Chapter 5

"Warning light's been cleared, Captain."

Walker nodded at his co-pilot. Second Lieutenant Frank Collins, though, Walker had a feeling the rookie was in store for a promotion, especially after how he'd handled himself on the last couple of missions. The guy was nearly as cool as Walker was, and he wasn't even thirty, yet.

Walker keyed up the mic. "Tower, Eagle One is green across the board."

"Roger, Eagle One. You're cleared for takeoff. Winds are steady at twenty knots blowing zero-seven-five."

"Eagle One cleared for takeoff."

Walker checked the instrument panel one more time, just in case the damn chip light popped back on, then pulled up on the collective, keeping the bird straight and level as the winds kicked in, pushing at his right side. A bit more pedal, and the chopper was holding fast, hovering a few feet off the deck as he did one final check, then eased the nose forward.

The machine inched ahead, already gaining altitude as the aircraft carrier's deck rose and fell beneath them, the large swells accentuating their motion. He checked Booker's location, keeping his bird out of his buddy's path, as he moved over a few parked jets. Just another couple hundred feet, and they'd be clear.

Having the cockpit vibrate a second later had Walker glancing at the instruments, again. Ensuring they were still green. Hoping it was just the winds and age of the aircraft groaning in protest. Hearing a loud crack echo through the cabin as he continued forward was all it took to put him on the defensive. Had him eyeing a spot to put the bird back down — have an engineer check everything out.

He eased the chopper to the left, focusing on the fastest route to get him clear of those parked aircraft, when the entire helicopter shook, dropping slightly before jerking sharply to the left. Whipping around like a damn Tilt-a-Whirl, the scenery blurring past the bubble as a mix of blue and gray. Shouts erupted in the back, some of the men flinging onto the floor. Alarms sounded above the chaos, a string of red lights flashing on the panel.

He held tight, allowing the bird to rotate as he tried to shift the machine over — avoid the tower and Booker's chopper idling below him. Walker swung low, barely missing Booker when the man all but threw his machine up and back, deftly exchanging their positions.

Frank was yelling over the comms — telling the men to brace for impact. That the chopper would likely roll. Though, based on how fast they were spinning. Walker wasn't sure he'd even get it straightened out before he was clear enough to let her settle.

Not that he had a choice when the hydraulics crapped out. Made trying to hold the controls damn near impossible. He did his best to bottom the collective — give the men a small chance at living through this — then dropped onto the deck.

There was a moment of hang time — of the scenery stabilizing, a spray of water showing beyond the railing — then they were bouncing, the rotors clipping some machinery on Frank's side. The bird flipped, pieces of metal and blade crashing through the bubble as a fireball lit up the sky, flames jumping through the cabin. Walker reached for his harness, wanting to release the clips the moment the chopper stopped bucking like a damn bronco, only to get launched out of the cockpit when the entire back end pushed forward. Shot him clear across the carrier.

There was bouncing and skidding, glimpses of sky and deck, before everything went black. He regained consciousness still in his seat, most of his torso wedged beneath another aircraft. Pain pulsed through his body, blood soaking his clothes. He tried to move — see if he could help the men — but his right side wasn't working, his arm hanging at an unusual angle.

Smoke burned a line down his throat when he tried to breathe, barely getting his chest to move. What felt like broken ribs — maybe a punctured lung.

All of which started fading into a numbing haze as his blood quickly pooled on the deck. What looked like more than he could spare. His limbs turned cold, just the faint echo of his name lingering in the darkness…

Walker bolted upright, clawing at the blankets wrapped around his arms as the room ghosted into view. Shadows darkened the corners, a hint of gray brightening the windows.

His phone buzzed, dancing across the side table before settling near the edge. As if it couldn't decide whether to hang precariously or just fall off.

He grabbed it, frowning at the empty spot beside him. Where Blair should have been.

He scrubbed a hand down his face, remnants of the dream still playing in his mind. Sweat beaded his skin, the cool air breezing through the open window making him shiver. The facial recognition on his cell obviously thought he looked as bad as he felt because it went straight to asking him for his code.

He tapped it in, reading the text from Blair still on the home screen…

Out grabbing tea and scones. Be right back…

The tight feeling in his chest loosened as he fell onto the pillow. At least, she hadn't woken with a night's worth of regrets. In fact, he was hoping she'd be game for more. A shower, then breakfast, then them tumbling around on the bed for the rest of the day. More reasons for her to tell MI6 to shove it and stay in Montana with him.

Of course, he didn't expect her to sit around. Stone, his boss, had mentioned a few times that he'd love to have Blair on the payroll. That the Brotherhood Protectors could use someone with her expertise. And Walker had to agree — she'd be one hell of an asset. All he needed to do was show her she could have a life beyond being an agent.

That she belonged here.

His doorbell rang, jolting him up, again. Just like Blair to lock the door then forget to grab the house key along with his truck fob.

He rolled off the bed, snagging some boxers from a drawer just in case the neighbors decided to drive past as he was opening the door, then he headed for the kitchen, flicking on a couple lights as he went. The fact she'd gone out without any underwear made him smile. He definitely owed her some new panties.

"I don't know, sweetheart, a spy of your expertise forgetting the key…"

He paused when he realized the door wasn't even locked then yanked it open. Gretta and Corbin arched their brows as they stood on the stoop, arms crossed, looking far too smug for his liking.

Walker groaned inwardly, giving them an irritated huff. "Gretta? Corbin?"

Gretta laughed, allowing her gaze to travel the length of him. "Walker. Nice trunks, though you might want to toss on some trousers and a jumper, yeah?" She pushed past him, frowning as she motioned toward the stove. "I thought breakfast was at five sharp?"

"Breakfast?"

Corbin swatted Walker in the arm as he ambled past him, placing a bowl of diced fruit on Walker's table. "Yeah, that proper English feast Blair claims you're preparing. The only reason we dragged our asses out of bed this early when we'd already decided to skip our run." He leaned in, raising his brows a couple times. "So, you two have something you want to share, do you?"

Walker blinked a few times, giving himself a light pinch to ensure he wasn't still dreaming, then leaned against the counter. "We're having breakfast?"

Gretta glanced at Corbin, her smile falling slightly. She reached into her back pocket, removing her cell. "Blair sent this to me fifteen minutes ago…

Mornin, mates. Fancy a cuppa? Walker's making a proper English breakfast, five sharp. We might have something to share…"

She angled the screen so Walker could reread it for himself. "I figured she was in the bathroom, or something."

He shook his head, glancing from the hallway over to the door. "She left me a text saying she was grabbing tea and scones…"

Though, for all he knew, that was part of this proper English breakfast deal. The kind of stuff he wouldn't have on-hand. And maybe leaving him out of the loop was her way of embarrassing him, just a bit. Subtle payback for waiting so long to make a move. Which, he deserved.

Corbin snorted, grabbing a grape out of the bowl. "Can she fly, now, too?"

Walker scrunched up his face. He was far too tired for this conversation, especially when he'd been focused on tossing Blair onto the kitchen table and making good use of the fact she was commando. "Can she fly?"

"To get the scones. Your truck's still in the driveway." Corbin pouted, running a hand through his hair. "Shit, did you let her take your bike? Because you promised you'd let me be the first one to put a scratch on it."

"Why would she take my motorcycle…" The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. "I think we should… Shit. Get down."

Walker threw himself at Gretta and Corbin, taking them both to the floor with outstretched arms as half a dozen red dots appeared around his kitchen — three focusing on where they'd all been a moment earlier. What would have dropped them in a bloody heap if he hadn't spotted the first dot trailing along the fridge.

His front windows broke a second later, glass spilling onto the hardwood in an array of tiny shards, some casting colored light on the walls from the lamps. Dull thuds filled the room, the occasional ricochet pinging next to him.

Walker reached up and flicked off the light, knowing they were easy targets with it still dark outside and his place lit up like a damn beacon. A stray shot caught him in the biceps, sending a stab of pain down his arm as blood splattered across his cabinets.

That's all it took to have Gretta and Corbin pop up, filling the shattered window with a steady stream of return fire. Not that they'd be able to hit anyone sporting a laser-sighted rifle, but it stopped any incoming shots. Gave Walker a chance to wrap a towel around the wound — stem the bleeding a bit.

Corbin crouched down beside him, nodding at his arm. "You okay?"

"Fabulous. Can I have your spare, please?"

Corbin frowned. "Where's yours?"

"In a lockbox in my bedroom closet."

"Don't you have more stashed around here?"

"I'm a pilot. I don't keep a dozen different weapons hidden in each room. I know you both have more than two on you so… Cough one up, buddy."

"I only have one spare because this was a social call, and my damn rifle's locked in the mount in my truck." Corbin glanced at Gretta. "Who said I wouldn't need it for the hour we were having breakfast?"

"It has a damn bolt action, and it's heavy as fuck. I also told you to pack your other Glock and that Ruger you've been wanting to try out." Gretta handed Walker what looked like a full-size handgun. "You can have one of mine."

Walker snorted as he ran through a quick check. "You carry a freaking Sig as a backup?"

Gretta frowned. "Do you want the forty-five under my other arm?"

"The Sig's fine." He motioned to the door, when another volley of gunfire lit up the room. "Out the front or down the hall to the back? Because we'll never hit anyone from in here before they pick us off like flies."

Corbin looked at Gretta and Walker knew they were forming a plan. Hell, they probably already had one devised for this exact kind of situation long before they'd shown up at his door. "Chances are, they'll try to pin us here, if nothing else, while more forces flank your place. We'll have better luck with the assholes planning to get in close than with those snipers."

"Out the back, then. I'll lay down some cover fire, and you two go. I'll grab my weapon before we leave. Okay?"

He didn't give them a chance to counter — insist he go first because Walker knew he'd need their marksmanship outside. That they were, hands down, more skilled with weapons than he was. Sure, he'd taken Spec Op training, like every pilot with Flight Concepts. And he could definitely hold his own in a firefight, with a variety of weapons. But Corbin had been one of the best snipers Walker had ever seen, with Gretta matching his skill when dealing with targets in close quarters. And he knew they'd be the reason they lived through this.

He counted down, nodding at them then springing to his feet and unleashing the full clip as Gretta and Corbin took off, adding a few of their own rounds to the mix as they booked it down the hallway, disappearing into his room. Five seconds, and Walker was grabbing his truck keys — just in case — then following them down the hallway. Praying he didn't catch one in the ass as he all but dove into his bedroom, rolling across the floor then into a crouch on the side of the bed. What he hoped was clear of any shots through his windows or doors.

Corbin already had Walker's gun case down — looking at him for the combination. Walker called it out, thanking Corbin when the kid clipped in the magazine before handing Walker his Beretta. He checked it over — chambering a round — the familiar weight and glide of the handle in his palm easing some of his tension. A glimmer of hope that they might actually make it out in one piece. He grabbed some sweats and a shirt off a nearby chair, quickly dressing as more shots rang out in the other room.

Corbin pointed at the French doors leading onto the back patio, then darted over to one side as Gretta took the other. And Walker had to admit, they moved like a well-oiled machine. As if they'd been doing maneuvers with each other for years. A testament to their combined skill.

Walker shifted so he could cover their six, when he spotted a piece of paper with his name on it poking out from beneath the edge of his bed. He snagged if off the floor — his damn chest squeezing tight when her recognized it was Blair's handwriting — before stuffing it into his pocket to assess later. What he hoped would explain even a fraction of the shit storm they were engaged in.

Corbin showed the countdown on one hand then opened his door, going out high and right as Gretta followed behind him, staying low and to the left. They each fired off a few rounds, keeping their backs close to the wall as Walker raced after them, continuing on to a lounge set on the back patio. Bullets impacted the other side, a few punching right through.

That was his cue to move — lay down more cover fire then head for a large tree in the corner of the property. Pray Corbin and Gretta had his back. Hearing shouts rise above the lingering echo of distant gunfire meant they'd taken out a few targets. Were more than holding their own.

Walker ducked in behind the tree, waiting as a couple of assholes dressed in black tactical garb snuck out and started along the fence line, probably hoping the eerie gray light would help mask them. That the thick cloud layer was delaying those first rays of dawn. Right up until Walker dropped the forerunner, sending the next guy darting for cover. Having Corbin slide in beside him as he took out the second tango was one of Walker's lucky breaks. Just like getting ejected from the chopper that fateful night. An indication that maybe Walker's number wasn't quite up, yet. That he still had work to do.

That redemption he'd been searching for.

Gretta dodged in behind them, slapping them on the back then pointing to a path that led to the front. "God knows how many plonkers there are. We should try to reach one of the vehicles — figure out who wants us dead, later, yeah?"

Corbin grinned, his pride for Gretta coloring his cheeks. "Sounds like a plan, babe. You lead. I'll cover that sexy ass."

Walker groaned. "I swear, if those are the last words I hear, I'm going to haunt your asses for eternity." He tossed Corbin his keys. "I'll cover everyone's six. Regardless of whose truck you grab, I'll dive in the flatbed — provide more cover for what's sure to be a freaking gauntlet race out of here."

Corbin narrowed his eyes. "Maybe I should take the back position."

"These bastards will be more focused on the cabin. Gretta can't drive and take out tangos. At least, not the number we might be facing. And I'm not ashamed to admit, you're a much better shot. There's also the chance we grab your truck and you'll have access to your rifle. I'll be surrounded by metal. Trust me, I'll be fine."

Corbin glanced at Gretta as if gauging if she agreed with Walker's assessment only to nod. He tapped Gretta's shoulder, then dove out, covering damn near every angle as Gretta hoofed it for the path. She paused just long enough to clear it before she rounded the corner — disappeared.

That was Corbin's cue to move as Walker copied the kid's style, hoping he didn't miss some asshole slinking along the bushes as Corbin sprinted to the path then spun against the side of the house, most of his body hidden in the shadows at the corner. He fired in Walker's direction, giving Walker enough time to pop up and run for the corner.

Walker hit the path racing full-out, not stopping until he reached Gretta and Corbin at the far end. He took up point, again, before she gave both of them a few hand signals, then ran off, using anything in Walker's driveway as cover. The garbage cans, then the lawn mower. Some boxes he'd intended to put in the garage, before sliding into Corbin's truck from the passenger side.

Corbin went next, twice as fast as Gretta, all the while looking just as smooth as he'd been before the accident. But Walker knew this kind of physical punishment put a strain on his back. On the injuries that never quite healed. From the press of the kid's lips to the slight limp as he neared the truck, Walker knew Corbin was hurting. Not that he'd stop. Broken or not, Corbin would keep going or die trying. Uphold some creed about surrender not being a Ranger word. And Corbin took that to the max.

Under ten seconds, and Gretta had the truck purring, was reeling backwards as she spun the vehicle. A pause for Walker to race his ass across the driveway and into the flatbed, then she was peeling out, a plume of smoke covering their retreat. More bullets hit the tailgate as Gretta skidded onto the gravel road, rocks shooting out from beneath the tires. Walker laid down the last of his ammo as she danced the truck around a corner, nearly tipping it onto two tires before hitting the gas. Sending Walker flying across to the other side.

He grabbed onto the gun rack, still scanning for targets, as his house disappeared in a cloud of dust, the lingering echo of gunfire finally fading.

Corbin opened the small window in the back of the cab, poking his head through. "You good?"

"Still breathing."

"We're heading for Xavier's place so Allegra can patch you up. Keep this all in-house until we know what the hell's going on. I'll call Stone and the others — rally the team to meet us at the office once we're sure you're not going to bleed out on us. No way it's a coincidence we both got texts from Blair's phone to keep us at your place just in time for a fucking ambush. Something's very wrong."

Walker merely nodded, waiting until Corbin had closed the window before retrieving the note from his pocket. Not that he'd hide if from the others if there was important information on it, but he wanted to read it alone, first. Give himself time to put up some of those walls if it said what he feared it would.

The paper crinkled as he flattened it out, reading the neat cursive written across the page…

Walker…

There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just spit it out. London called. Rubbish timing, but that seems to be how my luck rolls, these days. I can't give you any details other than I have something I need to finish.

One final score to settle before I can think about moving on. Maybe having a life beyond MI6.

The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you, but if I don't do this, now, I won't get another chance. Limited time offer, I'm told. And I'll never be able to look at myself in the mirror if I don't make things right.

I know what you're thinking. You deserved to hear this face to face. And you're right. But I knew if I woke you and you asked me to stay, I wouldn't have had the strength to leave. Or worse… You would have let me go without saying a word. And I'm not too proud to admit that would have broken me, more.

These past few months have been the only time I've ever felt as if I was free to be me. Not the Blair everyone expected me to be. Substitute mother. Agent. The golden child, as Gretta puts it. And that's because of you. Last night was the forever I'd been looking for but never thought I'd find.

What I'm trying to say is… I love you, Walker.

Stay safe and watch your six.

Always,

Blair

P.S. You still owe me a pair of knickers.

Walker read it again— then, again — before closing his eyes, each word looping in his head as he tried to figure out how everything had gone south in such a short time. Karma, he supposed. Proof that he'd never be free from his sins. That, maybe, this was his penance. Surviving instead of actually living.

I love you…

Christ, under any other circumstances he would have dropped to one knee and asked Blair to marry him, right there. No hesitations. No doubts. Because after last night, he knew he'd never find anyone else who made him feel worthy, the way she did. Who understood and accepted him, demons and all. That somewhere between meeting her in London and finally kissing her in his truck, he'd fallen in love with her. But having her tell him like this…

He couldn't help but wonder if this love letter was really a suicide note in disguise. A final declaration because she knew she wasn't going to make it back.

A score to settle… Something she needed to fix…

He didn't know what she meant, only that it was most likely a one-way mission because Corbin was right. Someone had set them up, and Walker had a bad feeling Blair's assignment was ground zero.