Rising Hope by Edie James

22

Thursday afternoon couldn’t come soon enoughfor Sarah.

It was always like this toward the end of an op. The tension grew, leaving her edgy and tired. Even more so this time, with Enzo’s life on the line, too.

Another reason she preferred working alone.

After the fiasco in Miami, she swore she’d never work another interagency mission, especially not with Nels Halliburton, but it had been an empty threat, obviously. Like it or not, her superiors at the DEA had the right to order her around until this was over.

All she could do now was get Enzo out safely.

She tried to put her worries aside and focus on the mission as she sped toward the old ranch. Dust from the road only added to the sting of her dry eyes. Two sleepless nights had left her twitchy and ill-tempered and anxious. The harsh ride of the inane sports car her Peaches character drove only ramped up the misery. The vehicle was made for a racetrack, not a rutted old ranch road. By the time she navigated the useless thing down the dirt road to the landing site, her arms ached from the stiff steering.

In her next life, she’d drive something practical, something she could load up with potting soil or old furniture to renovate. Something comfortable and nondescript that would fail to turn a single head.

Enzo had already towed the helicopter out of the barn on its special trailer. The black blades whirled lazily at a low speed. Going through his pre-flight, she assumed, as she wrestled with the familiar sense of dread.

She exited her car and walked over on stiff legs, ducking beneath the spinning blades the way Wenmark had taught her. Two more flights and she could kiss the dingy world of undercover work goodbye. And Enzo would be free to get back to his happy, shiny life.

Why the thought made her stomach ache, she had no idea.

Trapped between the canyon walls, the autumn air was hot and still. A hard blue sky pressed down on them, ramping up her anxiety.  She shook off the ugly feelings. Just last-minute jitters. Things had gone well up until now, but they were dealing with a Russian-backed cartel. Anything could happen.

Until they were safely back with the drugs and the surveillance evidence, she wouldn’t be able to shake the nerves. Nor should she. If there was ever a time to stay razor sharp, it was now.

Enzo nodded distractedly as she slipped into the passenger seat, his attention on his pre-flight checklist.

Once she was securely belted in, he handed her a little white bag. She gaped at it in bewilderment.

“What’s this?”

“Take it,” he insisted, holding it out until she had no choice but to accept.

The paper rustled between her fingertips as an odd mixture of curiosity and fear crept over her. Presents were never innocent in her family; only a means to extract some kind of payment later on.

“It’s just something to remember this mission by, since it’s your last.”

Stunned and pleased and petrified, she didn’t know what to say. She had no experience receiving gifts politely. “I thought you didn’t care much for Peaches.”

He studied her, his expression carefully neutral. She endured it, wishing her face wasn’t caked with layers of makeup. Peaches Duvall’s style was the polar opposite of her own. Not that Enzo would care much either way.

“I don’t, but Sarah’s not so bad.” He grinned engagingly, taking the sting out of his words.

The bag crinkled in her hand. She felt the same about him. Not so bad.

Not that she’d be foolish enough to open up about that. Rather than respond, she peeked inside. On a delicate silver chain hung a silver rod piercing five tiny fragments of sea glass—from the palest green to the deepest aquamarine—the color of her eyes.

She snorted silently. A total coincidence. She was certain the lieutenant had no idea what color her eyes were.

The pendant swung gently from its chain as the helicopter swayed lightly. “It’s beautiful,” she said.

And thoughtful and sweet. She turned away, staring hard out the side window as she willed away a sudden spate of tears.

What was happening to her? She didn’t cry.

“Our Master Sergeant’s wife makes them,” Enzo explained over the headset. “She collects the glass along the beach near my family’s house. Just something to remember the mission.”

Uncomfortable, and deeply touched, she stuffed it in her pocket. “Thanks.”

He nodded distractedly. The helicopter had his full attention now. He lifted them gently into the air.

The engine buzzed louder as they approached the desert. She watched the coastline disappear behind them, fading away until all that remained was an endless expanse of sand and rock. The sun beat down, its relentless heat radiating through the glass of the cockpit.

Enzo’s gaze shifted between his instruments and the horizon, never pausing to rest as he navigated their way through desolate mountain passes and over sweeping sand dunes. With only a few brief exchanges they flew in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

She thought about asking about his personal life. His family. His obvious faith. But she’d never been good at small talk. Never wanted to be. Until now.

But she bit back the urge. What did it matter? In a few hours, they’d part ways for good. He’d dive back into his world, and she’d head off to create a new one for herself. The truth was, she would have liked to hang around. The idea of true friends scared her silly, but it also intrigued her.

She forced her mind back to the mission. Would Ulrich’s men sweep the helo for bugs? They’d never done it before, but things changed, especially in Ulrich’s insular, paranoid world.

The helo passed over the ridge and descended into a valley that seemed to stretch for miles, nothing but sand and sagebrush and cactus. The Tambov Roka compound appeared in the late afternoon light, tucked into a patch of green.

Enzo circled the buildings. As they drew nearer, the cartel’s vehicles grew larger below them—an impressive lineup of souped-up cars and dirt bikes driven by tough-looking men in designer jeans and cowboy boots.

Enzo flew them in close; skimming just above the treetops until they hovered over the cartel’s SUVs. The wash from the rotors blasted Ulrich and his team back away from the vehicles, enveloping them in a cloud of dust.

The skids touched the earth. Enzo cut the power to the rotors. The wide, black blades slowed quickly as Ulrich stalked toward them, his face rigid with anger.

She smiled inwardly. This close in, the surveillance bugs attached to the airframe were sure to pick up the incriminating evidence. She unclasped the seat belt and climbed out of the aircraft. If she could get to Ulrich first and calm him down…

But Enzo was already rounding the nose of the helicopter.

He reached her side just as Ulrich stopped ten feet away.

The Russian pulled a gun from the waistband of his pants, pointing it straight at her. “What’s the idea?”

Her heart thumped wildly as she ran through her options, but before she could act, Enzo placed himself between her and Ulrich.

Time slowed, amplifying her senses. This was exactly how fast things could go wrong. How people died.

Weapon now pointed at Enzo’s chest, Ulrich stared him down like an old-time gunfighter.

“Back off,” Enzo ordered, his voice calm and firm.

Ulrich ignored him.

An older man, vital and fit despite his thinning gray hair, approached with cautious steps. Yeltzen, the top-level cartel operative she recognized from her briefings, grabbed Ulrich’s arm in a gesture of restraint and warning. “Ostanovka,” he ordered. “Put the gun away, Jan.”

Ulrich hesitated for a moment, but then reluctantly lowered the weapon and backed away grudgingly.

Enzo gave her a comforting smile before turning back to the aircraft. “We got this,” he assured her quietly as he headed back to the cockpit. “Go work your magic.”

His belief hit her like a beam of sunlight, lifting her soul. She could do this. They could do it.