Chapter 83 Adam
Adam
Boone’s voice crackled over the comm, bone-dry as ever. “Rise and shine, lovebirds. We’ve got a situation.”
Raine groaned and buried her face against my chest, but I was already reaching for my pants. The war never waited.
“Talk,” I snapped, clipping the comm to my belt.
“Dallas news feeds are lighting up,” Boone said, voice sharper now. “Police found the wreckage on the bridge. They’re spinning it as a gang shootout. But here’s the kicker—the truck we intercepted? It’s being reported as hijacked medical supplies. No mention of the people inside.”
My gut tightened. A clean-up narrative. They were already scrubbing it.
“Thought that might get your attention,” Boone added. “But that’s not all. One of my trackers pinged—the shell company tied to that clinic just rerouted funding to another hub. San Antonio. They’re moving faster than we are.”
Raine sat up beside me, her eyes still hazy from sleep but her spine stiff. She’d heard every word.
“Send me the details,” I ordered.
“Already did.” Boone’s voice lost all pretense of humor. “Stoker, they’re not running scared. They’re accelerating. Whatever timetable they had? We just lit a fire under it.”
The comm went dead.
I dragged a hand over my face, the peace of the night gone like smoke. Rubbing at the knot in my jaw, I turned to find Raine watching me, her hair mussed from the pillow, her eyes burning steady.
“No rest for the wicked,” she murmured.
I gave a humorless grunt. “No rest for us.”
Outside, the morning sun was just breaking, painting the motel curtains gold. A new day. A new fight. And the bastards we were chasing already had a head start.
I stood, pulling on my shirt, the weight of command settling heavy on my shoulders again. “Wake the team. Wheels up in twenty.”
Raine’s voice followed me as I holstered my Glock, soft but unshakable. “Then let’s finish what we started.”
I looked back at her, my chest tight. And for one fleeting moment, I let myself smile.
“Damn right.”