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CHAPTER FIFTEEN

She’d seen videos of some of the things the Night Stalkers put their choppers through, and they made her heart lodge in her throat.

The places they were able to go, the risks they took, it was terrifying.

But watching those videos made her all the more determined to give them the proper tools to do their job.

That’s how she looked at what she did. She was a tool in their arsenal, nothing more, nothing less.

The area around her was a hub of activity, with mechanics and sailors moving here and there and calling out to each other.

But all of Laryn’s attention was on the three helicopters that had been used earlier for the reconnaissance flights and then stored back below decks until now.

She wanted to make sure nothing happened to them as they were moved.

This was nothing she hadn’t seen or done hundreds of times before.

But it was one of the most crucial last steps.

The last thing she wanted was one of the rotor blades brushing against the side of the hold as a chopper was raised.

The flight that morning had been uneventful, at least according to Tate. He and the other Night Stalkers had gotten some good intel about the terrain they couldn’t get from simply looking at maps and charts.

They’d all been pretty amped up at the late lunch they’d shared.

Laryn loved that she was included in their group now.

It might have been her imagination, but she also could’ve sworn that she was treated differently this deployment by the other sailors around her, as well.

Night Stalkers had an impressive reputation, and it appeared that being in their inner circle made her more than a simple mechanic.

She should be irritated at the revelation, but she wasn’t stupid.

She knew how the world worked. Blue-collar workers weren’t held in as high esteem as their white-collar colleagues.

But when push came to shove, they were probably more valuable.

There was a huge shortage of all kinds of blue-collar labor in the US.

Positions no one wanted to do but were needed desperately.

Linemen, plumbers, carpenters, welders, truck drivers, and so many more.

One of the sailors working in the area brushed against her, making Laryn jump. She was on edge; she always was when Tate was about to head off on a mission. She’d always managed to keep her feelings to herself, but she wasn’t sure how she’d be able to keep from showing her concern this time.

It was different now. Much more personal. She’d gotten even closer to Tate, and the thought of anything happening to him made her want to puke. She had a feeling she was being extra abrupt and short with anyone who tried to talk to her, but that was the only way she could keep a handle on herself.

Making her way to the top deck for last-minute inspections, Laryn purposely kept her distance from Tate and the others.

She was also getting to know his team on a more personal level, and that made watching them climb into their seats and fire up the engines harder, as well.

Knowing they were about to put themselves in danger, and thought doing so was fun , was extremely distressing.

But they were professionals, as was she.

As if she could feel Tate’s gaze upon her, she lifted her chin to look through the glass behind which he was sitting.

He gave her a small smile and a thumbs-up. With a shaky hand, she returned the gesture, praying harder than she ever had before that he’d return safe and sound.

The pilots started their engines and the rotor blades began to turn.

Then shit went sideways.

She could see Tate and Pyro having an intense conversation, complete with hand gestures. Then someone on the flight deck yelled her name and motioned for her to move closer to Tate’s chopper.

Frowning in concern, Laryn jogged over to the side of the machine. The man took off his headset and jammed it onto her head. Surprised—as that had never happened before—she heard Tate’s voice in her ears.

“Laryn? Are you there?”

“I’m here,” she said into the mic in front of her mouth.

“There’s a fucking light on. The FLIR. It’s flickering. Why is it fucking flickering?”

Laryn was shocked. The Forward-Looking Infrared light should definitely not be flickering. It was working perfectly both before and after their flight that morning. And they could not go on this night mission without it. It allowed the pilots to essentially see in the dark.

“Incoming intel from boots on the ground. They’re surrounded and need immediate extraction,” another voice said through the headset .

“Damn it! Laryn, can you fix this or not?”

She could. And she would.

Turning to the man hovering next to her, she gestured for him to put his hands together to make a step for her.

He looked confused but did as she ordered, and before she knew it, Laryn was inside the chopper.

She hurried toward where Tate and Pyro were sitting and threw herself between them, reaching for the panel that protected most of the switches and wires that connected the multimillion-dollar electrical equipment used on the chopper.

She frantically searched for any kind of loose connection, praying it was a simple fix and the team could be on their way.

“My FLIR is out as well,” Edge said through the headphones.

“Motherfucker,” Pyro swore.

“I’m good,” Buck added.

“Laryn?” Tate asked, amazingly sounding calmer than just a moment ago.

“There’s a loose wire. I’m going to wrap it with some tape. That should fix it.”

“Should?” a new voice asked through the headphones. “You have to go. Right now . If you don’t get out there, those SEALs are as good as dead.”

Laryn should’ve felt flustered or anxious. But her hands were steady as she reached into one of the pockets of her coveralls and pulled out a roll of electrical tape. She quickly wrapped the wire for the FLIR to another one to stabilize it. “Tate? Is it back?”

“Back,” he said, relief and satisfaction in his tone.

Laryn hurried to put the panel on and backed out from between the two men. She turned to leave, but Tate’s next words stopped her.

“It’s off again. Shit—no, it’s back. Fuck , what the hell is going on?”

“It’s go or no-go time,” the voice in her head said .

“Go!” Laryn impulsively yelled. She sat down in one of the seats in the back of the chopper and strapped herself in.

“Laryn, get out!” Tate ordered.

“You need me! If it goes out again, I can fix it,” she told him, confidence in every word.

“No! You are not coming with us into a hot zone!”

“We have to go…” Buck urged.

“I’m grounded,” Edge said.

“Fuck!” Tate swore again.

“Either take off now or you’re grounded too,” the voice said in her ear.

“Buck needs backup,” Pyro said, looking over at Tate.

“ Fuck ,” Tate growled one more time—then Laryn felt the chopper lurch as he began to rise in the air.

What the hell was she doing? Laryn wasn’t sure, but there was no way Tate and Pyro could fly without the FLIR working properly.

And if it went out again when they were in the air, they were in big trouble.

She couldn’t do a complete workup while the machine was in use, but if it was something as simple as a loose connection, or even a blown fuse, that she could easily deal with while on the move.

The man who’d been yelling at them to “go go go!” was giving coordinates through the headset and updating both teams of pilots—and her at the same time—on the condition of the SEALs on the ground.

It didn’t sound good. They’d been ambushed and were running low on ammunition.

It was going to be extremely dangerous to pick them up and not get shot down in the process.

Laryn understood that, but strangely, because she was watching Pyro and Tate work together to fly the MH-60 she’d spent so much time on, and hearing them communicate with Buck and Obi-Wan on how to approach the area, she felt much calmer than if she’d still been on the ship, waiting and hoping everything went all right .

From what she understood, Tate and Pyro were going to provide cover for Buck and Obi-Wan. The other chopper would land and pick up the SEALs. They’d hopefully be in the air before anyone on the ground could get close…or could use an RPG to disable either chopper.

The plan was risky, but the firepower from the MH-60 would hopefully convince the operatives on the ground to back off, that they were outgunned.

There was no chance to talk to Tate without anyone and everyone on the headset hearing, but he did turn around and gave her a long, intense stare Laryn couldn’t interpret. She thought she saw anger, but she also saw a hell of a lot of concern in his blue eyes.

She nodded at him, trying to tell him that she would remain right where she was.

That she would stay out of the way and only get up if something happened to the chopper.

But she wasn’t sure she was successful in conveying everything she wanted to say with a simple look.

She had a feeling Tate was going to have lots of words for her when they arrived back at the ship.

The back of the chopper was pitch black as they flew as fast as they could toward the coordinates where the SEALs would be waiting for extraction.

Laryn couldn’t see anything out the front of the chopper, and it wasn’t as if there was a window she could roll down.

Not that she’d be able to see anything anyway, as she doubted the mountains had many lights.

She trained her gaze on the instrument panel instead.

She couldn’t see all of the dash from where she was sitting, but she could see that damn FLIR indicator light.

And when it started flickering again, she saw the moment it happened.

She didn’t need Pyro’s tense “Casper” to bring her attention to it.