No.
It can’t be.
The steel bars of the cell clank, and I hear harsh-sounding words uttered in a language I don’t know. A tray of food is dropped onto the concrete floor next to the door before it’s slammed closed again. The contents of the tray have me puking my guts up where I lay.
Crashed.
I crashed an eighty-million-dollar airplane. Not only did I crash a plane, but I was taken for reasons outside my control. My brother. Poor Ryan. I hope he never learns that I was taken so they could use him to get to the president. Ryan would never turn his back on the president or his country, but he would be tempted for family—for me. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he knew he was the reason I was taken, and I take a moment to pray to God that he never learns.
This is my fate.
My story will end here in this cell. But I knew when I joined the marines that it was a dangerous job. I knew this was always a possibility. I knowingly took the risk, and that’s not on anyone else but me.
And now, I’m nothing more than an animal in a cage.
I should have told Kyle that I loved him. I could tell he was waiting for me to grow confident in my feelings for him, but I was too chickenshit to say how I really felt. He was showing me every minute of every day with his actions and the tender way he treated me and with his body, his touch, and the way that he made love to me. I will never forget him, and I will die thankful that we had that time together.
Maybe it’s better this way. Maybe he’ll be able to move on from this, from me and whatever we were or were heading toward, because as I struggle to sit up from where I’m lying on the cold, hard floor of this cell, I know without a doubt this is where I’m going to die.
I can only pray that the Reaper finds me quickly, because I’m not sure how much more I can survive along with the devastating knowledge that no one is coming for me.
Chapter Nineteen
Kyle
Tactical Retrieval of Aircraft and Personnel
The rotor blades of the helicopter whir overhead, and my brain is a mess of thoughts that I can’t seem to control. Usually, when I’m on a mission, I’m the epitome of calm, cool, and collected. But when Jackson Cole stood in his office and told me that I wasn’t going to get to come if I couldn’t lock it down, I did the only thing I could. I lied.
In reality, I’m a mess, and a mess is dangerous. I need to lock all the feelings and emotions that riot through my head and my heart away in a box in the back of my soul, one I can access later to sort out. Whether the outcome is good or it’s bad, I’m going to need to address whatever happens.
Once I promised to be a good little soldier, things moved rather quickly. Sean let go of me so I was free to move about the cabin, but it was also clear by the posture of the other men in the room that I was not free to throw any more punches or office furniture. So I did what I was told and I locked it down. Which, as it turned out for the time being, was a good thing, because Surfer turned out to be a wealth of information.
He and I had been ships passing in the night when we were both with the teams. We ran only a handful of missions together before he was transferred to parts unknown and no one had a clear answer on where he had gone. It was always whispered in dark corners that he’d been recruited for one of the cloak-and-dagger agencies that operate under initials, but still, no one knew for sure.
Now, I’m still not one hundred percent, but I’m sure enough to guess. I’m also pretty certain that I do not want to voice those thoughts out loud for fear that someone really will issue a notice to ice me because I know too much. Surfer is into some deep shit. And I mean deep with a capital Don’t Ask Questions because you really don’t want to know the answers to them.
I say this only because he just so happened to know exactly where MacKenzie is being held, by who, and why. He also had a plan to get her back that involved him—off the books, of course—and Cole Security. Not to mention the involvement of a handful of active SEALs no one was ever to speak about being there and were also off the books.
Black stood in the corner with Cole and supervised. With his high-ranking position, he was a ghost in the mix of all this. He couldn’t do anything more than observe, and I could tell it was killing him to not be the one to storm the fort and bring his sister back home safe and sound.
When the planning meeting breaks and we all split to grab our ready bags and gear to hit the airstrip, he stops me with a hand to my arm. “Just a minute.”
“Yeah,” I snap, not wanting to waste a minute more before I get to my girl.
“Bring her home safe,” he begs, and it just about kills me to see a man like that plead for the protection and wellbeing of such a strong woman who has been brought low.
“I will,” I assure him. Just before I walk out the door, I vow, “Or I’ll die trying.”
We leave shortly after, making the airbase where MacKenzie’s squadron had been deployed to just after sunrise. Posing as American troops, we’re given barracks space and a makeshift ready room.
Earlier in the evening, I pass by Cinco and Hooter in the chow hall, and I can tell they recognize Sean and me, but they know better than to say anything. Even though we’re not completely sure how deep the mole in Squadron Two goes, I’m sure they can be trusted, mostly because I have the sinking feeling that one of them cared more for Mack than just strictly friendship. And even though I got the girl in the end, they still care enough for her that they’re happy enough that she has someone to love her. They want her safe at any cost, and we’re all going to see that happen.
After sundown, we make our final preparations. We dress in all-black gear and paint our faces with pitch to help camouflage us in the dark of night under the moon. The whole time, I mentally go through the motions. Instead of being precise and exacting, I’m struggling to breathe knowing that she’s so close and still I can’t get to her…yet.
We meet the helicopter pilots at the airstrip just after midnight. There’s never anything good that happens this late at night, and I should know. I spent years doing dangerous and deadly things in the name of God and country, and now I’m going to do it for the love of a good woman. There’s a lot of dark marks on my soul from the sins of my past. They don’t usually bother me, but every now and then, something creeps up on me in the middle of the night. Not often enough for it to be a problem, just occasionally on my darker days. But I also know that whatever happens tonight, it won’t leave a mark on my soul as long as Mack makes it out alive, and if she doesn’t, all hope for me is lost.
Climbing aboard the SH-60 is like coming home to old friends. I can’t count how many times I’ve hauled my gear onto one with a squad so they could fly us to parts unknown. On one hand, it’s second nature, and on the other, this is all new.
