"Ha!" Kurtis exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Choke on that, Kendrick!"

Not that he was there to see it, but no matter. It felt so good after all.

He'd just landed an attack helicopter on a narrow clearing surrounded by trees whose branches intertwined with each other, forming a dense network of thick foliage. No sane pilot would have tested that several tons of machinery by making it descend in such a place.

But Kurtis hadn't reached his forties guided by sanity. Rather the opposite.

Now, however, he had to shelve the war hero bravado and move quickly and quietly. He'd already taken his chances with the engine roar. He jumped off the machine, rifle on his shoulder, and quickly went into the jungle, in the direction marked by the GPS, toward the temples forecourt. After a while, the vegetation became thicker, so he pulled out a machete and started to hack through his path while running, though sweating profusely beneath the camouflage suit.

Suddenly, a shot stopped him. Almost instantly he threw himself to the ground, disappearing beneath the thick foliage.

Then he heard her voice.

"Who's there? Come out immediately, I heard you long ago!"

Kurtis was not stupid enough to move yet. He knew she would no doubt shoot.

He smiled, his face still stuck to the floor.

"It's me, M'lady."

He heard a gasp of surprise, and then he rose.

He may have been wearing a camouflage suit, but after seeing Lara come out from behind a tree, still holding the rifle aloft, he had to admit he could have passed next to her and still not have seen her. Lara was wearing brown shorts, green top, and was slightly covered with a dark substance that looked like soot, perfectly camouflaged.

"What are you doing here?" She said, lowering her rifle. She was so surprised that she barely reacted when he put his arm around her to kiss her.

"Nice to see you too." He said mockingly. "Just crossing the world to look for you, remember? It's what I do to hang out."

"Weren't you in Crimea?" She frowned, ignoring the tongue-in-cheek allusion to Munich.

"That was a month ago." He gently pushed her forward and started walking. "This time it was Israel."

"What the hell is going on out there?" Lara put the rifle on her shoulder. "This country was safe a few hours ago."

"Nope. It was safe a week ago, then communications with the outside were cut." She raised her eyebrows. "Don't worry, easy not to know if one's involved in tombs. Dead people tell no tales."

"Rebels were supposed to be calm for a while." Lara swatted branches away as they moved. "For years they'd been taking bribes from the government."

"Not anymore. And this will only worsen. Even the Legion is leaving the place. Where's Anna?

"By the temples, breaking down the camp."

He frowned.

"You left her alone?"

Lara stopped short and put her arms akimbo.

"Behold the dad of the year. She's not a child anymore. Besides, what did you expect from me by having a military helicopter land here? Waiting for some lunatic to fall upon us?

"We're in a war zone now, we shouldn't lose sight of her." He said, resuming the march. She was grateful he used the plural.

"There's also this guy, quite a slinky one. I thought it was you..."

"Who?"

But before Lara could answer, a sharp cry pierced the air.

It was Anna.

(...)

David Flynck couldn't believe his luck. He'd been rotting in the jungle for a week, waiting for an opportunity to seize the Teardrop of Brahma. At the end of the day, it was his only option. He'd no desire to deal with the possible pitfalls or mazes in those temples and cemeteries. It was easier to wait for Croft to recover it, and then steal it from her. That was what he did for a living, for what he was paid. Steal from thieves and collect a huger price.

Unfortunately, he was not enthusiastic about facing the British explorer, even more if she was armed to the teeth. Perhaps he'd have challenged her to a fight, of course, but it was foolish to approach her with that arsenal at her disposal.

Ironically, motherhood had not softened her at all.

Luckily for him, she'd brought the brat there. And on top of that, she'd given her the artifact. And now the girl was alone in the camp. Perfect. It would be a piece of cake. He wouldn't even need to use his gun. And in any case, it was risky. Croft could always hear the shooting.

He went out the wilderness and slowly approached the camp, taking advantage of the distracted girl, who was putting something into a backpack.

But never in his wildest dreams he'd have imagined that kid had such sharp hearing.

And that she could scream very, very loud. And so high-pitched.

(...)  

When they arrived to the clearing, it was too late. They were too far away from them.

Like in slow motion, Kurtis saw the man, a sort of scruffy explorer wielding a club made of a splintered thick tree branch, pouncing on Anna, who dodged him by stepping aside. However, the man managed to grab the strap over her shoulder and yanked it. She grabbed the bag and resisted the pull.

No! Kurtis wanted to scream, but almost instantly the man brandished the stick, arced it above his head and crashed it into Anna's head.

Her daughter slumped on the floor like a rag doll.

Kurtis heard a piercing, blood-curdling scream. He took a few seconds to realize it had come from Lara.

He lunged forward, toward that man, but that man had no intention of fighting. He tore the bag from Anna's limp hands and turned to flee. He didn't get far. At three strides, a shot was heard and he stumbled and fell to the floor, letting out a howl of pain.

Lara reloaded the rifle and took aim again, but the man, displaying a strength fueled by fear, limped into the jungle. The second shot struck the bark of a tree, a few centimeters away from his head.

Everything had happened in seconds, and for once, Kurtis' mind failed to assimilate so much in so little time.

He wanted to examine Anna, but the alienated expression on Lara's face frightened him. He grabbed her arm before she went into the wilderness.

"Don't!" He shouted, but she released herself from his grip with a stretch. "Lara!"

"Stay with her!" Shouted the British explorer, with a sudden broken voice.

He caught her again before she reached the jungle, surrounding her with his arms, and hissed in her ear:

"If this is about that damn rock..."

She broke the embrace, turned like a peg-top and, leaning both hands on his chest, pushed him back. She almost threw him to the ground. Kurtis had almost forgotten how strong she was, even more with adrenaline pumping all throughout her body.

"I need to catch him," she shouted, with a terrible expression on her face. "Do what I tell you and take care of her, dammit!"

And then Lara disappeared into the wilderness.

(...)  

Later, he'd recall he'd bent over his daughter with bated breath, fearing the worst, and had let out the breath he'd been holding between his teeth when he saw she was still breathing, although weakly. Anna had half of her face soaked with blood. Kurtis pulled back her sticky hair from her forehead and touched the wound, a gash caused by the splinters of the club, which bled profusely. He quickly tore a piece of cloth from her shirt, which was cleaner than his own, and pressed it against the wound. She didn't even wince.

However, rather than the cut, what troubled him was the impact. He need to check the damage as soon as possible.

"Anna." He softly slapped her cheek. "Anna, wake up."

The girl's eyelids quivered faintly. He slapped her harder.

"Anna." He repeated, louder. "Look at me."

Then she winced and opened her eyes. She blinked and winked, because the blood trickled over the eyelid.

"Wow." She muttered, and closed her eyes again. "Hum, hi Dad."

At least she'd recognized him.

He spread the cloth, already soaked, from the wound. It seemed to bleed less. He again pressed it against the cut.

"Ouch." Anna complained. "You hurt me."

"Can you see me well?" Kurtis put a thumb on her cheek and pulled down to open the eye that wasn't covered in blood. The pupil correctly focused on him. "Follow my finger."

He watched her slowly follow the movement back and forth.

"I'm getting dizzy." She muttered, raising her hand to touch her head, but Kurtis pulled it away. "I think my head's gonna explode."

"Can you move?" He removed the cloth from the wound, which was soaked anyway, and placing his hands behind her head, he lifted her a few inches from the ground.

Then it happened as expected. Anna convulsed and barely had a second to turn sideways before noisily vomiting on his lap.

"Yuck." She gasped. "Sorry."

"I've had worse." Kurtis said, and putting his arms under her back and legs, he lifted her slowly off the ground. She shivered.

"I'm dizzy again."

"Then throw up away from me this time, please."

Anna glanced over him and laughed weakly.

He laid her gently on a nearby cot and took the hand of a first aid kit nearby.

"Keep talking, Anna."

"Why?"

"I'm very quiet, as you know."

While she talked, she'd stay conscious. And while conscious, she'd avoid a dangerous coma.

"Mom went after that guy."

It was a statement, not a question.

"I'm afraid so." Kurtis returned to her side, soaked a gauze in peroxide, and said. "This' gonna hurt."

"Please, I'm not a baby." But when feeling the burning liquid on the wound, she shivered and whimpered. "Oh. Ouch."

The bleeding had stopped, but the cut was quite deep. He had to stitch it, and there was no local anesthetic in the kit. Anyway, it would've been impossible to apply it on an open wound.

Who's my brave girl? He wanted to say, but no voice came out of him. "Anna ..."

"Yeah, okay, I gotta talk." Kurtis cleaned the blood from her eyelid. "I'm sorry Mom's gone after this guy. It won't do any good, because..." She stopped. "What's that?"

Kurtis was pulling a needle and strand from the kit.

"Oh no, you're gonna stitch me."

"Well." He said, trying to sound nonchalant. "You better be glad it's me. Your mother is horrible at stitching. And she's even worse when removing stitches, I can tell."

When trying to pass the thread through the needle, Kurtis failed several times. Then he realized that his hands were shaking.

You moron, he berated himself. He'd stitched wounds hundreds of times, almost always his own wounds. He'd been able to do it without a blink. He'd also stitched his partners on the battlefield. He could have stitched any kind of wound.

But now his hands were shaking because he'd to stitch his own daughter.

Idiot, he thought, opening and closing his hands several times, until he managed to control the shaking. He passed the thread and bent over Anna, whose eyes were shut tight and hadn't seen his hesitation.

"You're quiet again." He slowly gathered the wound lips. "I'll have to do the talking, and I totally suck at that."

"Not feeling like talking now, y'know. Ouch!" She shouted as she felt the needle digging into her flesh. "It hurts!"

"What a whiner."

"I'm not whining!"

"Yes you are."

Anna clenched her jaw and held her breath.

It became easier as he progressed, stitch after stitch, while calling her a whiner, though she was dealing with it better than half of his former partner soldiers on the battlefield.

Ten stitches.

"Okay, I regret my decision," Anna said at the end, reluctantly sobbing. "Not worth it at all, not for all these stitches..."

It was done. Kurtis did the last stitch and gently wiped her tears. My brave girl. Not bad for a teen. He even felt like scolding her.

"Hope you've learned a lesson." He told. "You shouldn't have faced him. Not for a damn stone. The rule is..."

"... Always protect myself, I know." Anna sniffled. "But at least I've tricked that motherfu..."

"What are you talking about?" He interrupted. After all, swearing should have its limits.

"He didn't get what he wanted." Her eyes were closed, but reached out and pointed at a backpack stacked against a drawer. "The Teardrop of Brahma's still there."