Page 11 of Luck Be Mine (The Defenders #3)

Eastern Syria Desert

Hunt slipped into his standard focus for the two-hour flight and reviewed mission parameters looking for holes in their strategy.

He found none. Insertion: night-time air drop.

Their objective: a crumbling stone compound built into a ravine in eastern Syria near Deir ez-Zor.

The area was littered with smuggling routes, terror cells, and mobile training camps.

Intel: current, so actionable, but risky.

Mission: intercept a high-value courier, confiscate his laptop with vital intelligence, and disrupt a localized insurgent network wreaking havoc in Iraq.

If the laptop was gone, the mission would be a failure.

Hunt internally ran through his gear and his physical readiness.

He’d inserted this way into Syria before, so the method was familiar.

But this was his first mission since Cait’s injury three months ago, and he expected to struggle a bit even though he’d trained hard to reestablish his mission capabilities.

His emotions zoned to grayscale immediately on entering the helicopter, and, with a bit of relief, he bypassed all his personal uncertainties and dismissed the jarring differences as to be expected. It was a lie he could live with because this job he knew.

The outing only required four team members, so half were left at the airbase as backup. For this round, Hernandez, Tommy, and Baxter were along for the ride.

“LZ in 60 seconds, gentleman.” The pilot’s voice sounded sharply in his ear.

“Copy.” Hunt checked the other three men.

Tommy grinned. “We’re ready, LT.”

“In and grab and back out. Clear?”

Bax gave him a thumbs up. Hernandez’s face stayed blank. His usual.

Descent was subtle. The landing soft. The rotor wash churned grit that tumbled across the sand like beads from a broken necklace.

First out man, Baxter opened the door. Hunt dropped his NVGs over his eyes and followed. In seconds, they were moving away from the landing area.

“Clear,” Hunt spoke in his mic to the pilot.

“Good hunting. We’ll see you on the flip side.” The pilot wasted no time lifting the bird back into the air and vanishing into the night, taking their safety net with them.

Deep silence. A klick out from the target. Only wind, sand, and twinkling stars kept them company. Their walk was measured, attention absolute.

They approached in the shadows of a ravine. Satellite confirmed the area was clear except for movement in the house. Hernandez studied the layout with his binoculars. Hunt didn’t need the man’s assessment, though.

Single-level stone structure made things easier, two or three rooms at most. The front door was reinforced wood with a small, barred window.

The one light bulb at the front entry only spread light so far.

He signaled for Tommy to make his way around the back to cover any exit.

Hernandez stayed put to protect their six.

Baxter needed no direction to prep the charge for the front door. Hunt signaled, and they moved in. Like clockwork, Baxter planted the explosive and stepped back. Hunt counted in his head. Three, two, one. The flash and boom of the device blew down the door.

They were in.

A man dressed in black froze in the front area, then turned to flee out the back exit. He pulled open the door. Tommy popped him in the face, knocked him unconscious, flipped him, and zip tied his hands and feet.

Loud Arabic cries sounded behind another closed, locked door. The entry room was a bare hovel with a table and little else. Except a small child’s shoes by the firepit.

Not another kid. Christ.

Baxter moved to open the other door, and Hunt slid into position to have his back. Tommy stayed in place at the rear exit.

The door breach went as efficiently as the first. Bingo. Target acquired. Groggy, sitting on the edge of the bed, the man struggled with his shoes. The laptop sat blinking beside him.

Baxter moved in one fluid motion to knock him unconscious and zip tie his hands and feet. Hunt grabbed the laptop, studied the information on the screen, slammed the lid, and tucked it into a protective sleeve retrieved from his pocket. “This is it.”

Baxter dumped the man to the floor and flipped the mattress.

He rose grinning – a SAT phone and a hard drive in his hands.

He pointed at the wall. Hunt took one look at the maps and pulled his phone.

He took the necessary minutes to take a full set of clear pictures.

Packing everything into a go bag took mere seconds.

After a final search through the house, they left the two men by the table in the front room and propped the door to close the gap. Sixteen minutes and four seconds total, and they were nothing but shadows along the wall of the ravine heading back the way they’d come.

But Hunt’s brain stuck on the kid’s shoes. Vivid blue and dirty shoelaces suggested things that turned his stomach.

An engine sounded in the distance. The noise could have carried for miles. Hernandez, covering the rear, lifted his binoculars. Tommy swung his weapon in the same direction and sited with his scope. “Pickup.”

“Agreed.” Hernandez slapped his night-vision binoculars back into his gear.

Hunt froze. Déjà vu . Yet there was nothing to be done. “Don’t engage unless they fire. Let’s get to the chopper.”

They accelerated their pace and seven minutes later they were greeted at the original LZ with the landing Chinook. No blood. No fuss.

Fast entry, door slid closed. The night stayed silent in their victory.

§§§§§§§§§§

? Moving Time and Old Friends ?

Cait sat cushioned in the recliner while all around her activity buzzed.

To survive a move without Hunt, Adele helped her pick a company who would pack and load.

Two men had arrived and were efficiently dismantling their lives.

March’s Friday the thirteenth date pricked her sensibilities, but superstition wouldn’t help.

While the crew worked in the kitchen, Master Chief Buckner had a group of Navy SEALS in training, or tadpoles as the teams called them, helping him inventory.

They would move the weapons, gun safe, and all Hunt’s diving and Navy equipment.

The buzz of activity, the getting in and out of the chair, the chronic pain, and the decisions frazzled her nerves and dismantled her faith in her getting-stronger self.

All because she whined about the stairs.

“Knock, knock.” A rap on their wood door echoed with the words.

She eased around in the chair. Quaid Daniels stood in the doorway.

His gray tailored suit fit to perfection, and his blond hair was expertly styled.

With a deep tan and muscles in all the right places, he more than earned his playboy status.

No one would suspect the sham. He gave her a genuine smile. “You are a sight for grateful eyes.”

She struggled out of her chair, fussing over her athletic pants and t-shirt while running her good hand through her shorter hair. “Get in here. Where have you been?” She kept a hand on the recliner and waited.

He walked to her and swept her into a hug. “With grandfather. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I’m hanging on. Hunt has me.”

Quaid had been on the team during the humanitarian mission to the mountains in Afghanistan and had been shot during the trek.

He’d also been at the hospital in Germany and helped manage her injuries, had agreed to be best man at their wedding, and flew them back to San Diego.

Without him and his grandfather – hotel magnate Zephren Patton – their journey through her injuries would have been much more difficult.

He held for long moments then pulled away. “Look at you! You’re all better.”

“I’m not all better, yet.” She eased herself back into the seat.

“Everything okay?” He loosened his jacket, gave the red sofa a wide-eyed glance, and opted to move a chair sitting by the door.

She waited until he’d settled beside her to answer. “Yes, Hunt is out at the moment, but we’re moving to a ground floor apartment at the other end of the complex.”

“Helpful, right?”

“Yes, it’s the whole idea. Plus, the place is bigger.”

“Good, good.” Quaid looked around. “That is one sorry red sofa.”

“It was Doogie’s. He donated it.”

Quaid raised a brow. “Okay. I’m not gonna ask what the hell he was doing with it.”

Adele approached with a harassed smile. “Another person familiar with my son’s tastes?”

Cait grinned. “Adele, this is Quaid Daniels. We were in Afghanistan together. Quaid, this is Adele Dugan, Doogie’s mother.”

Quaid rose and offered a hand. “It is a pleasure, Mrs. Dugan. I am unacquainted with this side of your son and happy to stay there.” He pointed at the statement piece and smirked.

Cait shifted her arm to rest her numb hand at her waist. “I feel sorry for it. Nobody loves it.”

Adele patted her shoulder. “It’s all right, honey. The knock on your head skewed your thoughts. Give it a few more days.”

Cait lifted a brow and stifled a laugh. “Jokers. All you people.”

Quaid laughed. “It’s a make-out sofa, Cait. Let’s call a spade a spade. Search the cushions. There is probably lingerie buried in there.”

Cait choked on a snort.

Adele pointed at him. “Truth. But let’s stay off the subject. Son is grown and doesn’t need his mother’s input.”

Straight-faced, Cait stared directly at Quaid. “I offer it as a place to sleep if you get in a bad spot.”

Quaid’s eyes widened. “Uh, my grandfather owns hotels. A lot of them. But I appreciate the thought.” He offered his chair to Adele.

She shook her head and motioned for him to sit. “They’re almost finished and ready to load. Master Chief is prepped to move everything. I’m going to show him the new apartment. Are you sure you want all Hunt’s things in the second bedroom?”

“Yeah, it’s going to be Hunt’s workroom. I’ll let him sort it all out when he gets home.”

“I’ll take the keys and get this show on the road.” She bent and kissed Cait’s forehead.