“Reading you, Staff Sergeant. Break and Ice?”
“We’re headed to the hospital. Both are stable and alive.”
Ayla’s voice broke. “Thank God.”
“We have a situation. Everyone but Kodiak stayed at the cannery. I don’t have to tell you. If the cartel has the manpower, they’re going to be heading there. We delivered quite a blow to their leadership, effectiveness, and numbers, but I don’t want to underestimate the King’s muscle, Hell’s Eights.” She was worried about Breakneck’s teammates, and she didn’t want to let Iceman down in getting his men the backup they needed. She lowered her voice. “I want you to go there personally. Do your thing and coordinate.”
“I’ve got this. I’ll do my thing, discreetly.”
“Good. Put me through to Darrow.”
“Copy that. On my way. Lindstrom is on with the brass. He’s getting the US wheels in motion. What a mess.”
“Indeed. Thank you and keep me posted. I’ll stay on comms.”
“Sending you through.”
“Darrow,” he answered crisply.
She outlined everything that was happening. “You need to?—”
“I don’t need to do a damn thing. This is on you. You call Desjardins and explain.” The sound of his hanging up was loud in her ears. It took everything she had not to explode, the fantasy of her kicking him where it hurt making her feel a bit better. She had no problem with handling this, but it was his responsibility to send it up the chain. Typical response for such a petty, weak-spined individual. The Americans were more supportive than her own boss.
She put the call through to the chief superintendent, who made the call to JTF2 to get them rolling just as the helicopter dropped hard onto the pad, the skids shrieking against concrete as the rotors kept screaming overhead. The moment they touched down, the world rushed in to meet them.
Noise. Light. Movement.
The doors were yanked open and cold night air blasted through the cabin, snapping Blair back into her body. Voices overlapped. Orders barked. Boots hit metal. Hands reached in from everywhere at once.
“Clear! Clear!”
“Gurney coming through!”
“Watch the IV!”
Breakneck was lifted from her lap before she could brace for it, the sudden absence of his weight a physical blow. She surged forward instinctively, fingers catching at his sleeve, at the fabric darkened with blood.
“Kelly—”
Someone stepped between them, gentle but unyielding. Kodiak’s voice was close to her ear. “Easy. Let them work. They’re in good hands.”
The medics moved with brutal efficiency, cutting away what remained of his shirt, hands pressing, securing, calling numbers she didn’t want to hear. Breakneck’s face disappeared behind a wall of bodies and equipment, oxygen mask already in place, his head lolling as they transferred him to the gurney.
All she could do was watch impotently. Kodiak was right. He was in the best hands, and they had his and Iceman’s welfare as priority number one. She sagged against Kodiak for a moment, trying to keep all her emotions under control. At this point, she had to let them do their jobs, and she had to do hers, regardless of how much turmoil and worry cascaded through her.
Blair stood frozen for a split second, the weight of it all crashing down on her, the blood on her own hands, the sight of Breakneck’s ashen face, the sheer, overwhelming responsibility. She was no longer just Blair, the woman who loved a man who had just fought for his life. She was Staff Sergeant Brown, the joint commander of an operation that had escalated into a political, diplomatic, criminal, and logistical nightmare.
She forced herself to move, leaving Kodiak’s big arms with a nod of thanks. She pushed through the crowd and made her way to the nursing station outside the trauma unit while the two gurneys disappeared down the hall. She caught the attention of the nurse at the desk. Her voice cut through the noise. “I need a phone and privacy. Now. RCMP business.”
One of the nurses standing by grabbed her arm. “Ma’am, you need to be checked out. You’re covered in blood.”
“It’s not mine,” she said, her throat tightening.
“How can I help? I’m the RN in charge of the floor tonight.”
Blair grabbed her arm. “I want an immediate update on Petty Officer Kelly Gatlin and Master Chief Christopher Snow. Is that clear?”
The nurse nodded and said, “Of course. As soon as we have it. Follow me.” She led her to a small, cluttered room off the trauma bay.
