Blood on her hands. A pack riding heavy on her shoulders.
But moving under her own power.
That was enough.
She’d fought. Come back.
To him.
The man fighting to keep pace with her was a stranger—older, built heavily, and bleeding badly. But he was on his feet and moving with Jen, which meant she’d decided he was worth saving.
Her eyes found his. Held fast. Something passed between them—the kiss, the trust, the impossible thing growing in the space where fear had lived alone.
But there was no time for anything except the next breath and keeping her alive long enough to get her and everyone else the hell off Seven.
Behind him metal shrieked.
And somewhere outside, the cargo ship kept getting closer.
Two hours. Maybe less.
The clock was still ticking.
Time to end this.
23
Wyatt was alive.
The realization landed before anything else, cutting through the noise and the blood.
He was soaked through, rain slicking his hair to his head, but alive. Her legs threatened to fold, and she had to clutch the grab rail to stay upright. Her crew huddled around him, bedraggled and shocked.
Max gasped. “What the hell happened here?”
Jen took hold of his arm and guided him down to the deck. “Sit. Breathe.”
“Jen.” Caro looked up, her eyes far too bright. “You’re okay.”
“Caro, are you shot?” Jen crossed to her in an instant.
“Clipped me. I’ll live.” Caro wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “We hit the fuel depot, drew most of them off the crane.”
Wyatt secured the gauze around Caro’s wound with a pin. “Didn’t pay off. The platform’s crawling with hostiles.”
Jen eased the pack of explosives off her shoulders and carefully placed it on the deck. Forty pounds of solutions that suddenly didn’t fit the problem.
The cargo ship was still coming, and the crane was unreachable.
What does the ship actually need?
Max winced as he shifted against the wall. “So we blow up the ship?”
Wyatt shook his head immediately. “The crew could be civilian contractors.” His gaze shifted to Max, assessing the blood-soaked coveralls and the rag packed against his shoulder. “Who’s this?”
“Max Gibbs.” Jen crouched beside him. “My lead engineer. He saved my life at the start of all this. Took a knife wound getting out of the mess hall.”
“Let me see.” Wyatt eased the sodden rag away from Max’s wound. His hands were quick and sure—the same hands that had just wrapped Caro’s arm with care. “Deep, but clean. Missed anything important, or you wouldn’t be walking.”
