Page 59 of Lost Hope

She turned and ran back the way they’d come.

“Hold your fire!” The leader’s voice cracked with authority. “Hawkins has a—” His words cut off as Griffin triggered the explosion.

The blast was controlled but devastating in the enclosed space. Shards of cement filled the air behind them as they ran, buying precious seconds. They emerged through a maintenance shaft two blocks from their extraction point, her ears still ringing from the detonations.

Two familiar figuresrushed toward them. Blood trickled down the side of Christian’s face. Ronan was cradling his left arm, his shirt torn and bloody. Griffin looked worst of all—pale, limping, but his eyes burned with a fierce intensity.

“Car. Now.” He pushed them toward the waiting Knight Tactical SUV. “They’ll have every asset in play within minutes.”

Maya heard sirens converging as they peeled away from the curb. Griffin slumped against the seat, finally letting exhaustion show.

“They shouldn’t have known,” he said quietly, pressing a hand against his shoulder where blood was seeping through. “Someone leaked the meet. And they were willing to kill us all to contain this.”

Griff and Christian exchanged grim looks. “We need to get back to headquarters,” Christian said, applying pressure to his own wound. “Figure out if they tracked you, or us.”

“Or if we’ve got another problem entirely,” Ronan added, his voice tight with pain and concern.

Maya caught Ronan’s eye. After years in Homicide, she knew that look—the one suspects got when they realized they weren’t the predator anymore. They were the prey.

28

OLD WOUNDS

Once safe in the Pilatus,Ronan studied his friend. Beneath the edgy energy, the man looked exhausted. Ronan figured he probably looked the same. Only with a bullet hole in his bicep.

He inclined his head at his long-lost teammate. “Good to see you.”

Griff looked up from the med kit Christian had produced. “Right back atcha.” He frowned over the neat assortment of implements and bandages, ducking his head away.

The pain in Ronan’s arm was overshadowed by the twinge of guilt that twisted his guts. The secret he and Griff shared bonded them more tightly than any of the others on their team. Not in a good way.

Kit in hand, Griff ordered Ronan to sit back. “This is gonna hurt,” he warned before digging in.

No joke.

Ronan gritted his teeth as Griffin cleaned the wound. The plane’s cabin lights were harsh, revealing every scrape and blood stain they’d collected during their escape. Outside the Pilatus’s windows, the Van Nuys tarmac shimmered in the late afternoon heat.

“Stop being such a baby,” Griffin muttered, probing the wound with experienced hands. “It’s just a through-and-through. No nerve or bone involvement. I’ll get you patched up until Kenji can do his doctor thing.”

“Just a—” Ronan broke off with a hiss as Griffin applied antiseptic. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to fly this thing with a hole in his arm.”

“Just don’t scratch the aircraft,” Christian spoke up from where he was bandaging his own arm. “It’s ridiculously expensive to have these things worked on.”

Ronan couldn’t help smirking. “Put it on my tab.”

“Body’s writing checks your bank account can’t back, dude.”

For sure. Nice of Bio Bro to remind him he was the poor relation. Nothing like kicking a guy when he was down. He glared at Christian, but the man was too busy checking the sight lines from the plane’s windows to pay him any attention.

Griff packed up the med kit. “Maybe I should take the controls. You’re looking a little pasty.”

“You couldn’t fly a paper airplane,” Ronan shot back, but the familiar banter helped distract from the pain. “That last landing in Kandahar was especially bad.”

“That was one time?—”

“That was three times,” Ronan corrected. “Okay. No. Two. The third time doesn’t count. The plane was already on fire when you took control. I’ll give you that one.”

“‘Cause you’re so generous.” Griffin jabbed the needle into Ronan’s arm.

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