Page 89 of Hotter than Wildfire

“Hold on.” Sam’s face was grim as he gripped the wheel hard, wrenched it, brought the vehicle around 45° in a swirl of dust until they were facing the fence. He pressed the accelerator down to the floor and was doing at least 100 miles an hour when they burst through the carbon wire fencing, posts popping out on either side. “Which hangar?”

That was harder and Harry had to get it right. He stared at the small monitor as if Ellen could post a message to him there. Where are you, honey?

There. His finger tightened on the green dot on the screen. She was there.

“Two o’clock. Green hangar. Mike—you got our gear set up?”

“Count on it,” Mike’s deep bass came from behind. And Harry did because Mike was good with gear. “You got your head screwed on straight?”

Harry knew what Mike was asking. Was he going to be a member of the team or was he going to be an uncontrollable wild card, capable of jeopardizing the mission, costing them their lives?

Harry looked ahead at the hangar, the size of a thumb on the horizon but growing fast. When they got there, they would have one shot at saving Ellen. One. Any misstep and he could end up with a dead Ellen and dead brothers and his life in smoking ruins.

He was scared shitless he’d fuck up. He had to get his head out of that space, fast. He pressed his head against the headrest, bracing himself, feeling every nerve and muscle in his body tense, heart pounding, the refrain ellenellenellen beating fast in his head, hands curled, thick and clumsy, on his knees. His head felt light and for a second, he just watched the hangar getting bigger and bigger on the horizon.

A sharp blow to his shoulder from behind. “Harry!” Mike said sharply. “Come back!”

And his head cleared, his hands felt normal again and the palm-sized building on the horizon had Ellen in it, a hair’s breadth from dying.

He hadn’t been able to save Crissy though God knows he’d tried. That fuckhead Rod had just picked her up and smashed her against a wall as if she’d been a doll instead of a delightful little girl.

They won. They always won, the fuckers. Always.

This stopped right here, right now. Ellen was the love of his life, light in darkness. She’d saved his life over those long painful months of rehab, that lovely voice in the darkness singing just for him. Understanding pain and turning it into magic. Magic. The woman was magic, the woman of a lifetime and he was not going to lose her to Gerald Montez or to Piet van der Boeke.

His whole life came down to this, to this one moment. If he lost this, if he lost Ellen, and if his brothers got hurt or killed, his entire life was gone.

Wasn’t going to happen.

He was back and he was going to win.

“Yeah,” he said to Mike. “I’m okay. Get your weapon ready. We’ll circle round⁠—"

“Oh shit,” Sam said.

All three of them stared in the distance, where a plane was rolling out. Harry checked the monitor, the green dot moving slowly. “It’s her. We’ve got to stop that plane.”

If that plane took off, Ellen was lost and he was not going to lose her. Not an option.

A plan formed in his mind, fully blown, as if he’d had time to plan it over days. He mapped it out in his head, knowing that it would only work if he could trust Sam and Mike totally.

He could.

“Sam!” he rapped out. “Can you catch up with that plane? It’ll taxi until it reaches the runway. Can you reach it and line up with it before the runway?”

“I’ll have to, won’t I,” Sam replied calmly as the van took another leap and was now travelling at the outer limits of its capacity. Strong as the vehicle was, it started shuddering as if it was going to shake itself to pieces.

Sam kept his foot on the pedal as the shuddering grew louder, stronger. But the plane was now large in their windscreens, moving forward slowly. With a swerve, Sam caught up with it, kept pace right behind the starboard wing.

He was probably in the blind spot because the pilots showed no signs that they saw the vehicle. The plane was taxiing slowly. The airfield wasn’t full and they had the immediate area to themselves.

“Mike, take out their tires.”

If anyone could do it, it was Mike, but even his abilities would be stretched to the limit. At this speed, it was hard for Sam to keep the vehicle steady.

“On it.” He cracked open the back panel.

There was a small bench running around the perimeter of the spacious back section of the Sprinter, there for when they had to transport an entire team to an op. Mike placed one knee on the bench for stability, shouldered his rifle, move smooth with years of practice.