Page 138 of Ford

“Is she okay?”

“She’s a superstar. Charted the drone search in a grid, starting where you went down, followed the path of the currents—the woman knew what she was looking for.” He added a smile, like he knew something.

Yeah, well. “I hope so,” Ford said, praying his voice didn’t betray his terrible urge to weep.

“Let’s get you on the boat.” Trini had parked himself beside Nez and was taking his quick vitals, probing his chest for broken ribs. “You’re probably a little hypothermic.”

“The freighter?”

“No, man. Your buddy Tyrone.” Trini nodded to someone beyond him, and suddenly hands came under him and lifted him from the sand. A man with dark blond hair appeared at his head.

“Ham?”

“I couldn’t let you have all the fun.” Ham winked, no smile.

“I tried to get ahold of you.”

“Next time follow the plan,” Ham said.

They were jostling Ford, and he winced, held back a groan.

“Follow a plan? Ford? He makes it up as he goes along,” Nez said, at his feet.

Maybe not anymore. Because he didn’t have to be in charge to get the job done.

No more lone wolf.

He let the team carry him to the Zodiac, let them settle him inside, and closed his eyes as they pushed back out to sea. “Where am I?” he said as they cut through the waves.

“You’re on an island in the middle of nowhere,” Nez said. “About thirty nautical miles from where the freighter picked up RJ. That’s quite a swim, Marsh.” He patted his leg.

RJ. She was okay.

Thank You.

I got you, son.

Ford let himself sink, finally, into the darkness.

He didn’t open his eyes again until they’d offloaded him onto the deck of a yacht, not until he heard her voice sweeping him out of the exhaustion back to life.

“Ford!”

Scarlett wore a fleece jacket that dwarfed her, a pair of thermal leggings, her feet bare. She dropped down on her knees right beside him. Her eyes betrayed the sting of the sea, reddened, and her hair had dried to hard strings. But he’d never seen anyone so beautiful.

He reached for her.

She grabbed his hand.

He took that as a yes and kissed her.

And kissed her.

And he didn’t care that his team and his brothers and even his sister might be watching. Or that he looked frayed and was so far under, he hadn’t a hope—or desire—for rescue. Because this was how it was supposed to end. Him, getting the girl. Her, getting her man. The doom far, far behind them and sunny skies overhead as the sun painted the sea a deep, glorious red.

13

“So, let me get this right. You stood on the street and watched as someone tried to kill General Stanislov?” Tate leaned against the pillar of Tyrone Stavros’s Azerbaijani home, arms folded, giving her a big-brother grilling.

---