Then everything went to bloody fucking hell in less than a heartbeat.
Figures burst from the brush like vipers, five—no, six—at least, weapons raised, fanning out along the edge of the clearing.
“Shit—left side! Movement!” Patch barked. He stared at Savvy, pointing at the danger.
She quickly glanced over her shoulder. They were just close enough that he could see the shock—and resolve—spark in her eyes.
He’d seen that look before. “Get the bird in the air. Booker, go hot.”
The chopper lurched upward just as gunfire exploded below. Bullets kicked up dirt near Savvy’s boots as she veered hard right, still running. Patch swung out the cabin door, leaned into the harness, and opened fire.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
Three controlled bursts. Two hostiles dropped—another dove for cover.
Booker circled wide, blades roaring above the chaos. Gunfire flashed from below like lightning in the trees.
Patch kept his eyes locked on her. She was returning fire with her pistol—clean, controlled shots, even while moving.
Goddamn woman never missed a beat—and she just took out two more of the enemy.
Two more left.
More muzzle flashes from the brush. The bastards were trying to flank her.
“Swing lower,” Patch shouted. “I need boots on the ground.”
“You’re insane,” Booker muttered, already descending. “Hold on.”
The skids dipped into the clearing.
Patch didn’t wait. He jumped.
He hit the earth hard, knees bending with the impact, rifle snapping up. He fired twice—hitting his target with precision. But there was still one more asshole out there.
Pop! Pop!
He swiveled to his right, and the enemy dropped to his knees, blood dripping from his mouth and nose. Then he fell forward.
Splat.
Standing behind… Savvy. She raised her weapon, poised to fire, but her eyes immediately widened in surprise as she slowly lowered it.
The oxygen in Patch’s lungs flew out like a balloon exploding. She’d always stolen his breath, but now she’d sucker punched his ability to even think. For a moment, he froze, just standing there in the freaking jungle, staring at…her.
He raced across the clearing as if his life depended on it—and it didn’t. The enemy had been dealt with. It was just him, her, and, well, Booker.
Thewhomp-whompof the blades cut through the air as Booker landed the helicopter in the clearing. The engine slowly faded in the distance… or maybe it shut down altogether. Patch didn’t know. Everything around him blurred—everything but her.
Skidding to a stop in front of Savvy, he lost all ability to speak. Not that he spoke very often, because he didn’t. He didn’t have much to say to anyone. Not even to her brother, who was also his best friend. Hell, he only had three friends on the planet.
McGuire, Cross, and Stone. They were the only people who mattered… who were alive. Well, them and Savvy. But five yearsago, he’d walked away from Savvy. Actually, he’d run. But so had she, and neither one had stopped the other.
“Patch?” Her voice floated through the air like flipping rose petals—soft and sweet. She’d always had the ability to render him a useless man. "What are you doing?—"
“You okay?” he asked, cupping her cheeks, scanning her body for bullet holes, stab wounds, blood… Finally, his training had kicked in.
Halle-freaking-lujah.
