11. Air Support
11
AIR SUPPORT
Twenty stories above downtown San Diego, Maya Chen tried not to feel like a target. The August sun beat down mercilessly on the bank building’s roof, offering no shelter, no place to hide. Though she knew they were alone up here, every shadow, every glint of sunlight off surrounding windows made her pulse jump.
Since answering Commander Phillips’s dispatch last night, she’d broken every rule she believed in. Now, standing exposed on this rooftop just before 1 p.m., she waited for what felt like judgment.
Rules had been her armor since police academy. Training at Quantico only cemented her love of procedure. Follow protocol. Maintain the chain of command. Trust the system.
Those rules had gotten her partner killed.
Please Lord, she prayed silently, let me be doing the right thing. Show me the path through this darkness.
A subtle movement caught her attention. Ronan adjusted his position against the utility shed wall, his stillness speaking of years of combat experience. Even in repose, tension radiated from his powerful frame. His dark hair was slightly tousled from the earlier fight, and those haunted eyes never stopped scanning their surroundings. The hard planes of his face spoke of battles fought alone, of wounds that went soul-deep. Everything about him was controlled, contained. A man used to operating alone.
She wondered how many of his own rules he’d broken by helping her.
“Five minutes,” Axel said quietly from his lookout position. His usual humor was absent, replaced by a calm but watchful tension. His gaze kept returning to Ronan, worry evident in the set of his shoulders.
Maya forced her hands to stay steady. She was risking everything by running, but staying clearly meant death. They’d proven that with Tom. Once they got somewhere safe, once she and Ronan and Axel could separate the good guys from the bad, she’d turn herself in. Get this sorted out properly. Whether that permanently destroyed her career in law enforcement ... well, she’d leave that in God’s hands. Right now, staying alive long enough to expose the truth had to be enough.
The thwack of helicopter blades cut through her thoughts.
Ronan went absolutely still. His fingers flexed once before going motionless.
The aircraft appeared over the building’s edge, sleek and blue, the Knight Tactical logo understated but professional. Everything about it spoke of money, of success, of power.
The pilot set the bright blue helo in the center of the pad. Two men emerged from the cockpit as the rotors slowed. Neither was Christian Murphy. The slender one had to be Jack Reese. The big man would be Austin Daggett.
“Should have known.”
The words were barely audible, but the bitterness in Ronan’s voice made Maya flinch. She saw Axel shoot his friend a worried glance.
“Gentlemen, Agent Chen.” Jack’s approach was carefully diplomatic. “Let’s get you somewhere secure.”
“Sweet ride,” Axel offered, clearly trying for casual.
Ronan’s only response was silence. But Maya caught how his eyes cataloged every detail of the machine. She knew nothing about aircraft, but this one screamed money.
The interior was immaculate, better equipped than any federal aircraft she’d ever seen. Maya watched Ronan take it all in, his expression growing more closed with each second.
“Weather’s perfect for flying,” Austin tried again from the cockpit. “Clear skies all the way to?—”
“How long?” Ronan cut him off.
“A buck twenty to the compound,” Jack answered smoothly. “Get yourselves buckled in and we’ll hit it.”
Maya studied Ronan’s profile in the dim light. The military precision in his bearing couldn’t quite hide the tension underneath. This man had saved her life today, yet something about approaching his brother’s domain seemed to cost him more than facing armed killers.
The helicopter lifted off smoothly, banking east toward the mountains. Maya watched the city lights recede below them, each mile taking her farther from everything familiar. She’d crossed a line, burned bridges she likely could never rebuild.
Looking at Ronan’s carefully controlled expression, she wondered what lines he was crossing, asking for help from a stranger who should have been family.
The helicopter banked again, gentler this time. Axel’s knuckles went white on his armrest.
“Looking a little pale there, partner.” Ronan’s voice held the first hint of humor Maya had heard from him in hours. Since she contacted Knight Tactical, actually. “Need a bag?”
“Bite me, Quinn.” Axel flexed his big hand. “Some of us prefer our feet on solid ground.”
“Could be worse,” Ronan said, clearly enjoying himself. “Could be like that time in Paraguay?—”
“We don’t talk about Paraguay,” Axel ground out.
Jack chuckled. “Sounds like someone else we know.”
“Christian hates flying too,” Austin said. “Gets green around the gills every time.”
Maya caught Ronan’s startled blink. Such a small detail about his brother, but clearly news to him. His expression shifted, processing this unexpected frailty.
“Speaking of flying,” Axel said suddenly, his grin showing he’d found a way to get back at Ronan for the teasing, “what are we doing about the Lockheed?”
Ronan’s curse was creative. “Forgot about that.”
“The what now?” Jack’s tone sharpened with interest.
“Had to find a way to get here from Yuma ASAP,” Ronan answered. Maya heard the defensive note in his voice, saw how his shoulders tensed for criticism. “Grabbed what I had available. A Lockheed Electra outfitted for cargo. Parked it at an airfield east of town. Should be good for a while.”
“You might want to let your employer know where it is,” Axel suggested helpfully.
“You mean former employer,” Ronan corrected grimly.
“That’s ... probably a good point.”
To Maya’s surprise, Jack and Austin exchanged knowing grins in the cockpit.
“Been there, done that,” Jack said easily. “Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do, right?”
The tension in Ronan’s shoulders eased slightly. Something resembling a smile touched his eyes. “Right.”
“Though next time,” Austin added, “maybe go for something smaller than a Lockheed. Those things drink fuel like Christian drinks coffee.”
Another fragment of information about his brother. Maya watched Ronan file it away, saw how each casual mention simultaneously drew him in and pushed him back.
Axel’s next white-knuckled grab at the edge of his seat broke the moment. “Speaking of drinking, anyone else notice we’re flying through mountains? Can we maybe focus on that?”
“Be not afraid,” Maya quoted softly. “For I am with you.”
“Amen to that,” Jack called back.
Austin nodded, adding his own “Amen.”
Maya caught the flicker of something in Ronan’s expression—not quite discomfort, more like longing. A man who’d lost not just his career, but maybe his faith too.
“Relax,” Austin said to Axel. “Jack here’s the best pilot we’ve got. Though speaking of the best ...” He grinned. “You should see Christian on overwatch. Man can hit a target at fifteen hundred yards in high winds. Never seen anything like it.”
The almost-smile vanished from Ronan’s face.
How many conversations in the compound would end like this—casual mentions of Christian Murphy’s accomplishments leaving new bruises on old wounds?
Below them, the vast San Joaquin Valley stretched to the horizon, an endless patchwork of farmland shimmering in the summer heat. The megalopolis that was So Cal had disappeared behind them, leaving only scattered buildings and roads cutting through the agricultural expanse. Somewhere ahead, Christian Murphy’s world waited.
Maya watched Ronan’s reflection in the window, saw how his jaw set as a compound appeared in the distance. Whatever came next would test them both.
She just hoped they were strong enough to face it.