Sebastian didn’t respond. He couldn’t. The only person who mattered to him was Gabrielle. He moved to her, fighting the fear clawing at his heart, and draped the bedsheet over her body. His only comfort was that she was still breathing. Still alive. But he had no clue what Brooks had done to her before he got to the safe house. He’d been too late to stop her from getting hurt.
Again.
Lifting her into his arms, Sebastian said, “That must be the cop assigned to guard her. Brooks got in here and killed the guy because of what Gabrielle wrote in her journal. He thought Gabrielle had fallen in love with him.”
“But she’s in love with you,” Lachlan said, raising an eyebrow as he looked up at Sebastian.
He was quiet. He couldn’t respond. Couldn’t process what her private thoughts meant to him. To both of them. Not with Gabrielle limp in his arms.
Lachlan said, “I’ll call 9-1-1.”
Sebastian nodded and held Gabrielle tighter, stroking her beautiful face as he waited for the paramedics to arrive.
Chapter42
“Target, The Colonel, identified and confirmed.”
Ike gazed across the park at the man. He wasn’t what Ike had expected. Thin and slight. Folds creased the loose skin of his face, deeply tanned from decades of basking under the Mexican sun. He moved slowly as if each step caused him pain. But his eyes were sharp, canvassing the area for threats he knew lurked in the distance as he played with the school-age children jumping and laughing around him.
The man was looking for Ike.
But he wouldn’t find him.
He wouldn’t see Ike coming.
Wouldn’t be able to stop him.
“Stingray, confirm line of sight to target.”
Ike slid a hand along his ear, activating the comms. “Affirmative. The Colonel in sight.”
The mission had come together quickly in weeks instead of years. The first detection of fentanyl on the streets of St. Killian had occurred months earlier, sending all levels of government into a frenzy. The epidemic overtaking the U.S., North America, and Europe couldn’t be allowed into the small nation of the Palmchat Islands. The Palmchat Islands Investigative Bureau was dispatched to identify the source. All criminal activity on the islands went through the notorious PC-5, and the cartel was the obvious starting point.
But the PC-5 wasn’t behind the influx of the dangerous opioid.
Not only were they not engaged in selling the drug, but they’d been working within criminal networks to prevent it from reaching the islands. Navigating a delicate web that, if broken, could harm their other illegal operations.
It was rare that the PIIB and the PC-5 found themselves on the same side. This was one such occasion. The enemy of my enemy is my friend.
And now that the source of the fentanyl had been identified, PISCOs had been dispatched to do the dirty work.
Ike glanced down at his smooth, manicured hands and saw the years of blood, dirt, and grime from being a glorified mercenary for the Palmchat Islands government.
Why the fuck had he thought he was doing good for the world?
The military assignment inside the special operation force was supposed to get rid of bad guys. But too often, Ike felt like a pawn. A hired government hitman was no different from a PC-5 or Quattro henchman. There was no honor. He was no fucking hero.
Shouldn't it be on his terms if he was going to be a hired gun?
Terms he could live with.
Terms that would make his father proud.
He shuddered as his gaze left The Colonel and darted toward a swing set where a man sat on a blanket, seemingly enthralled with a novel resting on his legs. The man looked up, and their eyes locked.
Sebastian Luttrell.
The only person Ike trusted to be by his side for this op.
