Chapter 46
The helicopter bucked through a pocket of turbulence, the floor vibrating under her knees. Blair barely felt it. All her attention was on the weight in her lap, the rise and fall of his chest uneven beneath her hands.
“Easy,” she murmured, not sure who she was talking to. Him. Herself. The moment.
Breakneck’s lashes fluttered.
Her breath caught. She leaned closer, her fingers threading through the thick, unruly hair stilled, then resumed, moving to the silky strands at his temple. She stroked slowly, gently, grounding him the only way she knew how.
His brow furrowed, then eased, and he looked so adorably confused.
A breath left him, low and shaky. “That…feels good,” he whispered, the words slurred, pulled from somewhere deep and unguarded.
Her throat closed. She didn’t answer. She just kept her hand there, steady, present, letting him anchor to the touch.
His eyes opened again, barely, unfocused and searching. For a second, she thought he wouldn’t find her.
“Blair,” he breathed.
The sound hit her like a blow. Relief and fear tangled so tightly in her chest she couldn’t tell them apart, and for a terrifying second she was afraid this was all she was going to get.
His face softened, as if the sound of it had settled something inside him, and then the moment slipped away. His body went heavy again, consciousness receding, the fight finally giving way to exhaustion and blood loss.
Blair bowed over him, her forehead resting briefly against his, her hand never leaving his hair. Her grip tightened without her meaning to, a sudden, visceral panic flashing through her body. Don’t let go, don’t let this be the last thing. “I’ve got you,” she whispered fiercely. “I’m right here.”
The helicopter surged forward through the night, rotors screaming, carrying them toward lights and doctors and answers, her command heavy on her, but for that brief, fragile moment, all that existed was her touch, his breath, and the quiet truth that he’d come back to her before letting go again.
She took a hard breath. There was no more time for emotion. She depressed her comms. “Ayla?”
“Reading you, Staff Sergeant. Break and Ice?”
“We’re headed to the hospital. Both are stable and alive.”
Ayla’s voice broke. “Thank God.”
“We have a situation. Everyone but Kodiak stayed at the cannery. I don’t have to tell you.
If the cartel has the manpower, they’re going to be heading there.
We delivered quite a blow to their leadership, effectiveness, and numbers, but I don’t want to underestimate the King’s muscle, Hell’s Eights.
” She was worried about Breakneck’s teammates, and she didn’t want to let Iceman down in getting his men the backup they needed.
She lowered her voice. “I want you to go there personally. Do your thing and coordinate.”
“I’ve got this. I’ll do my thing, discreetly.”
“Good. Put me through to Darrow.”
“Copy that. On my way. Lindstrom is on with the brass. He’s getting the US wheels in motion. What a mess.”
“Indeed. Thank you and keep me posted. I’ll stay on comms.”
“Sending you through.”
“Darrow,” he answered crisply.
She outlined everything that was happening. “You need to—”
“I don’t need to do a damn thing. This is on you.
You call Desjardins and explain.” The sound of his hanging up was loud in her ears.
It took everything she had not to explode, the fantasy of her kicking him where it hurt making her feel a bit better.
She had no problem with handling this, but it was his responsibility to send it up the chain.
Typical response for such a petty, weak-spined individual.
The Americans were more supportive than her own boss.
She put the call through to the chief superintendent, who made the call to JTF2 to get them rolling just as the helicopter dropped hard onto the pad, the skids shrieking against concrete as the rotors kept screaming overhead. The moment they touched down, the world rushed in to meet them.
Noise. Light. Movement.
The doors were yanked open and cold night air blasted through the cabin, snapping Blair back into her body. Voices overlapped. Orders barked. Boots hit metal. Hands reached in from everywhere at once.
“Clear! Clear!”
“Gurney coming through!”
“Watch the IV!”
Breakneck was lifted from her lap before she could brace for it, the sudden absence of his weight a physical blow. She surged forward instinctively, fingers catching at his sleeve, at the fabric darkened with blood.
“Kelly—”
Someone stepped between them, gentle but unyielding. Kodiak’s voice was close to her ear. “Easy. Let them work. They’re in good hands.”
The medics moved with brutal efficiency, cutting away what remained of his shirt, hands pressing, securing, calling numbers she didn’t want to hear.
Breakneck’s face disappeared behind a wall of bodies and equipment, oxygen mask already in place, his head lolling as they transferred him to the gurney.
All she could do was watch impotently. Kodiak was right.
He was in the best hands, and they had his and Iceman’s welfare as priority number one.
She sagged against Kodiak for a moment, trying to keep all her emotions under control.
At this point, she had to let them do their jobs, and she had to do hers, regardless of how much turmoil and worry cascaded through her.
Blair stood frozen for a split second, the weight of it all crashing down on her, the blood on her own hands, the sight of Breakneck’s ashen face, the sheer, overwhelming responsibility.
She was no longer just Blair, the woman who loved a man who had just fought for his life.
She was Staff Sergeant Brown, the joint commander of an operation that had escalated into a political, diplomatic, criminal, and logistical nightmare.
She forced herself to move, leaving Kodiak’s big arms with a nod of thanks.
She pushed through the crowd and made her way to the nursing station outside the trauma unit while the two gurneys disappeared down the hall.
She caught the attention of the nurse at the desk.
Her voice cut through the noise. “I need a phone and privacy. Now. RCMP business.”
One of the nurses standing by grabbed her arm. “Ma’am, you need to be checked out. You’re covered in blood.”
“It’s not mine,” she said, her throat tightening.
“How can I help? I’m the RN in charge of the floor tonight.”
Blair grabbed her arm. “I want an immediate update on Petty Officer Kelly Gatlin and Master Chief Christopher Snow. Is that clear?”
The nurse nodded and said, “Of course. As soon as we have it. Follow me.” She led her to a small, cluttered room off the trauma bay.
“This is my office. Take your time, and when you’re done, find me. I’ll have an update for you.
“Thank you,” Blair said, moved to the desk and grabbed the phone, her fingers trembling only slightly as she dialed the RCMP Major Crime Unit, whose job was to handle major investigations, especially those involving federal crimes, officer-related deaths, and cross-border incidents.
When the call connected, she wasted no breath.
“This is RCMP WILD Staff Sergeant Brown. Put me through to Inspector Olivia Gauthier.”
“Hey, Blair—”
“Livy. I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have a terrible international incident with the Americans.”
“I’m listening.”
Blair went through it all from the beginning. “Dear God. Murdering Mounties, ambushing SEALs. My God. I’ll get people on this as soon as the scene is secure. We’ll be careful and methodical. There will so many eyes on this.”
“Thank you. Kelly Gatlin…he’s not just a SEAL to me, Livy.”
“I hear you. Take a breath and keep this professional. I know this must be hard. Okay?”
“All right. I’ll try. Keep me posted.”
She closed her eyes, her heart racing, the memory surfacing. While Breakneck was being wheeled away under fluorescent lights that swallowed him whole, she had caught one last glimpse of his hand as the doors slammed shut, still, pale, smeared with blood that wasn’t all his.
She stood, wanting desperately to find out how he was doing, and her knees threatened to give out. She didn’t let them.
The weight settled fully now. The discovery of the stash house that could cripple the remaining cartel.
A possible firefight that could compromise forensic evidence.
Two corrupt, dead DEA agents. Two murdered Mounties.
Multiple crimes. A deliberate, cold-blooded ambush.
A master chief bleeding out on a hospital table, and the wounded man she loved smack-dab in the middle of it all.
That man disappearing behind hospital doors she couldn’t follow him through.
She closed her eyes for half a second, drawing a breath so deep it burned.
Then she opened them and moved. Her day wasn’t going to be over for some time.
Grief would come later.
Fear would come later.
Right now, she was the one standing between chaos and collapse, and she would not fail Iceman or the men who had partnered with them with all the risk involved, and she would never fail Breakneck, not now, not ever.
Breakneck surfaced slowly, the world heavy and muffled, like he was swimming up through thick water. Light pressed against his eyelids, too bright, too sharp. His mouth tasted like cotton and antiseptic, his body a distant, aching thing that didn’t quite belong to him yet.
Then memory hit.
Ice.
He sucked in a breath and tried to sit up.
Pain tore through his side, white and vicious, and he groaned, the sound dragged out of him before he could stop it. His hand fumbled for his abdomen, finding thick bandaging, the tight pull of sutures underneath.
“Easy, hero.”
The voice cut through the fog, steady and familiar.
Breakneck cracked his eyes open. Kodiak sat in the chair beside the bed, forearms braced on his knees, coffee in one hand.
“Iceman,” Breakneck rasped. “Ice—”