by Angel Payne
“Three minutes,” Ava said on a sob.
Ethan wasn’t surprised when the most composed voice in the crowd came from the kneeling man in front of them. “Well, we have a couple of options.” Nichols raised his steady gray gaze. “I stay locked to this thing, which launches the missiles and kills millions across six states.”
Colton crouched in front of the president. “With all due respect, sir, removing the football isn’t an option, either. If you’re blown up at the hands of maniacal terrorists, Lor still gets his way. Fear and insecurity will balloon into distrust and paranoia. The country will still implode from the inside out.”
Nichols scowled but nodded. “I reluctantly agree.” He dragged in a long breath to precede his next assertion. “So we can do this another way.”
Colton tilted his head. “Sir?”
Nichols firmed his jaw. As soon as he did, the answer nearly wrote itself for Ethan across the rest of the man’s face. The stony set of his mouth, the harsh hollows of his cheeks, the resigned terror in his eyes…
“Awww, shit,” Ethan muttered. When Nichols looked up to him, the color draining from his face in confirmation, the oath spilled out again.
Franzen sprang toward Ava. “Bolt cutters. Sheez, why didn’t I think—” He clutched Ava by the shoulders. “They have bolt cutters for all kinds of stuff here, right, hon? Where can we find them?”
“Engineering,” she answered. “They’re next to the Wardrobe department.”
Franzen looked to Rebel. “Moonstormer, you’re our fastest runner. Go now!”
“Strike that,” Nichols countermanded. “There’s not enough time.”
Ethan pivoted toward his captain, starting to unbutton his jacket with its fresh sergeant stripe now added. His every movement was defined by the eerie calm he now felt. The surety of knowing his choice was completely right and that his commander-in-chief had his six on it. “He’s shooting true on this one, Franz.” He looked from his leader to his battalion mates. “Somebody’s packing a Bowie knife, right?”
As if choreographed, they all dropped their jaws and narrowed their eyes. “Runway, what the fuck are you—”
“He’s going to take the goddamn hand.” Nichols channeled the God boom better than Colton. “Now one of you highly trained warriors has to grow a pair fast and give him the damn knife. We have a minute and a half!”
Kellan, who’d come downstairs after Luna took out Lor, stepped forward and unsheathed his knife. He quietly locked his stare to Ethan’s as he pushed the weapon into his grip. “Don’t hesitate once you know it’s right. And follow through to the end.”
Ethan gave him a brief nod. As he did, Ava and Luna hurried forward. “We’re going to be your OR nurses.” Ava didn’t phrase it as a question. “Luna’s the best thing we have for medical staff right now because she studied anatomy in her art classes.”
He arched a questioning brow at her. “And you…?”
“Refuse to let you go through this alone.”
He let the brow fall. Stared at her with intensity. “In my mind, I’m ramming my tongue down your throat right now.”
Ava’s gaze, strong and bold, and beautiful as the woman behind it, glistened for just a moment. “I love you too.”
Chapter Twenty–Four
It was worse than she’d thought it would be. Much worse.
By the time the three of them rushed over to President Nichols, only forty-five seconds remained on the launch clock. It was barely enough time for Ethan to mumble an apology, try to angle the man’s hand for a clean cut, and then let out a battle cry to power him through the massive slice.
Until the day Ava died, she’d never forget the sound of Craig Nichols’s agonized scream.
Until hell froze over, she wouldn’t feel this sick again. Probably not even then.
“Ava. Ava!”
Luna’s command drilled into her brain, jarring her back. She gawked at the woman’s blood-spattered face. How the hell did Luna keep her shit together like this? And was she willing to share the training video?
“Wh-What’s up?” she managed.
Luna shoved something into her hands. It was warm, wet, and wrapped in a big cloth. “Take this over there and give it to Franzen. Walk carefully. The cops are here, and he had them call for an ambulance. Tell him that Ethan’s working on stabilizing the president as best as he can and—”
“Ay dios mio!”
Luna had given her the president’s hand. It looked powerful, stately. A circle of patterned gold was still lodged on the ring finger.
She made sure to follow the woman’s order to the letter. “Walk carefully,” she muttered. “Walk carefully. Walk carefully.”
Seeing Franzen stomp back in was almost as good as the moment Luna had cleared the bees from her side. “Ava,” he boomed, “the paramedics and ambulance are here.”
“As Ethan would say,” she said with a dark laugh, “thank fuck.”
After gratefully letting the paramedics take possession of President Nichols’s hand, she followed Franzen back toward the set. Along the way, they ran into Tait and Ethan. She rushed to her sergeant, needing to feel him against her like the magnet who matched her poles. His arms engulfed her, one hand clamped to the back of her head, his face pressed into her neck. “Is the president going to be okay?”
“I’d lay a certain bet on it.” His baritone, filled with the same steady strength as his massive arms, made her feel even more locked into him. More completed by him.
She tugged away so she could take in his incredible cobalt eyes. They were surrounded by blood smears, sweat streaks, and grooves of exhaustion, but they’d never been more stunning to her. Or more brilliant with the soul she wanted to take care of for the rest of their lives.
“Ethan,” she whispered, “I love you so much.”
He kissed her tenderly. “As I’ve loved you since the second I laid eyes on you.”
“Egghhh.” Tait’s open sarcasm was delivered with a smirk. “You two want to wait until everyone here can eat at that table?” He peered around. “Where the hell is Luna, anyhow?”
As if cued to be the answer to his question, all hell broke loose.
Ava joined her gasp to Ethan’s bite on the F-word as the paramedics bolted from the set as fast as they’d stormed toward it. This time they had the president on a rolling stretcher—and raw panic in their eyes.
“Everybody clear out!” they yelled. “Clear out; clear out!”
“What the hell?” Tait snapped before jogging toward the set. Though the paramedics’ reaction made her blood pulse with fear, Ava let Ethan tug her along as he followed his friend.
They skidded to a stop when they saw Luna again. Though her back was to them, everything seemed completely normal. She seemed completely normal. But that was the problem. Luna and “normal” were a kinkster and a minister. A match meant for fiasco.
Tait had obviously gotten that memo too. He walked toward her, reaching for her. “Luna? Hey, flower? What’s going—”
She cut him off by finally turning around.
With the missile-launch unit in her hand.
“I had to.” Her voice shook as she stared at Tait, who’d instinctively backed up at seeing what was now a live bomb in her grip. “I’m sorry, Weasley. I had to.”
“What?” Tait almost snarled it. Ava shook and squeezed her hand harder to Ethan’s, unable to blame the guy for his horrified shock. “Why? Why the fuck, Luna?”
“A-After Ethan got Nichols d-disconnected…nobody watched the hand pad anymore. We all figured it was over, right?” The woman’s classic features crumpled in grief. She shook her head “It wasn’t. The…the pad…”
Ethan prompted her, “What about the pad?”
“It…it must’ve been because Nichols’s hand was on it for so long. It k-kept a heat signature.”
“Oh, God!” Ava cried. “It kept the launch timer going.”
The tension drained from Tait’s jaw. He looked back to Luna with his ch
est pumping hard, reading her intent a full two seconds before Ava and Ethan did. “Give it to me, Luna.”
The woman backed away, every move replete with feline grace though she visibly trembled. “No.”
“Luna!” Tait matched her every step. “I’m not going to let you do this!”
“Yes, you are.” As she nodded, the set lights played along the salty tracks that poured from her eyes. “You’re going to let me because you’re a good man, Tait Bommer. You fly into danger every day to protect your country. You take care of the bad guys, and you teach the good ones how to make their countries better. You do good things. And I’m…I’m…”
“Luna! Stop!”
“I’m just…crazy Luna. Lost, crazy Luna.” She finished it with a tight sob. When she turned her gaze back up, her eyes were rimmed in the red of her sorrow and the mushy kohl of her makeup. “But for a while, you made me believe I could be good too. And now I’m going to live up to that. For you. And for me too. I’m going to do good, Tait. I want to do good.”
“No! No!”
“I love you, Weasley.”
Tait tore after her as she turned and ran into the shadows. Ethan caught his friend in half of a desperate chokehold. “T-Bomb, what the fuck are you—”
“Let me go. I swear to God, Archer, I’ll shoot your arm off if you don’t!”
“Tait? Shit!”
“Go. Get out of here. Get the hell off me, take Ava and go, damn you!”
With a vicious roar, Ethan granted his teammate’s wish. Ava struggled to swipe the tears off her face in order to watch where she ran as Ethan snatched her by the hand and tugged her the other way.
He heaved the door open and dragged her out into the controlled pandemonium that now reigned over the back lot. It was a sea of emergency vehicles, Secret Service personnel, and studio security. Before Ava joined him in waving everyone back from the building, she swore she heard a bellow that filled every corner of the soundstage with its horror and anguish.
“Luna!”
Seconds later, a deafening boom rocked the air—and all she heard for a long while was the stunned ringing of her ears.
Chapter Twenty–Five
“Sergeant Archer! Over here! Over here, please. Just one more shot. Ms. Chestain, can you get him to look back over here? We’re from People. We want this one for the cover. Good. Good! Yeah, make this the money shot!”
The money shot?
Ethan couldn’t take it anymore. With a polite but brusque wave, he turned and ran up the steps past the two marines standing sentry at the door of Air Force One. Thankfully, Ava followed him. A hostess welcomed him on behalf of President Nichols and then led him into a swanky conference room surrounded by cushy leather chairs, four of which were occupied by Franzen, Rhett, Rebel, and Kellan. The table was already set with five huge trays of assorted food, everything from fried chicken, gourmet pizza, and chili fries to assorted cupcakes and cheesecake slices.
Ethan ran an admiring gaze over the dining choices. The spread looked amazing. But the best thing about this space was how it cut the din of the press throng to nearly nothing. Thank fuck.
“Hey there, Runway.” Franz cracked a grin that split his tanned cheeks, lifting a bottle of something that looked dark, imported, and cold. “Nice of you to wave goodbye to your groupies and join us for the special shuttle home, courtesy of your new buddy.”
He leaned forward. “No, no, no, Captain. I’m Runway, not Zsycho. He’s the one with the groupies, remember?”
Rhett snickered. “Groupies, yes. But President Nichols on speed dial and a ride in Big Bird One?” He waggled both pointer fingers across the table, a hipster in Class As. “It’s all you, baby. It’s all you.”
Ethan cringed. “Is that your New York side talking, your London side talking, or your dork-on-a-stick side talking?” He peered around. “Speaking of the big groupie magnet, where the hell is he?”
“Z took a few extra days of leave,” Franz explained. “He and Rayna decided to stay so they can help Sage and Garrett with little Racer Joseph during the drive back up the coast.”
Rhett snorted. “Racer Hawkins. That fits, considering the kid’s rush to get here.”
Franzen took another swig on his beer and came out of the quaff more somber. “He was still big as a house. Looks just like Garrett too. Guess the kid just knew his mama needed him around. We really didn’t know if Hawk was going to pull through.”
“Thank God he did.” The soft murmur came from the woman who sat next to him. Ava was more gorgeous today than he ever remembered, her lush curls falling over a little black sweater that covered the top of a white sundress with a full skirt, with the curves of her legs shown off by a classy pair of black patent pumps. But her beauty was about more than her wardrobe. It began in the satiny glow of her skin, shined from her entrancing eyes, captivated him in every inch of her joyous smile and especially the sweet words that spilled from it.
After they took off from LAX, he accepted a glass of Scotch from the flight attendant and made sure Ava had some light wine and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes. It had been three days since the insanity at the soundstage. Sometimes it felt like only three minutes, sometimes three years—especially when he relented and gave an interview, only to be hounded by the journalist to give up details about the episode that had been ordered as classified. No, he couldn’t talk about the terrorists or what they’d wanted. No, he couldn’t talk about who’d been killed or how. Yes, he really did cut off the president’s hand to save his life. Yes, Bella Lanza was really that gorgeous in real life. Not quite the truth? Maybe some bubbles were best left unbroken.
Yeah…life needed a few more bubbles, period. If the last ten days had illuminated a lesson for him on top of schmoozing with Hollywood’s elite, spending an unforgettable day with the president, and hitching a ride home on Air Force One, it was that life, and love, are made up of bubbles—precious pieces of beauty too often popped in the name of something as stupid as pride, fear, prejudice…or emotional baggage. Bubbles needed to be cherished. Bubbles needed to be defended, guarded, and fought for with all the valiance in a guy’s soul, all the love in his heart.
Rebel’s soft bayou twang tugged at the edges of Ethan’s reverie.
“Franz? Did you get an update about T-Bomb too?”
Their captain’s features tightened from serious to grim. “Hospital’s keeping him for a while longer. The fucker refuses to stay in bed. He sneaks to Luna’s side every chance he can get. They’re still amazed he walked away from the blast with just a snapped collarbone and a shit ton of bruises. Runway, you probably saved his life by trying to pull him back. Those few seconds made the difference.”
“Psshh.” Rhett loaded his plate with another slice of pizza. “First the president, then T-Bomb. Do we have to get him a cape and a magic ring now?”
Ethan glared. “Stuff that pie into your hole before I give you something else for it.”
“In your dreams, pretty boy.”
“And Luna?” Rhett asked after giving them both a dismissive eye roll. “How’s she doing?”
Franz gave him a look that declared the answer wouldn’t be pretty. “No change. The blast fucked her up something fierce. The docs won’t bring her out of the medically induced coma yet. They’re hopeful her brain and body will heal from the rest. She’s a fighter, and all the signs are there that she’ll pull through, but there just won’t be a definitive answer for another few days. As we speak, Tait’s brother is flying to LA so he won’t be alone in all this.”
“Shay’s a good man,” Kellan commented. “Is he still with the seventh, out of Florida?”
Franz nodded. “Good memory. But you know how deep into the shit they still are overseas. Took them a while to find them, even longer to procure the right paperwork for his leave.”
Ethan quietly excused himself, making a beeline for the little hallway that led, if he remembered right, to the president’s senior staffers’ meeting room. As always
, the talk about Tait made him restless. Both he and T-Bomb had been the fucking lucky ones during the insanity in LA, each finding the woman who perfectly snagged their heart. He still couldn’t accept the monkey wrench fate had decided to hurl at Tait and Luna on the way to their happy ending. On the other hand, he knew few soldiers who had stronger spirits than Tait Bommer. If anyone could fight for Luna like this and win, it would be him.
“Damn,” he muttered. The staffers’ room was even nicer than the dining room. The couches were leather, the cup holders were backlit, and there was a huge flat screen on the wall.
“Sergeant Archer?” The flight attendant appeared in the doorway carrying more beers and a plate full of jalapeño poppers. Sheez. Hadn’t someone told the woman this flight was only two and a half hours long? “Is there something I can help you with?”
“Sorry,” he mumbled. “Just feeling restless.” Her kind brown eyes and understanding smile gave him a surge of boldness. “Hey, is the president up and about?” He guessed that was how they said it in the rarified air of the Oval Office, even if it was airborne right now.
“Well, he is,” she answered slowly, “but the doctors have only cleared him for six hours of work a day while his hand heals. He’s lucky they were able to reattach it, and he needs to take it easy.” She laughed a little. “The conference call he’s on right now will officially push him into seven, meaning I’m gonna have to get on my bitch broom.”
“Not that,” Ethan teased. He spread his hands. “No worries. And…sorry. I wasn’t snooping. Just—”
“Restless,” she finished amiably. “I get it. My husband’s on a SWAT team in DC. He gets like this after a shitty op, and he’s never had to cut off the president’s hand before.”
On his way back to the dining room, Ethan concluded that Mr. SWAT Team Husband was a seriously lucky man.
The next second, he counted himself even luckier.
As he walked past the women’s bathroom, he heard soft singing. In Spanish. He felt a smile curling his lips as he braced his hands to either side of the doorway. Without another word, he patiently waited.