Page 116 of Fire for Effect

“A chit of my own,” he said, referencing a blood chit, which promised an unspecified reward to anyone who gave help. An IOU.

He pulled out a coin that even I recognized.

It was a legend. No one had it, and it was considered rarer than the Presidents, even if it didn’t rank as high.

It was a very, very specific challenge coin that would be known only to people like me and my father. It was a snake eating its own tail, with a three-pointed symbol in the middle.

My fucking heart fell to my feet as I saw what those three points were.

The ornate Celtic triangular cross that represented a Holy Trinity.

If I was even remotely skeptical before, I knew it now. He was Ghost.

It was as damning as a fucking DNA test. The man carried a symbol of his daughter and waved it under all our noses. His confession hidden in plain sight.

The Ghost was Trinity’s father.

Her father was a man who reported to the highest levels of government. A man with a direct line to the President of the United States. As soon as he hung up his cover, he could write his own ticket anywhere, at any time.

My vision tunneled as I swayed on my feet.

Without meaning too, I dropped my weapon, my hands giving out on me. The M4 weighed as much as an elephant as it was slung onto my plate carrier, and I went down with it.

“Griff!” Taz ran to me as the ground became the sky and I lost my battle with gravity.

I was staring at nothing but spackled ceiling, as it spun and blurred overhead.

“Kai!” Then her face was there. So were her hands. I would know them anywhere. “Kai, you’re bleeding,” she said, and her hands went to my abdomen, where I knew I had sprung a leak. “Baby, please, look at me.”

“I’m always looking at you,” I said, even as my eyes unfocused. But I could see her. She was right there in the center of my vision. “I’m always…”

I coughed, and the pain went everywhere. My chest, my hips, the leg from the last gunshot, and to my shoulder. The taste of copper filled my mouth.

“Get into my right breast pocket, Taz.”

“What?” she asked. “You shouldn’t talk.”

“I’ll talk less if you just start doing what I say,” I laughed, then coughed again.

“You’re not funny!” Then she shouted, “I need a rag. A bandage!”

“Just because I’m laughing doesn’t mean I’m joking,” I gasped out as she placed her hands over the wound and pushed down. “Jesus, woman, I’m attached to these six pack abs, baby. Go easy.”

She looked around frantically, her eyes pleading for help.

“Seriously, baby,” I said, summoning what Herculean strength I had to grab her wrist and put it over the pocket. “Grab it.”

Without letting up on the pressure over my wound, she stuck her blood-soaked fingers into my pocket.

“I got him,” Goose was finally off his lazy ass and doing his job as the team medic, putting pressure on the wound. Something wet, and heavy was put on it. “Paramedics are coming. Brett Bradley is sending helicopters.”

“Wish I had some of those in my back pocket,” Top grumbled.

“Seriously, what is Paradigm’s budget?” Veder asked.

“Depends on how Picasso, our financier, is doing,” Ghost answered. “She’s been pretty on point lately.”

“Tell me about the squid,” Sierra asked, seeming unconcerned that I was now on the ground.

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