“We’ll get this mushy stuff out of the way, now, kid. I love you and you know it. But I’m goddamned pissed you got to kill that fucker instead of me.”
Breakneck burst into laughter, his stitches pulling harder than with the tears. “Goddamn it, Ice. Don’t make me laugh.”
Ice chuckled, then groaned. “I’m not kidding.”
Break laughed harder, and that’s where Kodiak found him. Passed out near Iceman, both of them healing together.
The fluorescent lights of the command center hummed overhead, a sterile, unwavering buzz that felt like a physical pressure against Blair’s temples. Two days. It had been two days since she’d seen him, since she’d felt the weight of him in her lap, since she’d heard his voice, broken and raw, whisper her name. She sat at the cluttered desk, her hand absently twisting a strand of hair around her finger, her eyes fixed on the digital clock on the wall. 14:37. The seconds ticked by, each one a tiny hammer against her resolve. She listened to Olivia’s voice on the phone, calm and professional, detailing the forensic report, the chain of custody for the cash, the preliminary findings on the DEA agents’ corruption. It was all important, vital, the kind of work she excelled at. But it felt distant, muffled, like listening to a radio in another room. Her mind was a thousand miles away, in a hospital room, in a helicopter, in the dark, quiet space between his heart and hers.
The door slid open with a soft hiss, and she looked up. Tyler stood there, his face a mask of grim resignation. He didn’t need to say a word. The look in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, the way his gaze wouldn’t quite meet hers, told her everything. Something was coming. Something she couldn’t stop.
“Livy,” she said, her voice tight, cutting off the inspector mid-sentence. “I have to call you back.” She hung up, the plastic receiver clicking against the cradle with a finality that echoed in the sudden silence. “What?”
“They’re flying Break and Ice back to the States,” Tyler said, his voice low, urgent. “JAG wants Gatlin. Snow is going to Walter Reed.”
“When?” The word was a sharp exhale.
“Like in twenty minutes. You can just make the airfield. Ayla is holding up the plane for you. Go. Now.”
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She was on her feet, grabbing her coat, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She stopped, just for a second, and threw her arms around Tyler. He stiffened, then awkwardly patted her back. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick.
“Thank me later,” he grumbled, pushing her gently toward the door. “Go, go before you miss him.”
She didn’t even know how she got to the airport. The drive was a blur of gray asphalt and rushing trees, the world outside the car window a smear of motion. Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel, her knuckles white, her mind a whirlwind of fear and hope. What if I’m too late? What if he’s already gone? What if he’s decided to shut me out?
Then she saw him. He was in a wheelchair, being pushed toward the ramp of a nondescript military transport plane, its engines already whining to life. He was pale, his face drawn, but his eyes… his eyes were scanning the tarmac, searching. She increased her speed, her boots pounding on the concrete, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. “Wait!” she shouted, her voice raw, cutting through the roar of the engines.
His head came up. His gaze locked onto hers, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, the world stopped. The anger, the fear, the exhaustion all melted away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated anguish. It was the look of a man who had just been handed his own death sentence.
She got to him, slid to her knees in front of the wheelchair, the cold concrete biting through her pants. “I’m so glad I made it,” she breathed, her voice trembling. Her fingers brushed his, a spark of connection that sent a jolt through her. “You’ll call me, and we’ll talk about everything, all right?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His face closed down, the beautiful light in his eyes dimming, shuttering away. “It’s probably best we end this now,” he said, his voice flat, detached. “You’ve got so much to deal with, and I’ve got legal issues to handle.”
“They’re not going to charge you,” she said, her voice hardening, the commander taking over. “How can they after all that evidence?”
“I still have to deal with it, Blair,” he said, his gaze dropping to his lap, avoiding her eyes. “It’s best that you have the clarity you need to press on. What we had was amazing?—”
She stiffened, her shoulders tightening, a familiar fire igniting in her chest. “Oh, no, Kelly Gatlin. Don’t you even think about it.”
He looked up, startled, his eyes wide with surprise. “Blair?—”
“No, don’t you Blair me with that charming, I’ll-fall-on-my-sword bullshit,” she snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “I didn’t fight for you, I didn’t hold you while you bled, I didn’t tell you I’d never let you go, just so you could decide for me what’s best for me.”
“Ma’am. We have to go. I’m sorry,” his Navy nurse said, stepping forward, her voice crisp, professional.
Blair glared at her, a look of pure, icy fury that made the woman take an involuntary step back. Her eyes widened, muttering something under her breath. The nurse gave the impatient-looking flight boss who was standing at the end of the ramp a sharp, no-go look with a hand slash at her throat.
Breakneck laughed suddenly, a sharp, pained sound that made him wince and clutch his side. Then he laughed again, a deeper, more genuine sound that held a hint of the man she loved. “Stop fucking flipping tables back at me, you crazy, beautiful woman.”
“No!” she said, her voice fierce, her eyes blazing. “I won’t. You go home and get everything worked out, and if they try to do anything other than the right thing, I will bring down the Canadian hammer with both hands. Tell them that. Tell whoever needs to hear it. Even your goddamned president.”
With a soft, beautiful male sound of surrender, he reached out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck. He grunted, pulling her onto his lap, the movement sending a jolt of pain through him, but he didn’t let go. He kissed her, his mouth a little frantic, a little curved, but with a whole lot of heat. It was a kiss of goodbye, of promise, of desperation.
“You do what’s best for you, Blair,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ll be okay.”
She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that it was probably the first lie he’d ever told her.
He gestured to the Navy nurse, his hand trembling slightly. Blair got off his lap, her fingers brushing through his hair one last time, a silent, desperate promise.
