“You realize we have terrorists chasing after us, don’t you?”
“I know, but you can lose them. We can make it to a hospital.”
“It’s not safe, Tara.”
“None of this is safe,” I said. “Mason isn’t safe out there and he isn’t safe if we don’t go.”
Emory sighed, looking away. “I don’t want either of you to suffer.”
“Then let’s go.”
He looked back at me and then touched Mason’s forehead. “Another hour. If he’s still bad in an hour, we’ll go.”
I stared back at him. “Fine. One hour.”
I turned and walked back upstairs.
Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped like that. Maybe this was the wrong decision to make. But I couldn’t live with myself if Mason had something really wrong with him and I’d done nothing to help. I understood that men were after us. I’d seen their dead bodies. I’d seen the violence and the blood. I was absolutely terrified to leave this safe house.
But that terror just didn’t match the terror I felt when I thought about Mason sick with something that could kill him. That terror was worse, far, far worse.
One hour and we’d go. I wasn’t going to sit around for a single second longer.
I rocked Mason in my arms as his screams just kept going and going, ringing in my skull.
20
Emory
I didn’t want to keep the damn kid from the hospital. I was not some monster who liked making babies sick and listening to them scream.
In any other situation, we’d be out that door. I’d get them to the hospital so fast that they’d forget what it meant to travel. But we weren’t in any normal situation. Leaving the safe house could mean death or even something worse.
Tara disappeared upstairs and I watched her go, hating every second of it. I wanted to get them to the hospital, but I had to consider the mission. I had to balance the dangers of leaving versus the dangers of staying, and so far it seemed like the right call was to stay.
Yes, Mason had a fever. But as far as I could tell, it wasn’t a bad fever. He was still crying, which meant he was still conscious and wasn’t too far along. We didn’t know what was wrong with him. It could be something bad, or it could be something totally fine. But I knew for a fact that there was something very, very bad outside that door, and I wanted to keep Tara and Mason from it.
But I couldn’t keep saying no to her. I’d seen how serious she was in that moment, and I knew she really wouldn’t stop. She would do everything in her power to get to a hospital no matter what. She was a mother trying to protect her baby son, and I didn’t envy any man getting in the way of that.
This shit couldn’t have come at a worse time. Of course I didn’t blame Mason for getting sick, but it was frustrating. We finally were in a safe space and could wait this whole thing out while my team found Omar and eliminated him, but now it looked like we were going to be forced to take a risk that I really, really didn’t want to take.
After a half hour of waiting, I could still hear Mason upstairs crying. I pulled out my burner and dialed Travis’s number.
“Hey, cap,” he said.
“Travis,” I said. “I’ve got some bad news.”
“More bad news? You know I fucking love that.”
“The baby is sick.”
“Oh. Sorry to hear it.”
“We might need to make a hospital run.”
There was a pause. “You sure that’s a good idea, captain?”
“No, not at fucking all, but unfortunately it looks like it’s going to be necessary anyway.”
“Shit. Okay then.”
“Think you can be ready to go in a half hour?”
“I can probably manage that.”
“What’s your location now?”
“End of the block. Just did a sweep. We look free and clear.”
“Roger. We’ll take your car. Grab us in thirty unless you hear from me.”
“Got it. I’ll map it out.”
“Good.” I hung up the phone and leaned back into the couch.
This whole operation had been one big clusterfuck from the very start. I’d gone in with too little backup, gotten too close to Tara, and ended up killing three men in front of her and her parents. Throw a baby in the mix and fucking nothing was going my way.
But it didn’t matter. I was a fucking SEAL, and we were trained to get the mission done no matter what obstacles got in our way.
And that was what I planned on doing.
I kicked my feet up on the coffee table and listened to Mason’s crying echoing down from upstairs.
“Buckle up, folks. This might be a wild ride.”
I grinned at Travis as we pulled out into traffic. Travis was about my height, thinner, with scruff on his face and short-cropped brown hair. His eyes were a bright green, and he had tattoos running up his arms. He was dressed in nondescript black clothing to better blend into his surroundings.
“Thanks for this, Travis,” Tara said. She was sitting in the back seat with Mason, trying to keep him calm.
“Thank the captain here. I just do as I’m told.”
Tara glanced at me but said nothing.
“Do babies always cry like that?” Travis asked.
“No,” I said, “which is why we’re making this trip.”
“Well, I’ll try and be quick. Can’t make a straight line there, though.”
Travis drove fast, his eyes concentrating on the road. I hated sitting shotgun with nothing to do, but that was my role. Travis was good at his job and would do his best to evade anyone who may have been following us, but there was just no way of really knowing.
Omar was very good. I doubted he knew where the safe house was, but I was betting he knew the general area where we were staying. If he recognized Travis’s car, we would be screwed.
Which was why we weren’t taking the Mustang. That car was a little too easy to spot.
It took us a half hour to get to the closest hospital. Travis took the long way, cutting back once or twice, running red lights, pausing at yellows and then gunning it, basically using every trick in the book. I could practically sense the worry rolling from the back seat, but I couldn’t do anything about it.
Finally, we pulled up out front of the hospital. “Good luck,” Travis said. “I hear our medical system isn’t the best.”
I smirked at him. “I’ll call when we’re done.”
“Later, cap.”
“Bye, Travis,” Tara said, holding Mason. “Thanks again.”
He waved and then pulled off.
Tara didn’t wait. She stormed right into the emergency room, a woman on a warpath. She marched right up to the lady at the reception desk and stared at her, Mason crying loudly the whole time.
“Fill this out and take a seat,” the woman said.
“Do you hear my son?” Tara asked her. “He’s in pain and has a fever. We need to see someone now.”
The woman was in her mid-fifties, with short hair, and looked like she hadn’t gone for a jog in several years.
“Fill out that form and take a seat,” she repeated.