Chapter 13 #2
A well-dressed man approached next, his tailored clothes standing out among the tactical gear and weathered jackets. He carried himself with the easy confidence of old money, but his steel-gray eyes held a watchfulness that suggested he hadn’t always moved in respectable circles.
“Decker Sinclair,” he introduced himself before Trent could. “Logistics and procurement. Anything you need, I can find it. Pleasure to meet the woman who’s had our resident stoic checking his phone every five minutes for half a year.”
I caught Trent’s slight head shake, but it didn’t stop the warmth that spread through my chest at the thought of him worrying, checking, staying connected despite the distance he’d put between us.
“Careful, Deck,” Trent warned, but without real heat.
“Just stating facts,” Decker replied with a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. He turned back to me. “Whatever you need for you and your daughter, just say the word.”
“Thank you,” I said, meaning it.
Trent steered me toward a man examining Dutch’s truck with clinical interest. He had storm-gray eyes and dark brown hair that looked perpetually rumpled. When he turned toward us, I caught the glint of a silver chain disappearing beneath his collar.
“Dr. Alistair Shaw,” Trent said. “Our medic. Doc, this is Evelyn.”
“Ma’am.” His voice carried a slight formality that seemed at odds with his rumpled appearance. “I understand there’s a wounded civilian inside? Dutch Henderson?”
“Yes, shoulder GSW. Through and through, but he’s refusing proper medical attention.”
Dr. Shaw nodded, unsurprised. “They usually do. I’ll check on him shortly.”
“We call him Preacher,” Trent explained as we walked away. “Former military surgeon. Best field medic I’ve ever seen.”
“Why Preacher?” I asked.
“He quotes scripture when he’s stressed. Hates that we noticed.”
As we approached the back of the truck, I spotted a man standing slightly apart from the others. He was tall with dark hair, his face set in hard lines that spoke of recent pain. His hands—strong, capable hands—had a subtle tremor that he tried to hide by keeping them busy with equipment checks.
“Gage Banks,” Trent said, his voice dropping slightly. “He’s not officially Edge Ops, but he’s been staying at our facility since the earthquake and has a personal stake in this.”
I knew I had no right to ask, but I couldn’t help myself. “Personal… how?”
Gage glanced up at us, and I would’ve taken a step back at the look in his eyes if not for Trent’s hand still on my back.
“Innovixus,” he said. “I was one of their test subjects. I owe them for this.” He held up his hands. The tremor worsened momentarily before he got it under control and curled his fingers into fists.
From somewhere behind us, Alistair called, “Revenge is no good if you kill yourself on the way there.”
“The Grim Reaper himself couldn’t keep me away from this, Doc.”
“And he tried,” Alistair muttered. “C’mon, time for your meds.”
I watched as Gage reluctantly followed the doctor, his movements stiff with what looked like both pain and determination. “What did they do to him? Was it the same thing they’re doing to the town.”
“No.” Trent didn’t seem inclined to go into more detail, and before I could press, a small chime sounded from the laptop someone had left on the hood of one of the vehicles.
“And our remote support,” Trent said, guiding me toward the screens where two faces had appeared. “You remember Kate and Oz.”
“I do. Thank you,” I said, genuinely grateful. “For coming. All of you.”
Kate’s expression softened. “That’s what we do. Besides, any chance to mess with corporate mind control tech is a good day in my book.”
Nolan called out behind us, “Hey, Bricks, you tell her how you got your nickname yet?”
I glanced at Trent, curious. “Bricks?”
His jaw tightened slightly, that telltale sign he was annoyed. Several team members had stopped what they were doing, grins spreading across their faces.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Oh, we absolutely will,” Nolan said, appearing beside us with entirely too much enthusiasm. “See, it started on an op in Denmark—“
“Building collapsed during extraction,” Trent interrupted. “I got the team out. End of story.”
“He got buried under half a building,” Leo corrected, joining the growing circle. “Three stories of concrete and rebar. We thought he was dead.”
“But when we dug him out,” Nolan continued, clearly enjoying himself, “he just stood up, brushed himself off, and said—“
“Let’s move,” several voices chorused together.
“Man didn’t even have a concussion,” Rafe added, shaking his head.
Alistair spoke up from where he was repacking his medical kit. “Technically, he did have a concussion. He just refused to acknowledge it until after the mission.”
“Because that’s what you do when buildings fall on you,” Trent muttered. “You finish the job.”
“Hence,” Decker said with a slight smile, “Bricks. Solid as a brick shithouse, just as stubborn, and apparently immune to structural collapse.”
I looked at Trent, seeing him in a new light—this man who had held me through the night, whose touch was so careful, so controlled. But underneath that gentleness was something unbreakable. Literally.
“That’s...” I searched for the right word. “Terrifying, actually.”
“Thank you,” Trent said, shooting the others a pointed look.
“She said terrifying, not impressive,” Nolan pointed out.
“I’m choosing to hear it as a compliment,” Trent replied, his hand finding the small of my back again as he steered me toward the cabin. “Can we focus on the actual mission now?”
The team’s laughter followed us up the porch steps. It was the sound of people who had survived impossible things together and found ways to laugh about it afterward.
“Briefing,” came Ethan’s voice from behind us. “Now.”
I turned to find him watching us. Unlike the others, he was a hard man to read. With a slight nod to Trent, he strode toward the cabin.
“The Grim Reaper has spoken,” Nolan intoned. “All who do not heed his word will face his wrath.”
As I watched the team gather their equipment and head inside, the reality of what we were facing finally hit me full force.
These men and women were elite specialists, people who faced threats most of the world never knew existed.
And they had all come here, to this remote cabin in Montana, because of me.
Because of my daughter. Because Langston had gone too far, and Trent had asked for their help.
Trent, who was one of them.
Trent, who had taken me apart in all the best ways last night.
Trent, who was still at my side, his hand warm against my back.
He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear. “You okay?”
I sucked in a breath, squared my shoulders, and nodded. “I am now.”