Chapter 4 #2
He held the rig steady as Buck dropped the last few feet, landing like a damn cat, rifle immediately notched at his shoulder. He took a couple shots, blew out two of the semi’s tires, but the damn thing just kept coming, the weight and momentum carrying it forward.
Kash sighed, nodded at her. “Hey, Sloane. Nice to finally put a face to a name.”
Sloane shook her head. Did any of the guys take these kinds of situations seriously? “Not trying to do a transfer on a moving truck would have been nicer for a first introduction.”
“Beggars and all that.” He leaned in, tsked. “Jesus, Nick, you don’t do anything half-assed. Can you move, or am I doing all the heavy lifting?”
Nick flipped him off, shuffled his way out of the truck, holding onto Kash until his knuckles blanched white. Kash helped him into the basket, then waved her inside, all with Tierney holding the truck steady, the helicopter cruising overhead as the semi bore down on them.
Shots boomed overhead, Raven’s resident sniper, Zain Everett, clipping the semi’s mirror before punching one through the windshield. The truck veered, then recovered, slower than before but still a threat.
Sloane climbed over the edge, crouching over Nick, the downwash a chaotic vortex of dust and debris, as Kash jumped onboard, twirled his finger.
The longline started moving, then stopped, the rope snapping in the gusting wind.
Kash tilted his head as someone obviously talked in his ear, nodding a few times before blowing out a rough breath.
He grimaced, looked over the top of the pickup, then focused on them. “So, we’re out of open air for about a hundred meters. Everyone just hold tight.”
Sloane froze, focus snapping to the road. A thicket of evergreens lined the track, branches blocking out the sky. “Kash…”
He jumped out, grabbed one end of the basket as Buck snagged the other. “It’s fine. Foster’s got this.”
She looked up, wondering if Foster knew he supposedly had it or if Kash was talking out of his ass, when they hit the canopy. The line shook — made an eerie twanging sound — rattling the basket as Foster wove the damn thing through the branches, somehow shooting out the other side still whole.
Kash nodded at Buck, then climbed back in, the rig slowly inching upwards.
Buck and Zain laid down more cover fire, keeping the semi fifty feet back as they crested the edge of the chopper, slipped inside.
Zain closed the doors, tapped Foster’s shoulder, before the helicopter banked hard to the right, skimming over the trees.
It gained altitude, the rush of the wind finally fading into the background.
Sloane scrambled out of the basket, grabbed Kash and leaned in close. “What about Buck and Tierney? We can’t just leave them.”
Kash grinned. “You’re so like Nick, it’s scary. And Buck’s got a surprise. We had a minute to spare, so he rigged a bridge a mile up. As soon as they pass over, he’ll blow it. Leave Nick’s fan club stranded on the other side.”
Sloane stared at him, wondering if he was speaking English when a concussive thump shook through the aircraft, a thick plume of smoke rising from the forest.
Kash tapped his ear, nodded. “Buck says they’re clear — are headed for Tierney’s truck. They’ll meet up at the office later. Assuming Nick’s still breathing.”
Nick.
Christ.
Sloane spun, stared as Chase Remington and Rowan Scott dragged Nick out of the basket, started IVs and monitors. Sixty seconds flat, and they had a unit of blood dripping into his veins, his pant leg sheared open.
Chase leaned over the shrapnel peppered up his thigh. “Jesus, Colter, we can’t leave you alone for five minutes before you’re redecorating with your own blood.”
Nick grunted, jaw clenched, skin a deathly shade of white. “It’s a new look. Not nearly as cool as it sounded.”
“Change rarely is.” Chase checked the tourniquet. “How long, buddy?”
“Not long. Thirty minutes, maybe.”
“Which’ll make it less than an hour by the time we get you to Providence.”
“No.” Nick pushed onto his elbows, collapsed a second later. “No hospitals. Not until we know what the hell’s going on.”
Chase gawked at him. “While I love your vote of confidence, this is beyond my scope, brother. Rowan’s, too. For all I know, this is far more than just blood loss and some new, shiny jewelry laced up your thigh. You might need surgery.”
“Then, put me out and you two muddle through it.” He looked at Sloane. “Sweetheart. You know I’m right on this one.”
Chase arched a brow as he glanced at Sloane. “Something you want to share?”
Sloane sighed, the endearment still ringing in her ears. How it had slipped off Nick’s tongue as if he’d always called her that. “There’s evidence to suggest this is tied to the CIA. That Nick was always the target. Maybe the entire Raven’s Security team. Taking him to a civilian hospital…”
It could end bloody, and they all knew it.
Chase pursed his mouth, looking at Kash and Zain before pushing out a rough breath.
“I’ll make you both a compromise. We’ll reroute Bodie and Greer to Providence.
Stay just long enough for them to clean out the shrapnel, ensure Nick doesn’t need surgery, then we’ll head back to the office.
Rowan and I can handle his care, but he needs to be thoroughly checked out first.”
Nick groaned. “And that’s a compromise how, exactly?”
“I’m not insisting you keep your ass in a hospital bed for three days, am I?
And yeah, you should, but I understand this is complicated.
And we’ll have your back…” He tapped Nick on the chest. “Once I’m sure you won’t drop dead or lose your damn leg because I missed a shard and you end up with sepsis.
And know this…” Chase hovered over him. “If, at any time, I suspect you’re getting worse, I’ll handcuff you and take you back to Providence, myself. ”
That took the wind out of Nick’s argument. He nodded, closed his eyes.
Chase pinned Sloane with a hard stare. “And don’t think we missed that you caught a round in your arm.” He pointed to the seat beside Kash. “Sit. You’re next.”
Sloane eased onto the seat, a hint of warmth spreading through her. Other than Nick, she’d never been part of a team that felt like family, and she couldn’t stop the pang of envy. That Nick had finally found something worth fighting for.
Rowan’s phone chirped, and she took a moment to glance at the screen before cursing under her breath, swiping it open.
She stared for a minute, eyes following a text or an email before she looked up, met everyone’s expectant gaze.
“Bodie just texted. Greer just got off the phone with Avery. She said she’d tried to call you Sloane but couldn’t get through.
Apparently, the FBI received an encrypted packet.
Turns out it’s a burn notice — on you, Nick. Damn thing went live at midnight.”
The words rattled inside Sloane’s head, mixing in with the roar of the engines, the constant thump of the rotors.
She mulled it over, swallowed past the lump in her throat. “A burn notice?”
Rowan held up her phone. “That’s what it says. Fully sanctioned.”
“But… I thought this consulting job was arranged last night?”
Nick nodded, glaring at Chase when the guy added more pressure bandages to the wounds. “It was. Wade took it after hours.”
Sloane cursed. “Shit…”
Rowan frowned. “What?”
“It means someone pushed this to the ledger boards before it went live.” Sloane gazed at Nick.
“Someone with clout. Though, there’s got to be more here than what’s on the surface.
A burn notice limits resources. Restricts contacts.
Pretty much makes you an island no one wants to get within a hundred yards of.
It doesn’t put a damn bounty on your head—”
Another chirp, another text.
Rowan read it, huffed. “Bodie accessed a copy of the file Avery sent them. Started poking around when he got another message from her.” Rowan sighed. “Seems Nick isn’t the only one in the hot seat. Another notice just went live.” She held up her phone, again. “It’s on you, Sloane.”