Chapter 7
Tate Madden
Early the following morning, I drove out to Mclean again. With the girls. Kingsley had left for work, demanding updates on everything I learned, and he’d come out as soon as he clocked out.
Luck was on my side, and Zoe and Kaley were sleepy enough and wanted to watch a movie on my laptop, so I arranged a fort for them under the kitchen table.
The tablecloth was big enough. Pillows, blankets, sippy cups, seat cushions, and string cheese made for a solid babysitter.
For a while anyway. Hopefully long enough for me to get some words on paper for Shay.
I sat down at the table with a cup of coffee and the notebook.
“I see feet, Daddy,” Kaley giggled. At least, I was 80% sure it was Kaley. It was way easier to tell them apart by looking at them. Kaley’s hair was a shade lighter, and she had a small birthmark on her cheek. She also insisted on wearing pink. Every single day.
I wriggled my toes, making them both laugh.
Kids were easy to entertain. Until they weren’t.
It wouldn’t be long before people around here woke up, so I took a sip of my coffee and then started writing.
We miss you so much, Shay. Yesterday, Lane suggested that we turn this notebook into an actual book for you, and I hope you read it before you see any of us.
Because I can only imagine how overwhelmed you will be once you come home.
And I believe that now. Master Greer and his brother joined the rescue operation last night, and I have to believe good will prevail.
Either way. I don’t want you to feel any pressure.
We will wait. We will have all the patience in the world for your recovery.
If you want to see us one by one, go for it.
If you want a quick five-minute reunion before you kick us out of your house, by all means.
Don’t let anyone else set the pace. Your comfort comes first. Same goes for messages and online activity.
I’m sure the moment we hear of your rescue, we will reach out and express our utter joy.
Don’t feel pressured to respond to anyone.
Thinking of you,
Tate
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, honey?”
“I want bweakfast.” Okay, that was Zoe. She hadn’t mastered the Rs yet.
“Breakfast is a great idea,” I replied.
I stared at the words in the notebook. I was done for the moment. But it felt like so much was going unsaid. Things we didn’t wanna voice. Worst-case scenarios and worst fears.
I believe, I believe, I fucking believe.
Unsure of how many had stayed the night, I got to my feet and went over to raid the fridge.
It would be good to get rid of some leftovers—and we had a shit-ton of yogurt, I noticed.
So that settled it, leftovers and yogurt.
We had plenty of cereals, fruit, nuts, granola, and muesli.
I could set up a yogurt buffet with minimum effort and throw leftovers in a skillet or into the oven.
Lucas Carter
“Darlin’, your phone’s ringin’.”
Fuck. I’d hoped I was dreaming that.
I yawned and reached blindly for my phone on the nightstand. “Where’s Kit?” He’d been in front of me not too long ago.
“Outside,” Colt yawned. “He’s clearly not on board with daytime sleepin’.”
Ugh. But I was. We hadn’t slept at all last night, so this was my plan for the entire day. Takeout and naps.
I squinted at the screen—and that sure did it. Seeing Greer’s name on the display woke me right up, and I answered.
“Greer, how are you? You’ve landed, I take it.”
“Aye, we’re in LA.” His voice filtered through. “Listen, we’re about to board our next flight, but I wanted a word wit’chu before.” He cleared his throat. “Can you keep an eye on Sloan for me? He’s gonna put all his focus on Archie and Corey.”
“Of course,” I said right away. “Of course I will. But can we circle back to the next flight? I know I’m not Colt, but it’d be nice to know where you’re going.”
Colt pressed a kiss to my shoulder.
“He’s here if that matters.” I threw that out there, just in case.
“It’s fine,” Greer chuckled. “This actually works out, ’cause I don’t want this in writing anywhere. And youse keep this to yourselves. Don’t tell anyone else. Colt knows what information he can share later on.”
I glanced over my shoulder, and Colt nodded with a dip of his chin.
“We won’t say anything,” I confirmed.
“Aight, good. We’re goin’ to Colombia.”
Oh, Jesus Christ.
“The good news is we have every reason to believe Shay is alive and kickin’,” Greer went on. “You can share that part with the group.”
The relief definitely hit me, but it was cushioned by the knowledge that they were all going to fucking Colombia. It wasn’t as if they were heading that way for the culture, the food, the history—they were going because a goddamn cartel was involved in Shay’s kidnapping.
“Be careful,” was all I could say. “Just…be careful, Greer.”
“Wilco.”
Greer Finlay
When I’d learned we were flying private, I hadn’t expected this.
Cullen and I boarded the plane and came face-to-face with a few men I could only describe as different versions of myself.
Men with looks of determination. Focus. Soldiers.
No combat gear yet, but the usual threads we wore underneath.
Those military colors, with or without camo.
Backpacks or duffel bags. EDC gear on the tray tables here and there, like folders and flashlights, knives and medic pouches…
Everyone looked out of place in this luxurious…ten…twelve-seater jet.
An older man rose from his seat and extended his hand, and I recognized him. Emerson.
“Good to see you again, Greer. I’m Emerson Payne—I don’t know if you remember.”
“I remember.” I nodded once and shook his hand firmly. “Thanks for invitin’ us to the party.”
He cracked a smirk. “You’ll fit right in. River and Reese will be here any moment, and then we’re wheels up.” He gestured to the man sitting next to him. “This is Danny, my husband.”
So this was like peering into River and Reese’s past. These were the people they’d worked with in their PMC days. And Danny was…cleaning his fingernails with a knife. As one did.
I probably didn’t wanna know about the dried blood on his knuckles.
We got introductions out of the way, and Cullen and I found two cushy seats where we wouldn’t have to bump shoulders. Like on the flight from New York. Christ. I fucking hated flying economy.
“You okay?” I eyed Cullen.
He inclined his head but said nothing. I got it. He was worried about Crew. The kid was fine, though. One hell of a Marine. He didn’t need to be rescued this time. I trusted him.
After stowing away our backpacks in the overhead compartment, I heard the voice of a Tenley.
“All right, let’s fucking go.”
I drew a breath, and Reese and I locked eyes, him at the front of the cabin, me near the back.
Goddamn, he was a sight for sore eyes. But this wasn’t my kink buddy I’d once started a community with. This was the PMC. The warrior looking for blood.
I swallowed and walked down the aisle, and we met halfway and hugged each other tightly.
He was in so much pain—and it was reflected in River’s eyes too. He lingered at the front, where Emerson had saved them seats, and River nodded to me. It was what he managed. So I nodded back.
We’re gonna bring him home, guys.
I clapped Reese on the back before we eased apart, and he cleared his throat.
“I appreciate y’all comin’ out.”
“Don’t mention it,” I replied. “I always wanted to visit Colombia.”
His mouth twisted slightly, and he shook his head. “I fucking missed you, Finlay. You’re the right amount of crazy.”
“So put me to work,” I said. “We figure this operation will be a good warm-up before we go home and our ma finds out we put ourselves at risk.”
“My wife already ratted us out,” Cullen grumbled.
Dammit, Peyton. Damn vegans always ruined things.
“Buckle up, lads!” Emerson called. “We’re off.”