Chapter 10

Dead.

How she'd thought she'd be able to counter the strong current with the waves hitting the rocks with explosive force, Blair wasn't sure. But it only took reaching the surface to realize she'd be lucky to stay afloat long enough to get crushed against the cliff.

She'd try. God knew she wasn't a quitter. Had jumped into the role of mother when her own had been half-tweaked on meth most of Blair's childhood. Then dead by the time Blair was eight — an overdose which had left Blair cleaning up, again. Dealing with cops and funerals and Gretta. Sure, their grandmother had taken her and Gretta in, but the woman had been old and frail, even then, leaving Blair to continue as caregiver.

Practice, she supposed, for the rest of her life.

Which Blair had no intentions of ending, yet. Not when she'd finally gotten a taste of a future without all that baggage.

A future with Walker.

All she had to do was get her arse out of the water and to some kind of phone. One call, and he'd be there. She knew it. Along with Gretta and Corbin, if her hunch was right.

At least, McClaren and Leland hadn't followed her down. One small mercy in a literal ocean of bad decisions. The one determined to kill her. Just as she'd crest one wave — take a breath — another would drive her back down, and she'd have to fight her way to the top, again.

If that wasn't bad enough, it seemed as if the current couldn't decide whether to send her careening into the rocks or drag her out to sea. Keeping her suspended between the two. Just bobbing in the waves.

She tried swimming — barely changed her position — when movement caught her eye. Something low on the horizon, bearing down on her. Had McClaren called in a boat? Was that what he'd said when the thunder had crushed his words?

A flash of lightning exposed the scene, taking away what little breath she'd gasped.

A helicopter. Screaming toward her. The door open, some form of ladder dangling out the side. Nearly blowing up into the rotors. What looked like a rescue but might be McClaren's way of keeping her alive long enough to torture her.

Would he do that? Save her just to kill her? And who had McClaren bribed to actually fly in this weather. She doubted even Walker would try.

Then, the chopper settled into a hover, a guy leaning out the open door in an effort to steady the ladder — stop it from spinning before it dipped into the water. Giving her a clear view of his face…

Corbin.

No doubt about it, which meant…

God, Walker was flying the chopper. In the middle of a freaking thunderstorm, which Blair was pretty sure had become some low-grade typhoon. And all just to save her.

She didn't know how he'd found her, how he'd timed the perfect rescue. Didn't care because all that mattered was grabbing that ladder — getting inside.

Which was easier in her head than in reality. Every time she'd snag one of the rungs, the damn current would yank it away — make her swim toward it, again. Only a few minutes in, and she was exhausted. Between the race through the rainforest, the jump, and trying not to drown for the past several minutes, her arms were useless. Just dead weight hanging off her torso.

Until something pinged off the helicopter.

She twisted enough to spot another chopper moving in fast, with what looked like gunners hanging out the doors. The kind who would down Walker's helicopter if he was still hovering there, waiting for her to get her freaking butt in the cabin.

No way she'd be the reason they died.

Blair pushed harder, covering the ten feet between her and the ladder — wrapping her arms around the rung. A wave crashed over her head, dragging her and the ladder under, but she held firm, locking her legs around a lower rung when it whipped against her thigh. She crested the surface still attached to the ladder, as the current started towing her out.

Corbin must have done something because the next moment she was up and out, spinning in the air as the downwash caught ahold of her body. Was she inching upward? Or was Walker lifting the helicopter. Expecting her to hold on while he flew to safety?

She was definitely getting closer to the doors, Corbin's face larger than before. Gretta was poised behind him, firing at the other machine, a steady stream of casings shooting out the open door.

That's when Blair noticed the holes in the aircraft. The occasional spark when one of the bullets hit the metal rotating parts. The ones she assumed Walker needed in order to fly. Keep them all from crashing.

Why wasn't he moving? Getting clear? Sure, she might fall off, but at least they'd survive.

Never leave a man behind.Wasn't that the saying?

She moved. Not much, but she managed to climb up one rung — not fall. Corbin was still pulling at the ladder, slowly inching her closer. She reached for his hand when he grabbed her arm, wrapping her fingers around his forearm. A gust must have hit the machine because it shuffled sideways, getting dangerously close to McClaren and Leland — the rock face she'd jumped off, before Corbin had her inside. Had dragged her clear of the door.

He must have said something to Walker because the helicopter was diving a moment later. Dipping closer to the surface then peeling off. Snaking around the rocky cliffs as he followed the coastline. Corbin shoved a headset over her ears, then grabbed a rifle and moved back to the open door.

Gretta and Corbin were in full assault mode. Her sister firing off a semi-automatic while Corbin settled on his belly — started lining up targets with that rifle. The shots echoed around her, making her queasy as Walker threw the helicopter right and left, pitching it up high, then diving low. What she suspected was his attempt to lose the other machine.

An alarm sounded above the reports, a hint of smoke drifting into the cabin.

Corbin looked over his shoulder. "Walker? That sounds eerily familiar."

A click, then Walker's voice in her head. "Close the doors and buckle up. Like you said before, kid, this is my sandbox, now. I'm not about to lose my title as king."

Well, shit. Blair didn't need to know the particulars to understand Walker was done playing nice, as he'd put it. That if this had been a retreat, he had every intention of going on the offensive.

Gretta helped her into a seat, giving her a fierce hug before sitting beside Corbin — buckling up then grabbing the man's hand. What Blair wanted to do with Walker but couldn't because she couldn't access the seat beside him. Though, that was probably a blessing judging on how fierce he looked when he glanced back — eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring — before pursing his lips and staring straight ahead.

No doubts, he was pissed. Though, she knew fear when she saw it, too. Not for himself. That was clear. He was afraid he'd fail his team. A repeat of that crash. And it was her fault.

She'd find a way to make it up to him.

Assuming they survived.

As if on cue, Walker banked the aircraft. What would have tossed them all across the cabin if they hadn't been locked in. Then, he was bobbing and weaving, heading back the way they'd come. What she assumed was a head-on collision in the making. Not that Walker seemed fazed. He had the machine steady, that alarm still wailing in the background.

Ten seconds, and more bullets were pinging off the chopper, one punching through the side a foot from her shoulder. But it didn't last long. A tilt and a shudder and the bird was gaining speed. She wasn't sure how, but they were definitely going faster. Walker was doing something with the controls, banking the machine from one side to the other without actually turning. Some kind of dance through the sky. Corbin shouted something in the comms, but all she heard was chicken and crazy.

Then, that other helicopter was screaming past them, nothing but the skid gear visible. It rolled further, then seemed to lose control. Hell, it almost looked as if the thing just broke apart, before it was dropping out of the sky.

An eerie moment of silence, then the machine crashed into the ocean. A spire of water shooting into the air before it was gone. Nothing but those black waves visible beyond the windows.

The comms clicked, and Walker breathed into the mic. "The good news is, we don't have to worry about that helicopter, anymore."

Corbin groaned, shaking his head as he closed his eyes. As if he knew what was coming. "And the bad news? Because no one starts off a conversation with ‘the good news' unless there's bad."

Walker chuckled, though Blair wasn't sure how he wasn't screaming the way her inner voice was. That they were likely about to crash, too. "We need to land. Now, or we'll be following those assholes into the water."

Corbin simply nodded along as if he'd been right. "And do we have a place to land? Or is that the other badder news?"

"That's what I love about you, kid. Always the optimist. I've got one of the smaller islands coming up on the right. If I can get us down without making it a spectacle — drawing unwanted attention to us — we might be able to procure someone's boat once this storm settles a bit. Make our way back."

"And how likely is that? Not bursting into flames or breaking into a thousand pieces before we land?"

"A firm twenty percent. Which is fifteen more than I thought we'd have so… Do me a favor and don't get out of your seat until this ride has come to a full stop."

How was Walker so calm if he only thought they had a twenty percent chance of making it down alive?

God, she owed them. More than she could ever repay. Not just for figuring everything out and coming all this way to rescue her arse. But for doing it fully aware they might die in the process. Sure, Gretta was her sister, and Corbin wouldn't let Gretta take that kind of risk without being right by her side.

But all she'd given Walker was one night of passion and a cheesy note.

Corbin reached over — squeezed her hand. "I know it sounds bad, but Walker's twenty percent is like anyone else's eighty. He's got this, especially with your life in the balance. No way he's failing you."

Great, now Walker thought she didn't have faith in him. Which couldn't be further from the truth. But how could she say it was herself she'd lost faith in. That she didn't deserve his trust — hell what sounded a lot like love — without blurting out that she'd meant what she'd said in that note. How she was insanely in love with him? That he was crazy not to boot her out of his life the moment they got back home. The one she wanted to share with him for the rest of hers.

More alarms piercing the air got her focus on their descent. And it didn't take a pilot to realize the chopper wasn't moving like it had before when he'd been finessing the controls — targeting that other helicopter. This was jerky. As if the inputs weren't responding. Or maybe some of them had simply given up. Nothing but pieces he was hoping stayed together long enough to get them down.

She held her breath, each second dragging by as if time had slowed. Like when she'd been heading for the water and everything had paused to take a breath. Then the machine was rocking, Walker telling them to hang on. That he'd roll it to the left if he thought they weren't going to make it. Something about preventing the rotors from busting through the bubble.

There was a grinding sound, the whole machine shaking and vibrating before they were bouncing along the ground, wet sand and mud flying past the windows.

Seven seconds, and it was over. Nothing but the engines spooling down. The wind howling past the windows. It wasn't until her door opened and Walker leaned in to unbuckle her harness that she realized Corbin and Gretta were already out. Just her sitting there, hands fisted around the straps. Her chest squeezed tight.

Walker sighed, pausing to cup her chin in his palm. "Breathe, sweetheart."

He made it sound easy, except where she'd royally screwed up. The kind of mistake that had everlasting consequences.

She nodded, barely making it out of the chopper before her legs gave out. All that running and swimming and holding onto the ladder finally taking its toll.

Walker scooped her up, cradling her against his chest as he headed for a small hut not too far off. A boathouse, maybe. He didn't speak, just kept her close, darting inside while Corbin held the door — stopped it from banging against the wall from the wind.

Walker headed straight for some cushions stacked on the other side of the room, using his feet to spread them out before placing her on them. He muttered something to Corbin about some towels or blankets, then grabbed her shirt and yanked it over her head. A blink of her eyes and her shorts were gone, too, leaving her in nothing but her matching set of knickers.

She gaped at him, but he merely shook his head, accepting the beach towel Corbin handed him before wrapping it around her.

He tsked, daring her to challenge him as he moved in beside her, then drew her onto his lap. "I realize this is the Caribbean, but you're soaked, exhausted and the extreme downdrafts have cooled your skin. You look like you've got a blue tinge to you, so… Rest. We'll have a long chat once we're sure you aren't going to pass out or suffer from dry-drowning. Okay?"

She nodded, allowing herself to fade, a bit. This wasn't how she'd imagined her final mission would go. She only hoped she'd find some way to pull a save out of her arse — clear Gretta's name and finally start living — before she'd lost far more than just her faith.