Chapter 8

In all the possible scenarios Blake had run through, this hadn't even made the list. Russo's men showing up at the clinic had been unfortunate, but nothing out of the ordinary. While she'd hoped Waylen had preempted the situation before the video had gotten any traction, she'd been prepared for this kind of scenario since she'd agreed to testify. Knew it meant she'd always be looking over her shoulder. But she hadn't realized Henry had the kind of connections to garner air support this far from home. A mistake that might cost Kian and Lane their lives.

Blake settled in, scanning the instruments as she headed for the coast. She didn't know who was flying, but if they wanted a fight, she'd give them one.

She keyed up the mic, praying Lane was a good as Kian had claimed. "Lane, there's a rifle stashed in a lock box right below your seat. The code's zero, four, one, eight."

The day when everything had changed. When her life had gone up in smoke.

She waited until he had the weapon out before continuing. "There are extra magazines in that box. You can slide that one window open and fire out of it if the opportunity arises."

Lane grunted. "An M4. Why am I not surprised. It's standard issue for most agencies, assuming you aren't part of this cartel."

"I already told you. Not my family."

"You're just running from them, then." He hadn't asked, and she didn't answer.

"Stay sharp. If I do this right, maybe you won't have to fire, at all."

He snorted because he obviously knew she was lying. That it always came down to firepower.

Blake let it go, focusing on the shoreline quickly approaching out the front. She'd get low — hug the rocks. Use every trick she'd learned over the years chasing gun boats and drug runners in the hopes of out maneuvering whoever was flying the other machine. And if that failed, she'd put her faith in Lane, and they'd go on the offensive.

Her cell buzzed, vibrating in the holder off to her right as Porter's name flashed on the screen. Nothing that broadcast his vocation, just the initials AP.

Kian glanced at it, frowning when she allowed it to go to voicemail. Now wasn't the time to talk. Not with the other machine bearing down on them.

She banked hard once they reached the coast, getting low enough Kian and Lane could count the pebbles on the beach. Water sprayed out behind them, twin vortices trailing across the top of the ocean.

Kian inhaled, checking their six before nodding at her. "What's the plan?"

She snorted. "To not die."

Her phone buzzed, again, the same initials flashing on the screen.

He pointed at it. "I'm thinking that's important."

"He can wait."

"I'm betting he can't."

She glanced at him — aware he'd most likely worked out which scenario fit the situation. Just like Lane. The only wild card was whether she was one of the good guys or an ex-associate who'd double crossed them.

She hoped he and Lane would give her the benefit of the doubt, but even she had to admit, it looked bad. She hissed out a breath, hitting the button on her comms. "Now's not a good time, Porter."

An irritated huff sounded over the airwaves. "No time ever seems to be good with you, Blake."

"You're on comms, and I've got Kian Fox and Lane Benning with me. They can hear everything you're saying."

"That's unfortunate because we need to talk. There's been a development."

"No shit." She cursed when a series of pops ricocheted off the fuselage, the report of what she assumed was some kind of freaking mounted machine gun sounding around them.

"Blake? What the hell was that?"

"That development you mentioned. They're already here. I've got a freaking chopper on my tail, and it's not friendly."

"A chopper? How the hell do they even know where you are let alone have a helicopter, already?"

"That stupid video. Isn't that why you're calling? To tell me you got some kind of alert?"

"I'm calling because our friend escaped custody on a damn medical run seven hours ago. What video?"

"Escaped?" She forced herself to swallow past the giant lump in her throat. "Russo's free?"

"Jesus, Blake, no names. Christ, this is a shit show. Just… get your ass back to the hanger. I'll meet you there."

"You're on the island?"

"I was in L.A. on a joint assignment when I got the news. Hopped the first flight out. So, lose that bogey and get your ass home."

"I'm working on it. But I'll meet you at the Brotherhood Protector's office. And no, that's not negotiable. And yeah, you know where it is. In fact, I'm betting you're there, right now."

She should have made the connection sooner because the more she thought about it, the more she realized that Hawk had probably been aware of part of her story. Maybe not the finer details — who she really was and that she was in WTISEC — but when she reran all her dealings with the man over the past eighteen months, it looked a lot like he'd been privy to more classified intel. Why she'd passed whatever vetting he did for any people he worked with, without so much as a pause.

Knowing Porter the way she did, he probably had some remote connection to the guy. Some cousin a few times removed who'd been a SEAL, too. Or maybe he'd called on one of her father's former associates in order to get a recommendation. Something that had made Hawai'i and the Brotherhood Protectors safe.

God, Porter had probably asked Hawk to keep an eye on her, as well. Make sure she was sticking to the rules. Wasn't engaging with any questionable people. For all she knew, Hawk had called Porter as soon as she'd left, to tell him he thought she might be in trouble. Not that it mattered, seeing as Russo was free.

That's what really scared her. The man was ruthless. Psychotic. And if she wasn't careful, she'd get Kian, Presley and everyone else killed.

She hit the comms, praying she wasn't sentencing them all to death. "Time to take stock. I'm never going to outrun this guy. And I have to admit… His chopper's a bit more nimble than mine."

Lane snorted. "And let's not forget about that machine gun."

She nodded. "That, too. But I'm betting he hasn't flown the kind of missions I have. And I'm confident he doesn't have anyone as skilled as you, Lane. Hold tight. At some point, I'm going to serve him up on your side. Feel free to use extreme prejudice."

Blake clicked off the comms then settled in. Porter was right. This was definitely a shit show, and she'd said far too much. But, there was no sense worrying about her cover when it was already blown.

A breath and a silent prayer, then she had that bird dipping even lower, that other chopper trailing close behind. She banked hard left, hugging the coastline. Huge rocky cliffs rose out of the ocean beside her, adjoining formations dotting the water.

She danced the chopper through the scattering of outcrops, taking them up and over one rise only to drop into the opening on the other side. Nearly skimming the waves as she picked up speed before banking again. Doubling back the way she'd come.

The men grunted as she threw the machine one way, then the next, circling some of those outcrops. Birds squawked around them, getting dangerously close as she banked hard, then brought the helicopter into a low hover.

She waited, that other machine screaming past when the pilot misjudged her actions. And that was all the opening she needed.

A stomp on the pedal, a shift of the controls, and she was racing after them. Dogging every move the other aircraft made. More of those rocky islands appeared in front of them, and she knew the other pilot was going to try and use them the way she had — switch their positions, again.

"Get ready, Lane."

She swooped in low, going left when the other guy went right. Coming out slightly in front — Lane's window perfectly lined up. Lane fired off a number of rounds, hitting the rotors — making the other helicopter bank hard in order to avoid more damage. Not quite a victory, but it bought her some time.

She reefed up on the collective, quickly gaining altitude — nose pointed toward the sun. The machine shook, a few alarms springing to life. "Hold on, baby, just a bit higher…"

Kian said her name, but she ignored it, holding steady until she'd pushed the chopper as far as she could. A quick shift of the controls, and they'd spun — were screaming toward the ground.

The other bird climbed toward them, a virtual head-on collision in the making. She held steady, a few shots pinging off the gear when the other gunner started firing. Her cue to hit the spotlight — all but blinding the other pilot. A slide to her left opened up Lane's side, again. Gave the man a clear shot at their engines.

And Lane didn't let them down. A few trigger pulls, and black smoke poured out of the cowling, leaving a trail as the chopper dropped several feet, banking off in the opposite direction. It headed inland, following a road, the machine jerking through the air. A steady line of smoke trailing after them.

Kian keyed up the mic. "We're not going after them?"

She glanced over at him. "And risk they might have more backup wherever they're headed? I'd rather take the win and make a run back to the ranch. Before more assholes show up."

"Sounds like a wise choice. Besides, you've got that meeting with Porter." He made eye contact. "He's your handler, right?"

She laughed, but not because it was funny. She knew he would figure it out. "He's something."

Lane grunted into the mic, leaning forward in his seat. "I think it's a bit late to worry about protocol and secrets, don't you? Besides, I'm the one who's been leaving the trail of bodies…"

Blake winced at the tone, not that Lane was wrong. He was the one who'd had to take the shots — who'd kept them all alive. And he definitely deserved an explanation.

She glanced back at him, then over to Kian. Drinking in all that blue in his eyes because she knew as surely as the fact Henry Russo wouldn't ever back down, that Porter would move her.

"You're right. You deserve the truth, and I'll walk you through it once we reach the ranch. You're not the only two who are owned an explanation. And, if you don't mind, I'd like to spend the rest of the flight trying to figure out my next move because I know what Porter's going to say, and I'm not sure I can live with his decision. Not this time."

Kian's eyes widened before he cursed under his breath. He looked back at Lane, then met her gaze. "Shit. I got it wrong. This isn't an investigation gone sideways. You're not undercover. And Porter's not here to provide backup. He's here to pull you out."

"Wait" Lane tried to get as close to them as possible in the back seat. "What do you mean, pull her out?" He stared for a few moments, then inhaled, eyes as wide as Kian's. "Well, crap. Porter's a U.S. Marshal?"

Blake swallowed, nearly choked, because just hearing it said out loud… It brought back all the feelings she'd buried when she'd had to walk away from her career — from her life — three years ago. What had been necessary to survive. To face each day without endless regrets.

She tried to steady her voice, knowing she wasn't nearly pulled together enough for them not to notice the waver in it. "It's U.S. Deputy Marshal." She sniffed, pushing everything down as far as she could, hoping it might get her through. "Porter's a stickler for detail."

Lane shook his head. "Are you serious? Because we all know what that means."

Kian leaned over. "It means, you're in WITSEC."