Chapter 2
Chapter Two
The wipers slash violently back and forth. The storm a perfect background score for the whirring thoughts in my head. How is it possible we haven’t found this woman?
The sound of my ringtone snaps me back and I blink the grit out of my eyes. I hit accept and refocus on the murky pool of light in front of the truck.
“Beast, what’s up?”
“Where are you?”
My team leader sounds as tired as I feel.
I hit the volume button on the console to crank up his end of the call so I can hear him over the onslaught lashing the outside of the truck.
“About fifteen klicks from home base.”
Voice blasting out of the speakers, he asks, “Near the airport?”
“Close enough. ”
“Good.” He exhales a tired groan. “Do you mind picking up the DepthStrike team? Their plane should be landing any time now.”
My eyes—seconds ago narrowed on the watery road—go wide and instantly dry as I almost run into the ditch.
“ Did you say, DepthStrike, as in Kane’s company?”
Sure as shit, Beast confirms the missile that just left the launcher and is coming straight at the center of my chest.
“Yeah, that’s the one.”
Fuck. Fucking fuck.
“Did you hear me?” His voice fades in and out because monsoon season and cell towers don’t go together in Vandemora.
“I heard you.”
A bomb couldn’t have been louder. My ears are ringing.
“Camile and I can get them if it’s better,” Beast offers, clearly detecting something from my curt undertone. “You’re just closer so I thought I’d see.”
Scrubbing a hand over my open mouth, I consider telling him I quit.
Out. See ya if I see ya.
But my mouth betrays me, not my team. “No, get some sleep. We’ve all been up far too long. I’ll pick up Kane and his divers and get them to the farm.”
I’d never do that to Team Falcon or to the missing woman. I know my place and I’m needed here, no matter how jacked up I am.
Jesus. I knew a team was coming, I knew they would be arriving tonight. How did I not know it was DepthStrike?
Anxiety churning in my gut, I let off the gas as the truck tries to hydroplane.
Somehow I missed this fact because I’ve had my head in logistics preparations. And there’s plenty of that going on. I’m Agile Security & Rescue’s liaison for the cave diving searches.
But I didn’t know my head was buried in the sand.
Faaak. “Has it always been DepthStrike?” I ask, baffled.
“Yeah. They’re the best. We spared no expense.”
He’s not wrong there. Kane’s got a hell of a reputation. “Did you tell me that’s who you hired?”
“I said the wrong name. I called them Deep something.”
“Deep Attack,” I mutter. “Now I remember.”
Deep attack is right. On my goddamned sanity.
“Sorry, major fumble on that, but you know who they are.”
“Copy, I’m on it,” I reply, my voice tight, my stomach tighter. Squeezing out two more words, I end the call. “Signing off.”
My fist returns to my mouth, only this time I mash it against my face hard, until I taste copper.
Griffon Kane, former Delta Force operator and witness to the worst moment in my life is coming to work on our case with us. Here. Now.
A glance at the GPS on the dash only makes everything worse. Six minutes out from the airport.
The dread almost chokes me as an uncomfortable tingle spreads across my skin. Shifting in the driver’s seat, I tug at my shirt and adjust my cargo pants as I scan the dark watery road in front of me.
Someone would probably think I have fire ants in my clothes. Not far from it.
Of all the damned cave rescue groups in the world, it would be Griffon Kane’s.
Fucking hell.
I swing the truck through a turn, making water push away from the tires in a slow wave that rushes toward the ditch. Serious as shit, this gets any worse and we’re going to be using the snorkel this thing is equipped with.
Too bad it can’t save me from drowning in my own personal mental hell.
Finally, the airport comes into sight.
But, what the fuck am I seeing?
A light is shooting upward in the air. Slicing through the sheets of rain, it disappears in the low clouds. That part’s clear—the beam is coming from an upside-down plane.
But the men swarming around the plane with guns…
That’s where shit gets crazy.
I don’t know how long ago the Cessna carrying Griff’s team crashed into the grass next to the runway. Or exactly how it got there, but it’s pretty obvious this storm is a motherfucker.
I also don’t know if anyone is alive in the wreckage, but I know the sight of the kind of rebels that terrorize Vandemora when I see them.
Gunning the engine, I ram the nose of my truck through the fence surrounding the airport’s runway. The chain link scrapes the sides of the truck with a wail as it rips apart.
My headlights flash across the plane wreck as the truck bounces.
Heads whip my way.
That’s right. Big dog’s coming to the party.
Two of the four men jump in a small white truck and take off, swerving wildly across the wet grass, gunning for the open gate by the terminal.
Another man reaches into the plane and drags something out.
His buddy is waving wildly as I pin the gas pedal, heading right for them .
That’s when I realize what he has isn’t a bag of Griff’s gear.
He’s got a woman.
A young woman.
Bucking like an animal, she flails in his arms. Kicks wildly at his head.
I don’t know how the guy is hanging on, but the bastard drags her away from the plane, toward the open passenger door of the waiting truck.
My vision narrows. My blood surges forcefully. The cold taste of adrenaline scores across my tongue.
I growl and tighten my hands on the wheel. “You just fucked with the wrong people, buddy.”
I don’t even slow down. I ram the truck, knowing it won’t hit the man that’s dragging the woman. Or the woman. Not that I give a flying fuck about the attacker, but with the truck out of the way, I’ve got room to work.
The sound of the collision is like a bomb. The impact jolts me hard enough to make me grunt.
Their truck will have gotten the worst of the hit thanks to the burly brush guard Agile’s trucks have on the front.
Shaking the impact off, I throw off my seat belt and hit the ground running.
This asshole is about to regret getting up this morning.
He yells something at me as I grab a piece of bumper off the ground.
“Let her go.”
He looks around wildly. Breathing hard, he yells, “Stop. I’ll shoot her.”
She whimpers, biting her lip as the man drags her into a chokehold.
Shit .
There’s no way I’d risk taking a shot with him using her as a shield.
She meets my gaze with hers. There’s a plea in her pretty brown eyes.
“Easy, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
Snarling, the man tightens his hold. “You’re not getting her, I’m shooting her!”
Holding up my free hand, I steady my voice. “Then what?”
“Then… then, I’m shooting you.”
“Right. Think about this. I’ll be all over you in a second. You won’t have time to shoot me too.”
The eyes behind the mask get round. Dude is scared shitless right now.
Rightfully so. He’s fucked. I’m not backing down. Ever.
“Let her go.”
He shoves her aside, hard enough to send her crashing to the pavement. Her scream makes my skin tighten and my focus sharpen.
Now he’s pointing his pistol at my chest.
“You’re not getting away. You’re trapped. There's a man behind you, holding a gun on you. He’s going to take you out.”
Faked out, he glances over his shoulder.
I lunge, knocking the gun away.
He twists and drops to the ground and comes up swinging.
Terror in her voice, the woman shouts at me. “Watch out! He has a knife!”
I use my improvised weapon to block him, and dance out of the way.
He ducks when I swing the piece of hard plastic bumper at his head .
Fucker’s surprisingly fast. He’s not focused though, and that will be his downfall.
Moving quickly, I advance on him, keeping my breath steady and my weight balanced.
His eyes flick to my right and back. Stealing a look at the truck I rammed.
“Looking for backup?”
He curses under his breath.
“Your buddy’s probably got a concussion. If he’s alive. I hit the truck hard.”
Desperate, the man slashes out at me with the five-inch blade of his field knife. He lowers his guard as he does.
The plastic bumper piece hisses through the air as I swing. A jagged end catches the side of his face, gashing open his mask and his skin.
He roars and stumbles back.
“You liked that?”
He clutches the side of his face with one hand. “Fuck you!”
I charge him. Taking him to the ground.
He slashes at me, screaming.
My patience is done.
I flip him over on his back, pinning his knife-hand to the ground. Just in time to hear a truck engine roar to life and get blinded by a crooked headlight.