in anger.
    Garret's outrage added to the adrenaline rush pumping through him. A staccato rhythm drummed inside his ears. He took a deep breath to steady his control, and then sniffed the air, identifying the smells of darkness that crept in.
    Night.
    The time of shadows.
    Nerves settled, he tuned in to every sound, every movement. One wrong move and—
    Ping.
    Garrett cocked his head and tensed his body, waiting. He recognized the sound of a bullet that zinged close by but he wasn't about to give his position away by making a false move.
    The seconds ticked off.
    He didn't know where the enemy was or how many of them there were.
    Sweat beaded on his forehead, then slid in rivulets down his face.
     Scared now—not of pain or torture—but that he wouldn't make it back home alive, Garrett shuddered for the first time. He wanted...no, make that needed...to be   more >>