Fear rippled over her face. “Do you think my family’s okay? Jake and Tanner and Lara?” Panic sharpened her voice.
Archer drew her protectively against his chest. “I’m sure they’re fine. We’ll check as soon as we get back to base.” He tipped her chin up. “What O’s saying is I knew you wouldn’t disappear without a fight.”
“What Monk’s saying is you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger.” Rivers zipped the medical kit shut and pushed to his feet.
Archer shot him a mock glare. “Thanks for making me look like a pussy in front of my girl.”
“Maybe you can meditate the shame away.”
They all laughed, including their teammates connected through the comms as they searched the surrounding area for Jolie’s attacker.
Rome appeared in the doorway, coated in snow. “No visual. He vanished near the shaft line.”
Cannon answered immediately. “Rorke. Younger. On tunnel watch.”
“Copy,” sounded in their ears.
His team had come together because he needed them. They’d chased a ghost through a storm because Jolie mattered to him. No one even hesitated.
His tattoo finally meant more than simple dedication to his team. It meant he was part of the brotherhood.
He slid one arm under her knees and another behind her back.
“I can walk,” she protested, but he silenced her by pressing his forehead to hers and staring into her eyes for a long heartbeat.
“I got you.”
He lifted her with all the care in the world, trying to jostle her as little as possible. She curled against his chest, one hand anchored on his coat sleeve. The contact hit him harder than any gunshot.
Snow struck his face when he carried her outside. Lights swept the clearing and his team moved through the storm like they were part of it.
Somewhere inside the mountain, a killer hid in the dark.
But Jolie was in Archer’s arms, and for now, he could breathe.
He had gotten her back tonight, but for the first time in his life Archer understood how a man could lose everything.
By loving this much.
* * * * *
The first thing Jolie learned after surviving a kidnapping was that getting patched up hurt almost as much as being kidnapped.
Archer was planted beside her like someone might try to steal her again if he so much as blinked. Every time Rivers did a pass during the deep clean of the graze on her shoulder, Archer’s jaw tightened harder than hers did.
“It’s superficial,” Rivers said for the third time.
“Then why does it feel like you’re sanding me down to bone?” she demanded.
“Because drama is your strongest muscle.” His eyes twinkled before he sobered. “Actually, it hurts because some fabric from your shirt is buried in the wound and I have to remove it.”
Long minutes later, he taped the final dressing in place and stepped back. After a few instructions on keeping it clean and dry for a few days, and to take a pack of antibiotics he set on the table for her, Rivers crossed the room to put away his supplies.
Archer stepped close to the table and slipped his arms around her. She leaned into him, the adrenaline she’d been running solely off for hours suddenly flooding out.
“I made a mistake,” she said.
His callused fingertip brushed beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “No.”
