Chapter 46 #3
“When?” The word was a sharp exhale.
“Like in twenty minutes. You can just make the airfield. Ayla is holding up the plane for you. Go. Now.”
She didn’t hesitate. She didn’t think. She was on her feet, grabbing her coat, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She stopped, just for a second, and threw her arms around Tyler. He stiffened, then awkwardly patted her back. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice thick.
“Thank me later,” he grumbled, pushing her gently toward the door. “Go, go before you miss him.”
She didn’t even know how she got to the airport.
The drive was a blur of gray asphalt and rushing trees, the world outside the car window a smear of motion.
Her hands were clenched on the steering wheel, her knuckles white, her mind a whirlwind of fear and hope.
What if I’m too late? What if he’s already gone? What if he’s decided to shut me out?
Then she saw him. He was in a wheelchair, being pushed toward the ramp of a nondescript military transport plane, its engines already whining to life.
He was pale, his face drawn, but his eyes…
his eyes were scanning the tarmac, searching.
She increased her speed, her boots pounding on the concrete, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
“Wait!” she shouted, her voice raw, cutting through the roar of the engines.
His head came up. His gaze locked onto hers, and for a single, heart-stopping moment, the world stopped. The anger, the fear, the exhaustion all melted away, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated anguish. It was the look of a man who had just been handed his own death sentence.
She got to him, slid to her knees in front of the wheelchair, the cold concrete biting through her pants.
“I’m so glad I made it,” she breathed, her voice trembling.
Her fingers brushed his, a spark of connection that sent a jolt through her.
“You’ll call me, and we’ll talk about everything, all right? ”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. His face closed down, the beautiful light in his eyes dimming, shuttering away. “It’s probably best we end this now,” he said, his voice flat, detached. “You’ve got so much to deal with, and I’ve got legal issues to handle.”
“They’re not going to charge you,” she said, her voice hardening, the commander taking over. “How can they after all that evidence?”
“I still have to deal with it, Blair,” he said, his gaze dropping to his lap, avoiding her eyes. “It’s best that you have the clarity you need to press on. What we had was amazing—”
She stiffened, her shoulders tightening, a familiar fire igniting in her chest. “Oh, no, Kelly Gatlin. Don’t you even think about it.”
He looked up, startled, his eyes wide with surprise. “Blair—”
“No, don’t you Blair me with that charming, I’ll-fall-on-my-sword bullshit,” she snapped, her voice low and dangerous. “I didn’t fight for you, I didn’t hold you while you bled, I didn’t tell you I’d never let you go, just so you could decide for me what’s best for me.”
“Ma’am. We have to go. I’m sorry,” his Navy nurse said, stepping forward, her voice crisp, professional.
Blair glared at her, a look of pure, icy fury that made the woman take an involuntary step back. Her eyes widened, muttering something under her breath. The nurse gave the impatient-looking flight boss who was standing at the end of the ramp a sharp, no-go look with a hand slash at her throat.
Breakneck laughed suddenly, a sharp, pained sound that made him wince and clutch his side. Then he laughed again, a deeper, more genuine sound that held a hint of the man she loved. “Stop fucking flipping tables back at me, you crazy, beautiful woman.”
“No!” she said, her voice fierce, her eyes blazing. “I won’t. You go home and get everything worked out, and if they try to do anything other than the right thing, I will bring down the Canadian hammer with both hands. Tell them that. Tell whoever needs to hear it. Even your goddamned president.”
With a soft, beautiful male sound of surrender, he reached out, his fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of her neck.
He grunted, pulling her onto his lap, the movement sending a jolt of pain through him, but he didn’t let go.
He kissed her, his mouth a little frantic, a little curved, but with a whole lot of heat.
It was a kiss of goodbye, of promise, of desperation.
“You do what’s best for you, Blair,” he whispered, his voice breaking, his breath warm against her lips. “I’ll be okay.”
She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that it was probably the first lie he’d ever told her.
He gestured to the Navy nurse, his hand trembling slightly. Blair got off his lap, her fingers brushing through his hair one last time, a silent, desperate promise.
He turned at her words, but something in his eyes made it feel final. “You might be okay,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the engines. “But I won’t, Kelly.”
His face contorted, a mask of pain, and he turned away, letting the flight attendant wheel him toward the plane. The ramp lifted behind him, sealing him away.
Blair stood there, on the cold tarmac, the roar of the engines drowning out the world, her hand still raised, her fingers tingling with the memory of his hair, her heart a hollow, aching thing.
The plane taxied away, a gray bird against the gray sky, carrying away the only man who had ever made her feel truly, completely alive.
Blair sat at her desk long after she should have left, the overhead light casting a thin, tired halo over the paperwork spread in front of her. Reports. Timelines. Statements she’d already read twice. Her pen hovered over the page, unmoving.
Two days.
Two days since Kelly had been flown out of her airspace, out of her reach, back across a border that suddenly felt much farther than a line on a map.
She was running on adrenaline and obligation, on the sheer momentum of having too much to do to stop.
It worked…mostly. Until it didn’t. Until her thoughts slipped sideways, catching on things she didn’t want to examine yet.
The quiet in the cabin at night. The way her body still remembered his weight.
The certainty she’d felt in his arms, followed by the sharp, disorienting absence.
She didn’t recognize herself like this. Restless. Moody. Unsettled in a way she couldn’t pin down.
The phone rang.
She straightened automatically, clearing her throat. “Brown.”
“Staff Sergeant.”
She closed her eyes briefly at the sound of his voice. “Sir.”
“I won’t keep you long,” Chief Superintendent Desjardins said. His tone was measured, but there was something else under it. Finality. “I wanted you to hear this directly from me.”
Her grip tightened on the receiver. “Yes, sir.”
“The joint review concluded this afternoon,” he continued. “RCMP Major Crimes, Federal Policing, and our counterparts on the American side. The operation has been formally classified. No identifying details will be released, locations, assets, or the involvement of Tier 1 operators included.”
She exhaled slowly, her shoulders easing by a fraction.
“Major Crimes found no grounds to charge Petty Officer Kelly Gatlin with any wrongdoing,” Desjardins said.
“The evidence is overwhelming. His actions were defensive, necessary, and directly responsible for preserving the integrity of the crime scene. That discovery has already led to a significant destabilization of Los Reyes del Octavo’s operations. ”
Her pen slipped from her fingers and clattered softly against the desk.
“Furthermore,” he added, “the RCMP has issued a formal commendation to his commanding officer, JSOC, and the White House. The Prime Minister insisted on a personal letter acknowledging his conduct and the cooperation between our forces.”
Her chest tightened, sharp and unexpected.
“The matter is closed,” Desjardins said. “If anything reaches the press, it will be minimal. A sanitized account. No names. No spotlight. Certainly nothing that compromises those involved.”
She swallowed. “Thank you, sir.”
“I’m also proud to let you know that Master Chief Snow has reciprocated in his own commendation…
to you. From what I understand, he’s not an effusive man, but his letter to us was detailed and illuminating.
You handled this exceptionally well, Blair,” he said, using her name for the first time.
“Under pressure. Under scrutiny. That matters.”
“It was my responsibility,” she replied automatically.
“Yes,” he said. “And you carried it.”
There was a pause, just long enough for something unspoken to pass between them.
“I’ll be in touch,” Desjardins said. “Get some rest.”
The line went dead.
Blair lowered the phone slowly, her hand lingering on it as if it might ring again.
The room felt different now. Quieter. Heavier.
Kelly was cleared. Commended. Protected.
The system had done what it was supposed to do for once.
She’d watched the footage, what he had to do to survive, to save his leader, a man who was so much more.
It wasn't his skill in taking down two armed men while cornered that haunted her.
It was the flicker of raw fear on his face as he watched his world burn from a steel box in the sky.
Then came the pivot, the desperate, brilliant improvisation with the cogs, the heart-in-throat gantry swing, the slide down the machinery. All of it was pure Kelly.
As she watched him slam into Carver, her anger at the agents' treachery flared hot, but it was immediately eclipsed.
The last of her fear didn't just dissolve.
It was incinerated by a profound, awestruck clarity.
He was never out of the fight. Not because he was a SEAL, but because he was Kelly, and that, she realized, was so much more dangerous.