Not attraction—though that was definitely there, had been since that moment in Engineering Control. This was different. Deeper.
Trust.
She trusted him. And he trusted her instincts as much as she trusted his. Maybe she didn’t have to hold everything together on her own anymore.
Caro shifted, the thermal blanket crinkling softly. The shaking had stopped. Color was creeping back into her face.
Jen moved to one porthole and looked out.
The cargo ship was unmistakable now. Gray hull against a gray sky, moving slowly and deliberately toward the platform. And below on the main deck, flashlight beams tracked back and forth. Working their way toward the davits.
“The ship. It’s coming.”
Wyatt came beside her, close enough that his arm pressed warm against hers. Despite the damp coveralls, he radiated heat like a furnace. After hours in the storm, it felt almost dangerous. She resisted the urge to lean into him.
He angled his watch. “Three hours left.” He narrowed his eyes, assessing the distance. “And they won’t waste it.”
“Once they dock, even with our sabotage, they’ll try to load manually.” Multiple scenarios flashed through her mind. “Slower—but possible.”
“So we don’t give them time.” His voice was a deep rumble.
Caro’s voice came from behind them, more collected than she’d been all night. “And how do we do that?”
Wyatt glanced back at the cargo ship. Something in his expression shifted. “I have a plan.”
The hair on the back of Jen’s neck rose as she met his gaze. Whatever he was thinking, it was dangerous. It was there in the dark stillness behind his eyes—the same calm that settled over him before violence.
“What kind of plan?”
“One that stops them from loading a single missile.” His voice was quiet. “Permanently.”
19
Wyatt’s handleft the cold glass of the porthole. “We need to disable that crane. Permanently.”
He turned toward the two women. Caro was still wrapped in her thermal blanket, color just returning to her face. She’d held it together better than anyone had a right to expect.
And Jen.
Arms crossed. Jaw set. Blood dried in a dark line from her temple to her jaw—a wound she’d been carrying all night without a word of complaint. She looked exhausted, battered, and absolutely ready to fight.
Something shifted in his chest. The same thing that had been shifting all night, pushing against the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.
The women weren’t trained for this. Either of them. And he was about to send them into a combat zone.
Jen nodded. “Hydraulic lines. We cut the hydraulic lines and kill the crane.”
“Not enough.” Tension ran in a painful line across his shoulders. He shrugged against it.
Her head turned sharply. “What do you mean, not enough?”
“They could jury-rig something. Some kind of manual winch. It’d be slower but possible.”
“So, what do you suggest?”
“Demo charges.” He met her eyes. “There are explosives in the armory.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Jen’s face. “Of course you noticed.”
