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“Easier said than done,” he admitted.
“Spencer and Drago are an hour behind us. They’ll set up surveillance on our hotel and never take their eyes off us. They’re two of the best operators in the business. You’re in good hands.”
“I still don’t like being using as bait.”
Gunner snorted. “I don’t like it either. Actually, I hate the idea of putting you in any danger whatsoever. The only reason I went along with this plan was because I knew you’d do pretty much anything to keep Poppy safe.”
Chas reached across the center console and laid a hand on his thigh.
Gunner reached down and squeezed his hand. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Chas.”
But when they checked into a motel in western Kentucky, his gut was uncharacteristically tight. Usually he went into ops as cool as a cucumber. He trusted his training and preparation implicitly. But Chas was a wild card.
He’d never run an op with a civilian in the middle of it before. Not to mention a civilian he did not want to see any harm come to. His SEAL teammates knew the risks anytime they went out in the field, as did he. But Chas—he hadn’t asked for any of this. He’d just been a Good Samaritan who picked up a baby and tried to keep her safe.
Gunner specifically asked for the room on the end of the old-fashioned strip motel whose rooms opened straight onto the parking lot. He backed the car into its space for a quick exit and scoped out the area behind the motel—a steep hill covered in thick brush, discarded trash, and plenty of tree cover—before entering the room. He removed the screen from the bathroom window and moved a nightstand into the bathroom for easy access to the high window. Only then did he relax a little.
“Okay. Why do we need a table next to the toilet?” Chas asked.
“To climb on so you can get out the window if we need an emergency exit.”
Chas swore under his breath. “And to think, I thought we got to relax tonight.”
“Ounce of prevention, remember? I just got a text that Spencer and Drago are pulling into town and will set up shop.”
“How close will they be to us?”
Gunner thought about the terrain outside. “Something like a hundred yards down the road. One of them may set up on the hill above the motel with a sniper rig.”
“Sniper? I thought the idea was to catch these guys alive.”
“We only need one of them alive to talk,” Gunner replied grimly.
Chas’s eyes widened. “You plan tokillthem?”
“We plan to neutralize them. The hostiles themselves will determine whether that means they surrender or we take them out.”
Chas grimaced. “I hate violence. All violence.”
Gunner shrugged. “I see it as a necessary evil, to be avoided if possible and executed with maximum efficiency if not.”
“I never pictured you as a trained killer when we were growing up,” Chas commented.
Gunner dropped to the floor to do some push-ups and burpees. He badly needed to work out the kinks from sitting in a car all day. His back was achy tonight, and more of those ominous pinches of pain were starting to creep through. As he pumped out reps, he asked, “What did you picture me doing with my life?”
“When I was eight, I thought you’d make a good cowboy.”
“I hate riding horses. You have to have the right muscles for it; otherwise you get sore as hell and chafe in places you don’t want to think about.”
Chas laughed. “When we got a little older, I thought you’d be a good sports coach. You’re a natural leader.”
“Nah. I have no patience with people who don’t put out 100 percent effort. I would’ve been too tough a coach to be successful.”
Chas sat cross-legged on the bed and watched him work out. “What would you have done if you hadn’t become a SEAL?”
“I would’ve tried for the submarine corps.”
“I mean if you hadn’t joined the military at all?”