Friendly Fire (Ricochet 2)
Quinn smiled. “Thank you.”
John leaned close, his smirk conspiratorial. “He doesn’t need to know any of this, okay?”
“Okay,” Quinn whispered. She breathed out, the tight muscles in her neck and shoulders relaxing. She was relieved that John seemed to know to tread lightly in regards to her failed marriage.
She didn’t want to talk about Travis. Not today, not ever.
“Does it have to be me, chief?” Rick stood in Mack’s office, his hands twitching at his sides as he stared down his boss. All he wanted to do was get in the ring and train, to punch out his frustrations and drown his emotions in sweat and blood. Mack, unfortunately, had other ideas.
“Yes. And believe me, I wish it didn’t have to be you. Hell, you barely passed your last psych eval. You probably shouldn’t be going back in the field for another month. But this op is delicate, you’ve been cleared, and you’re the only one who knows the terrain and the players.”
“Fuuuck!” Rick laced his hands behind his head and focused on the ceiling so he wouldn’t lose his shit. Sighing, he pulled a hand down his face, raking it over the three-day old stubble he had grown in simply because he was too damn tired to bother shaving. “Fine. Give me the info.”
Mack tossed a red file across his desk. “That’s everything. Talk to Tucker. You and Nolan l
eave at eighteen-hundred hours.”
Rick’s head snapped up. “That’s in six hours! Are you fucking kidding me?” Quinn just got back this week and Mack wanted to send him thousands of miles away? That meant he wouldn’t get to talk to her before he left. Not that he did much talking when he actually saw her, no— he ducked and ran, avoiding her like the plague. Afraid of being rejected again by a tiny, fragile girl.
Mack frowned, his eyes boring holes into Rick. “You’ve left with less time to prepare before. Plus, you have an eight-hour flight and a transfer to the ship to fine-tune the op. Now,” Mack stood from his chair, glaring at his employee, “get your ass to Mission Control and talk to Tucker. Nolan is on his way in. Expect to be ready to brief him.”
Rick pressed his lips together into a tight line. He snatched the folder up and stormed out of Mack’s office to talk to Tucker and wait for Dane.
This has fucking disaster written all over it.
Rick sat in the back of the UH-1Y Venom military helicopter, strapped to one of the jump seats. He was strapped, painted, and ready to go.
“You ready?” Dane yelled from across the aisle.
“Yeah, I’m ready, killer!” The loud rotors nearly drowned out their words.
The two men had crammed every last bit of intel for this op into their brains during the six-hour flight to Panama. Then again on the two-hour helicopter transport to the amphibious assault ship stationed in the Pacific Ocean fifty miles off of the coast of Ecuador. Once there, they reviewed the operation one last time with Mission Control in Atlanta from the bridge of the giant Marine Corps battleship. Rick and Dane were courteously afforded the use of the facilities of the U.S. government, but were not allowed to divulge information or ask for assistance from any of the crew. Officially speaking, the U.S. government had no knowledge of their operation.
A member of the crew wearing a black, non-descript flight suit entered the cargo hold of the military helicopter. “Alright boys, we’re two minutes from the drop zone. Make sure your GPS is on and functional, you have eyes and ears, and your gear is strapped.”
Dane and Rick unbuckled from their seats, moving to stand next to the door. The crewman tethered his own harness to a large metal loop welded to the wall and slid open the side door, letting the loud wind roar in. The humid air swirled through the helicopter in a deafening tornado.
“Ready!”
Dane got into position, crouching over the open space.
“Go!”
He disappeared into the night sky somewhere over Venezuela.
Rick pulled down his night vision goggles, lined up with the edge of the door, and waited for his signal. He used the last few seconds to think about Quinn, knowing once he jumped, he would have to focus one hundred percent on the mission. He remembered her full lips, her thick hair, the way her large amber eyes looked up at him as he sank his cock into her. The loud thump thump thump of the rotors beat in the background, almost lulling him into a state of total peace.
“Go!”
He pushed off of the doorway and let the free fall wipe his mind clean.
Chapter 3
“Quinn! Over here!”
Quinn no sooner stepped inside Twist, a trendy tapas bar near the gym, than she heard Mara Paxton calling her name. She quickly crossed the restaurant to meet her very excited friend.
“Hey! You look great!” Mara grinned and gave Quinn a quick hug, making her smile for the first time in a week.