“I know, which is why you’re going with him,” Davey said, the words landing like an unexpected gift. “A jet is fueled and waiting at Teterboro. You leave in two hours.”
Dominic froze mid-pace. “Wait, what? You’re letting me go?”
“Letting you?” Davey’s mouth quirked up in a humorless smile. “I was about to order you to. You think I’d trust anyone else with Elliot’s life?”
Relief flooded through him so fast it made him dizzy. Or maybe that was the lack of sleep. He nodded sharply, already mentally packing his go-bag. “When do I leave?”
“Wheels up in ninety minutes,” Davey replied. “Daphne’s putting together a tech package for you, and Sully’s pulling together the team.”
Dominic’s eyebrows shot up. “Sully’s back?”
Sullivan O’Connell had been on leave since his twin brother betrayed WSW several months ago—turned out Brody was working for Praetorian and tried to kill Davey, then Elliot, then their cousin Liam, and finally Sully himself. Sully had taken it about as hard as could be expected, and nobody thought he’d be coming back to active duty anytime soon.
“He cares about Elliot.” Davey’s expression softened slightly. “And he knows what it’s like to lose family.”
The mention of loss made Dominic’s stomach clench again. No. He wasn’t going to lose Elliot. Not today, not ever. They’d already come too damn close once this year thanks to Brody O’Connell. “Good. Who else are you tapping for this?”
Davey slid a tablet across the desk. “These are the personnel files for the team we’re assembling. Griffin will meet you in Santiago with two of our best from the South American division.”
Dominic scrolled through the files, recognizing some of the faces from previous missions. Good people. Skilled. Dependable. The kind you wanted at your back when things went sideways.
But he paused on Jean-Sabin Cavalier’s picture. He loved the guy like a brother, but the Cajun wasn’t known for his love of cold weather.
He held the tablet up. “Sabin? In Antarctica? Really?”
Yeah, that sounded like Sabin. He was a wildcard, but he’d would walk through hell in his bare feet for those he considered his.
“Alright.” Dom handed the tablet back and checked his watch. Eighty-seven minutes until wheels up. Just enough time to grab his gear, review the files, and down enough caffeine to keep him functioning.
“Dom,” Davey called as he turned to leave. “Bring our brother home.”
The words weren’t just an order. They were a plea.
“Count on it.”
nineteen
Pain explodedthrough Elliot’s shoulder as they crashed into the snow-packed bottom of the crevasse. For one terrifying moment, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but feel the shocking cold seeping through his gear and the weight of Rue’s body tangled with his.
He blinked, vision full of shattered blue and green lights, like being underwater with his eyes open. Something warm and wet ran down the side of his face. Blood, probably.
He conducted a quick inventory: Head, bleeding but intact. Ribs, probably bruised but functional. Arms, both present. Legs…one was numb, but he could move it.
He’d had worse.
Rue groaned beside him. “Ow,” she said, which for Rue meant she was probably dying.
He managed a feeble cough and tried to prop himself up. “You okay?”
Rue took a shaky breath and sat up, her silhouette black against the iridescent wall of the crevasse. Her helmet had a crack through the visor, and one glove was missing. Blood streaked her cheek, but it was superficial.
“I’m good,” she said, then frowned at her bare hand. “Why is my glove off?”
He fumbled for his headlamp, clicked it on, and swept the beam around. They’d landed on a slanted ramp of snow about fifty feet below the surface. Above them, the storm raged, blowing white powder in horizontal sheets past the hole they’d made in the ice. Below them, the shelf sloped into darkness—impossible to see how far it dropped.
“Stay still,” he ordered, already moving to check her injuries. “You could be concussed.”
“You’re concussed,” she retorted, though softer, like the energy was draining out of her.
