She drew a deep breath to protest, but before she could utter another syllable an alarm cut through the room—through the whole base.
Moving swiftly to the door, Archer’s posture snapped to rigid focus.
“What is that? Is it the alien invasion?” She hurried after him.
He threw her a look that swung between focus and amusement. “We’ll be back soon.”
She rushed a step behind him. “Where are you going?” The question sounded a little too much like a wail for her liking, and running after him felt like chasing. “How do you even get out of this place?”
“You’re going to stay here until we get back. There’s food and everything else you need. You’re safe here, Jolie.” He stopped at the door and looked back at her.
It wasn’t a long look, but it was piercing.
Then he was gone.
The door shut, and she whipped it open again to see Archer striding down the hall and other men rushing to answer whatever that alarm meant.
They were responding to a threat. Her mind spun out on fear.
How did they even get out of here? There must be exits she hadn’t seen.
She stepped into the hallway, scanning the walls and ceiling. They were underground. Did a hatch open in the ground and they flew out like a superhero movie?
Metal doors slammed. Men grunted. The thump of boots faded and then…nothing. Just silence humming in her ears.
For a beat, she wrapped her arms around herself and thought about searching for exits. But where would she go if she even made it outside? She would just need to be rescued from the blizzard—again. Or wouldn’t be rescued at all. She had to sit tight and remain safe for her family.
With nothing else to do, she returned to her room and her gaze landed on the reading material Archer brought her.
She picked up the Scottish romance and read the title three times, her loud thoughts overriding the meaning before she could fully ingest it.
Still holding the book, she wandered out of her room and paused in the middle of the hall before making up her mind to start exploring—now.
She walked into the room directly across from hers. The space was neat, and the furniture didn’t resemble military issue at all. Instead, it was oddly as retro as the clothes she’d been provided and built of heavy wood, unlike the cheap furniture sold today.
A bed, desk and chair. A trunk at the foot of the bed with a shirt dropped on top—the shirt she’d seen Archer in after he brought her to base. The shirt he’d been wearing when he peeled off his heavy coat.
The room still carried a trace of his scent too—fresh, clean and masculine.
She didn’t know her feet were moving toward the bed until she felt the mattress beneath her. She perched on the edge, mind spinning with questions she had no way to answer because she didn’t have anybody to ask.
After a few minutes of listening to the hum of the heating vent, she gave in and stretched across Archer’s bed with her book.
The team would come back. She wasn’t going to die alone here.
Archer would come back…and maybe he’d give her that smile again.
The scariest part was realizing that somewhere between the storm and the silence, she was counting on him more than anything else.
FOUR
The helicopter bucked through the storm, rotors hammering against the wind hard enough to rattle bone.
Archer sat locked into the harness, his boots braced on the floor, shoulders squared and eyes forward. The noise sliced through the clutter in his brain and left only the op they were facing.
The chopper was always on standby, the pilot focused on getting the team in and out clean. Just what they did in the interim, they hadn’t been briefed on yet.
Sierra team was dialed in, not even exchanging glances as the chopper gained altitude. Cannon had a phone pinned to his ear, his words lost in the noise. When he lowered the device, he switched on the comms. A low hum filled their ears.
