If not, there should be.
The plane landed with a gentle two-bump process, then slowed to a roll. A short taxi later, and the pilots were powering down the engines while movement around the cabin indicated the passengers were revving up theirs.
Assholes were in a hurry to get back to the lodge.
“Let’s go.”
Jamie cracked an eye open, and Cody dropped a bulky winter coat onto his chest. A reminder he wasn’t in Managua any longer. Yeah, his ripped t-shirt and cut-off shorts wouldn’t cut mustard against Montana’s cold temperatures and frigid wind. “Give me my go bag.” He tossed the jacket back at Cody, who caught it one-handed.
The large duffel contained everything he needed for his solo mission, detailed plans, guns, ammo, money, fake IDs, warm tactical clothing. The latter the only thing he could use in his current situation, he planned to change on the plane before disembarking. Easier for him to take off fully clothed if the opportunity arose.
“No,” Cody said, hitching the heavy bag higher on his shoulder before turning on his heel and departing, coat in hand.
Okay…
Not the outcome he’d hoped for.
With a groan, he pushed to his feet, his knee protesting the flex and stretch of muscles with a constant deluge of piercing aches designed to convince him to sit his ass back down. Yeah, safe to say he’d tweaked something on his way to kissing face with the floor.
Not that his rehabilitation had been going so great before being sucker punched. To put it mildly, his knee was fucked, his cane a requirement if he intended to go any distance greater than three meters. Made going on a killing spree more difficult, but hey, determination trumped self-pity every time.
Left to his own devices, he looked around, spied his smaller duffel at the front of the plane, and using every available surface for support, he flip-flopped his way toward the cockpit.
His cane lay on top of the black canvas, ready and waiting, a visual reminder of his limited mobility. He snatched it up, and grabbing the duffel by the straps, he shouldered the load. Not nearly as heavy as his go bag, this one contained nothing useful.
Except for the bottle of Flor de Caña he’d rolled in a dirty towel.
Yeah, the rum could come in handy.
Resigned, he steeled himself against the cold air creeping in through the open door, and ducking his head, he made sure to have a good grip on the handrail before attempting to descend the stairs.
Last thing he needed was to ass over tea kettle his way to the tarmac.
Nuts squeezed up tighter than a Siberian husky’s by the time he made it to the ground; he hobbled over to the waiting SUV without argument. He didn’t bother making small talk with the four bastards hanging around watching his slow progress.
Their assortment of ticked-off expressions spoke volumes. Not his fault they were out here freezing their cocks off after dark. He hadn’t called in for an exfil, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be in Montana.
He tossed his bag on top of the others in the back, and with his ten little piggies frozen solid, he crunched his way to the rear passenger door held open by Chase. Vehicle already running with the heater on high, a solid wall of warm air hit Jamie square in the chest as he hauled himself up with the assistance of the overhead handle.
A second later, his door slammed shut. Two seconds later, the SUV rocked as the others settled in for the hour-long drive to the ranch. Back with his team being the last place he wanted to be, he crossed his arms over his chest, focused his attention out the window, and started planning in his head.
Relocation aside, nothing had changed. Not for him.
He had his mission. One goal. One target. One bullet.
What happened after he put Johnson in a body bag didn’t matter to him in the least.
CHAPTERNINETEEN
Her back against the headboard,knees bent to her chest, Summer used her thighs to brace her book as she rearranged a couple of notes on the song she’d been working on. When she had the arrangement complete, she closed her eyes and replayed the melody.
A whirl of colors danced on the back of her lids, a deep purple funnel morphing to magenta mixed with pink, swirling into a vibrant orange burnished with gold. And liking the new composition better, she made the changes to the rest of the music sheet while her mother droned on about duty and sacrifice during their weekly call.
Funny.
Not funny—haha. Funny—ridiculous. Melanie wouldn’t know the first thing about duty or sacrifice. She had no experience with either. “Are you listening, Summer?”
“Yes.”
