Blair’s jaw tightened as she studied the cluster of buildings on the screen. “I would love to bust this group, but there’s no way in hell we’re touching that compound without serious firepower.” She hesitated long enough for Ayla to sense the shift in her posture. “There’s been talk about unleashing Joint Task Force Two, Canada’s elite counterterrorism and special operations unit, but that’s been an ongoing discussion in Ottawa.”
Carver, one of the two DEA agents assigned to the operation, stepped forward before the words had finished echoing. “That sounds like a lot of red tape.” His tone carried a faint impatience that Ayla didn’t miss. “Marques doesn’t have that kind of time.”
Jones stood beside him, arms folded, gaze wary.
Blair nodded slowly, but her eyes moved past both men and settled on Iceman with a steady, direct focus that Ayla recognized instantly as a decision being made. “Which is why you and your team are exactly what we need.”
Ice stepped closer, gaze locked on the monitor. Blair stood on Ayla’s other side, posture straight, jaw clenched, eyes calculating.
Breakneck leaned his forearms on the table, silent, breathing hard through bruised ribs. His presence felt like a second heat source at her side, heavy and focused.
Ice’s voice carried the quiet weight of a man already evaluating angles, terrain, and casualties. “What are they packing?”
Blair drew in a slow breath and released it with the measured control of someone bracing for something grim. “Everything. These guys don’t play at being dangerous. There have been reports of assault rifles, shotguns, military-grade long guns, explosives, modified vehicles, and enough ammunition to outfit a small militia.” She hesitated, just for a moment. “There have even been rumors about RPGs.”
Iceman’s voice cut through the room, low and direct. “Is there confirmation that Marques is on the premises.”
Ayla adjusted the feed, fingers flying as she toggled overlays and gain. The thermal refused to resolve, the interior of the central structure bleeding into useless static. Her jaw tightened. “I’m not getting anything inside,” she said evenly. “Thermal’s dead once it hits the main building.”
Blair didn’t look up from the compound schematic. “Thermal is limited to the external compound. The Eights don’t like spying eyes, and they’ve reinforced the building with metal. We’ve had the same logistical nightmare before.”
Ayla nodded once, already pulling archived footage. “Stand by. I’ve got visual on a truck entry earlier tonight.”
The video rolled back to earlier that evening. A pickup truck nosed through the compound gate and slowed near the central building. Two men jumped down from the cab. They didn’t rush or look around but dragged a third figure from the back, bound and stumbling. One of the men shoved their captive forward hard enough that he nearly went to his knees.
Ayla froze the frame, zooming in just enough to catch the face before it disappeared inside. She forced her voice to remain level. “That’s Marques,” she said. “Alive at time of entry. Two cartel escorts.” The doors swallowed them whole. “After that,” she added, “they disappear into the blind zone.”
Breakneck’s breath hitched. It wasn’t loud, but Ayla heard it. Blair did too.
Ice glanced over his shoulder. “Break.”
He didn’t raise his voice. Something sharp moved through the air, something that made the back of Ayla’s neck prickle.
“Boss, I want on the Marques team,” Breakneck said. Ice waited. “Marques cooperated with me. He kept my cover intact. They’ll torture and kill him for it.” His jaw tightened. “I need to be part of this.”
Ayla’s hands paused on the keys. There was nothing reckless in his voice and no bravado, only a cold, deliberate request that tightened something deep in her chest.
Blair turned her head slightly, watching him as if he had revealed something important. Predator mode. Purpose, sharpened into a blade.
“I’d like that assignment as well,” Blair said quietly. “It’s been a while since I was on the ground floor of a solution.”
Breakneck nodded once. “He didn’t have to help me, but he did. Now he’s in that place because of me.”
Ice drew in a slow breath. “Junior.”
Breakneck stood and met his look. “I’m not taking an easier way out while that man’s getting tuned up because of me. I’ll take the shot from whatever angle I can get.”
Ayla looked at him then, fully, unable to stop herself. His eyes weren’t the gray steel she expected. They were darker, shadowed by pain that wasn’t only physical. Something raw lived there, something wounded and furious and unyielding. Ayla felt that strike somewhere deep. Responsibility. Guilt. A fierce loyalty she had seen only in the men who came back from dark places carrying quiet ghosts.
This was different. Personal. It moved her before she knew why.
Blair stepped forward. “We need his gun.”
Ice didn’t argue. He just nodded once, the acknowledgment quiet but definitive.
Ayla felt something tighten inside her chest, sharp and unwelcome. She pushed it down and returned her focus to the monitors. She wasn’t part of whatever flashed between those two, operator to operator, bond forged under fire. She only needed to read it, log it, anticipate its implications. Yet she had never seen anyone look at another person with that kind of split-open clarity.
Breakneck wasn’t after glory. He wasn’t after recognition. He was trying to save a man whose life he believed he had endangered.
