Chapter 14
STONE
Stone helped Frankie over the mud, their boots sucking at the wet ground.
Branches clawed at their arms as they pushed through the underbrush.
She limped, but her pace never faltered.
Her jaw was clenched, eyes locked forward with fire burning behind them.
He’d come to recognize that look. He admired it.
His log cabin was barely visible through the thick trees, and the three-quarter moon cast just enough light to sketch faint silver outlines on the trail. Shadows clung to the forest like smoke, swallowing the path ahead.
“Look,” Frankie said, pointing to a body slumped at the base of a tree, neck bent at a brutal angle.
Stone released her hand and moved fast, weapon ready. But he didn’t need the gun, the man’s eyes were wide and unblinking.
“Is he dead?” Frankie asked.
“Yep,” Stone said. He stood and took her hand again. “Pity. I would’ve liked more intel.”
By the time they reached the small clearing around the cabin, Frankie’s limp had worsened.
At the porch, he yanked the door open, flicked on the lights, and guided her inside. She dropped into the nearest chair without protest.
He poured two glasses of water and handed her one.
She drained it and set the glass down with a hard clack. “What the hell is a server farm?”
He drank his own water, then refilled both glasses. “It’s a network of high-capacity computers used to store or process massive amounts of data.”
Frankie’s fingers curled around her glass. “Okay. So what do they use it for?”
He crossed the room, flipped up three loose floorboards, and pulled a duffel bag from the hidden crawlspace beneath. If she was surprised he had a secret storage stash under his floor, she didn’t show it.
He tossed the bag onto the table with a heavy thud. “If Langley was involved, my guess is they’re using the server farm to steal military intel.”
“Who’s Langley?” she asked.
He groaned. “It’s best that you don’t know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Okay. But you thought Langley was dead?”
“Oh, he’s dead. Trust me.” He unzipped the bag, fast and sharp. “Someone’s taken over his operation.”
Frankie leaned forward, peering into his duffel.
Stone grabbed the sidearm from the duffel and checked that the mag was full. Whoever took over after Langley moved fast. They had money, infrastructure, and friends in high places who didn’t blink when bodies dropped.
And that wasn’t just dangerous.
If his hunch was correct and they were selling military secrets, then that was a direct threat to the entire country.
Frankie leaned back, dragging her fingers through her damp hair. Her chest rose and fell as if she’d been holding her breath since the explosion. “Garrett said the server farm is ready.”
“Yeah,” Stone said. He shoved his sidearm into its holster and set it on the table between them. “Which means we’re out of time.”
Frankie pushed to her feet. “So what now?”
Stone pulled a secure cell from the duffel. “I call my team. That’s what.”
Her arms flew up.
“Oh, so that’s it?” She stepped toward him, eyes blazing. “You’re dumping me like I’m nothing?”
“Frankie—”
“No.” She jabbed a finger into his chest, hard. “I’ve been in this since the start. That’s my rig. My goddamn life. I fucking helped you.”
She made a move to shove him with both hands.
“Will you just—” He caught her wrists mid-push, held them tight between them. Not rough or controlled, just safe . . . for him.
They stood chest to chest, and a heat blazed between their wet bodies.
“Listen to me,” he said. “We need you. You know that rig better than anyone. And I’ll make damn sure my team understands that.”
Her breath stuttered.
“You’re coming with us.”
The fire in her eyes shifted from rage to disbelief. Or maybe relief.
“Oh,” she said, smirking. “Why didn’t you just say that?”
Stone cupped her cheeks and pressed a fierce kiss to her lips that was rough and oh so real. When he pulled back, he slid his hands down her back and gave her ass a quick squeeze.
“Now go shower and change,” he said, turning back to the gear. “I’ll get my team in the air.”
She frowned. “The air?”
“We don’t have any boats left, and we need to hit that rig fast. We’ll take a chopper.”
“You have a chopper?” Frankie blew out a breath. “Cool.”
He tapped her sexy ass again. “Go. Get ready.”
She shot him a look over her shoulder, and a half-smile broke through the fire in her eyes. Then she disappeared into the bathroom and shut the door.
Stone grabbed the cell and dialed a secure line.
“Patch,” he said the second the tone clicked.
“Patch, it’s Stone. We’ve got a situation. I need men, weapons, and a chopper, ASAP.”
He paced the room, phone to his ear, laying out everything: Garrett, the explosion, the server farm hidden in the rig’s substructure, and the connection back to Langley.
Frankie stepped out of the bathroom, toweling off her damp hair.
She wore tight black jeans and a green tank top.
The tank clung to her body, capturing his attention like a full-blown bonfire.
Her skin was still flushed from the shower, and she smelled like citrus and heat.
A trickle of blood dribbled from the gash on her chin, yet she didn’t seem to notice.
I’ll fix that wound next.
He tore his gaze away from her and refocused on the conversation on his phone.
“We’ve got one more person for the chopper . . . Frankie,” he said. “She’s our key to the rig. She knows that place better than anyone.”
Frankie met his eyes. She didn’t smile or speak, just gave him a single nod of quiet approval. Like she was saying finally.
“Copy that,” Patch said. “We’ll roll ASAP. I’ll give you an ETA once we’re airborne.”
“Roger. Out.” Stone ended the call and glanced at Frankie. “Help yourself to anything in the fridge. They’ll be here in about thirty.”
He strode into the bedroom, stripping off his mud-soaked clothes on the way. No time for a shower. He splashed cold water on his face, scrubbed the swamp off his hands, then yanked on dry tactical gear. He found the boots he’d kicked into the closet yesterday and laced them tight.
He stepped out of the bedroom, jaw set, ready to move.
Frankie was bent over at the fridge, searching the shelves, jeans hugging her sexy ass.
Christ! She’s going to be the death of me.
He crossed the room. “Find anything?”
She turned, holding up a plastic tub. “What’s this?”
“Homemade beef jerky. Solid choice.” He set his hands on her hips and lifted her onto the counter. “Now sit still.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not this again.”
“Shush,” he muttered. “And eat.”
He grabbed the first-aid kit and popped it open.
She pried the lid off the tub and took a bite of jerky and chewed. “This is good.”
“It’s my specialty,” he said, swabbing the cut on her chin with antiseptic, yet she didn’t flinch.
“Impressive,” she said, tugging another bite of jerky free with her teeth.
The cut wasn’t deep, but it needed to be covered. He smoothed a pair of Steri-Strips across the wound, then dabbed on a thin layer of antibiotic ointment to seal the edges.
“Hold still,” he said, crouching down. He tugged up the hem of her jeans, careful not to brush the bruised and swollen skin around her ankle bone.
Frankie leaned back on her hands, still chewing, her sharp green eyes fixed on him as he wrapped a clean bandage around her ankle.
“Hey, Stone,” she said. “Tell me about Langley. Maybe I’ve heard of him but haven’t connected the dots yet.”
Hesitating, he rolled the wrap around her foot and ankle, keeping it firm but not too tight.
Langley was the asshole who had turned his back on them, denied their extraction, and set them up for the ambush that had killed Dane. After that, Stone and the other three men on Task Force Sentinel, Patch, Cross and McGuire, all lost their badges and were forced to go dark.
They’d started over down here in the bayou.
Now, under the Brotherhood Protectors banner, they worked off-grid, helping people slip free of powerful enemies like cartels, traffickers, and corrupt fucking officials. The kind of enemies who didn’t play by the rules or borders.
Stone and his team had made a vow: stay quiet, stay hidden, tell no one.
But this was different. The parameters had changed. This was her rig, and her life on the line. They needed her inside knowledge to navigate Blackwater Deep.
Beyond all that, he wanted Frankie to know him .
. . the real Stone Mahoney. The man behind the discipline and the scars.
Not just the soldier, or the silent protector.
The man who’d done things he couldn’t scrub out with soap and silence.
Who’d followed orders that left bodies and unanswered questions.
A man who’d been used, then discarded, by the same machine he once bled for.
He didn’t regret the work, but he regretted what it had cost him.
His team. His name. His family. His peace.
Now, this woman, with her fire, and grit, and refusal to back down, had cut through all his armor.
He wanted her to see him. All of him. Even the parts that didn’t deserve forgiveness.
That scared him more than any ticking bomb.
Frankie deserved better than a man dragging around a fuck-ton of baggage.
“Hey, tell me.” She nudged him with her good foot. “I can keep secrets. I promise.”
He secured the bandage and met her gaze.
And just like that, he knew he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t dump his darkness onto her shoulders. She’d already been through hell, she’d lost her home, her career, her father. She didn’t need his bullshit on top of all that.
No, she needed to get through this. Alive. Safe. Whole.
That was his mission now. Once the op was over, he would help her rebuild her home. He would hammer nails, pour concrete, wire the damn place himself if he had to.
Then I’ll slip back into the shadows where I belong.
That was best for her. Even if it broke him to do it. He glanced up at her, bracing for what came next.
She stopped chewing, eyes locked on his. “What?”
He tossed the bandage wrappers into the trash and forced his brain to focus on the mission and not the stunning, stubborn woman who’d gotten under his skin more than he’d ever let anyone. He had to tell her some details, she deserved that much.
“You sure you want to know about Langley?”
“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
Stone exhaled, grabbed a slice of jerky, and leaned back against the oven.
“General Marcus Langley was our commanding officer in a black-ops unit nobody talked about. We handled the jobs that didn’t officially exist. Counterterrorism.
Hostage recovery. Narco routes in Colombia and Damascus. You name it.”
Frankie didn’t speak, just listened, chewing slowly, her eyes never leaving his.
“Our last mission was supposed to be a clean intercept. Cartel-linked weapons shipment. We had intel.” He paused. “It was garbage. We walked straight into an ambush.”
“Shit.” She edged forward on the counter. “You think you were set up?”
He nodded. “Langley sold us out. Denied our extraction. Buried the entire op to protect some shiny diplomatic deal. We fought our way out . . . barely.”
His voice caught in his throat.
Her expression shifted, and she tilted her head, catching the light in her green eyes. “That’s when Dane died.”
He swallowed hard. “Yeah. Dane didn’t stand a chance.”
He stepped forward, reaching for a piece of jerky, needing a breather.
Frankie rested her hand on his.
“I’m sorry,” she said, and her voice was laced with real sadness.
“Yeah,” he said, tearing a chunk of jerky with his teeth. “Me too.”
Frankie slid off the counter and crossed to the table, then flipped open her father’s notebook. “I haven’t seen the name Langley in here, but . . .”
Her fingers flew across the pages, flipping fast.
Then she stilled. “Here. Marcus. Could that be him?”
Stone stepped closer, eyes narrowing as he scanned the page. Digger had circled the name Marcus and drawn arrows branching out to a company called Virex.
“Look.” Frankie tapped another circled word. Sabotage.
He met her gaze. “Your dad was onto something, that’s for damn sure.”
Stone flipped through more pages filled with schematics, coordinates, and maintenance logs. One phrase jumped out, underlined three times in red: Substructure Cooling Loop.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered.
“What?” she asked, stepping in beside him.
He looked up. “They’ve built the server farm onto the leg of the rig, right?”
She nodded. “That’s what I believe, yes.”
“Then they’re using the ocean to keep the system cool.”
“Yeah, and . . .?”
He tapped the diagram. “And they’re using the whole damn skeleton as a giant antenna.”
Frankie’s eyes widened, her breath catching.
“Those bastards are using my rig to steal classified secrets.” She flipped back a few pages and jabbed a finger at a rough diagram her father had sketched. “Oh my God. Now this makes sense.”
Stone leaned in.
“Dad was working out tampering points,” she said. “Strategic placements for—”
“For what?”
“For a way to destroy the attachment they’ve built onto the leg.”
Stone nodded. “Perfect.”
She looked up at him, her expression unreadable. “Yeah. Except it’ll cripple the whole rig.”
Outside, in the distance, the low thump of rotor blades echoed through the trees.
He pushed back from the table. “The cavalry is here. You sure you’re okay to do this?”
She arched a brow. “Ask me again and I’ll kick you in the nuts.”
A grin tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I love it when you talk dirty.”
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes this time.
Blackwater Deep wasn’t just metal and pipelines. It had been her career, her pride. Her goddamn legacy. And the bastard who had taken over from Langley had ripped that away from her like it meant nothing.
Stone was going to enjoy taking down the bastards who fucked with her rig.
Then he would vanish like he had never been there. That was the plan. To protect her.
Problem was, the idea of leaving her already hurt like hell.