Page 7

Of course, Foster hadn’t been around when they’d chummed it up. Had barely been home over the past few years, on what had seemed like one deployment after another. But he’d always thought he’d have more time. That his dad would live forever.
Just another source of guilt to add to his ever-growing collection.
Foster huffed, giving Atticus a quick side eye. “So, are you going to tell me anything about this situation or is my team winging it?”
Atticus returned a quick glance, holding the wheel steady when the truck hydroplaned on a section of standing water, sliding a few feet onto the soft shoulder before the older man wrangled it back onto the lane. “Already told you what you need to know. The rest you’ll have to evaluate at the scene.” He poked a slightly crooked finger at Foster. “You are going to help, right? I assume ground support isn’t included as part of your current boycott?”
Foster bit back the retort on his tongue, reminding himself all the reasons he shouldn’t push back. “So, this is how it’s going to be? You’re going to be an ass until I agree to fly for you?”
“Pretty much.” Atticus grunted when Foster simply stared at him. “I need a pilot.”
“Rumor has it you just hired one.”
“One. I need two. Hell, I’d prefer to have four so everyone gets to have an actual life — so I can expand and get a second chopper — but beggars and all that.”
“I’m sure there’re other pilots who’d measure up if you gave them a chance to prove themselves.”
“This isn’t just about skill, Beckett, and you know it.” Atticus twisted to fully face him for a second, his weary brown gaze boring into Foster’s before he focused on the road, again. “I need pilots I can trust. Who I know can’t be bought or broken.”
Foster sighed and turned to stare out the window, looking anywhere but at Atticus. “And therein lies the rub.” He pointed to the next bend where a set of tracks led off the side of the cliff. A section of the inadequate metal fence hung over the side. “Is that it?”
“No, it’s some other place with muddy skid marks and half the rail missing. Of course, that’s the spot.”
“Glad to see retirement has softened that gruff exterior. How far out are the cops?”
“We’ll be lucky if an ambulance gets here before we’re done. They’re dealing with a multi-car pileup due to some local flooding and their resources are spread extremely thin.”
“And your chopper?”
“My pilot’s already pulled a double shift. I can’t ask Mac to come out in this. It would be reckless.” Atticus pulled over and shoved the truck into park. “Which means you and your team are on your own.”
Foster merely nodded, doing his best to push aside the fact that this spot was nearly identical to the corner where his parents had gone off the edge and died. Except they hadn’t been given a fighting chance.
That deathtrap was farther down the road, where the ridge turned unforgiving and any vehicle sliding over the side plunged mercilessly onto the rocky shoreline. But that didn’t stop his brain from picturing them, here. Seeing a ghostly version of his dad’s truck barrel off this ledge.
Atticus grabbed his arm when he went to leave. “What you said before. Is that your way of suggesting you can be bought? Because I have a hard time believing that.”
Foster slipped out, looking at the man across the hood as thunder roared overhead, a thick fog curling in off the ocean. He glanced at his buddies as they parked behind him, already grabbing supplies out of their trucks. “Nope.”
“Then what are you saying, Beckett?”
“That you’re too late because I’m already broken.”
He headed for the front of the truck, grabbing the winch cable. He doubted Atticus’ truck could hold the van if the ledge really let go, but they’d need a way to bring up the injured since descending onto the rocks in the midst of a raging storm wasn’t an option.
His buddies didn’t waste any time, slipping on their harnesses and setting up their ropes. Kash took a few minutes to walk the area — give Nyx a chance to search for anyone who might have gotten ejected before the vehicle had gone over the edge. But after several sweeps, he returned, putting Nyx back in the truck then donning his own harness.
Foster handed Kash the spinal board Zain kept on the roof of his Chevy. “Chase performed a preliminary triage. He’s got at least two patients who’ll need to be carried out. Zain’s doing his best to shore up the area beneath the van in the hopes it might hold together long enough to get everyone up. I’ll suit up and we’ll take turns assisting those who can move up the cliff while Atticus works the winch.”
Kash nodded. “How long has it been since you’ve done any ground rescue work?”
“Longer than either of us would like.”
“But here you are. Face it… you’re just like us, Beck.”
Foster didn’t correct his buddy. Not because he knew Kash wouldn’t listen to reason, especially once he’d made up his mind. But because the lie wouldn’t form on Foster’s tongue.
Kash simply smirked, the bastard, as if he knew exactly what Foster was thinking, then he was over the edge and racing down the cliff. Maybe four leaps and he was at the van — was halfway inside. Foster checked his equipment, made a mental note not to get himself killed, then moved to the edge, wishing he’d spent more time training with his teammates. Sure, he could fly a chopper through the eye of a needle, but this…