Over the past two weeks, he and deVries had tried to uncover the informant in Sanchez’s staff. Every few days, a different suspect would be fed advance notice of their boss’ plans. Each time, deVries and Hawk prepared a trap. So far, no results.
Today, Sanchez had done the song and dance for his administrative assistant, saying the CEO of his Rio de Janeiro company called, and he needed to be there right away. He grumbled that two of his three bodyguards were out with a stomach flu, leaving him short on guards.
Hawk hoped the trap would be snapped today. He’d met the pompous asshole of an administrative assistant. It’d be a pleasure if the culprit was him.
And it was time the damned assignment ended.
Hawk winced as guilt swept over him. He’d bailed out in the middle of tourist season, leaving his brothers to supervise the repairs and remodeling of the various properties that the sarge had left them.
He’d abandoned the mission that the sarge had given them:
Death has been part of your lives. Time to create something instead. Bring this town back to life. That’s an order.
After Mako’s death, Hawk had been slow to join his brothers in Rescue, and now, he’d walked out on them. The sarge would kick his ass if he were still alive.
And what about Aric? Was the kid okay? Hawk had done what he could before leaving, but he hadn’t intended to be gone this long. Remorse cut like a knife. The boy didn’t need more trauma.
With a sigh, Hawk curled his fingers around the dark granite rock in his pocket, the treasure Aric had solemnly given him earlier in the summer.
Maybe he was a fucking idiot, moping over a rock as well as the picture of Kit and Aric in his wallet. But, dammit, he was too far away from them.
If he survived this mission, he’d head home without delay. He’d stuff his feelings for Kit into a box and latch it down good. He’d be fucking polite. Proper.
If getting too close made her uncomfortable, he’d stay at a distance and keep her safe from there.
That would work. It had to. Being away from her—and Aric—made him feel like he had a hole blown in his chest. He even missed his damn brothers.
All of them.
Yeah, well, focus, Calhoun. A bullet in the brain would fuck up those plans.
With shoulders rounded and taking care not to dislodge the pot-belly padding beneath his flight jacket, Hawk did a slow prep on the exterior of the small jet.
If he ever grew a gut like this, the sarge would reach out from the afterlife and shoot him dead. And slouching made his back ache.
Yeah, it was past time to get this shit done with.
As he went up the steps into the plane, he saw his partner mosey across the tarmac. In a gray-haired wig, glasses, and uniform, deVries was dressed so he’d be taken for the usual flight attendant.
Inside, Hawk secured one side of the cockpit curtain, thus forcing anyone to enter only on the pilot’s side. He stationed himself on the co-pilot side.
Quiet footsteps in the cabin indicated deVries was onboard.
Waiting silently, Hawk ran a finger over the creamy leather of the co-pilot’s seat and glanced around the fancy cockpit. The passenger cabin was even more luxurious.
What did it say about him that he preferred his sturdy floatplane and his helicopter?
Of course, he’d also loved the Black Hawks he’d flown as a Night Stalker. Who wouldn’t get off on having missiles, rockets, and cannons to play with, let alone the ability to fly nap-of-the-earth?
Yet this job brought it home that he didn’t miss the action. He’d rather live quietly at the Hermitage and have his battles be against the forces of nature rather than men.
Dammit, he wanted to go home. To get a hug from Aric and enjoy Regan’s snark. To play his violin to the lake. To hang out with his brothers.
To see Kit, even if it meant from a distance.
Pitiful, man. You’re homesick.
Lovesick.
From the other side of the curtain came the sound of the passenger door opening. Whoever had entered was trying to be stealthy—and there were several people.
Perfect. As they’d hoped, the killers were here, planning to take over the plane from the pilot and cabin attendant, then ambush Sanchez and his lone bodyguard.
Silently, Hawk drew his firearm and went motionless. His heart rate picked up; his muscles tensed.
Playing the part of cabin crew, deVries would be in the aft part of the cabin.
Unfortunately, the law said the intruders must be given a chance to make their murderous intentions known.
A muted whap and thud came from the cabin. That was a silenced firearm—and the sound of a bullet hitting something hard.
Seems like those intentions were crystal clear, Hawk figured.
There was the soft whish of clothing brushing against the narrow passage to the cockpit. The curtain beside him rippled as someone pushed it aside to enter.
A big man holding a silenced pistol stepped through. Seeing the pilot chair empty, the killer started to turn, and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Hawk fired. One clean shot of a hollow-point .22 to the brain. Lightweight pistol, but he hadn’t wanted any chance of a stray bullet taking out a civilian.
The guy dropped like a rock, and someone shouted.
A knife slashed through the curtain and ripped across Hawk’s left forearm.
Fuck. As pain burned across his nerves, Hawk yanked the curtain back—and shot. The bearded bastard went down. He wouldn’t be doing any more slice and dice.
Hawk stepped over the body. He’d only heard the one gunshot from aft. Had deVries—
His friend came down the center aisle. “How many?”
“Two.” Hawk grabbed some paper towels from the server station and put pressure on the slash down his forearm. “You?”
“One.” The stink of blood and bowels hung in the air, and deVries sniffed, then shook his head at the bodies behind Hawk. “I’m glad we’re not liable for damage or cleanup. You left a mess.”
Hawk snorted. “At least I didn’t get blood on the instrument panel.” As if he’d ever let that happen.
“Pilots and their priorities. Then again, Sanchez may give us a bonus for the gore.” Huffing a laugh, deVries pulled out his phone. “I’ll let Sanchez know we’re done here.”
When deVries finished the call, Hawk led the way out onto the asphalt to escape the stench. “Any trouble from Sanchez?”
“We’re good. The weasel is ID’d, and that was what Sanchez wanted us for. His regular bodyguards can handle everything else.”
Hawk nodded.
“I’m past ready to get home to Lindsey. You know, I used to think men who moped for their wives were pussies.”
Hawk grunted. Kit wasn’t even his wife, and he fucking missed her.
“You too?” With a smirk, deVries pointed. “Yeah, I recognize that look. You got a woman back home.”
“Not for me.”
“Why’s that?”
“When did you get so nosy?” When his friend didn’t answer, Hawk caved in. “She was married to an asshole in a fanatic militia group, the Patriot Zealots. When we busted her out, her husband was trying to kick her to death. She won’t be interested in men—especially an ex-merc.”
Frowning, deVries didn’t disagree. “Patriot Zealots. They in Texas too?”
“Yeah. Their so-called Prophet was arrested there.”