If he could find the trucker who went by the name of Big Red, he’d give him one hell of a reward.
“Mario?” Cassidy asked, picking up her head and looking at Gramps.
“He’s fine. He and the others are still in the safe room where you left them,” Gramps said. He wanted to lecture her for not saving herself, too, but he knew why she’d given herself up. He didn’t like it, but he understood.
This nightmare was over. He hoped. There was always the chance someone else would decide to come after Cassidy, but Gramps doubted it. Lloyd had seemed to be obsessed with her. He didn’t think anyone else would care enough to track her down.
But then again, he’d thought everyone would be too wrapped up in the aftermath of Coke’s death to come after her in the first place. He’d have to be extra careful from here on out. He’d been too lax since coming back to Indianapolis. That wouldn’t happen again. No fucking way.
“They killed Alfred,” Cassidy said softly against his shoulder.
“What?”
“That’s how they found me. They went to El Paso to find my parents. But thank God they’d already left for Mexico. So they found Alfred instead. They tortured him until he told them where I was. My mom called me when she heard. I didn’t have time to let you know before Lloyd and Martin broke through the fence around Silverstone.”
Gramps shook his head. “I’m sorry, love.”
“He was a jerk, and an asshole, and he treated me like shit. But . . . he was still Mario’s father. I’d hoped one day they might be able to have some sort of relationship,” Cassidy said after a moment.
Gramps opened his mouth to respond, but Eagle’s voice cut through the fog.
“The plane’s empty!”
Gramps stiffened. “Was Lloyd going to fly the plane out of here?” he asked Cassidy.
She blinked up at him and shook her head. “No. Martin and Lloyd talked about how the pilot was prepared to leave no matter what the weather was like.”
Praying the pilot was smart enough to realize the jig was up and he’d be better off getting the hell out of there, Gramps shifted Cassidy in his grip, keeping his arm around her and pulling his weapon.
Before any of the team could move, more gunshots rang out.
Gramps immediately dropped to a crouch with Cassidy in his arms, attempting to make her as small a target as possible.
Almost as soon as the shots started, they ended.
“Eagle? Smoke? Bull?” Gramps yelled.
“I’m good!” Bull yelled. “Where’s Cassidy?”
“She’s here. We’re good,” Gramps called out.
“Pilot’s down!” Eagle said.
Peering through the fog, Gramps saw movement to the right, near the planes parked closely together under the shelter. He stood, helping Cassidy up as well.
“Shit! Smoke’s hit!” Bull shouted from their right.
Turning his head, Gramps saw Bull trying to hold Smoke upright, but it was a losing battle. Bull managed to awkwardly help his friend to the ground without dropping him.
Eagle ran over, and Gramps moved quickly in their direction, Cassidy glued to his side. By the time they’d reached Bull, it was obvious Smoke wasn’t doing well. He was wheezing and couldn’t seem to catch his breath.
“Fuck!” Bull growled, ripping open Smoke’s shirt. Blood covered his chest. A lot of it. Too much.
Eagle already had his phone up to his ear and was speaking to a 9-1-1 operator.
Gramps knew shit was about to hit the fan. They were sitting at the airport with two—no, three—dead bodies, and now one of their own had suffered at least one, maybe two gunshots.
Cassidy let go of Gramps, and he knelt by Smoke’s side. Bull was putting pressure on the hole in his chest, and they shared an uneasy look. It wasn’t the first time one of their team had been injured, but this was bad.
Cassidy got to her knees by Smoke’s head and held it still with her hand. “You’re gonna be fine,” she told him calmly. “Leo and Bull are on this. Hang in there.”
Gramps was surprised by how strong she sounded after everything that had happened, but he probably shouldn’t have been. His Cass had a spine of steel.
Smoke’s lips moved, but Gramps couldn’t hear what he was saying.
Cassidy hunched over him. “What?” she asked.
Smoke repeated his words, and Cassidy sat up straight. Her lips were pressed together, her brow furrowed in distress. “No,” she said, her voice shaking. “I’m not telling her that. You’ll have to tell her yourself when you see her in the hospital.”
And with that, Gramps knew what Smoke had said. He’d told Cassidy to tell Molly that he loved her.
He’d thought his heart was breaking when Cassidy had been in danger, but now he felt it splinter again. He couldn’t lose Smoke. One of his best friends. Molly couldn’t lose her husband. Their baby couldn’t lose her father. But if Smoke felt as if he was dying, things were serious.
When they’d first started going on missions for the Army, they’d made a pact to never do what Smoke had just done—unless things were bad. Deadly bad. Gramps knew Smoke wouldn’t have asked Cassidy to tell his wife he loved her if he thought he’d live.
Looking down, Gramps saw bubbles coming out of Smoke’s left side. The pilot had shot him twice. Asshole motherfucker! If he wasn’t already dead, Gramps would’ve shot him again. He pressed hard against the small hole in his side, and his friend groaned under him.
Leaning down, Gramps put his free hand on Smoke’s forehead and got in his face. “You are not dying here,” he ordered. “Hear me?”
“It’s bad,” Smoke whispered.
“And we’ve been in worse places before,” Gramps retorted. “Remember that firefight in Somalia? We thought we were fucking toast then, yet we made it out. And let’s not forget that time Eagle took a bullet to his femoral artery. We were all covered in blood before we got that tourniquet on him. But he’s here, and he’s got a fucking kid now. You hang on for Molly,” Gramps said, his voice breaking. “And your unborn child. They both need you. Fight for them, Smoke. With everything you’ve got.”
“Tell them I love them,” Smoke said, his voice fading. His face was as white as the fog surrounding them, and his labored breaths were painful to hear.
“No,” Gramps told his best friend. “I won’t. Tell them your damn self when you see them.”
“Asshole,” Smoke said weakly, then his eyes closed, and his body went limp.
“They’re comin’,” Eagle said, his eyes going from Smoke’s unconscious body, to the pilot, to Cassidy.
Bless his woman. Even after everything she’d been through—bruises on her face, almost being shot, and dealing with Lloyd’s death while she was standing right next to him—she pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll go to the parking lot and meet them,” she said.
“I’ll go with you. Bull and Gramps can’t take pressure off Smoke’s wounds,” Eagle said.
“Thank you,” Cassidy said simply. Then she gave Eagle a quick one-armed hug. “Thank you for saving me,” she said softly. She walked over to where Bull was kneeling over Smoke and kissed him on the top of the head. “Thank you for saving me,” she said again. Then she came over to Gramps . . . and he wanted to get up and hold her. She was hurting, that was clear. Filled with guilt for Smoke getting shot.