Chapter 28

28

Caleb's boots echoed on the scuffed concrete floor as he strode into the cavernous air hangar. The acrid stench of aviation fuel mingled with the metallic tang of machinery. In the center of the space was the Jayhawk, her paintwork gleaming in the fluorescent lighting.

He'd left Grace in Wyatt's capable hands, knowing his brother would allow no harm to come to her. But the separation still chafed, a prickle beneath his skin that he couldn't quite scratch. When had her presence become so essential, her safety so intertwined with his own peace of mind?

He ignored the scrawled weather updates and maintenance schedules on the crew whiteboard in the corner and focused his attention on the long row of shelves lining the back wall.

A pair of worn boots emerged from beneath the Jayhawk, followed by a grease-streaked Henley. He sat up on the creeper, wiping his hands with a rag that had seen better days. "Caleb, you on duty today, or just here to lend a hand with Sandra?" He gave the chopper an affectionate pat.

Caleb shook his head. "Not today. Just swung by to grab some gear."

Henley chuckled, tossing the rag aside and pushing to his feet. "Your loss. This beauty's purring like a kitten after the tune-up I just gave her."

"I don't doubt it." Caleb's gaze drifted past Henley to the stacked shelves on the back wall. "But I'm busy today."

The shelves held meticulously organized, state-of-the-art survival gear that would make any prepper green with envy. In the event of an apocalypse, the Alaskan Coast Guard would be more than prepared. Caleb's gaze zeroed in on a nondescript cardboard box. He sliced the securing tape with his penknife, heedless of the Styrofoam peanuts escaping the box. Nestled inside, swathed in protective plastic, lay a small orange device no larger than his palm. A personal locator beacon, one of the most advanced on the market.

The small device represented a lifeline, a way to ensure Grace's safety, even if they were separated. Knowing Grace would have it with her eased some of the pressure in his chest. He'd give it to her when he returned to Wyatt's place, along with a crash course on how to use it. If the worst happened and she found herself in danger, activating the beacon would transmit her location to the rescue coordination center. They would notify the Coast Guard, sending help.

Henley called out. "Hey. I almost forgot. Someone was looking for you earlier."

The rush of blood in Caleb's ears almost drowned out Henley's next words. "A woman. Pretty, too."

Schooling his features into casual indifference, Caleb turned to face his teammate. "A woman?"

Henley nodded. "Not from around here. You mixed up in something I should know about?"

Caleb hesitated, his jaw clenching as he weighed his words. He trusted Henley, had flown countless missions with the man watching his six. But he wouldn't put any of his team in danger. The stakes were too high, the risks of involving anyone else were too great. It was bad enough that he'd accepted Wyatt's help.

"Just got a lot on my plate." Fuck. His words sounded like a cop-out.

Henley examined a wrench, evidently unconvinced, his expression thoughtful. "Well, you know where I am…"

Caleb shoved the PLB in his jacket pocket and jerked his head at his teammate. "I appreciate that, Henley. Look, I've gotta run."

He turned on his heel, striding out of the hangar and into the blinding sunlight. Dolly greeted him with a soft woof from the cab of his truck, her tail thumping against the seat in welcome. Climbing behind the wheel, Caleb paused before starting the engine. Was Hudson trying a different strategy? Sending a woman to find Grace instead of men?

The net was closing. The sooner he got Grace away from Aurora Cove, the better.

He pulled out of the parking lot and pointed the truck toward Mitch's garage. The lengths he would go to protect Grace, the risks he was prepared to take... it should have scared him. Should have sent him running in the opposite direction.

But there was no turning back.

Not anymore.