The rotors whirred and the cabin vibrated as he settled into his seat.
Before he could get comfortable, Scar took his hand and squeezed. “Com’ere.”
Gage let him lead him to their private suite.
The door shut behind him, and Scar turned and kissed him. It wasn’t a consuming kiss. It was warm, chaste, and gentle, as if he were being careful not to rouse something forbidden.
Gage knew they weren’t supposed to do anything romantic on a mission, but his body leaned into it anyway.
“We can’t do this right now,” he said, knowing Scar could hear the need in his voice.
Scar didn’t argue as he rested his forehead against his, breathing him in.
“I know,” he said. “I just missed you.”
The simplicity of that confession from such a savage man touched Gage’s heart.
Scar brushed his thumbs over his knuckles. “After this, if everything goes well—when it goes well—I requested the team go back to HQ, and we’re going to get away for a little while.”
Gage blinked. “And go where?”
“To Riviera Maya for a day. It’s a private resort South of Cancun.” Scar stroked his cheek. “I need you to myself. Jo already approved it, as long as I allow a shadow team to come too.”
A smile formed before he could stop it. Scar had just given him the relief he needed.
He’d been nervous all week—ever since Scar turned him down at his door after their carnival date.
The next morning, the mission notice hit like a hammer and they’d been swallowed by preparations. There’d been no more alone time, only recon, training, briefings, and a few hours of sleep a night.
“Whatever you’ve got planned…I’ll do.” Gage kissed Scar’s rough cheek. “Wherever you go, Scar…I’ll follow.”
Scar tightened his grip. “But for now, we focus on our first solo mission. You know all eyes are on us.”
“I know.”
Gage was ready, he sensed Scar was as well.
They returned to the main cabin as the helicopter cut through the air toward the coast.
White Ravens
Scar
Outside the window of their modest three-star motel on Colima’s outskirts, palms and bright plazas sat under the silhouettes of its famous volcanoes.
The mission location looked tropical from a distance and smelled of warm pavement, humid earth, and the bright bite of tropical leaves.
It was a pretty view, but it was the stark opposite of a place to vacation.
Colima’s beauty masked a reputation for cartel drug routes, trafficking territory wars, and violence that sprang-up without warning.
Scar didn’t give a damn about the sights or statistics.
He cared about success.
On the table was the identical drive, a corrupted decoy of fake information, built to make the foreign cartel leader believe he’d been betrayed by the United States DEA agent who was trading classified information in exchange for half a million dollars.
He and Gage’s job was to retrieve it, swap it, and burn the alliance, as quietly and covertly as possible.
