Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
“This is stupid. You don’t have to come with me, Gibson.” Ethan raked a hand through his hair, staring at the Brit. Secretly wondering if the man might be crazier than he was. “I don’t need a babysitter.”
Gibson chuckled, slipping on his gloves. “Good, because I draw the line at wiping your arse for you.”
“Wouldn’t you rather just fly?”
Gib shrugged. “As all your mates have pointed out to me—on several occasions—you blokes do things as a team. Which means, you’re not trekking a couple hundred miles through backcountry alone. Besides, it’s been a while since I got to have this much fun.”
Ethan snorted. “Do you even know how to drive one of these?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“London isn’t exactly synonymous with snow. Now, if we were taking a boat…”
“Wanker. And yeah, I can drive a snowmobile.”
Ethan raised a brow.
Gibson chuckled. “Can’t be that hard. And I’m a pretty quick learner. Unless you’ve changed your mind? Will do us all a favor and just get on the damn chopper?”
Why did that one word set Phoenix off? Had the ghosted echoes of alarms sounding in his head.
Of lights flashing—Olivia telling them all to brace for impact.
Phoenix didn’t remember everything—just the lingering scent of burnt flesh.
The sweaty stench of his own fear as he’d searched the wreckage.
The black dots that had slowly eaten away his vision until he’d passed out.
It had been six months, and he still couldn’t get the flashes to stop. To push aside the utter sense of hopelessness he’d had when he’d been unable to find her. The complete irony of the fact he’d been the only one to walk away.
Gibson’s hand on his shoulder had Phoenix tensing. Praying the other man hadn’t noticed his increased breath. That any flush of his skin would be attributed to the cold temperatures.
A sigh, then Gibson reached for his helmet. “So, it’s not just Livy you’re avoiding. You could have just told us, mate. No one expects you to bounce back without any lingering doubts.”
Phoenix clenched his jaw, pushing out a rough breath.
So much for the man not noticing. “It’s not doubts.
It’s fear. Which goes against everything I stand for.
All those years in Delta—bullets flying, bombs going off, tangoes trying to cap my ass at every possible turn—and the only thing that stops me cold is the thought of getting on another chopper.
I know the odds of crashing, again, are slim.
And, fuck, it’s not like I haven’t gone out of my way to try and get myself killed.
I honestly don’t know why flying bothers me.
What hold it has…” He raked a hand through his hair, thankful he hadn’t donned his helmet, yet.
“Hell, Olivia had even given me a few lessons, but...”
But he just couldn’t seem to take that first step.
“Despite what you sods think, you’re still only human. And we’ve all got something that gets to us, Vale.”
“Right.”
“Snakes.”
Phoenix arched a brow. “Snakes?”
Gibson grunted as an involuntary shiver seemed to work through him. “Hate the fuckers. All that slimy, scaly skin. The hissing, and the tongue flicking… I’ve been known to go to extreme lengths to avoid the possibility of them. So, yeah, we all have something.”
While Phoenix doubted Gibson was truly afraid of anything—not with how he’d waltzed through Slader’s ranks back at that warehouse three months ago—Phoenix appreciated the gesture.
That Gibson had, at least, tried to make Phoenix feel like less of the freak he knew he was.
That, maybe they’d be able to pull off the mission, despite the rocky start.
Wanting to take the snowmobile to the lodge hadn’t helped ease the tension between him and Olivia. Neither had his comment about her flying, even if it wasn’t her that sent shivers down his spine.
Or, not only her, because…damn. He had no idea how he was going to get through the next week without losing his mind.
Or suffering some kind of stroke. Maybe a heart attack because just sitting across from her had made his pulse tap triple time.
Had him wondering if his heart would just push through his chest like some weird version of Alien.
Right. Like he had a heart. He’d thought she’d resurrected it. Or maybe given him half of hers—the best half—but… It had just been wishful thinking. Like her—a mirage that had faded the closer he’d gotten.
Hearing her accent hadn’t helped him tamp down his doubts.
Christ, he’d actually done a double take when she’d first spoken.
After nearly a year of spending every possible moment with her, the British lilt to her voice had left him speechless.
As if she’d sucked up all the available air just to keep from sounding “American”.
He’d been such a fool. The fake name. Fake nationality. Fake everything. Sure, she’d been doing her job, but—damn it... Why had she made it feel so real? Made him believe she wanted something more? Wanted him?
Why had she made him love her?
The thoughts had him questioning if he was half as strong as he thought he was.
If all those ideals in his head—the ones where he’d willingly sacrifice himself for his team in exchange for one freaking moment of self-respect—were real.
Or, if it was more wishful thinking. Like he’d done with his brother.
Good intentions that hadn’t led anywhere remotely good.
Not that worrying about any of that accomplished anything now. They were hours away from the lodge, not to mention he was responsible for different aspects of the op than Olivia. Chances were, they’d barely see each other.
He nearly laughed at the thought. He’d never been lucky, so thinking he’d catch a break, now, was more irony.
“Phoenix?”
Shit. He’d been lost in thought while Gibson had been watching him.
The man nodded toward the machines. “You ready, mate?”
“When haven’t I been? I just wish I could bring my rifle instead of letting Bishop transport it.” He shook his head. “Feel pretty naked without it.”
“We’ll be out in the open for half the trip.
Not sure where you’d nest if you needed it.
Besides, we’re already loaded down with the essentials, and that damn thing weighs about twenty pounds.
No room for a case that large. You’ve got your Sig and that Seekins Havak rifle Bishop lent you. A lefty to boot. You’ll be fine.”
“Sure. Just eliminate my greatest asset. No problem. And the Havak is decent—if you’re hunting deer. Pretty sure those won’t be gunning for us.”
“Technically, nothing should be ‘gunning for us’, unless you know something I don’t. And you seemed to handle Slader just fine without your rifle. I think there’s more to you than a scope.”
“I was motivated to get close to Slader.” He rolled his shoulders, checking everything one last time. “Let’s just hope it’s a smooth trip over. Already been told I’m out of rescues.”
He grabbed his helmet, cinching the strap snug before mounting the snowmobile.
He took a few moments to familiarize himself with the controls.
Mentally run through a couple of scenarios, in case they had to react to a fluid situation.
Less than ninety seconds, and he was ready.
He tucked the map Bishop had given him inside his jacket, adjusted the GPS on the dash, then waved Gibson on.
The map felt right. Took him back to his Army Ranger days before he’d joined Delta.
What had helped carry him through selection.
He’d always been good at tracking. At finding the best route, the most favorable nesting site.
Sure, having a GPS was great, but knowing he had a physical tether to the area silenced some of the nagging voices in his head—the ones still questioning his worth.
Having the map didn’t stop him from punching in the route, though—having the display show him the track.
It allowed him to focus on his surroundings, more.
Enjoy the contrast of pine trees against the endless white.
Weave through the evergreens without having to worry about getting off their mark.
Concentrate on how the snow had settled over the rocks.
Where possible pitfalls might be hiding.
Five minutes in, and the tension in his shoulders had eased.
Hell, it had vanished. Washed clean by the expanse of fluffy powder.
The smell of winter and trees. The feel of the cold, crisp air against his face.
The steady hum of the snowmobile as he plowed through the thick banks, nothing but the endless expanse of the Cascades stretched out in front of him.
He glanced back at Gibson, shaking his head at how natural the Brit looked on the machine. As if he’d been riding them since birth. Christ, wasn’t there anything the other guy didn’t excel at? Made Phoenix wonder if he really was that weak link.
Another reason he felt naked without his rifle, despite having Bishop’s Havak slung across his back.
His rifle—a sweet, left-handed AXMC he’d switched to after joining Delta that he’d tailored perfectly to meet his needs and style and had never let him down—wasn’t just a weapon.
It was an extension of him. Of his skill.
The one area where he felt as if he had complete control.
Not having it with him made him antsy. As if he’d left part of himself behind—the sanest part.
It didn’t matter if he wouldn’t need it—hell, couldn’t use it effectively.
Simply having it made him feel almost human.
Which only highlighted how “unstable” he probably was. Though, Cannon was just as crazy if he thought Phoenix could hold it together long enough to complete the mission without making an ass of himself.
He snorted. He was pretty damn sure he’d already done that during the meeting with Olivia, but…
Surely not walking out, or worse, grabbing her and shaking her until she confessed she’d been just as invested in them as he had been, was worth something.
A medal, because he hadn’t stopped replaying the meeting since she’d basically told him to fuck off.
How her accent had seamlessly replaced all the memories in his head, as if it had always been there.
Which meant this entire week would be another chunk of his life he’d have to forget.
Push so far down that, with time, he might be able to do more than choke on it like he was, now.
Even plowing through ten feet of snow didn’t fully take his mind off her.
Just numbed it a bit. An emotional version of frostbite.
He was just starting to feel the weight of the meeting fully lift when they stopped to refuel.
Bishop had arranged for a couple of fuel drops along the way, the large barrels hidden within small wooden sheds.
Though the other man claimed he replaced the barrels yearly—that he enjoyed riding around the mountains whenever he had some downtime—Phoenix had a nagging feeling Olivia had flown the barrels out.
Probably slung the buggers on a longline or maybe in a net.
Hell, it looked as if the entire shed had simply been placed then released—recently.
Either way, it meant he owed her. If for nothing more than escaping a ride in a helicopter.
Gibson pulled up beside him, shutting off the machine before removing his helmet.
He grinned, taking a moment to gaze at the surrounding landscape.
Soak in the mountain peaks off to their right.
The snaking tree line to their left. While the sun wasn’t quite setting, yet, it was heading toward the horizon.
Lighting up the clouds with a hint of pink and orange.
Those colors reflected in the snow off in the distance.
Gibson glanced over. “Looks like I owe you an apology, mate.”
Phoenix arched a brow, placing his helmet on the seat before heading for the shack. “What for?”
Gib waved at the area. “This. Best bloody two hours of my life, so far. Would’ve missed it if we’d taken the chopper.”
“We’re only halfway. You might want to hold off thanking me until we get there without having to outrun an avalanche.”
“Sounds like more fun. I’ll keep watch while you fuel the machines.”
“Shouldn’t the sniper be the guy to ‘keep watch’?”
“Seniority, mate.”
That had Phoenix smiling. Actually feeling like part of a team because Cannon used to pull the same damn shit.
Always gave Phoenix the menial tasks because he’d been the new guy.
But, he hadn’t cared. Not when those tasks had been easy in comparison to surviving eighteen years with his father.
All the shit he’d put up with because he hadn’t wanted Shawn to pay the price.
Hadn’t turned out the way Phoenix had hoped—had planned. But, maybe this assignment still could. All he had to do was get his head in the game. Be the soldier Cannon expected him to be. And maybe, just maybe, he’d come out the other side intact.