Chapter Twenty-Four

Tanner lay in a shallow ditch, ducking gunfire from a compound full of deadly drug dealers with nasty attitudes and worse track records. Spoon tucked in directly to his right while Cale flanked him to the left.

The entire mission had gone FUBAR about six hours before when an advanced security spotter had caught their stealthy movements, sounded the alarm, and alerted the targets to their location. Since then, they’d been basically pinned down with not a lot of options. The weapons they carried on their backs would send up a massive explosion, leveling the drug factory to the ground. However, someone needed to get much closer for the charges to be placed and set before that could happen.

What he would do for a bombing raid at this moment.

Sometimes working freelance in the private industry had its drawbacks.

A bullet whined nearby, slamming into the ground just in front of their trench. All three ducked.

“Shit,” Cale whispered, loud enough for the others to hear.

“At least all they have is guns. If they had something more powerful, they would have dragged it out by now,” Spoon pointed out.

Tanner scanned the area thoroughly, searching for every small source of concealment between them and the old cement building housing a cocaine operation. He quickly calculated the time and distance, forming an improvised plan of action.

He’d have to sprint full out to the edge of the compound, taking enemy fire the entire way. Refuge was scarce in the form of a couple of large rocks—not massive enough to hide his entire body behind—and a tree or two. His Kevlar vest and helmet would provide a limited amount of protection, especially considering the distance. Three rounds would render his vest ineffective. The chances of catching a bullet afterwards ranked high, considering the rifles the enemy used, their high ground, and the open area he had no choice but to sprint through.

Impossible. Yet, if he didn’t do something, Cale and Spoon would surely perish with him. Of the three, he had the least to lose. Besides, he’d faced certain death more times than not and accepted his mortality years ago. He understood he’d die in battle sooner rather than later. Perhaps today was the one.

Oakley. His only remorse. Since he’d left for the mission, he’d thought about her often and the picture had become clear. More than once he’d run their argument through his mind and cringed at his callous disregard for her feelings. Sure, he was pissed off at her interference, but he recognized she’d manipulated him for all the right reasons. Hell, she’d seen him after the nightmares. Not to mention, they shared common ground in the guilt department for entirely different reasons. He couldn’t truly blame her for seeing his struggle and trying to help him as she’d been helped in the past.

No, the image of Oakley’s face as he lashed into her haunted him these past days—her tears, the defeated expression and agonizing pain on her face. He couldn’t help but replay his hurtful words over and over again, wishing he could take them back or rush to her side, take her in his arms, and apologize for his harsh actions.

Somewhere in those few days together, she’d weaseled into his heart, burrowing in like a squirrel into a warm den during a winter storm. She’d brought him amusement, joy, companionship, and showed him how soulful and intimate loving could be between two people that care. Before her, sex had existed as a means of blowing off steam, a quick release with some generic, nameless, hot-to-trot woman. With Oakley, something had clicked, deep and tender. They made sweet love, the farthest thing from meaningless sex in his opinion. He didn’t believe such existed between a man and a woman before Oakley.

He hated the fact that he’d never see her again and that their final words were in anger.

Maybe, just maybe, if there was such a thing as justice, he’d have one more chance to see her again, hold her. Kiss her as they made sweet love over and over. He sent up a quick prayer and steeled himself for the Herculean task before him.

After setting his automatic rifle aside, he tunneled under his shirt, grabbed his dog tags, and jerked them over his head. “Here.” He handed them to Spoon.

Spoon stared at him in bewilderment. “What?”

Tanner dug furiously through his duffel, gathering and organizing needed items before stuffing them in the pockets of his cargo pants. “Give them to Oakley. Tell her…” He found an extra clip, stuffing it into his waistband. “Tell her I’m sorry.”

Cale shook his head. “Loco, no. It’s too dangerous.”

Tanner grinned at his friend. “Where have I heard that before?” In all reality, he’d taken on similar, near-suicidal actions before, leading to the nickname of Loco. However, this time was vastly different. This time he wanted to live—to return home. All the other times, he couldn’t have cared less.

He’d never told Oakley how he felt. Another regret he faced, sitting there ready to take on Armageddon. Just let me get through this so I can tell her how much she means to me.

A barrage of bullets pulled him from those thoughts. If he didn’t get a move on, none of them would make it out of this ditch.

Judging the night sky, he made last-second updates to his plans, determined to remain in the shadows until the last moment, then dash to the west side of the building, the blind side of their target.

He met Spoon’s eyes. “Tell Oakley that I love her.”

Spoon nodded solemnly.

“Give us the signal and we’ll lay down cover,” Cale instructed.

Tanner took a deep breath, grabbed his stuff, and slithered down the bank until the ditch flattened out to barely a bump in the landscape. With a quick wave, he sprinted.

Gunfire erupted on both sides—from the building trying to hit him and from the guys defending his back.

Focusing hard on his destination, Tanner pulled his gun close then dove into the minimal cover a large rock afforded. Bullets landed all around him. A sharp sting singed his left shoulder, as if someone had stabbed him with a short but sharp knife. Fuck. That’ll leave a mark. Good thing he wore body armor. Without it, a couple more of those and he wouldn’t be getting up.

He panted, glanced over the landscape, and watched for any flashes of light indicating they had him in their sights. When no bullets plunked against his rock, he lifted his head, gathered his energy, and dashed off again.

The sequence repeated twice more as he moved steadily closer and closer, dodging small flying missiles the entire way. Finally, with patience and a lot of luck, Tanner crawled the final few feet, feeling his way along the wall. As quickly as he could, he set the charges, scooted a yard down and set more. By having all the explosives on one wall, the whole building wouldn’t implode, as it would have if they could’ve rigged all four walls according to the original plans. That meant some search and destroy work after the big bang. Dangerous, but necessary to topple the high-end drug dealers from their pedestals.

Taking the remote in hand, Tanner sprinted, clicking the button as he ran. The loud explosion deafened him—the sheer power threw him head first to the ground. He rolled and righted himself just in time to see all hell break loose.