Bullets sprayed the rig above them, sparks scything across the metal as a few ricochets bounced off the surrounding brickwork. Sloane snagged his vest, heaved him onto his feet, pushing him to get him moving. He stumbled along the alley, clipping two tangos when they stepped around the corner, weapons at a low ready.
His team reached the exfil van amidst a volley of gunfire, more men breaching the alley behind them. Sloane tossed Kessler in the back, then all but shoved Nick’s ass into the passenger seat before sliding behind the wheel and peeling out.
The tires chirped on the pavement, a few puffs of smoke coughing out as she hit the gas, swerved onto the street, then gunned it. The scenery passed in a hazy blur, a black SUV pullingin behind them, a series of dull thumps hitting the ass end of the vehicle. Nick roused enough to lean out the window, plant a couple rounds in the trailing SUV’s radiator before Sloane slewed across two lanes, headed for the airport.
Voices sounded in the distance, shapes moving in and out of his field of view before he blinked, coming to in the back of a large plane. Sloane hovered above him, handing supplies to some guy in a jumpsuit.
The man shook his head, tapped a syringe, then slid it into an IV port Nick hadn’t realized had been hooked up to his arm. “I gotta ask, Colter. Is there any mission where you don’t end up bleeding?”
Nick grunted, eyes rolling a bit at the renewed pain. “You can’t be effective if you’re afraid of dying.”
“You’re just lucky that whoever shot you, didn’t catch you two inches to the right. Or that Hart didn’t take the scenic route. Either one, and you would have been beyond saving.”
Nick smiled, coughed, gaze sliding to Sloane. “She already thinks that.”
The medic grinned. “Maybe you should take that to heart. Reassess.”
Nick merely nodded, grabbing Sloane’s hand before she could slink away. “Kessler?”
She sighed. “On board. He’ll be debriefed once we’re back in Virginia.”
“Hooyah.”
She laughed. “You know you’re the only one who says that military crap, right?”
He held firm when she looked as if she wanted to pull away. “Thanks for dragging my ass in from the van.”
Her chin quivered. Not much, but he’d spent his life noticing minute details, and he knew her better than anyone. “You know I hate owing you. Figured it evened the score a bit.”
“Still…”
She squeezed his hand, shifted, then leaned in close. “Rest. We’ll… talk once you’re stronger.”
He frowned. “That sounds… serious.”
“That’s because it is. You… Me… This…” She blew out a harsh breath. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Nick stared up at his apartment building, the late evening rain ticking off Sloane’s windshield. They’d made it back in decent time, spent a few hours debriefing before he’d been ordered home on medical leave pending approval for him to return to duty.
Sloane hadn’t said a word since they’d left Langley, her wipers tapping out a beat as she drove him across town, parked in front of his place. The chassis rocked as she stepped out, slammed the door, then made her way around to his side. He managed to stumble out of the vehicle without falling, hating the fact he needed her help to walk to the entrance, then up the three flights to his suite.
The door creaked open, his footsteps heavy as she angled him toward the sofa, all but dropping him onto the cushions. She detoured to his kitchen, grabbed him some water and a bag of nacho chips before standing in front of him, staring at him as if he’d grown another head.
Nick sighed, tossed his cell on the coffee table as he gathered his courage. “Whatever’s on your mind, Sloane, just spit it out. We both know small talk’s not your thing.”
She tapped her foot against the floor, arms crossed, eyes narrowed. “You realize bullets aren’t contractual obligations, right?”
“You say that like I get shot on every mission.”
“Not every mission. Just the ones where there’re men with guns.”
“I can’t do my job if I’m not willing to make the tough calls.”
“Is that what you think you’re doing? Making the tough calls? Because it looks more like you have a death wish, to me.”
“Keeping you from getting shot isn’t a death wish.”
“I’m not talking about you saving my life. I’m talking about all the other times you take a round because itseemslike a good idea.” She huffed, the rough breath feathering the wispy auburn hairs around her face. “This job’s a meat grinder, and you keep tossing yourself into the blades without a second’s pause. But sooner or later, you’re gonna be on the wrong side of a few inches.”
