Page 26 of Boomer
He didn’t stop. Not right away.
Then he glanced back.
Stopped two cages down from hers. Their eyes locked across open steel. There was nothing romantic in the moment. No lingering gaze, no half-smiles.
Just...stillness.
That alpha-male presence radiated from him like heat, confident, aware of his role, grounded.
She hadn’t thought a man like that could give space.
But Boomer had. Quietly. Generously. Like heknewwhat it meant for someone like her to breathe on her own first.
That restraint was undoing her in slow, exquisite pieces. Her throat worked around the words she still hadn’t said. “Boomer.”
He turned fully to face her. Helmet under his arm. Quiet eyes watching. Waiting.
Still not pressing.
Just there.
“After this,” she said, voice low. “We talk.”
His brow dipped just slightly. But then he nodded. Once. Solid. The kind of nod a man gave when he meant tobe there, no matter what.
“After,” he said, just as low. Then he turned to go.
But after two steps, he stopped, and the stillness in the room grew heavier. His voice came again, quieter. Richer. Deeper. “Thank you…for hearing me. For treating me with respect in there.” Something shifted in her chest, slow, reluctant, real.“For seeing me.”
She didn’t breathe, and all she wanted now was to feel what it meant to let down just a little of her guard. To trust him withwhat she had to say. Even if it scared her—especially because it scared her.
He didn’t look back as he disappeared through the door, boots silent against the concrete. She stood there a moment longer, her hands fisted at her sides, her heart hammering.
Gott.
He hadn’t demanded anything, again, and that broke her open like nothing ever had.
Interdiction of theHaukland,sixteen nautical miles southwest of the Setúbal coast, 2140 Hours
The ocean rolled black beneath the RHIB, the deck of the derelict fishing trawler rising in and out of shadow like something half-swallowed by the dark. Salt air burned in her nostrils, sharp with rot and oil. The wind bit against her exposed skin, but her breath stayed steady behind her mask.
Taylor shifted her grip on the side rail of the boat as they circled the vessel, qualifying as a ghost ship. No AIS, no comms. But according to thermals, occupied.
The RHIB idled along the side of the trawler. Iceman gave the silent nod. Boomer rose first, scaled the rope ladder without a sound, and vanished over the rail.
She followed him seconds later, her heartbeat thrumming like percussion against her ribs. The deck groaned beneath her boots. Dim emergency lights cast a sickly red wash across rusted metal and netting. The smell was worse up close, chemical, fish, sweat.
Boomer raised a fist. Froze. Listened. Then he moved. Smooth. Fast. Like water over stone. She followed, staying tight, rifle up, eyes cutting through the dark. They moved along theouter passageway toward the interior hold. The intel suggested makeshift labs or cache zones. Possibly armed smugglers. Possibly worse.
She was fine. Shewas. She’d cleared buildings in Berlin, breached doors with GSG 9, dealt with men who’d kill her for breathing. But this wasn’t a building, and Boomer was in front of her.
He held up again, tapped twice on the air tank behind him.Mask on.She slid hers down. Felt the soft seal lock against her skin. The rebreather kicked on with a faint hiss.
They approached the hold. Boomer dropped to one knee, examining the latch. His gloved hands moved quick, evaluating, adjusting, reading the door like Braille. The corridor was narrow, barely two shoulders wide, and lined with steel plating slick with condensation. The hatch in front of them was locked tight. Reinforced. Bulked with layers that didn’t match the specs.
Taylor crouched beside him, in the stack, second position, one hand braced on the wall to stay steady against the slow sway of the ghost ship. Boomer was lead, and she couldn't take her eyes off him.
He was silent. Focused. His shoulders squared under his gear, helmet locked tight, weapon ready. Every movement was practiced. Precise. The epitome of calm in kinetic form.
