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Once Boomer was up onto the roof, he started after Strekoza, his night vision painting the shantytown in shades of green and black, but it was clear enough to see her sprinting across the precarious terrain just ahead of him.

Through his earpiece, he caught a faint burst of Strekoza’s breathing, followed by muffled gunfire echoing over the tin and plywood structures. Boomer pressed his back against the crumbling ledge and peeked through the dusty scope of his rifle. From his vantage point on the half-collapsed shack roof, he kept his sight on her in full flight—sprinting across a sagging corrugated rooftop about thirty yards away. In the flickering glow of a lone streetlamp, she looked deceptively slim. But he had seen that CIA operative in action before, and she was anything but fragile.

Gunfire erupted from the alley below. GQ was on the ground, picking off targets with crisp bursts from his M4. Through Boomer’s earpiece, GQ’s calm voice broke through. “Got two tangos behind the green shack, Boomer. They’re aiming for Strekoza’s flank.”

Boomer shifted position, leveling his rifle in the direction GQ mentioned. Two men in ragged clothing slunk into the open, trying to angle a shot at Strekoza. He squeezed the trigger. One shot, then another. They dropped behind a metal crate, no longer a threat. “Tangos down,” he muttered under his breath.

A shout from the rooftop snapped Boomer’s focus back to Strekoza. Two assailants had managed to corner her near a small cluster of tattered tarp canopies. She couldn’t get around them—so she went straight at them.

Damn, that woman never hesitated, and he rose and started after her. They needed to get out of this section of the town, get back to their teammates, and end this goat fuck.

Boomer watched her move with lethal grace, driving an elbow into one attacker’s throat while simultaneously hooking his wrist and slamming him onto the tin roof. His pistol clattered away. The second man lunged with a switchblade. Strekoza pivoted, letting the blade’s momentum slide past her torso, then cracked a sharp kick into his knee. He staggered. She finished him with a well-timed strike to the temple—an efficient, professional takedown, then she executed a headshot.

“She’s pinned by more on the right,” GQ called out, his breath ragged. He must have been sprinting through the alleys to keep up. “I’ll try to draw them off.”

Down below, muzzle flashes lit the cramped passageways as GQ fired at any hostile leaning over balconies to target Strekoza. The gunmen scattered. Some ducked into doorways, others returned wild shots that ricocheted off rusted metal.

Boomer sighted another figure creeping behind a busted water tower overhead—right above Strekoza’s position. The hostile was lining up a shot with a worn AK. Boomer’s heart thumped. If the assailant got a bead on her…

He exhaled, steadied his aim, and squeezed the trigger. One suppressed crack. The man toppled back, disappearing from sight, giving Strekoza an opening to move.

She glanced around, spotted Boomer, then signaled with a quick nod—acknowledgment that she was safe for the moment. Without missing a beat, she vaulted over a gap to the next roof, clearing the distance in a single bound. The metal beneath her groaned but held. Each time she landed, she kept that pistol leveled, scanning for the next threat.

Another burst of gunfire from below. GQ was drawing heat. “We got more hostiles flooding in from the north alley!” he barked. “Boomer, you good up top?”

“Still covering Strekoza,” Boomer replied, eyeing the silhouettes that flickered through his scope. Another target tried to climb onto the roof behind her. Two shots from Boomer, and the hostiles were down.

Strekoza’s voice crackled in his earpiece. “I’m heading north, the target’s this way.” She paused—probably checking her six. “Thanks for the assist, guys. Stay on comms!”

She broke into another sprint, bounding across overlapping sheets of dented tin that threatened to buckle under her weight. Boomer kept firing short bursts to discourage anyone from stepping into her path as he followed her. Meanwhile, GQ kept the side alleys in check, lighting them with muzzle flashes whenever a hostile popped up.

In less than a minute, Strekoza vanished around a makeshift chimney on a higher roof, pursuing their objective with single-minded determination. The night fell briefly still around Boomer, leaving only the echo of gunfire from somewhere deeper in the shantytown.

He took a breath, adjusted his position, and signaled GQ, “I’m shifting rooftops, going after her to keep overhead cover. You hold down below. Copy?”

“Copy,” came GQ’s reply, clipped but steady.

Boomer glanced once more at the two dead men Strekoza had left sprawled on the tin. Most of the threat was neutralized. Then he pushed onward, carefully crossing to the edge of the roof. From there, he had to figure a way over to Strekoza without plunging two stories to the broken pavement below.

The mission was still on a razor’s edge, but at least Strekoza was making headway—thanks to her own deadly skill, GQ’s cover below, and Boomer doing his best from above. They could only hope it was enough to secure her target before the entire shantytown rose against them.

He jumped the gap and finally caught up to her. She was standing on the edge of the roof transfixed by something in the distance. When he came alongside her, his breath caught, and he swore. He keyed his comm. “Ice, we’ve got a technical coming in. The HVT is heading toward some vehicles, but Hummingbird is coming up on him fast. If that fifty-cal monster intersects with her, she’s a goner.”

“Copy that. Haul ass to us. We’ll get her covered. Move!”

He looked at Strekoza who was already starting to climb rapidly down to GQ’s position while he covered them both. “Copy. We’re hauling ass.” They hit the ground running.

Skull rounded the corner of the narrow backstreet only steps behind Walker just in time to see her, Bones close on her heels, stopping and searching frantically. It looked like they had lost sight of their HVT in the maze of shanties. Skull could see her chest heaving with her ragged breathing, and the dog’s anxious panting as he scanned the chaotic streets.

He’d banked his anger for later. Now was not the time to let it cloud his judgment or derail this op. She had gone off the rails again, put them all into danger that Iceman would have mitigated if she had been patient and waited. She would need to be read the riot act when this was all over, if they survived.

Suddenly, the roar of an engine cut through the din. A battered sedan burst from around the corner, the HVT in the passenger seat, bodyguards crammed in the back firing at them through the open windows. Tires screeched as they tore away down the debris-strewn road. Without hesitation, Walker shouted an expletive and sprinted toward a parked motorcycle. Bones bounded alongside, tense with anticipation.

Skull watched as she swung a leg over the bike, revved the engine, relentless in her pursuit. She patted a space in front of her and Bones jumped up, draping himself across the engine. Her petite form looked too small for the big bike, but she gunned the throttle, tearing off after the fleeing HVT. Garbage and debris scattered under her tires. The woman was a menace, and even with his white-hot suppressed anger, he was grateful she was on their side.

The sedan fishtailed through the tight confines of the shantytown street, gravel spitting up in a shower behind the rear wheels. Hummingbird quickly disappeared down the street, weaving through a row of half-collapsed shacks after the fleeing sedan, both vehicles heading for the open road that led out of town.

A handful of yards behind her, Skull pressed a hand to his radio. Cursing under his breath, he activated his comm. “Ice, the target is on the move in a gray four-door sedan! Hummingbird’s in pursuit and has commandeered a bike.” His voice rasped over the line, breathless and urgent. “I’m going after them!”

He dashed to a second motorcycle, a dusty enduro model leaning against a graffiti-splashed wall near a ramshackle storefront. He was lucky to find a working machine in this mess of a community. Before he could even mount it, a technical—a pickup with a mounted machine gun—lurched out of a side alley, blocking the road. Skull glimpsed the barrel pivot toward him, eyes widening as muzzle flashes flickered. Ear-splitting, piping hot rounds chewed up the dirt at his feet, sending shards of broken pavement spinning into the air. “Contact!” Skull shouted into the comm as he dove behind a nearby metal trash container, heart thudding.

At the same moment, Ice barked, “Skull, find cover! We see them!”

Gunshots erupted further down the street as Iceman, Preacher, Kodiak, and Breakneck unleashed an assault on the technical. The mounted gunner swiveled the muzzle toward the threat, opened fire, peppering bullets across the asphalt. Plumes of smoke and dust formed a screen around the pickup, the machine gunner struggling to keep aim.

The firefight was deafening. Seizing the moment, Skull bolted toward the motorcycle. He vaulted into the saddle, taking off before he was fully balanced. Bullets pocked the ground and dinged off nearby scrap metal, but the tide of gunfire from his teammates kept the technical’s turret off him just enough to break clear.

“Moving now!” he shouted into the mic, the engine’s roar and the gunfire almost drowning out his voice.

“Cease fire,” Ice shouted as Skull shifted gears, navigating the narrow gap, ducking down to avoid the line of fire. Rubber squealed as he whipped around the truck’s flank. The bike sped past the pickup truck. He twisted the throttle, and the motorcycle’s engine snarled as he gained more speed, now fully stable on the leather seat. Concrete chipped at his heels, and shards of shattered pavement clattered against the bike’s frame.

In Skull’s earpiece, Iceman barked a rapid series of orders. Moments later, Boomer, GQ, and Strekoza emerged from behind a row of corrugated-metal stalls, letting loose precise bursts of suppressive fire, joining in the assault. The machine-gunner had no time to swivel his turret before a storm of 5.56 rounds ricocheted against the truck, killing the driver and causing the vehicle to swerve erratically.

The critically damaged technical roared behind him, but the team hammered it with relentless fire from their positions. With the driver dead and caught in a lethal crossfire, the truck jerked sideways and smashed into an abandoned cart. Flames licked around the hood as the SEALs closed in.

The last thing he heard behind him was an explosion of gunfire and the crashing metal of the disabled technical exploding.

Skull risked a glance over his shoulder, relieved to see the technical neutralized. Over the comms, he heard Iceman calling for extraction and air intervention against the sedan he and Walker were chasing.

There was no way he was going to lose this guy to a helicopter’s devastating rounds. Refocusing on the road, throttle to the max, he weaved between debris-littered streets. He caught a glimpse of Hummingbird’s motorcycle up ahead, tail light flickering in the haze of smoke and dust. The chase was on.

With the rest of the team beating feet out of town, Skull poured on the speed, determined to link up with Walker. If they didn’t stop that sedan soon, their HVT—and any hope of finishing this mission—would vanish into the winding sprawl of Bogotá’s outskirts, sealing Hazard and Leigh’s fate. And Skull wasn’t about to let that happen.

Free of immediate danger, Skull refocused on his true objective, joining Walker and Bones in the chase. He gunned the engine, weaving through narrow lanes slick with mud and debris, determined to catch up before the HVT disappeared altogether. The mission now hinged on whether he, Bones and Walker could close the distance on that battered sedan—and bring their target down before it was too late.

Walker revved the motorcycle’s engine, her knuckles white against the handlebars as she tore down the muddied street. Bones perched tensely in front of her, ears pinned back against the wind. What a freaking amazing animal. Their secret weapon in a water polo death match, fearless in guarding her and vicious in eliminating threat, his stamina and focus were off the charts.

Ahead, the battered sedan carrying Blade and his flunkies tried to make a run for it on the open road, but soon realized they couldn’t shake their pursuers. Veering off the highway, they headed back into the shantytown, weaving through rickety lanes, forcing early morning pedestrians and vendors to dive for cover. Every second counted. If the HVT vanished into the sprawl, their mission would unravel and that would be the end of Hazard and Leigh’s chances for survival.

A roar of another engine signaled Skull’s approach on a matching bike. He drew parallel with Walker, both of them keeping the sedan in sight despite the unpredictable traffic and cramped alleys. Over the comm, the voice of a pilot crackled.

“Inbound to your position. ETA one minute. Stand by for air support.” Ice’s call for a helicopter not only to provide overwatch but also to cut off any escape routes should the sedan break free of the shantytown was going to be a game changer.

A sharp turn loomed ahead, clogged with market stalls and piles of debris. The sedan fishtailed wildly, nearly clipping a fruit stand. Walker braked just enough to keep control, leaning her weight and guiding Bones to brace as they careened around the corner. Skull mirrored her maneuver from the other side, forcing the car onto a narrower route.

In the sky above, a sleek Blackhawk dropped into position, its rotors kicking up wind and loose trash. The pilot maneuvered skillfully between half-finished rooftops. Dust spiraled in the updraft, momentarily obscuring Walker’s vision. She squinted through the grit, heart pounding as the helicopter swooped low, searchlight flaring onto the sedan.

“Push them left!” Skull’s voice cut in over the comm. Together, he and Walker veered in closer, bullets sparking off their bike’s bumpers as the bodyguard in the passenger seat tried to ward them off with wild shots out the window. But the suppressed return fire from Walker—precise, minimal—kept the gunman ducking for cover.

The helicopter pilot capitalized on their herding tactics, swinging overhead to block the intersection up ahead. Its bright spotlight froze the sedan’s path. With nowhere to go, the driver slammed on the brakes, skidding sideways, Blade and the bodyguards inside thrown into disarray.

Walker seized the moment as she slid the motorcycle to a halt. Skull roared up next to her, dismounting and training his M4 on the sedan’s driver. One shot and he was out of the picture.

Skull uttered one word, and Bones leaped off the bike with a guttural snarl, making a beeline for the open back window. With a hard push off his hind legs, he soared through the open frame in a blur of fur and teeth. Shouts and curses erupted from inside as the dog snapped and bit the hostiles in the back seat.

Walker ducked around the trunk, pistol raised, killing one bodyguard who tried to scramble out to get away from the lethal dog, dropping him before he could react. Another guard stumbled from the passenger side, and Skull’s steady aim took him out.

Inside the car, Bones held the struggling HVT in a fierce grip, teeth bared, and muzzle stained with adrenaline-slicked saliva. The dog’s low growl kept the prisoner from risking any sudden moves. Skull opened the back door carefully, voice steady. “Let go, Bones.” At his command, the Malinois released his hold, but remained poised to strike again if the man resisted.

Behind them gunfire erupted, and they both turned to face three armed men. A growl, and a yelp of pain tore through the chaotic noise as Skull’s teammates and Strekoza showed up to help with the hostile gunmen. Blade, a bloodied knife in his hand and panic etched on his face, suddenly lurched out the door. He hit the ground hard, knees scraping the dirt, but scrambled to his feet, desperate to escape.

He sprinted a few yards, darting past piled debris and empty crates in the makeshift street. But Bones was faster. Powerful hind legs propelled the dog over a heap of twisted scrap metal, jaws bared as he closed the distance.

Walker’s heart thudded as she watched him collide with Blade’s fleeing form. Bones’ momentum slammed the target off balance, sending him tumbling face-first into the dirt. The man let out a sharp cry, ending in a wheezing gasp as Bones pinned him with solid paws on his shoulders, snarling and snapping close enough for the captive to feel hot breath on his neck.

She and Skull rushed forward, weapons at the ready in case the HVT tried anything desperate. But the man lay rigid, eyes wide in terror, not daring to move with Bones’ teeth flashing inches from his throat. Hummingbird lowered her weapon slightly. “Good boy,” she murmured, stepping to the side to ensure no threats were lurking behind. Bones rumbled a low growl in response, never taking his gaze off the prisoner.

With the HVT immobilized, Walker swiftly checked for remaining threats. The car’s driver was slumped against the steering wheel, while the other dead guards were scattered around the vehicle. Satisfied, she slid her weapon into its holster.

“Easy, Bones,” Skull commanded in a clipped, steady tone, bleeding from a gash on his neck. Skull’s eyes narrowed, and he stared at Blade with a cold look that had the man cringing away.

The dog eased its snapping jaws, maintaining just enough pressure on the man’s back to keep him plastered to the ground. Finally, Walker grabbed the HVT’s wrists, cuffing them as Bones released his hold and jumped off the man. Blade whimpered, eyes darting around, but he was going nowhere.

Walker stood, rolling her shoulders. The tension in the air crackled like static, and Bones glanced up at her as if seeking approval. She offered a quick pat to the dog’s flank, her pulse still racing. They had the HVT back under control—and with him, the critical intel they needed to bring their people home. Overhead, the helicopter circled, rotors howling, ensuring no more threats were closing in.

A moment later, the side door of the helicopter slid open as it descended onto a cleared patch of road. Dust billowed everywhere. Walker and Skull half-dragged, half-forced the HVT toward the aircraft, ducking the spinning rotors and choking on dust. Bones followed on their heels, still on high alert. When they reached the chopper, they shoved their dazed prisoner inside.

The rotors revved, lifting the helicopter into the smoky sky. Down below, the battered sedan and its dead occupants remained, no longer a threat. Skull, the team, Strekoza, and a vigilant Bones climbed into the chopper one by one. Walker’s heart hammered as she strapped into a seat. She glanced at Skull, then at Bones, who settled obediently at his feet. Kodiak was seeing to the cut, cleaning it and after delivering painkiller with an injection, stitched him up.

Skull’s fierce, proud gaze was on the animal, his hand deep in his fur, and it hit Walker that it must have taken all his willpower to send the dog ahead to catch up with her without him. Suddenly, guilt washed through her. She had been single-minded in chasing down Blade, but that was her job, the directive Anna had given her. Don’t come back here without him.

They had the HVT—alive. All of them had made it. She looked at Strekoza and smiled. Thank God she was all right. Her gaze went to Boomer and GQ, grateful for their intervention in saving her partner. They nodded at her, GQ’s expression subdued, his jaw clenched. She was sure he was thinking about the next steps, and now that this mission was complete, he had to, once again, rely on the CIA to do their job. But in those deep blue eyes was his respect and admiration for her relentless pursuit and final takedown of Blade. She was beaten and bruised, nicked and cut, some of them still bleeding, but none of that pain could tamp down her triumph at getting one step closer to a rescue.

Their next steps were to finally extract the intel needed to find their missing people. As the helicopter banked, the distant sprawl of Bogotá glimmered in the early morning light, and Walker allowed herself a rare moment of relief.

In minutes, they would be on the landing pad at their base, one giant step closer to bringing everyone home safely—and that, for now, was victory enough.

That good feeling was short-lived. As she exited the chopper and two Marines took control of Blade, she entered the dimly lit corridor. Before she could head to the armory to drop her weapons, deciding it was best to clean them before she went to the debrief, Skull grabbed her arm and spun her around.

“What the fuck did you think you were doing?” The team assembled behind him, Iceman’s cold look freezing her. Oh, damn, she was in trouble.

Suddenly she was faced with a livid Skull, and a pissed off team, the tension in these alpha males couldn’t help but radiate out into the here and now. Those vibes could never be contained. It was just a part of who they were. She looked down at Bones, and her heart caught in her throat. He was a well-trained, fearless canine hero, and the blood matted in his fur shot it home to her what could have happened as a result of her single-minded decision.

She folded her arms across her chest, her heart jumping into a hard beat. The stance made her feel smaller than usual. A single flickering bulb overhead cast elongated shadows across the concrete walls. “My job,” she said, her chin lifting, not about to be taken to task for doing what Uncle Sam paid her for. “I don’t need permission for that.”

He blew out a hard breath. “You’re wrong, and you know you are. Anna knows that Ice is in charge, especially when we have civilian operators join our team.” He turned and pointed. “You see that man behind us? He’s our leader.” He stepped closer. “He’s your leader in anything to do with this fucking complicated, emotionally overcharged, and dangerous mission.” He pointed again, his tone exact and emphasizing the importance of his words. “ He gives the orders, and we follow them. He has tactical expertise, assesses a situation, and makes a decision, then he issues his orders. I didn’t hear him tell you two to recklessly go after the HVT…fucking alone!” His tone was harsh, laced with both anger and genuine concern. The slight tremor in his hand indicated he was still coming down from the adrenaline spike that always accompanied near-catastrophe.

He closed the distance, his gruff voice cut through her momentary silence. “Do you realize what could’ve happened if we hadn’t found you in time?”

Walker took a step back, instinctively wanting to maintain personal space. She felt the immediate pull of her instincts—her mind kicked into analytical overdrive, cataloging the emotional cues on Skull’s face, the tightness in his shoulders, the flicker of protective fury in his eyes. A part of her wanted to dissect his anger logically, to slide into a cool defense. I did what needed to be done. This was the best opening. Yet the personal intensity rattled her. She knew, on some level, this confrontation wasn’t just about the mission.He cared and that made it harder to keep him at arm’s length.

She cleared her throat, gaze flicking first to Eva, who had deep remorse on her face, but that girl would follow her through the gates of hell without a thought for her own safety, and that made Walker feel the effects of her actions keenly, then to the men behind her partner. All these courageous warriors who had risked their lives for them, risked their lives every day for strangers.

“I…was focused on the target,” she said at last, her voice measured, almost too calm. Inside, she braced herself, feeling the swirl of guilt and a twinge of vulnerability. Skull was always fierce and direct. She liked that about him immensely. She’d witnessed him in combat enough times to recognize that his anger often stemmed from his protective instincts. A complicated heat rose in her chest—part defensiveness, part something more personal she couldn’t quite name.

Skull ran a hand through his thick hair, exhaling sharply. “That’s not the point. You can’t just run off without backup. You have no idea how close you came to—” He broke off, anger catching in his throat. The frustration on his face mingled with relief that she stood there, unscathed. “Next time, you wait for Ice’s orders. We do this together. Got it?”

She drew a steadying breath, resisting the urge to retreat behind the intellectual wall that told her to keep every emotion meticulously in check. Her heart hammered as she tried to explain herself. “I saw an opening and took it. I’m not used to…depending on others.” Her voice faltered ever so slightly, and she hated the exposed feeling that accompanied the admission.

For a moment, the corridor fell silent aside from the steady hum of the overhead light. Strekoza and the team moved past her. “We’ll discuss this more in debrief,” Ice said as he passed, his gaze sliding to Skull. “Get yourselves cleaned up and some grub.”

After they disappeared around the corner, Skull stepped closer, his posture softening enough that she could sense the concern behind the anger. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said, quieter now, but still firm. The words kindled a strange mixture of discomfort and warmth within her. Letting others in threatened her fiercely guarded independence—yet it also promised a kind of safety she’d almost forgotten was possible.

Their gazes locked, tension thick between them. Hummingbird swallowed, reminding herself that raw emotion didn’t negate her competence—nor did it erase the simple truth that sometimes, other people showed up. Standing there, pinned by Skull’s protective glare and feeling her own guarded heart thudding in her chest, she nodded. She might not verbally concede to needing anyone’s help, but in that moment, she allowed herself to acknowledge he’d been there for her—and that she’d been wrong to assume she couldn’t rely on him.

The overhead light flickered again, and Walker shifted her weight, pulling her arms around herself more tightly. “Next time,” she said, forcing the hint of a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll wait.” And as Skull’s tense expression began to ease, she realized that, for the first time in a very long while, she might not have to shoulder every risk on her own. And even though she knew that intellectually, it still terrified the crap out of her.

Her flirtatious banter and light-hearted humor were morphing into something more, something intense, something deeply personal, she wasn’t sure how she was going to handle it—or him.