Page 35 of Breaking Danger (Ghost Ops #3)

His large hand slid into her hair holding her still as he leaned over and kissed her brow. “But if we do our jobs right and our guys up in Haven do their jobs right, it might not be the end of the world, after all.”

“What do you think it might be like?”

“What?”

“The aftermath. What do you think might happen? Best case scenario.”

“Well.” He took a deep sigh. “Best case scenario. I’m the wrong guy to ask about a best case scenario, soldiers tend to look at worst case scenarios and plan accordingly.

But okay. So…everything goes well in the next week.

We stabilize the uninfected in their homes.

Make sure they can protect themselves and have ample food and water.

Once we get some air support we drop in supplies.

It looks like by next week most of the infected might be dead, if they can’t fend for themselves.

But we don’t know if pockets of the virus can survive—you and your brainiac girlfriends will be able to tell us about that.

So we need to make sure that vaccine gets to every able-bodied and able-minded man woman and child in the continental USA.

And strict protocols on who gets in and out of the country.

So international commerce is going to stop for a while.

There’s going to be an international economic crisis.

The US government is going to be very very sorry it behaved like it did with us in California.

It behaved badly, but there was a lot of panic.

But if I know my Captain and Mac, and I do, and if Snyder is as tough as his reputation, our guys are going to milk that regret for all it’s worth.

Any reconstruction work and money going on is going to happen here first.”

She was listening and not listening. The words made sense and sounded nice. Underneath the words, his tone was level, the sound of a man who was already thinking ahead, part of a team of very smart people. Survivors.

Survivors. They were going to survive this. She felt that suddenly, in her bones. Strength of purpose, comradeship with a team of people, growing by the day, it was what was going to let them survive this terrible ordeal.

And who knew? Someday maybe, this night rush up the coast of California, a brave warrior and a scientist, carrying a vaccine that could inoculate millions, would become part of history.

Like Paul Revere’s ride, only bigger, with something more important than victory in a war of independence at stake.

Someday perhaps schoolkids would read about this.

Their mad dash upcountry, Haven’s gathering in of thousands of uninfected, helping pockets of uninfected survive, then the pushback—she could see it.

Fanning out in armored convoys, bearing the vaccine.

Shoring up defenses, bringing supplies, moving on.

The fortified communities reaching out to each other.

Clearing bodies, clearing transport lines.

The government lifting the quarantine, reconstruction workers pouring in…

God. It felt so good just to think in these terms. Not cowering, hoping to survive another night but fighting back. Helping others survive, rebuilding.

This nighttime trip would be an integral part of all that. The narrow boat spearing through the water, Jon watchful at the helm. The indifferent star-filled sky overhead watching over them.

Hope, which had fled her, crept back into her heart, carefully. For hope was a fragile thing. But once hope takes root it grows strong.

The sliver of moon traced a silver path through the calm ocean. Little ripples sometimes flashed over the ocean’s surface, like twinkling stars. The quiet of the night, the low hum of the engine, the slight rocking of the boat lulled her, calmed her and she drifted gently to sleep.

Mount Blue

Someone was tapping on her cheek. Elle instinctively tried to move her head away from the annoying tapping but it was no use. Her eyes popped open and it took just a second to get oriented.

White room. White walls, white floor, lots of people in white lab coats. Smell of formalin and reagents and electrical equipment. A lab. The lab, at Haven.

“That’s it, Sleeping Beauty,” her husband said, pulling gently at her shoulders until she sat up straight in her chair instead of slumping. “It’s bedtime for you.”

She blinked, shook her head. “No.” The protest was automatic. So much to do, so little time. “We’re behind in our schedule?—”

“There will be no schedule if you work yourself to death,” he said, touching the skin beneath her eyes. “You’re exhausted. You’ve got bags under your eyes, Dr. Ross.”

“Way to go, Mr. Ross. Convince your wife to do something by complaining about her looks.”

He gave his slow smile. The one that never failed to turn her heart over.

She’d been told that smile had been nonexistent until she came back into his life.

“You’re the most beautiful woman in the world, Dr. Ross.

A few sleepless nights aren’t going to change that.

So stop fishing for compliments and trying to change the subject.

The subject is you. You’ve been working the best part of three days.

Mac hauled Catherine off to bed, against her objections.

” He shook his head. “You two just don’t know when to quit. ”

Elle was bone-tired. But there was so much to do before the vaccine arrived. When it did they had to hit the ground running. “We’ve still got to stabilize the accelerated cell line, check the reagents, test the equipment.”

“Well, if you two make a mistake because you’re exhausted, you’ll just have to waste time correcting that mistake. Honey, part of our training is knowing when to find a way to rest because no one can go flat out for days at a time.”

She gave him her own smile. “Oh. I thought you, Mac, Jon and the Captain were Supermen. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound. Able to do your warrior thing for weeks, months.”

“Uh uh.” Nick lifted her out of her chair, put a firm hand to the small of her back, started walking her out of the lab.

“You’re not going to distract me. You’re going to our quarters, you’re going to eat something warm and then you’re going to bed.

You’ll thank me later.” He tapped his comms, said something quiet about food to someone on the other end while they walked down the corridor to the elevator that would take them to their quarters.

Quarters. That’s what he called it. It sounded Spartan, but it wasn’t. In any other place, it would be considered a very elegant small apartment with every modern con known to man and some unknown. Like the walls that could be turned into windows looking out over a mountain and the valley beyond.

She had a brand-new husband. It still surprised her.

The spiritual counselor who’d officiated at their wedding ceremony had also married Mac and Catherine and was busy marrying couples who realized, in the midst of extreme danger, how much they loved each other.

Nothing like the end of the world to get your priorities straight.

Haven worked. If there was one thing that had been brought home to her in the short time she’d been here at Haven, it was that Nick, Jon and Mac, their Captain, Lucius Ward, the three other Ghost Ops men who’d been rescued and though half dead on their feet, capable of accomplishing a great deal and last, but certainly not least, the scary-looking but punctiliously polite former General Snyder, all of them were superbly capable men.

She and Catherine and if—when!—Sophie came were good at what they did.

They could produce the vaccine in industrial quantities, no question.

But for what came next, delivering the doses to besieged communities, protecting the convoys as they made their slow laborious way around the state, coordinating air drops, ensuring that the growing number of refugees here at Haven had sufficient shelter and food and water—that was something the men had to do.

She knew nothing of security or logistics.

They’d created this amazing place while undercover as outlaws. They could do this, too.

Nick was hurrying her to their place so she could rest but he was as tired as she was. He had to be. She couldn’t remember the last time he rested.

If she rested then he had to, too.

Nick hurried her into their quarters. The nearly invisible door had whooshed open at exactly the right time, just before Nick and she would have bumped noses against what looked like a wall. It had been coded to their bodies. Their morphology was the key that opened the door.

Nick rushed her in, then stopped, sniffing.

Elle lifted her head too, breathing in the deeply delicious smells. “Bless Stella,” she said at the sight of the big steel industrial cart with covered dishes on it.

“Yeah, bless her,” Nick said fervently. “Now you—” he touched the tip of a calloused finger to her nose. “You are going to take a nice warm shower while I get this all set out. You’re going to eat and then you’re going to bed.”

“Yes, Dad.” Elle rolled her eyes but it was lost on Nick, who was busy uncovering dishes, setting out plates.

God, the smells! Her stomach growled and she remembered she hadn’t eaten in almost 24 hours.

Now that Nick had forced her to pay attention to herself she realized how hungry and tired she was.

He’d been right and she was wrong. Fainting from hunger and exhaustion wasn’t going to help anyone.

By the time Elle came out from the bathroom where she’d had a blissfully long and hot shower, Nick had arranged everything on the dining table. Done right, too. Mats and plates and cutlery and two glasses because there was also some wine decanting.

She could afford one glass of wine. It would probably help her sleep.