44. Dead Drop
44
DEAD DROP
The August heat hammered down as Christian roughly guided Ronan up the Pilatus’s stairs, his grip unnecessarily tight. “Move it, scum,” he snarled, loud enough for Richardson to hear. The tarmac shimmered in the late morning sun, making the private airfield’s isolation feel even more pronounced.
Sweat darkened Ronan’s shirt where Christian’s fingers dug into his injured arm. To anyone watching, it looked like deliberate cruelty. Only Ronan felt the gentle squeeze that followed. “Sorry,” Christian whispered without moving his lips.
Behind them, Jack shoved Maya and Axel forward, his face twisted in disgust. “Can’t believe we worked with these pieces of filth.” He steered them none-too-gently toward their seats.
Richardson had stuck close over the past two hours as he negotiated with the kidnappers and he and the admiral planned the rescue flight to Italy. Not much opportunity for anyone to confer with Ronan or Maya or Axel. Exactly what Richardson wanted, for sure. Ronan’s team feigned disinterest and stayed away completely. The admiral’s wife wasn’t their concern. Nor were Ronan and Axel. Traitors to be handed over.
That left Christian, Jack and Austin to rotate as their guards. The one unguarded moment he got, Austin assured them that they’d be sending reinforcements. “We’ve got an Embraer jet on standby. It’s a hundred knots per hour faster than your ride. And our ceiling’s ten thousand feet higher. Richardson will never see us. We’ll be on the ground long before you hit the Med. We’re hoping we can extract Mrs. K before you land, but stay on your toes. No idea how this is going to go down.”
The rushed communication had buoyed Ronan’s spirits. Weak as he felt, he wasn’t sure how much help he’d be when the time came. But knowing they’d have friendlies on the ground helped.
“Buck, we’re going to need someone to watch over the prisoners.” The admiral’s voice carried from the co-pilot’s seat. “We should bring Murphy. Extra security?—”
“Your boy’s brother?” Richardson’s laugh was sharp. “No offense, Christian, but blood tells.”
Christian leapt forward, face red, fist cocked, Jack barely catching him before he reached Richardson. “I’ll take you down.”
“Stand down,” Jack barked, though his own face had hardened at Richardson’s jab.
“My father’s choices aren’t mine,” Christian spat, shrugging off Jack’s restraining grip. The fury in his voice wasn’t entirely feigned.
“Exactly my point,” Richardson said smoothly. “Family loyalty can be ... unpredictable.”
“Then Jack,” the admiral pressed. “These prisoners need watching?—”
Richardson continued with his preflight. “The kidnappers were clear, John. No extra personnel. It was hard enough convincing them to let me fly you over.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, we’re burning daylight. My team from Greece will be in position in six hours. They’ll stay out of sight, until I can persuade the kidnappers they mean no harm. But we need to get going if we’re going to meet the deadline.” He twisted himself around in the captain’s seat until he could lock eyes with Jack and Christian, blocking the aisle between the three of them and the cockpit. “Check their restraints one more time.”
“Sir.” Jack sounded way too much the eager flunky. But as he bent over Maya, he winked.
Christian hovered over Ronan. “Hold still,” he barked, though Ronan hadn’t moved.
His brother tugged at the restraints, and then, suddenly they fell away only to be instantly replaced.
“Izzy and Star came up with these,” Christian whispered, voice barely audible. “Three taps on the fastener and they pop off.”
He gripped Ronan’s good shoulder. “Wish I was going with you, bro.”
Radiating pretend rage, Ronan refused to meet his brother’s eyes. “You should come. I’d love to make it a one-way trip, dude.”
Christian laughed harshly. “I bet. Sorry, this is a private vacay. Just for you and your two buddies here. It ends with identical prison cells.” Christian clapped him hard on his injured shoulder, drawing a sharp groan, and backed away to tend to Axel’s restraints.
He was telling Ronan that they all three had new bindings. Nice.
When the time came, that would help. A lot.
Christian saw to Axel’s bindings, his movements sharp with apparent anger. “All secured, sir,” he reported to Jack. “Though why we’re bothering with procedure for traitors ...”
“Because we’re professionals,” Jack cut him off. “Unlike some people.” His glare at the prisoners crackled with convincing hatred.
As they descended the stairs, Christian turned back. “Rot in hell, baby bro,” he snarled at Ronan. “I’m only thankful our father never gave you his name.”
Jack paused in the doorway, saluting the older men. “Good hunting, sirs.”
As the jet’s door closed with a final, heavy thunk, Ronan’s gaze fell on Maya’s cross necklace, glinting in the pre-dawn light. He’d always respected her faith, even if he couldn’t share it. Had admired how she found strength in something he couldn’t see or touch or quantify. But now ...
For the first time in his life, he found himself reaching for that same invisible lifeline. The words felt clumsy, foreign in his mind. He didn’t know the proper way to do this, didn’t know if there were rules or protocols. But he figured if there was a God up there, He’d understand raw honesty.
Not for him. He chose this life. Chose the risks, the battles, the scars. But Maya, fierce, smart, beautiful Maya, wasn’t a warrior. Hadn’t signed up for this. Neither had Minerva Knight.
The prayer rose from somewhere deeper than thought: Keep them safe. Please. I’ll pay whatever price You want, take whatever hits are coming, just ... let them walk away from this.
No. Matter. What.
It felt like making a contract with the universe itself. Like the words carried a weight that changed something fundamental in the air around them. He didn’t know if anyone was listening, but he meant every syllable with an intensity that surprised him.
He slumped tiredly in his seat, his brain buzzing. The antibiotics Kenji had managed to slip him were finally kicking in. His head felt clearer than it had in hours, though fire still crawled beneath the bandages on his shoulder. Through the Pilatus’s windows, darkness had given way to dawn over the Atlantic. Six hours into a nine-hour flight to Italy.
Richardson’s voice drifted back from the cockpit as he adjusted their heading. Former Air Force pilot, current traitor, apparently. The admiral sat beside him as co-pilot—Richardson’s idea, keeping the man who’d “orchestrated” their transfer close. Making him complicit.
To allegedly face kidnappers. To save Minerva.
Right.
“This makes zero sense,” Maya muttered, quiet enough that the cockpit crew couldn’t hear. “Why drag us to Italy just to bring us back to face charges in the States?”
Axel’s first words in hours were barely a whisper: “Because we’re not supposed to come back. Easier to disappear us on foreign soil.”
“Richardson and his goons are planning to make it look like we were in on the kidnapping,” Ronan added.
Maya flinched.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She straightened her narrow shoulders as much as she could with her hands tied behind her back. “Don’t be. It’s the truth.”
We got this . He willed her to understand the unspoken reassurance he didn’t dare say aloud.
Turbulence rattled the Pilatus. Across the aisle, Axel went rigid. The former SEAL’s breathing had shifted—short, sharp inhales that had nothing to do with the plane’s movement. His eyes had that thousand-yard stare Ronan recognized from the last couple of years of their deployment. Ever since the disaster in Damascus.
“Hey.” Ronan kept his voice low, steady. “Stay with me, bro. You’re on a stupid-swanky private jet.” He watched Axel’s hands clench. “Maya’s on your left. I’m on your right. Buck Richardson’s flying, which is actually pretty funny if you think about it.”
Maya noticed it immediately, shifted to press her shoulder against Axel’s. “Ground yourself, big guy. Feel the seat. Smell the leather. Listen to Richardson being an arrogant ass up there, telling the admiral about his flight hours.”
Axel’s breath hitched. His whisper was raw: “Last time I was zip-tied on a plane?—”
“Was then. This is now.” Ronan kept his tone matter-of-fact. “And these aren’t real zip-ties. They’re our ticket out. Remember the plan. Stay with us.”
Slowly, deliberately, Axel flexed his hands. Inhaled. Exhaled. “The plan,” he repeated. “Right.” His voice steadied. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Maya murmured. “Just means you’re human.”
Ronan caught the admiral watching them, concern evident despite his careful mask of indifference. He gave the man a slight nod. All good.
The plane hit another patch of turbulence. This time, Axel didn’t flinch.
Ronan fully expected Jack and Christian and Griff and the rest of their team to beat them to Italy, once they rescued the admiral’s wife, or if they failed to locate and extract her before the planned exchange, it would be down to Ronan and Maya and Axel to handle Richarson and his crew.
Either way, the man had earned himself a fist to the face. Ronan was looking forward to it. A lot.