16. The Mission Objective
Blaze walked back into the kitchen, catching the screen door behind him and closing it so it wouldn't bang the frame.
Sarah was already bustling around making breakfast.
Her phone lying on the table chimed, and then it did it again, and again.
He asked, "Do you need to get that?"
"No, it's just—" Her lithe hands fluttered as she side-stepped to the other counter. "It's just SnipSnap DMs from people wanting tarot readings. I always get inquiries, and my regulars heard I was online last night. It's been pinging all morning. Breakfast will be ready in a minute."
She pressed the lever on her scarred metal toaster. The bread slices dropped inside, and the scent of browning bread and burning crumbs wafted into the air.
Her phone pinged again. And again.
"We need to evac the animals and get on the road." Blaze surveyed the sunny side-up eggs in a cast-iron skillet, frying in what smelled like butter, on the stove. "Just turn everything off and pack a few things. We can get breakfast at a rest stop and buy anything we forgot."
She rinsed a strainer full of strawberries and raspberries in the sink. "It'll take just a few minutes."
Blaze dropped his voice lower. "Sarah."
She looked up, startled.
The night before, he'd realized that Sarah needed permission to leave the farm, that she'd needed him to discipline her like a brat into leaving, so he'd done it.
The mission objective was Sarah's long-term safety.
A retreat was the much better strategic choice in this situation. Navy SEALs were not pigheaded Marines who sacrificed their lives and brethren for short-term gains.
He growled at her, "We aren't going to have any problems this morning, are we, little kitten?"
She stared at the berries and frowned, but she shook her head.
Not enough.
Blaze strode over and grabbed both sides of the sink around her, caging her with his arms. "Say it."
"But we can just—"
He backed off and swept her feet out from under her, grabbing her around the waist and lowering her gently to her knees on the floor.
Which meant her soft, feminine body rubbed his torso and thigh as he kept her from falling, which meant he had an instant stiffie, damn it. He needed blood in his brain. "Sarah, I told you what would happen."
"Yeah, but I—" she protested.
She looked so pretty sitting on the floor at his feet, her dark eyes wide. "Little kitten, don't make me take off my belt."
Because if he did undo his belt and his fly, they might leave really late.
She batted her long eyelashes at him.
"Sarah."
"Yes, sir. I'll be good, sir."
He lifted her to her feet and nuzzled her hair, inhaling the sweet floral scent. "Good girl."
As he said it, her body relaxed against him.
Oh, his little kitten. What had her family done to her that would make her sacrifice herself to please them even after they were dead? "Make the eggs over hard, and we'll take them and the toast with us as sandwiches. After we're on the road, you can call your friends and tell them about the change in plans."
"Oh, I already talked to Abigail and Katie. They're going to let everyone know. Abigail offered to have Amos bike over and drive the animals back to their place, but I told her we would drop them off on the way."
He glanced at this phone screen. "You called her before five-thirty in the morning?"
"Yeah," Sarah said. "I overslept. It might be early for you townies, but we farmers get up at four. There's work to be done."
Sassy as always."Great. I'll load HowNow and Charlie into the trailer and round up the chickens."
"But the stock hasn't been fed."
"I'll do it."
He left the house while she scurried around the kitchen. Her phone kept pinging like a frantic bird bouncing around inside a bell.
Indeed, the livestock had not been fed, and getting HowNow and Charlie to leave their empty feed troughs involved a lot of head-tossing and hoof-stamping. Blaze managed to move the reluctant beasts by pitchforking some alfalfa hay into the feed trays in the trailer.
After that, he donned thick work gloves from the barn and carried a dozen angry, pecking hens and one psychotic rooster to a wire cage in the pickup truck's bed under Remi's watchful eye. After the chickens had been moved, Remi climbed up in the truck bed with them and settled down, white paws crossed.
Blaze had to respect a soldier who knew his mission.
Just as Blaze was shucking the work gloves in the barn, his butt jiggled, signifying an incoming text on his cell phone in his back pocket.
He grabbed the phone because Sarah might need something from the barn or have remembered yet another animal that needed rescuing.
The text from Micah Shine read, MVB hired Koch Group Security Services. 12 guys. They flew private from Teterboro last night. I just found out.
When Blaze had contracted with Rogue Security for the Monaco rescue, some of the guys had talked about Koch Group.
While Rogue was a valid security service offering bodyguards and defensive tactics, Koch Group was mercenaries. Their recruiting brochure offered Russian prison convicts and ex-soldiers too violent for the Russian Army the chance to travel the globe and murder people.
Koch Group's sales motto was Anything, Anyone, Anywhere.
The New York airports were a four-hour flight from Cedar Rapids, and they'd left the night before.
Blaze glanced up at the house.
The screen door to the kitchen was ajar.
He was sure he'd pressed it closed, and Sarah would have pulled it shut if he hadn't.
Blaze ran.