Page 13 of Delta: Retribution

Javier had told him to think of it as his own man-castle. Luke and Javier were ready to tear it up in the States for a little bit, and having their own place to crash made it easier. But Trace could barely swallow the thought of four walls that trapped him, a roof that felt as if it were closing in. There were so many things he could be doing—should be doing—instead of relaxing in a comfortable bed in safe shelter.

Colin had suggested that maybe Trace stop torturing himself. But screw them all, they hadn’t lost their brother. Guilt over Michael’s death strangled his thoughts, even a million miles away.

He needed off this rickety boat. Off this side of the globe and back to the desert-dry world he’d been tracking and triangulating. Sooner or later, he would find the tribe responsible for his brother’s death. They were nomadic people. Terrorist goat herders, for lack of a better description. Except they were a highly functioning cell, complete with advanced technology and an intelligence network that had consistently been one step ahead of him, and those fuckers had to have had the one thing Trace wanted: Michael’s dog tags.

He’d been so close that he could feel the retribution at his fingertips. So damn close, he could almost feel the tags in his hands. When he had them, he was certain he’d finally be able to take a deep breath. Until then, the search was on—

“Seriously, this time. You okay over there, buddy?” Roman’s eyes narrowed like he knew the rabbit hole Trace had just fallen into.

“Yeah.” He stared up at the morning sky until the boat rocked again.

Marlena was failing at another attempt to move on the piece-of-shit fishing boat. “Who sent you for me? How did you know where to find me?”

Trace shrugged. He didn’t know who had hired Titan. Delta wasn’t there to explain, just to move her from point A to point B. But he had a few questions of his own.

“If we’re trying to stay alive, shouldn’t we row this little boat faster?” She stared at the paddles lying on the floor. “Or at all? Floating with the current seems counterintuitive.”

Trace shook his head. “No one speeds down this river. We do that, we stick out and find trouble.”

“So we just sit here?” She pushed reddish-brown hair behind her ear, and at that moment he remembered the sound she made when his tongue ran across her earlobe.

He sucked in a breath. “For another half hour, plus or minus.”

“My two cents say we should get the hell out of here a little faster. Just so you know.” She peered up while bracing her hands on the side the boat. Her face was green, her nipples were showing, and all while, her voice had a bit of bossiness to it.

He couldn’t stop the grin from forming and even chuckled. “We’ll take it under advisement.”

“What’s so funny?”

“I don’t get it either.” Ryder stared at him, then to Roman. “But who the hell’s heard Trace laugh recently?”

Her eyes narrowed, and despite the smudged makeup around them, they were addictive. “You’re laughing at me? Just drive the boat faster. Surely you can go a little faster and not make a scene.”

“You’re a hot, bossy mess, Cinderella.”

“I said I was sorry,” she said.

“Doesn’t mean I can’t call you on it.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Ryder asked.

Lips pursed, she didn’t look one bit interested in explaining, which made him like it all the more. “Nothing, man.”

Trace moved off the bench and sat next to her on the floorboard. “What’s the deal with you, anyway? Why’d your cute butt end up down here?”

“I don’t like to share.”

“Or tell the truth.”

She smacked him but smiled. “Don’t be an ass.”

“Don’t know if that’s possible.” Ryder laughed.

“Private conversation, buddy.”

“On a boat the size of my couch.”

Trace turned to Ryder and glared. “I get it, now shut up already.”

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