The two men flanked her, and she leaned against Raphael.
“You saved us,” he said. “She was about to shoot both of us in the head.”
She sniffled.
“I didn’t save Jet. This is all my fault,” she whispered. “He died because of me.”
And here it came.
Well, here was theMAJORinconvenience that was going to put her over the edge.
Trust.
And.
Believe.
Instead of talking about that, he changed the subject. No one liked to see their mom cry. The Marines had a soft spot forthe woman who bought them birthday presents, made them a cake, and never let them feel like they were less than family.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Do you need a hospital? Because you’re priority one right now.”
She shook her head.
What she needed was a seventy-two-hour hold in a mental institution because she could feel control slipping. Oh, it wouldn’t be because she was loco.
It would be to keep her from going postal.
Nuclear.
Over the deep end.
Call it whatever, but she was on her way there.
For now, though, she was fighting to not break.
“I got bear hugged by Caspian as we began going out of control. He took the brunt of the vehicle rolling. He wasn’t buckled in. I was.”
He patted her leg.
“Listen, I’ll be your airbag any day, Mom. Nice perfume,” he said, trying to make her laugh.
Only, none of them were feeling it.
Jet had died.
His body was in the car, not far from them.
“He’ll pay,” Raphael stated. “I’ll make sure of that.”
Yeah, no, he wouldn’t. Don’t get her wrong. Devon Slater would pay, but not by their hand.
This war was hers.
When they heard more feet and saw people coming down the ravine side, both Marines pulled guns.
“Deputy Director?” one called.
“I’m over here,” she said. “My security was killed and injured. We need extrication without a scene.”
