28. Old Wounds
28
OLD WOUNDS
Once safe in the Pilatus, Ronan studied his friend. Beneath the edgy energy, the man looked exhausted. Ronan figured he probably looked the same. Only with a bullet hole in his bicep.
He inclined his head at his long-lost teammate. “Good to see you.”
Griff looked up from the med kit Christian had produced. “Right back atcha.” He frowned over the neat assortment of implements and bandages, ducking his head away.
The pain in Ronan’s arm was overshadowed by the twinge of guilt that twisted his guts. The secret he and Griff shared bonded them more tightly than any of the others on their team. Not in a good way.
Kit in hand, Griff ordered Ronan to sit back. “This is gonna hurt,” he warned before digging in.
No joke.
Ronan gritted his teeth as Griffin cleaned the wound. The plane’s cabin lights were harsh, revealing every scrape and blood stain they’d collected during their escape. Outside the Pilatus’s windows, the Van Nuys tarmac shimmered in the late afternoon heat.
“Stop being such a baby,” Griffin muttered, probing the wound with experienced hands. “It’s just a through-and-through. No nerve or bone involvement. I’ll get you patched up until Kenji can do his doctor thing.”
“Just a—” Ronan broke off with a hiss as Griffin applied antiseptic. “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who has to fly this thing with a hole in his arm.”
“Just don’t scratch the aircraft,” Christian spoke up from where he was bandaging his own arm. “It’s ridiculously expensive to have these things worked on.”
Ronan couldn’t help smirking. “Put it on my tab.”
“Body’s writing checks your bank account can’t back, dude.”
For sure. Nice of Bio Bro to remind him he was the poor relation. Nothing like kicking a guy when he was down. He glared at Christian, but the man was too busy checking the sight lines from the plane’s windows to pay him any attention.
Griff packed up the med kit. “Maybe I should take the controls. You’re looking a little pasty.”
“You couldn’t fly a paper airplane,” Ronan shot back, but the familiar banter helped distract from the pain. “That last landing in Kandahar was especially bad.”
“That was one time?—”
“That was three times,” Ronan corrected. “Okay. No. Two. The third time doesn’t count. The plane was already on fire when you took control. I’ll give you that one.”
“‘Cause you’re so generous.” Griffin jabbed the needle into Ronan’s arm.
Ronan tried to laugh, but it turned into a grunt of pain. His eyes found Maya, sitting quietly in one of the leather seats. She hadn’t said much since they’d made it to the plane, her face drawn and pale. It wasn’t like her—in the few days he’d known her, she’d been all sharp wit and sharper insights. Reminded him of her father, a little, though he’d never tell her that.
Griff set aside the kit and checked the dressing one last time. “You’ll live. Probably.”
“Your bedside manner hasn’t improved,” Ronan muttered, testing his range of motion.
“Neither has your ability to dodge bullets.” Griffin eyed Christian. “We need to move. Once our tail strikes out searching traffic cams, they’ll start checking airfields.”
“Copy that.” Christian nodded toward Maya. “You okay over there?”
She looked up, seemed to shake herself out of whatever thoughts had held her. “Just wondering how they knew where to find us.”
Ronan caught the way Griffin’s hands stilled for just a moment. There was more here—much more—than their friend had revealed.
“First,” Ronan said, pushing himself up with only a small wince, “we get airborne. Then you’re going to tell us exactly what kind of hornet’s nest we just kicked.”
The secure radio crackled as he headed into the cockpit, stopping him. “Knight One, this is Base. Sitrep.”
Christian moved to the comm panel in the passenger area. “Base, Knight One. Package retrieved. Minimal casualties.” He glanced at Ronan’s shoulder. “Couple of scratches. Nothing serious.”
“What about my plane?” Jack’s voice rose.
“All good, my man. Just shot up the ancillary equipment. Ronan took a round through the shoulder, but it’s all good.”
“Opposition?” Jack’s voice was tight.
“Heavy. Local law enforcement plus private contractors. Someone had advance intel on our location.” Christian paused. “High-level coordination. They knew exactly where to look.”
A long silence filled the channel. Then, “Get in the air as quick as you can. Both retrieval teams are airborne. Austin’s group and mine. Both packages secured.”
Something in Jack’s tone made Ronan look up from his pre-flight checks. There was more there—something unsaid.
“The packages?” Christian asked carefully.
“Let’s just say ... they’re not exactly what we expected. You’ll understand when you see them. Base out.”
Maya stirred from her seat. “I don’t know Jack very well, but cryptic is never good.”
“Neither is the FAA notification I’m seeing,” Christian said, checking his tablet. “They’re implementing special screening protocols at all airfields within three hundred miles.”
“Sounds like we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Griffin said, sliding into the co-pilot’s seat with the ease of someone who’d done it many times before. He started the second set of pre-flight checks without being asked. “Transponder off?”
“Roger that.” Ronan was just thinking the same thing. With the transponder off, they’d be invisible to flight tracking radar.
Ronan caught Maya and Christian exchanging looks as they moved toward the back lounge. The pain in his shoulder was becoming a dull throb, manageable now that the adrenaline was wearing off.
He pushed the throttles forward, feeling the familiar surge of the engines. Whatever they’d stumbled into, it was bigger than a simple extraction.
They maintained radio silence until reaching cruising altitude, the San Fernando Valley falling away beneath them. Ronan adjusted their heading, his jaw tight against the burning in his shoulder. The local anesthetic was already wearing thin, each small movement a reminder of torn muscle and tissue.
“So this is what a SEAL looks like when he’s pretending not to be in pain.” Maya’s voice came from just behind the cockpit door.
“I don’t pretend anything, Special Agent.” He kept his eyes forward, fighting a smile despite the throbbing in his arm.
“Right. And that wasn’t you telling Christian ‘it’s just a scratch’ while bleeding all over the tarmac?” She moved into his peripheral vision, holding out water and pills. “Take these.”
“Worried about me?”
“You mean am I concerned about the several million dollars’ worth of aircraft you’re currently piloting? Yes.” But her voice held something that belied the snark.
“Admit it, Chen. You care.”
“I care about not dying in a fiery crash because our pilot is too macho to take pain meds.”
“Your concern is touching.”
Without a word, she set the water and pills on his console and headed back into the lounge.
Griffin let the cockpit fall silent for the better part of an hour, watching the last rays of sunlight paint the clouds. “You know, for a guy who can engineer a hot extract under the worst possible conditions, you’re remarkably blind at close range.”
“If this is about leaving you hanging during that paintball rematch with the Marines ... though I have to admit, seeing a SEAL get lit up in rainbow colors made my whole month.”
“This is about you still carrying my shot from Copenhagen.” Griffin’s voice dropped. “Three years of letting people think you took down that doctor. And for what? To protect me? I made my choice.”
Ronan adjusted their heading, hiding a wince. The pain meds weren’t doing nearly enough. “And I made mine.”
“But you never let me have a say. I’m good with the truth coming out. Always have been.” Griffin’s voice roughened, sanded with anger. “You’ve got the team back. Good people. They deserve the whole truth, not some sanitized report where you took responsibility for my call.”
“What I’ve got,” Ronan cut him off, “is a bullet hole in my arm and two hours of flying ahead. So unless you want me to pass out somewhere over the Sierra Nevada, we’re done talking.”
A wave of dizziness hit Ronan hard enough that he had to focus on his breathing. Griffin noticed, his hand moving to the co-pilot controls without comment.
“I’ve got it,” Ronan ground out.
“Sure you do. Just like you ‘had it’ when?—”
The cockpit door opened. Maya eyed him with laser focus. Her lips flattened into a sharp line. “Griffin, he’s grey. Why is he grey?”
“Because he’s a stubborn?—”
“I’m right here,” Ronan muttered.
She snorted. “Yes, you are. Barely. We’re still an hour out. Can you make it, or should we set down?”
The genuine concern in her voice made him turn his head, meeting her eyes. Bad idea. This close, he could see flecks of gold in the brown. Could see worry warring with something else entirely.
“I can make it.”
“You sure about that?” But her hand had settled on his uninjured shoulder, steady and warm.
“I’ve flown with worse.”
“That’s not actually reassuring.” But she squeezed his shoulder gently before stepping back. “Just ... call if you need anything?”
After she left, Griffin shook his head. “You’re both ridiculous.”
“Shut up and help me fly this plane.”
But for the first time since they’d taken off, Griffin was smiling. “Whatever you say, brother. Whatever you say.”