Page 143 of The Savior

Chance leaned in close. “Unlock your doors. Pop the back open.” He didn’t act as though he’d seen Liam a day before in his life. “And to make this look right, hand over your license and registration.”

Liam didn’t move. “What are you doing?”

“Do it,” Chance said. “Locks and paperwork.”

Confused, Liam pressed the hatchback release button and unlocked the doors. The secondofficermoved into Liam’s peripheral vision as he turned for his license and registration. When he handed them to Chance, Liam checked his rearview mirror.Is that… Hagan?

“Nothing to worry about. Keep lookin’ the part.” Chance tapped the ID against the side of the door and ambled to the police cruiser.

Liam turned. “Hagan?”

Hagan wassearchinghis vehicle and didn’t acknowledge that Liam had even spoken until he said, “Eyes up front,” then shut the doors and trunk.

OfficerChance returned to the driver-side window and handed over the license, registration, and a ticket.

“What the fuck is going on?” Liam demanded.

Chance gave him that look, the one Liam always saw before shit hit the fan and bullets flew. “Take care of yourself, ace.”

The twocopsambled back into the night. Seconds later, their cruiser pulled away. He didn’t get it. What was he missing? Liam rubbed his temple. Chance’s goodbye, on top of this farce, needled under Liam’s skin. He unfolded the ticket. The form was blank, but the scrawled message was clear.

We are a go. Check your gear.

Then the thing he couldn’t place slammed to mind.Ace. Had Chance ever called him that? Never.

His recall hit.

Take care of yourself, ace.

Good luck, ace.

Bravo, ace.

Chance. Black. Westin.

Adrenaline punched in Liam’s chest. He slapped on the overhead lights and turned to his back seat. A bug-out bag complete with a Beretta M9 pistol, a Benelli M4 shotgun, and an M4A1 carbine rifle with a night scope had been wedged on the floor.All were the things necessary for a search-and-kill mission.

He raced to check the trunk and found a Kevlar vest, a nylon harness, and small explosive charges for locked-door entries. A pencil-length black box and a note card rested on top. He picked up the blank card and flipped it over.

Sorenson’s eyes are only scrambled for five minutes. Dress and drive.

Liam searched the dark sky as highway traffic blasted a swirl of frozen, polluted wind. In the distance, he made out what might’ve been a drone—or maybe he had lost his mind. He grabbed what he needed, hauled ass for the driver’s seat then pulled on the Kevlar and checked the carbine and shotgun for loads in the chambers. He strapped the Beretta pistol to his ankle and secured a knife to his side.

The small box rested in his lap, and he opened it with one hand and glanced down—an ear bud and a comms piece. Liam pulled the equipment free and positioned them but didn’t turn it on yet.

Has it been less than five minutes? Fingers crossed.He slammed the gearshift into drive. His wheels spun gravel, spitting from beneath them, and he merged onto the highway the moment he knew the Explorer could make speed.

Flying, he said a prayer that everything would make sense when he flipped the power on. Then he clicked the tiny switch to turn on his comms.

Dead air clicked over, then he heard the electric buzz of the comm feed in his ear—

“Echo One, this is Zulu Actual,” a man interrupted the white noise.

They were the same radio identifiers he’d used while serving in army recon. Liam knew that whoever was on the other end was a friendly.

“Try your mic,” the man added.

“Black?” Liam muttered.

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