“Breakneck,” he said. “This is Boomer and Skull.” Oh, God. Seriously. She wondered if he got his callsign from reckless speed or actually breaking necks. She nodded like it was an everyday occurrence that she had operators from the States storm her headquarters.
She headed for the door and those operators moved out of her way. It was carnage everywhere. Beef came up to them, a water bottle in his hand. “Sarge, damn, we were worried.”
“I’m fine, thanks to our prisoner.”
“He was dead to rights, and if we hadn’t been prepared, it would have been bad. No casualties thanks to him.”
“EMTs are here,” Tyler offered.
She turned to Breakneck. “Do you need medical attention?”
“I might need a defibrillator, sweetheart. My heart just stopped.” He put his hand over his chest and winked at her.
“That’s not the way we talk to an RCMP officer, junior.” Iceman clipped him on the back of the skull.
Blair narrowed her eyes, thoroughly charmed and working to keep it hidden. “That’s Sergeant Sweetheart to you.”
“Apologize,” Iceman ordered, his mouth turning up at the corner.
“She should be the one to apologize for being so goddamned competently beautiful.”
His teammates looked at each other with grins and smirks.
Beef choked on his water.
Tyler narrowed his eyes.
“You might want to holster that lethal charm,” Boomer said. “Before you get another beating.”
Breakneck wasn’t sure if Boomer meant that beating would come from Ice or the stunning Mountie. Sergeant Blair Brown. He leaned his back against the wall, exhausted and hurting, mentally and physically, while she went to each person in the place and spoke to them for a few seconds, gently with genuine concern on her hard-to-look-away-from face. It wouldn’t be his body that took all those blows. It would be his heart, because she looked like a heartbreaker.
He was still reeling from the goat fuck of his undercover op, the cartel breathing down his neck, the lack of sleep, the throbbing, aching waves of pain in his torso, the concussion blooming behind his eyes, and the acid burn of what his mother had dropped on him like a grenade.
“Break?” Ice’s voice penetrated the fog surrounding him.
He opened his eyes.
“You all right?”
Breakneck nodded. “I’m a little tired.”
Ice chuckled, then leaned his shoulder against the wall. “I’m fifty shades of pissed. When we found out you’d…” He shook his head. “I’m going to save all that anger for Carver and Jones.”
“Where the hell were they when I was strung up and getting tuned up by Ryker and his goon?”
“It would have been helpful if you’d left Ryker alive.”
“I tried, but he wouldn’t cooperate.”
Ice nodded. “Look, with this development, we have to assume they know your real identity. The Navy is taking your family into protective custody. The cartel will get to you any way they can. Threatening family members is their MO. Maybe you should go back to the States?—”
“No,” Breakneck said flat out. To be holed up in a safe house with his mom and stepfather. He let out a hard breath. No goddamned way.
Ice stared at him, his pale blue eyes softer than usual. “What’s going on?”
“She and I are not on good terms right now, and I would go mad if you lock me up with her. Bat-shit crazy mad.” Breakneck wasn’t sure if he could ever forgive her, get past this nightmare of his paternity. “I might just kill my stepfather. I’ve never been on good terms with him.” Just the thought of having to be in the same room with Derrick made Breakneck’s fists curl. He had no idea if his mom had told Derrick that Breakneck knew he was his biological father. He didn’t give a fuck, and not even this many miles away from them eased any of his turmoil.
“Sergeant Brown is organizing a meeting of the minds. Us, the DEA, and two of her constables, ah Beef and Tyler, and her boss in thirty.” He lingered. “I’ll send Kodiak over once he’s done with mothering this crowd.”
