Page 61 of Lost Hope

“Admit it, Chen. You care.”

“I care about not dying in a fiery crash because our pilot is too macho to take pain meds.”

“Your concern is touching.”

Without a word, she set the water and pills on his console and headed back into the lounge.

Griffin let the cockpit fall silent for the better part of an hour, watching the last rays of sunlight paint the clouds. “You know, for a guy who can engineer a hot extract under the worst possible conditions, you’re remarkably blind at close range.”

“If this is about leaving you hanging during that paintball rematch with the Marines ... though I have to admit, seeing a SEAL get lit up in rainbow colors made my whole month.”

“This is about you still carrying my shot from Copenhagen.” Griffin’s voice dropped. “Three years of letting people think you took down that doctor. And for what? To protect me? I made my choice.”

Ronan adjusted their heading, hiding a wince. The pain meds weren’t doing nearly enough. “And I made mine.”

“But you never let me have a say. I’m good with the truth coming out. Always have been.” Griffin’s voice roughened,sanded with anger. “You’ve got the team back. Good people. They deserve the whole truth, not some sanitized report where you took responsibility for my call.”

“What I’ve got,” Ronan cut him off, “is a bullet hole in my arm and two hours of flying ahead. So unless you want me to pass out somewhere over the Sierra Nevada, we’re done talking.”

A wave of dizziness hit Ronan hard enough that he had to focus on his breathing. Griffin noticed, his hand moving to the co-pilot controls without comment.

“I’ve got it,” Ronan ground out.

“Sure you do. Just like you ‘had it’ when?—”

The cockpit door opened. Maya eyed him with laser focus. Her lips flattened into a sharp line. “Griffin, he’s grey. Why is he grey?”

“Because he’s a stubborn?—”

“I’m right here,” Ronan muttered.

She snorted. “Yes, you are. Barely. We’re still an hour out. Can you make it, or should we set down?”

The genuine concern in her voice made him turn his head, meeting her eyes. Bad idea. This close, he could see flecks of gold in the brown. Could see worry warring with something else entirely.

“I can make it.”

“You sure about that?” But her hand had settled on his uninjured shoulder, steady and warm.

“I’ve flown with worse.”

“That’s not actually reassuring.” But she squeezed his shoulder gently before stepping back. “Just ... call if you need anything?”

After she left, Griffin shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Shut up and help me fly this plane.”

But for the first time since they’d taken off, Griffin was smiling. “Whatever you say, brother. Whatever you say.”

29

FUZZY LANDING

Ronan broughtthe plane down on a decent line, compensating for the tremor in his hands. Not his best landing, but nobody died, and he didn’t scratch the plane, so he’d count that as a win.

“Show-off,” Griffin muttered from the co-pilot seat.

“Says the man who once landed a chopper in a sandstorm.” Ronan started shutdown procedures, each movement sending fresh fire through his arm from shoulder to fingers.

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