Bad Nights by REBECCA YORK

him.
    â€œMake a step with your hands and give me a boost up,” he said. “And when I get up there, step way back.”
    This time she did as he asked without complaint, and he pulled himself up to a low branch, then higher, testing each foot- and handhold as he went, ignoring the pain in his ankle. Climbing was just what he needed at the moment.
    About ten feet up, he found a rotted limb that he hoped he could bring down. Bracing himself below it, he pulled as hard as he could. At first nothing happened. After taking a moment to catch his breath and gather his strength, he pulled harder, giving it everything he had and felt it give. With one more massive yank, he brought it down. It hurtled past him and hit the ground with a muffled thump, landing on the unconscious man sprawled below.
    Ignoring Morgan’s gasp, he climbed back down and knelt beside the troop, feeling for a pulse in the neck. There was none.
    He stepped back, examining the scene with an assessing eye. It wasn’t a perfect setup, but it was the best he could do in faking an accident. Hopefully, it looked like Gibson had been standing in the wrong place at the wrong time when a branch had come down. Maybe it would work. Maybe it wouldn’t, but it was their best shot.
    Morgan’s face was stark as she stared from him to Gibson and back again. “You killed him.”
    â€œNo choice. He was going to kill us. Or turn us in to Trainer. That would be worse.”
    â€œYou murdered him,” she accused.
    â€œI’m an ex–Navy SEAL. We’re trained to kill if it’s necessary to keep ourselves alive.”
    â€œYou were a SEAL?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œYou didn’t kill those other two men. The ones who came to the house.”
    â€œNo point in it. Trainer knew where they’d gone. He was going to come and investigate when they didn’t report in.”
    As she continued to stare at him, he said, “We’d better get the hell out of here before somebody notices he’s missing and comes looking.”
    When he reached for her hand, and she pulled her arm back, it felt like she’d slapped him across the face. It shouldn’t matter what she thought of him, but something inside him seemed to go dead. A torrent of words clamored behind his closed lips. He longed to explain to her what it meant to be in a war and what choices you were forced to make. He suspected she probably wouldn’t understand, and he didn’t have the energy to spare.
    Perhaps she’d come to recognize his point of view. Or perhaps she wouldn’t. With a sigh he gestured toward a large oak about fifty feet farther on.
    â€œHide behind that tree. I’m going back for the sleeping bag—and to make sure nobody can tell there was a scuffle around here. And if they get me, run in the other direction as fast as you can.”
    At least she didn’t give him an argument about hiding. He waited until she had taken a position behind the tree trunk, then crouched low and hurried back the way they’d come, knowing that his throbbing ankle was going to be a problem.
    As he moved from tree to tree, he kept checking out the men who had come to kill him and Morgan.
    They seemed totally focused on the blazing spectacle. Still, he was careful as he made sure Trainer hadn’t stationed anyone else in this section of the woods.
    Working as quickly as he could, he scattered dry leaves over the spot where he and Gibson had fought, then retrieved the sleeping bag and the packs before reversing his direction, finally catching up with Morgan who was peering out from behind the tree.
    Her expression was still closed, but at least she hadn’t taken off without him.
    â€œWe’d better split before they figure out we escaped. They may do it anyway, but at least we’ll have a head start.”
    When she answered with a barely perceptible nod, then looked away, he felt the ache in his gut again. He wanted