Page 96 of Shockproof

I give him a nod of acknowledgement and head off to the transport with Blu on my heels.

The instant we’re on the helicopter, I present the pilot with the exact coordinates her tracker is currently pinging and inform him of how many nautical miles we need to be dropped out at to prevent from being detected. Post setting his route, he points to the headsets we need to put on and motions for us to get seated where we’ll finish gearing up for the rescue.

After all…the pre-game clock is ticking.

Getting from Dalvegan to the middle of the water where his yacht is currently floating isn’t the issue.

It’s getting there before he places that call to tell me where he is.

Because if he gets a chance to make that call and I don’t answer?

He’ll kill her.

It’s why I didn’t waste a fucking minute leaving interrogation, getting Lenkov, or loading up on gear while Blu had someone on our tech team locate his yacht and pull up the schematics on it. Typically, a good plan takes time to concoct.

Days to prep.

Run drills.

Discuss obstacles.

But we don’t have a good plan.

We simply have a fucking plan, which is just something we have to make work.

It’s been a long minute since I had to drop behind enemy lines with not much more than my instinct and a basic goal, but that doesn’t mean I can’t do it.

And for Angel Cake?

I most certainly fucking will.

“Fuck, that waters gonna be cold,” Blu whines, looking out the side window upon our arrival above the dark blue terrain. “Why don’t we ever get to jump out in the shit when it’s warm?”

“Cabo,” I casually remind without looking up from the beeping dot on my device.

“Should we count Cabo?” He lightheartedly argues doing what he believes is best, attempting to distract me from the irrefutable fear I haven’t felt since I was a child.

I know I need to be focused on bringing her home.

Not what happens if I don’t.

Not what happens if we’re too late.

Not what happens if he suspects I’m following a different plan.

I need to concentrate on the mission objective of infiltrate, search, and seize.

I can’t picture her lying on the deck with a bullet through her brain.

Footsteps in blood from whoever fled.

I can’t believe that’s even possible because the second I do I know that’s what I’ll see.

Rubbing the tightening spot in my chest captures my second’s attention. “We got this, Wahl.”

I apply a little more pressure in hopes of alleviating the discomfort.

“Clear eyes. Clear heads. Clear hearts. Can’t lose.” The corner of his mouth lifts towards the darkening sky. “That’s what you said to me before we went in on our first mission together.”

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