Chapter Seven
On the ground, the men stole toward the orange light. The compound was nothing but a shithole of burned-out walls fortified by rubble and whatever the refugees could get their hands on. They had scattered about, huddled around bonfires under the starless sky.
Hagan motioned with his hand, indicating that the team should spread out. After volunteering to do the clean-up sweep of the compound, Chance hung against the wall, waiting for the signal to engage.
In his earpiece, Headquarters calmly stated directives to the first team. But other than that, he might as well have been alone. The only sign something was wrong was the faraway rattle of gunfire.
His radio crackled with a teammate checking in. “We’ve located Subject Five.”
“Subjects One and Two have also been located,” another voice said. “We’re bringing them out. Rendezvous point Alpha.”
On the other side of the compound, Chance barely saw anything of interest. He continued his scan. The broken transmissions crackled in his earpiece, and Headquarters responded, “Stand by for incoming helo extraction.”
“Good,” Hagan grumbled. “The dad is giving us shit. Says he wants everything fucking documented, and I’m doing everything I can to keep the mom from screaming her head off.”
Chance kept his aggravation quiet. If he was in Hagan’s place, there was no telling what he’d say to the mother. They’d purposefully flown into a wasp’s nest. What did they expect?
“Who we got left?” someone asked.
“The kid and his nanny,” Headquarters responded. “Midas, stand by for backup. Do not continue without coverage.”
“Holding,” Chance confirmed, not feeling very Midas-like as he waited. He’d earned the nickname during his first few weeks on the ground in Abu Dhabi with Aces. Boss Man had joked that every job he’d worked on metaphorically turned to gold.
For a brief and yet hellishly long week, his new teammates had pushed his buttons, giving their boneheaded explanation that Midas had something to do with how Chance looked; his golden-boy good looks.
The angrier it made him, the funnier the guys thought it was, until he nearly came to blows with Camden.
After that, they stuck with Boss Man’s golden-touch version.
Hell, he wasn’t one for nicknames. There was a short-lived time in college that his roommate called him Gomer because of the backwoods shithole where he grew up.
Good thing that one hadn’t stuck. Though he’d take a backwoods dig over mention of how he looked, as though that type of attention ever came with any depth worth trusting.
The stealth chopper arrived. The comms system relayed the chaos of loading the rescue targets into the helicopter. Gunfire erupted. New commands scrambled the team as their defensive position came under attack. Chance balanced on the balls of his boots, waiting for new orders to provide backup.
“Go,” Headquarters demanded. “Get that bird back in the air.”
Not a second later, their plans were thrown into a tailspin. The pilot pulled up and hauled ass out, and from the turbulent conversation, Chance wondered who else had stayed behind.
“Son of a bitch,” Jared growled.
The realization struck. No one had stayed behind, and no one was happy about it. Chance tensed and waited for Parker’s emotionless voice to issue next order.
“Midas, you’re on your own for the time being.”
His eyes closed. Parker’s even tone from HQ hadn’t belied the predicament Chance was in without backup, but anyone who’d heard the transmission now knew why Boss Man had cursed.
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He brushed off their strategic problem and trusted his training. It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d been without backup. Though, it was one of the firsts for putting his dick on the line for a family with more money than brains.
He rolled his lips together and focused. Even if the rescue targets were a bunch of rich asshats, he loved saving the day when all odds were against him. Hell, he thrived on it. Risking certain death was usually the only time he truly felt alive.
Parker relayed a new game plan. Chance envisioned each step and every risk, picturing his end goal: Teddy Thane, four, and his nanny, Jane Singleton, twenty-five.
“You got this,” Jared said. “Now bring their asses home.”
Chance let out a breath, counted to three, and moved.