Page 25 of Boomer
She studied Breakneck. Kelly Gatlin. He was a delicious morsel, a raw charisma that shouted bad boy, a father’s worst nightmare, and too dangerous to handle. She had to give him that with his shock of dark unruly hair and those cobalt blue eyes.
But did he affect her? No, not in the slightest. It was Boomer who affected her beyond her wildest imagination. She was convinced there was no man who could surprise her. But again, Boomer was real, not charming, although he used his own special charisma like a precision weapon.
She cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming here and assisting MAOC with this rapidly increasing threat. The SEALs have been offered to us by the United States because of their unique water interdiction expertise.” The Brits murmured, but Captain Lockhart cleared his throat, and they stopped. “SBS has also been offered as a backup to the SEALs. We also appreciate the United Kingdom’s participation and funding for our fight against maritime narcotics smuggling.”
Boomer shifted and she inhaled the freshly showered scent of him. Working like mad to keep her mind on her introduction, she forced herself to focus. She brought up her tablet and looked down at it. “As of this morning, satellite and naval surveillance confirmed a spike in spoofed transponder activity across the Lisbon-Casablanca corridor.” She tapped her screen and the map on one of the large monitors zoomed in.
Anna cut in. “The US Coast Guard seized a cartel ship off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina, headed, we suspect, to the harbor to offload its lethal cargo.”
Boomer sat near the front, arms folded, but Taylor could feel him even without looking. His presence was like static. Like a hum just beneath the frequency of her thoughts.
Taylor picked up the thread of Anna’s presentation. “It was crewed by drug traffickers with an unknown affiliation. This particular pill is labeledRed Tide.The phrase matches an encrypted message intercepted by MAOC-N weeks earlier but dismissed.” She used her tablet to send a picture of the confiscated pills. “Our mission has been dubbed Operation Red Tide.”
“One of the traffickers broke and told us they were mapping new routes, including the US Coast.” Anna set down her tablet. “The CIA, unable to act unilaterally in EU waters, drafted and sent a MOU, Memorandum of Understanding, to suggest allied cooperation via MAOC. The US route is unsubstantiated, but we feel it’s a credible threat. We intend to interdict your waters for these ghost ships and intel.”
She nodded to Taylor, who said, “That leads us to what we're dealing with and what our missions will comprise.” Boomer shifted again and her hands tightened on the tablet. “In the context of drug smuggling, ‘ghost ships’ generally refer to vessels that are used by drug trafficking organizations or DTOs who attempt to evade detection by law enforcement. This can involve several tactics, including disabling or manipulating the Automatic Identification System or AIS. This is often referred to as ‘going dark’ and makes the vessel difficult to track. Changing the ship's identity.This involves frequently altering names, identification numbers, or flags, also known as ‘flag hopping,’ ship-to-ship, or STS transfers. While not inherently illegal, these transfers can allow cargo to change hands withoutdocumentation or witnesses, making illicit goods harder to trace.”
“So, we breach the ships and take down the smugglers and confiscate the contraband?” Boomer asked. “Will you be involved in the takedown?”
There was no challenge in his tone. No ego. Just the question. His expression held no judgment, just a touch of frustration. He said his peace, now he was giving her space. That was seductive, grounding, allowing her to choose and make her own decisions.
Just patience, not backing down, but a kind of quiet acceptance. The next move was hers. Whatever it would be.
She wasn’t sure what that move was yet. All she knew was that she had to talk to him. Had to clear the air before this mission buried them both in protocol and adrenaline.
Taylor looked at him, met those sultry eyes. “Yes. I’ll be embedded with your team, part of the personnel.” She looked at Skull. “Bones will be essential in sniffing out the drugs.”
Skull rubbed Bones’s head. “He’s raring to go, ma’am.”
“GSG 9 prepared you for this kind of work, but ship interdiction is a different animal. You prepared to get wet?” Boomer asked.
Her lungs locked for a second.
Not the time. Not the place. But this man was definitely a distraction.
She almost swallowed her tongue at his question, shivering at the sensual tone to his voice, even though she was sure he wasn’t using a double entendre. Then his eyes sparked, and she wasn’t so sure after all.
Her voice came out hoarse. “I’m a certified diver. That won’t be a problem.”
His voice was lower during questions. Measured. Professional. It didn’t matter. It curled through her like a wirehad been coiled around her spine and charged every time he opened his mouth.
He asked sharp, smart questions. Quietly made notes. Occasionally glanced at her.Thatwas the problem. She’d just outrun a Brit in a five-mile sprint. She’d climbed through a cartel safehouse with her bare hands. Butthis?Sitting in a meeting with Boomer two chairs away, watching her like she still mattered? It left her breathless.
Every time he spoke, she flinched inside at every goddamned word.
Her cell rang and everyone in the room stilled. She grabbed it and listened to command. Once she disconnected the call, she turned to Iceman and Captain Lockhart. “We have a mission package. There’s a suspicious vessel off the coast. We go after nightfall.”
Hours later, after she’d gone over to headquarters, consulted with her boss, and looked at all the intel, she returned to the Lisbon House, unsettled and eager to see Boomer. She bit her lip, marveling at the way she felt about him in the short span of time he’d been here, the anticipation making her shiver.
She entered the secured gear room. The steel-mesh cages clanged softly under her fingers as Taylor snapped her vest into place. The overhead fluorescents buzzed faintly, the air thick with sweat and the sharp tang of CLP, the gun oil they all used to clean their weapons.
This space was utilitarian. Cold. But her pulse was anything but steady.
The SEALs were filtering out one by one, heading to final comms check. She was alone now, tucked into the corner at the edge of her assigned cage, labeled with her name on laminated tape, already nicked from years of use.
The last to pass through was Boomer.
He moved like he always did, efficient, quiet, commanding more presence than noise ever could. She caught sight of his hands adjusting his gloves, the flex of muscle in his forearms, the precision of movement that hadnothingto prove.
