It was personal.
And I wasn’t sure either of us would come out the same.
14
Julia
We moved like a single organism—Delta Five folding into formation, engines low, lights masked by the night. The convoy we’d spotted on thermal crawled along County Route 6, slow and deliberate, like it owned the darkness.
Hawk sat beside me in the cab, his voice a low rumble that found its way through the hum of the engine. “Keep your eyes on the tree line.”
“I am,” I said, though my attention kept dragging back to him. His forearms flexed as he adjusted the wheel, veins catching the faint light. I shouldn’t have noticed. But I did. I remembered how he held me as we made love most of the night.
The air between us was thick—part adrenaline, part something else entirely. Rain traced lazy lines down the windshield, each drop a staccato rhythm that matched my pulse. I caught his reflection in the glass once, and the look there wasn’t tactical or calculated. It waspersonal.
Mile’s voice crackled over comms. “Convoy turning intoHalcyon yard. Six trucks, two SUVs. No armed escort visible, but I don’t buy it.”
Aaron’s reply was all business. “We take the trucks, deny the route. Hawk—your team's west flank. Julia, you’re with Hawk. South entrance.”
Hawk gave a short nod, then turned to me. “You good?”
“Always,” I said.
His gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what scares me.”
We slidinto position behind a berm, shadows in the wet grass. The air smelled of rain and rust. My palms were steady, though my heart was a storm of its own.
Below us, men unloaded crates, their movements precise—too professional to be common smugglers. Floodlights stayed off. The quiet was wrong, charged.
“Ready?” Hawk whispered, so close I felt the vibration of his words against my temple.
I turned slightly. “Are you asking or warning me?”
“Both.”
He was close enough that when I inhaled, I caught the clean scent of rain and cedar on his skin. For a moment, the danger felt almost secondary.
Then Aaron’s voice cut through. “Move.”
We slipped down the slope, boots silent in the mud. The night erupted—suppressed shots, shouting, the sharp hiss of radio static.
I saw the muzzle flash too late.
“Sniper!” Hawk hissed, slamming into me, forcing us both down behind an old container. His chest pressed against my back, hard and hot and terrifyingly alive.
The world shrank to the thud of his heartbeat against me, his hand sliding down my arm until his fingers wrapped around my wrist. “Hold,” he whispered, the word vibrating through me.
I didn’t move. Couldn’t. Every muscle locked because breaking contact with him suddenly felt impossible.
He shifted, scanning the roofline. “Stay here.”
“Not happening,” I whispered back.
His head tilted, eyes catching mine in the darkness. “Are you always this stubborn?”
“Only when someone thinks they can protect me. I can take care of myself.”
His mouth curved—half challenge, half promise. “Then we’ll protect each other.”
