Chapter Twelve
“CHRIST, CRANK, put some clothes on,” Horvan muttered as he entered the living room the following morning. “You’re making the place look untidy.”
“Fuck you,” Crank replied good-naturedly before helping himself to more coffee. “You said, ‘Make yourselves comfortable.’ Well, this is me, comfortable.” He swung his dick from side to side, slapping it against his upper thighs.
Horvan had more important things on his mind. “Where’s Hashtag? Has he gone someplace?” Hashtag had made no mention the previous night of not being around, which was kind of surprising the day before a mission. He was usually up with the birds, checking equipment over and over.
“Beats me,” Roadkill replied with a shrug, his eyes focused on his phone. “He was gone when I woke up, and that was at six.” He peeked at Horvan. “Speaking of which… what time do you call this? It’s eight o’clock already. I was beginning to think you two were planning on staying in bed all day.” He smirked. “Some of us have already had breakfast.”
“Wherever Hashtag is, he apparently doesn’t need his laptop.” Crank pointed to it on the coffee table.
One look at Rael’s face was enough to tell Horvan his mate was concerned by Hashtag’s absence. Horvan stroked down his back. “Don’t stress. He’ll be back. And in the meantime, we have plenty of jobs to be getting on with. You can help Roadkill assemble the headgear.”
Roadkill smiled. “Yeah, that’d be great. Me and my fat fingers can use all the help we can get.” He put down his phone.
“Have we run out of coffee?” Crank ran one hand over his buzz cut while scratching his ball sac with the other. “’Cause it’s flowing like mud around here.”
Horvan rolled his eyes. “I’ll make some more, Your Majesty, while you put some clothes on. Some of us have delicate stomachs, and the sight of your dick swinging around first thing in the morning is more than we can take.”
Crank grinned, grabbed his cock, and waved it at Horvan before reaching into his bag for a pair of sweats and a hoodie.
Horvan went into the kitchen area, Rael close behind.
“Where do you think he’s gone? I thought we had all the equipment.”
Horvan cupped Rael’s face. “Whatever he’s doing, you can bet it’s for the mission. And probably important. We’ll find out when he gets back, okay?” He noted the dark smudges under Rael’s eyes. “You’re not sleeping well.”
“How can I? I close my eyes, and all I can see is Dellan.” Even Rael’s voice sounded exhausted.
Horvan pulled him closer until Rael’s face was buried in his neck. Horvan stroked his unruly hair. “Tomorrow morning, sweetheart. Twenty-four hours from now, we’ll have him out of there.” Barring any unforeseen circumstances, and Horvan was praying there were none. He gently lifted Rael’s chin with his fingers and looked into those tired blue eyes. “Next time you can’t sleep, wake me.”
“Why, so we can be insomniacs together?” The flicker of a smile lifted Horvan’s spirits a little.
He chuckled. “No, so I can hold you, rub your back, do anything to help you get back to sleep.” He inclined his head toward the living room. “Now go grab the mugs, and we’ll see if we can top up Crank’s caffeine levels.”
Rael nodded and disengaged himself from Horvan’s embrace. Horvan waited until he was out of sight before leaning against the countertop.
Where are you, Hashtag?
Too late, he remembered his and Rael’s link.
So I’m not the only one worrying, huh?
Horvan had to smile. Christmas is gonna be a bitch. I can see it now. How the hell am I supposed to surprise you when you can see every damn thing in my mind?
Rael’s response was swift. He laughed.
“That doesn’t help!” Horvan yelled. It didn’t stop him smiling, though.
BY MIDDAY, the living room floor was a picture of ordered chaos. The tranquilizer gun and the small box containing the sedatives sat there, along with the assembled headgear, each with an earpiece and tiny camera. The poles for carrying the sling—if required—were made up of small sections that could be screwed together, enabling them to fit inside a bag. The sling was folded up neatly and stuffed into the bag, along with the poles. Horvan had no idea where Roadkill had found it, but it was perfect for the job. Now all he had to do was hope they didn’t need it.
Roadkill was on his laptop, checking the details for picking up the motor home in Gary. Their friend Danno knew where to collect it and have it waiting for them. The plan was to land the chopper in Wheeler, just off the 130. There was a flying club in the vicinity, so a helicopter wouldn’t be an uncommon sight. Roadkill had picked a spot away from buildings, isolated enough not to attract attention. He’d arranged for another buddy, Wes, to have a car ready for them at the rendezvous point. Roadkill would drive that.
Horvan knew he could rely on his team. The guys worked well together, and he’d trust them with his life.
Now he was trusting them with his mates’ lives too.
“You got the route all worked out?” Horvan asked Roadkill.
He laughed. “Ever the overachiever, I’ve worked out two. The longer, more circuitous route takes about twenty-seven hours and the shortest, twenty-four hours, door to door. I’m thinking the longer route, simply because we have the time and we’re not in any hurry. But seeing as there’ll be five guys to share the driving, we can pretty much travel nonstop. I’ll schedule breaks along the way so we can swap between the motor home and the car. We can take turns to grab some shut-eye.” He smiled. “Of course, I’ve never traveled this far with a tiger before.”
“I’m going to spend as much time as possible at his side,” Rael said quietly. “Hopefully that will keep him calm.”
Roadkill sighed. “So we’re not expecting him to shift back anytime soon?”
Horvan had no clue. “That’s why we’re sending you to pick up the doc as soon as we’re settled in the cabin. Hopefully he might have an idea.” He’d been thinking about the motor home. “We’ll need fishing rods, rifles, anything that makes it look like we’re just a group of guys going on vacation together.”
Roadkill chuckled. “Then you’d better hope no one wants to take a peek inside. Because unless we cover him up, Dellan will have to do a great impression of a tiger-skin rug.”
The doorbell rang, and Horvan went to answer it. Hashtag stood there in a pair of gray overalls, complete with name tag. He grinned. “Lord, I need a coffee.” He pushed inside past Horvan, who followed him into the apartment.
“Where have you been?” Horvan demanded. “And why didn’t you tell us you were going someplace?”
“Didn’t you get my text?” Hashtag scowled. “Stupid fucking phone. That’s it, into the trash it goes.”
“When you’ve finished planning your phone’s demise,” Roadkill said, handing him a mug of coffee, “maybe you can tell us why you’re dressed like a janitor.” He peered at the name tag. “Well, I’ll be….” Roadkill laughed. “Have you been moonlighting as a cleaner?”