46. Hunter
Chapter forty-six
Hunter
We’ve been at the safe house for two days before I get a call from Connor.
“We’ve got a bite,” he says.
I pump my fist but other than that, keep my composure. “ATF is in?” After Connor discovered that Dylan might be transporting black-market weapons, his company looped in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives—otherwise known as ATF.
“They’ll be there with bells on, along with the FBI. Surveillance is already there with tactical and arrest teams on the move. You coming?”
I can’t legally arrest Dylan, but there’s a burning drive within me to make sure it happens. No one else in the world cares as much as I do about getting this man behind bars. No one else has as much to lose as I do, or as much to gain. “Wouldn’t miss it,” I tell him.
He fills me in on where the meetup is planned. “Thanks, Connor.”
“I got you, Cap.”
We nail down a few more specifics and then I sign off to find Ellie.
She’s lying down in the bed, nursing Audrey.
I stand at the doorway, taking a moment to save this memory.
Ellie’s gazing down at Audrey with so much love in her eyes.
Audrey’s tiny body is curled happily beside her mama, at peace with the world.
This is all I want—to keep having moments like this.
But to have that, I need to stop Dylan. For good.
I approach the bed, sitting gently beside them. “I got the call from Connor.”
Ellie bolts up, and there’s a tiny squelching sound as Audrey detaches from her.
She quickly pulls up her nursing top. “What? When? Where? Now?” The words come tumbling out of her.
I look down at my jeans and the line of wet dots stretching across my knee.
She just shot me with her milk. I had no idea that could happen.
I smile at the sight of Audrey’s outraged kicking, her little, pink-socked feet coming in and out of her blanket. When Audrey makes a little mewling sound, reminding Ellie that she’s no longer being fed, Ellie gathers the baby in her arms and resumes nursing.
Fear and panic are evident in Ellie’s wide eyes and clenched jaw. “He took the bait on the equipment, and the meetup is in four hours. Just enough time for me to get there.”
At my words, Ellie’s eyes get shiny and distant. “But …”
She doesn’t finish her thought—doesn’t even really start it. The word just hangs there between us.
“I’m keeping you safe, Ells.” I put a hand on her leg, squeezing.
“Connor’s sending a team here. They’ll stay until I get back.
” I tell her that the FBI and ATF will be there and that I likely won’t even see any action.
“But I have to be there, to make sure this gets done. For you, for Audrey. For us.”
She presses her lips together and a tear escapes down her cheek. I cup her face, wiping the tear. “Do you want me to call Asher? He could come here. He could even bring Cleo if you want.”
She nods, her eyes closing. I make the call and Asher agrees to come with Cleo. I talk him through how to make sure he’s not being followed. But with Dylan tied up with our pending deal, I’m less concerned about that.
Once I’m off the phone, Ellie’s tears have dried, but she’s looking at me with an indiscernible look.
I lie down facing Ellie and cocoon them in my arms. I press my forehead against hers; her breath warms my face.
When I can’t stand to be separate from her any longer, I press my lips against hers, showing her with every brush of my mouth just how important she is to me.
“Come back to me, Hunter,” Ellie whispers against my lips. “Promise me.”
My chest aches at her words. I’ve seen enough combat to know that I can never make that promise. You can have the best plan in the world, but things go sideways and nothing can be done.
I curl my hand against the back of her neck, cradling her head.
“I promise you I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.” My lips find hers again, and this time they’re wet with Ellie’s tears.
“I promise you that you have my heart, my whole heart, and that will never, ever change.” I inhale, soaking in Ellie’s sugary sweet scent and the new baby smell that lingers around Audrey.
I bend lower, pressing a kiss onto Audrey’s head.
“I love you, baby girl,” I whisper in her ear.
My gaze shifts back to Ellie. “And I promise you that nothing means more to me than coming back to you.”
And then, before I lose the ability to walk away, I get up and leave the room.
I dress in silence, steadying my breath as I pull on my jeans and boots. When I served overseas and we were getting ready for a mission, I did everything in my power to put aside sentimental thoughts—like how it would affect my mom or dad if something happened to me.
But as I get ready for this mission—checking my Glock, grabbing a spare mag—I find it impossible to set aside my thoughts of Ellie and Audrey.
They are the reason why I’m doing this. No longer do I have the luxury of compartmentalization.
Ellie and Audrey are the air I breathe. The beating of my heart.
The blood running through my veins. I couldn’t separate myself from them if I wanted to.
Even after death, they’ll be in every note in the song of eternity.
Taking a deep breath, I slip a ballistics vest over my long-sleeve and zip a sweater on top.
I’ve never felt more ready for a mission, and, somehow less ready.
Outside, Connor’s men have already taken up their positions discreetly around the safe house.
I’ve sent them photos of my brother and Cleo, along with the make and model of the car they’ll be driving.
Still, it physically hurts as I drive away from Ellie and Audrey, like someone’s tearing off one of my limbs.
I grit my teeth and pull onto the highway toward Dylan, refusing to look in the rearview mirror.
If I look back toward Ellie, I’m not sure I’ll be able to leave.
Missions like this are a lot of hurry up and wait. You get all hyped up and geared up, your heart pounding in your ears, only to sit around for a few hours. You get lulled into a dangerous kind of calm while trying not to think about everything that could go wrong.
I’m in the warehouse, waiting with the ATF and FBI guys. We’re in an empty section of the warehouse, the cavernous room buzzing beneath fluorescent lights and carrying the faint scent of motor oil.
There’s the standard fare for stuff like this: boxes of meat lovers’ pizza, a box of doughnut holes, and a carton of lukewarm coffee. But who wants to arrest someone with a stomach full of pizza and doughnuts?
Not me.
I sip the coffee, mostly because I need something to do. I’m jittery in a way that has nothing to do with caffeine. On the outside, I know that I’m a study in calm, but on the inside, everything’s churning like a storm.
I pull out my phone, looking at the lock screen picture of Ellie and Audrey snuggled up on the couch. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and do the only thing I can think to do right now—pray.
We’ve all got headsets on and occasionally one of us does a perimeter check. Connor’s team is conducting surveillance from a secondary location, with eyes on every road leading to the warehouse. Another spotter is posted a mile out to give us warning before Dylan arrives.
My headset crackles.
“Target passed checkpoint,” Connor says. “Two minutes out.”
Around the table, we take a collective deep breath. Everyone checks their weapons. The only sounds throughout the warehouse are the click of magazines in handguns and the VELCRO of bulletproof vests.
Andres, the undercover ATF agent posing as the seller, steps into the main loading area.
Under rusted metal beams, stacks of wooden crates tower near the dock doors, each one marked with fake agricultural shipping labels. But there’s enough firepower inside to take down the whole county.
Dylan’s eighteen-wheeler pulls up as Andres rolls the dock doors open. We watch surveillance screens in the next room. The conversation between Andres, Dylan, and another man—hopefully Quentin—crackles over our headsets.
We’re waiting for confirmation. It’s not enough for Dylan to browse the weapons—he has to show clear intent to purchase.
I know my role here. I’m not in charge; I can’t even arrest Dylan. Connor’s made it clear I shouldn’t discharge my weapon; it’s only there for worst-case scenarios. But it doesn’t stop me from checking the safety.
Dylan’s asking questions about the weapons, opening boxes, and even weighing things. Sweat slicks the back of my neck despite the cold air in the warehouse.
After what feels like an eternity, Dylan has agreed to the sale and is in the process of wiring the funds.
The arrest team lead, Lucas, slices his hand through the air.
Everyone kicks into motion. Half the team exits the back of the warehouse to circle around to ensure the suspects can’t leave the way they came.
I keep my eyes on the surveillance screens.
My breath gets stuck in my throat when Lucas yells, “ATF! Hands up!”
Then everything is chaos.
I’m squatting in front of the screen, hands gripping either side of the table. The other man—Quentin, I assume—gets tackled by an FBI agent.
That’s when I see Dylan take off.
My body moves before my brain catches up. I burst through the side door after Dylan.
He’s sprinting through the gravel. I see the other ATF agents chasing him too, but I’m closer.
And faster.
My boots kick up dirt as I sprint harder toward him. I’m closing the gap between us, but that’s when I see it—another car, waiting outside the gates of the warehouse. There’s a driver in the front seat.
Dylan clearly had a backup plan if things went south.
I push myself harder, quads burning as I think of Ellie and Audrey. I have to reach him before he gets to that getaway car.
The driver spins the car around and opens the passenger door for Dylan. I’m still a few strides out from him, and he’s almost to the car.
The image of Ellie and Audrey in the bed before I left flashes through my mind. And I know I have no choice but to get Dylan.
With a huge surge of effort, I close the gap, launching myself at Dylan right before he reaches the car.
Gravel tears across my palms as we hit the ground. My head knocks against his shoulder and his foot kicks back against me, but I’m on him. I grit my teeth, feeling dirt in my mouth, as he fights me. I sit up, putting a knee to his back to hold him in place. Seconds later, the ATF agents swarm us.
They’re yelling at him to stay down. Zip ties snap in place.
Just like that, Dylan is in cuffs, along with Quentin. An FBI agent is chasing down the getaway driver, who took off when he realized Dylan wasn’t going to make it.
I sit in the dirt, chest heaving. I brush the gravel off my palms, ignoring the sting.
Around me, agents haul Quentin into custody while Dylan curses loudly enough to shake the warehouse.
They eventually arrest the getaway driver as well and search their vehicles, uncovering illegal firearms, ammunition, falsified shipping manifests, burner phones, and financial records that tie the trucking company to a larger interstate weapons-trafficking operation.
Dylan’s going away for a long time.
But all I can think about is Ellie.
Hearing her voice. Holding her in my arms. And keeping her there forever.
Because, finally, our fight with Dylan is over.