Chapter 71
Derek rubbed at the spot where the round had hit him.
At five paces, with just a t-shirt on, that would sting for a couple days.
He looked down again at the small blue mark the Simunition had left there.
It wasn’t at the center of his chest as he’d first thought.
Even in her rage, that would be too sloppy for Captain Abby Rose.
No, she’d shot him directly over the heart.
He looked up as a shadow blocked the brightest portion of the overcast sky.
“Colonel Beale?”
She offered as many words of advice as Colonel Gibson might, as in none.
“Yeah, get up off my ass and go after the woman.” Which was about the last thing on his list of smart moves. But he couldn’t get over Abby’s face. He knew it so damn well but couldn’t pin down the emotion.
Not sadness.
Not fury, though that was there.
But something…
Betrayal!
Once he identified it he knew he was right.
It went against his entire ethos. They were on the same team and he’d made her feel the commitment.
And she was smart enough that she was probably right about what he’d done, even if he couldn’t see it.
He’d never turned his back on a teammate in pain before.
Pushing to his feet, he brushed himself off.
Hot Rod and Compass looked ready to sell tickets and open a popcorn franchise.
Misty’s look said he should keep a weather eye on her sniper rifle—and it wasn’t painted blue.
“Where—” But he knew. Back to her beloved helicopter, which she pulled on like an armored suit to hide in.
The slim pilot in the Megatronic transformer-whatever giant killer robot machine.
She never realized that what made her so impressive was that she could pull on that suit of armor and make it dance across the sky.
Derek started at a trot.
Then he heard it. The heavy wok-wok of the wokka-bird’s rotors starting to spin. She was leaving. Without her commander. That desperate to be away from him. And he knew in that moment that he was equally desperate to be beside her.
He broke into a sprint. As the heavy rotors roared to full wokka-wokka and grabbed air, he reached the bird and jumped.
He had a grip on the lower edge of the rear gun window, then made the mistake of looking down. They were already fifty meters up and climbing fast. He’d never crawled through a window so fast in his life.
The cargo bay was empty. Up forward, he could see the shoulders of the two pilots. The tall one must be Sam. A lead crew chief could usually fly a bird well enough to test any repairs they’d made, making him fine as a copilot.
Derek would know the other one anywhere, even though all he could see was the rounding of her shoulder. Huh! He would know her anywhere. Abby had imprinted so deeply on his brain that he couldn’t imagine being interested in anyone else.
Ever?
That question sat far more comfortably than he expected—ever.
She was headed west, which didn’t make much sense. Perhaps her instincts were headed out over the Atlantic, heading home to her family’s lobster boats. If so, she wasn’t doing a very convincing job of it, cruising along at a few thousand feet going barely half of what this bird was capable of.
Then he spotted something and slipped toward it.