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Her heart soared. She had tried to keep her emotions in check, unsure if the attraction was mutual. But knowing Bridger cared for her too, she resolved to tell him how she felt. If she managed to survive this.
Tai smiled gently at the look on her face. “When this is all over, maybe you two should––you know––talk?”
Paige made a choking sound. “Thanks for the relationship advice, Oprah.”
Tai grinned. “You know it, sister. I am that good.”
Paige rolled her eyes at Jane. “Pot and kettle. That’s all I’m saying. Tai. Bridger. Pot. Kettle.”
That made her laugh. “I’m beginning to catch on.”
Unwilling to let the glimmer of levity die, she changed the subject again. “So if you all are sticking around to start some kind of security firm here, are you still going to call yourselves Black Out Squadron?”
Shuddering, Paige shot out a hand. “No way. Too many bad associations.”
“True that.” Tai cocked his head. “We haven’t talked about it. What should we call ourselves? It’s best we figure this out between us. The Bridge-man’s no good with names.”
“And Fenn’s been officially banned from naming missions.”
Tai pulled a face. “Operation Goat Stench was his last chance. Clearly, the boy tanked that one.”
Jane spoke up hesitantly. “What about...Redemption Incorporated?”
Tai and Paige exchanged surprised looks. Then broad smiles spread across their faces.
“I love it!” Paige said enthusiastically.
Tai chuckled. “RedemptionInc. RedemptionInc.” He tried out several iterations, then clapped his hands. “Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a winner.”
Jane flushed with pleasure at their reaction. The name felt right to her. And she loved that she’d come up with it.
She wanted to be a part of this future with them. To have a chance to explore her deepening bond with Bridger. They just had to make it through today.
Tai regarded her with a hint of admiration. “Your faith is strong. As the Psalm says, ‘Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God.’”
Despite the circumstances, Jane had to smile a little at the incongruity of this deadly former SEAL quoting Scripture. But the familiar words were comforting.
She just hoped Bridger and Pegs got to the magician soon. The bomb felt heavier against her ribs with each passing minute.
39
Twenty long minutes later,despite his assurances to Tai, Bridger still hadn’t come close to figuring out how to land the Eurocopter without alerting Romero to his presence. Lucky for him, Pegs––as always––had a better plan.
“I’m on scene,” she said over her cell phone. “Garret’s place is two miles west. There’s a tall ridgeline between here and there. If you come in from the west, there’s no way he’ll catch sight of you. We’ll hoof it from the airstrip.”
Bridger eyeballed her position on his tracker. “Copy that. I’m less than ten clicks out. On my way.” He ended the call and picked up his airspeed.
He banked to the east well short of her coordinates, dipping below the crest of the Santa Lucia range and following it to the landing strip. Her sleek little single-engine aerobatic plane sparkled in the late afternoon light. Other than the plane, there was no sign of habitation. Just a faded metal building large enough to house a small office and a hangar large enough to work on craft the size of the Citabria, or his helo. No vehicles were in sight. They’d have the place to themselves.
He landed behind the Citabria, powered down, slipped on a Kevlar vest, pocketed his phone, and holstered his pistol before slipping out of the aircraft.
The door to the small office on the corner of the building stood slightly ajar. The back of his neck prickled. Why wouldn’t she come out to greet him?
He shook off the premonition. Maybe she was using the restroom. Still, he approached from the blind side, hand on the butt of his weapon, his heart racing.
Before he got close enough to peer through the windows, the door creaked open, revealing Garrett Romero. “That’s far enough, North.”
The rich, commanding voice hit Bridger straight in the gut. He drew his weapon, sighting on Romero. Center mass.
