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A new question bubbled up in Meagan's mind. "Are you planning to arrest Carter?"
Downing's nod was firm. "As soon as we've secured Kathy and Alex in protective custody. We've got a team keeping a watchful eye in San Jose. We're tracking Carter's movements continuously."
"So, does Courtney still need to meet with Clint?" Meagan asked.
Downing sighed, "I'm afraid she does. We don't have substantial evidence to bring him in for questioning, let alone secure an indictment."
"I'm ready!" I declared defiantly, gripping Meagan's hand as we quickly navigated our way back through the underground labyrinth toward the awaiting embrace of Brad and Chase.
Chapter Nineteen
Brad
The vast sprawl of the San Diego private airport lay out in front of us like a challenge, its runway shimmering like a sword under the cold light of the early morning sun. Courtney was there, a sleek figure by my side, her eyes hidden by the sort of sunglasses that could deflect laser beams.
She looked like the action heroine in a world that had suddenly turned into a gritty action movie. Yet, all around us, the morning was quiet before the storm as we waited for Giuseppe's charter flight to take Courtney on her collision course with Seattle and Clint Tyree.
Navigating through the maze of the airport, I couldn't help but steal glances at Courtney. She was all about contrasts, an intoxicating mix of danger and charm. It was as though a secret agent had been carefully hidden in the guise of the girl next door. She seemed calm, but I knew better. Beneath that collected exterior was a storm brewing, a testament to the hellish roller-coaster ride we'd been on.
Her steely resolve was apparent, the determined set of her jaw and the resolve in her stride reflecting a damn impressive courage. We were waist-deep in danger so thick you could cut it with a knife, yet here we were, two people finding a moment of peace amidst the chaos. We had the Rosedale crimes breathing down our necks, and it was time to kick some ass.
Only days back, Courtney had been cooped up in that dingy makeshift jail they'd set up in the hospital, with Alex and Kathy bearing their souls like they were at confession. Downing, that grizzled old warhorse, had kept hammering on about how Courtney and Meagan were like two pillars standing strong in a hurricane of earth-shaking truths. That whole sordid mess was what nudged Courtney to pick up the phone, dial Tyree for round two, and arrange the meeting she was about to walk into today.
As we found ourselves at the baggage check-in desk, the weight of reality crashed down on us like a ton of bricks. Alex and Kathy were safe, but the calm was deceptive. An insidious storm was on the horizon, threatening to wreak havoc on our already tangled lives.
The roar of a plane's engines sliced through our heavy thoughts, yanking our attention back to the present. The sleek aircraft soared into view, coming in for a landing like some metallic predator. Its presence was a beacon, an unspoken challenge that stirred a thrill of anticipation within me.
Turning to Courtney, I broke the silence, my voice as soft as the whispering wind. "You know, you don't have to do this," I said.
Her hand slipped into mine, fingers weaving together in a dance as old as time. The connection sparked something inside me, a warmth that served as an unspoken promise of assurance, more eloquent than any words could ever be. Amidst the chaos and the drama, quiet moments like these pushed us beyond the confines of mere comrades-in-arms and into something deeper.
"You're the toughest cookie I know," I murmured, my voice barely cutting through the thunderous drone of the plane's engines.
She swiveled toward me, her sunglasses slipping down a notch to unveil those captivating eyes, a cocktail of bravery and softness that was pure, unadulterated Courtney. Her smile was like a flashlight in a dark cave, illuminating the bleakest parts of our predicament.
"And don't you forget it," she shot back, her words laced with a playful edge that was distinctly her own. Her wink was like a balm, easing the tension of the moment.
We had come a long way since our Yosemite adventures and her cheeky response clearly showed her unwavering spirit.
Just as I gave Courtney's hand one last squeeze, a sense of finality touched me, and the hum of the plane's engines suddenly grew louder. Our shared silence abruptly broke as Downing emerged from the terminal's doorway. The casual atmosphere that had enveloped Courtney and me dissipated instantly, replaced by the stark reality of the mission at hand.
Downing, in his impeccably tailored suit and tie, was a walking embodiment of readiness. His very authoritative and commanding presence was a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation Courtney was about to plunge into.
Downing wasn't merely a facilitator of the mission. His role was far more nuanced and critical. He was our strategist, who saw the entire chessboard when we could only see our next move. His decisions and instructions weren't just orders, but lifelines woven with years of experience and tactical acumen. And with his guidance, we moved through every mission's maze of dangers.
Whenever we stumbled upon a roadblock, he was there with a new route. He and Giuseppe were our navigators in these turbulent waters, our beacon when things got dark. The wire, the safe house, the backup, and the exit strategies were signs of Downing's meticulous nature and the extent of his involvement.
He accompanied us towards the gate, walking at the same pace as us and maintaining a composed expression. "Your travel details are ready," he said calmly as we walked. "I've confirmed with Dylan; he and Jenna are already at the airport waiting for you. They will pick you up and take you back after the meeting."
Downing stepped closer and explained, "I just got confirmation that Clint has been spotted and is, indeed, in Seattle. He flew commercial this morning from San Jose." His voice cut through the air, stark and unflinching, but he quickly followed this with an assurance that his team had laid the careful groundwork. Despite the adversarial forces we were up against, Downing's words offered some solace, a promise that the upcoming face-off with Clint was not one we were stepping into unprepared.
Although his words comforted me, I still felt concerned about Courtney walking into a potentially dangerous situation alone.
"Don't worry, Courtney. You'll have some time to unwind before Clint's 3:00 PM meeting in the hotel lobby," reassured Downing, as if he could read my mind. "Brad and I and the rest of my team will leave here in about an hour. We don't want to ride in the same plane with you for obvious reasons, but we will be in the hotel long before three o'clock, your meeting time with Clint."
Courtney's voice cut through our conversation, bringing a new wave of realism to our preparations. "That's good to know. Now, do you have my gear? The wire I'm supposed to wear?" she asked. Her words carried a sense of finality, an acknowledgment of the cloak-and-dagger nature of what lay ahead.
Downing took a case out of his pocket and handed it to Courtney. She wasted no time in opening it and examining the small black device inside. She trained her eyes on the tiny screen, scrolling through the various settings until she was sure everything was working perfectly.
