Page 49 of Booker's Mission

Wyatt moved over to her. “Booker will tell you, himself, once the bastard stops lazing around. In the meantime, let me see if I can raise Stone — get a proper sit rep. Then, we’ll reassess. Though, you really should have a doctor look at your arms. You’ve got some cuts from the glass.”

She glanced down, barely registering the lacerations along her forearms. “I’m fine. They can look at them after they’ve saved Booker.”

“Calliope. I know you’re scared, but Booker will have my ass when he wakes up if he discovers you sat here the entire time, bleeding, and I didn’t do a damn thing about it.”

“I’m not bleeding, anymore.”

“Like that’s gonna mean anything to Booker. The jerk’s a bit overprotective, but he means well.”

“Says the guy who jumped in front of us. Would have taken a bullet without question. You’re both nuts, but… I guess that’s part of your charm.”

“It’s an occupational hazard.” He motioned toward a couple chairs pushed against the wall. “Come on. Standing here, obsessing over what we did or didn’t do isn’t going to help Booker. And if you’re not going to let the doctors take a look at those injuries, then let’s talk through what happened. Check in with Stone, and make sure your asshole boss doesn’t get away with this. Okay?”

Callie glanced at the closed door, wishing she knew what was happening. Did they even have a surgical wing here? People who could save him? What if he needed a higher level of care? The quick look she’d taken of his side hadn’t seemed that bad — what she’d guessed was a through-and-through — but she couldn’t swear on it. Deduce if the damn bullet had hit any major organs on the way through.

God, what if he’d already died? If they’d decided he was beyond saving? Were just cleaning up all the blood. Calling out his time of death. What if she’d already lost him?

“Shit, Callie, you need to breathe for me.”

Breathe? How could she breathe when Booker was dying beyond that stupid door? Bleeding out or having some kind of stroke?

Wyatt tsked, grabbed her head, then shoved it between her knees. “Try not to think about anything. Just close your eyes. I’m right here.”

Booker should be the one out here, stressing. Growling at his buddy, while she was lying on that stretcher. God, he needed to be okay.

Wyatt moved in close. He didn’t ask her to talk, just shouldered up beside her, most likely waiting for her to pass out. So he could catch her before she’d given herself a concussion. It took a few minutes, and Wyatt bracing half her weight, but she finally got her lungs working. Managed not to completely break down.

“Better. Now, let’s sit. I’ll get that coffee, check in with Stone, and we’ll talk once you’re ready.”

She nodded, thankful Wyatt hadn’t commented on the tears streaming down her cheeks. How she was barely holding it together, despite the non-stop pep talk looping in her head. How Booker would be okay. How she’d find a way to make it up to him. Spend the rest of her life showing him they were worth this second chance.

Wyatt was back a few minutes later, paper cup in tow and what looked like a poor excuse for a muffin. He placed them on the table, holding out his phone. “I can’t get any service, and the storm’s taken out the landlines. The staff said we’re lucky there’s still power, so… Let’s talk about Higgins until we can call in the cavalry, okay?”

She nodded, took a seat then started recapping the meeting. What Higgins had said. How she’d finally figured out he was dirty. She was just getting to the part where she suspected Booker had gotten shot when the lights flickered then winked out. Nothing but the eerie glow of a distant exit sign illuminating the space.

Callie bolted to her feet, gun drawn, already scanning the darkness. “Shit.”

Wyatt moved in beside her, Sig at his shoulder, head on a damn swivel. “It could just be from the storm.”

“Right, because DEA douchebags don’t kill the power when they send a wet squad after you. Besides, the backup generators would have kicked in, by now.”

“There are a dozen places we could have gone. No way he figured it out, this quickly.”

“Higgins has a nasty way of tracking… crap.”

She reached into her pocket and removed the burner cell her boss had given her the previous week, before holding it up.

Wyatt huffed. “What’s that?”

“The burner cell he gave me so he couldprotectme, the bastard. What do you want to bet he put some kind of GPS tracker inside it? And I watched the creep unbox it in his office. God, I’m a fool.”

“It might not even be working after that trip down the river. This could be him guessing.”

“Well, I’m sure the giant-ass chopper sitting on the side of the highway let him know he’d guessed right.”

“Glad you’re as positive as Booker.”

“I’m a fucking ray of sunshine.” She motioned to the far end of the hall, quick-stepping down one side as Wyatt took the other. Nothing unusual sounded around them, the distant din of conversation still reaching them. Comments about how they’d have to check on the generators. That everyone should remain calm.

---