Page 62 of Boomer
Boomer grunted. “Not a stretch.”
“What youprobablydon’t know is that getting left behind…” Bash’s mouth twisted. “Not something I’m a stranger to. Boarding schools. Parents who were too busy to deal with me ormy sister, or brother. One’s a ghost. The other’s a carbon copy of my father.”
“You didn’t want to enjoy that money?”
“How? It wasn’t mine. I didn’t earn it.” He glanced down at his hands. “Sitting behind a desk? Fuck no. Shoot me now.”
Boomer said nothing for a moment. Just stared at the half-melted edge of the binder. Then, voice low, he said, “I get needing a challenge. Small-town, family business like yours. Being a mechanic was in my blood. But fixing cars?” He gave a humorless smile. “Not so much. I found what suits me.”
Bash felt the words thrum low in his chest. He couldn’t say what he felt. Didn’t trust himself to try. He just nodded.
Boomer rose, then tapped the edge of the binder with his knuckle. “This look familiar to you?”
Bash leaned in. Ash flaked as he lifted the cover, revealing laminated sheets still intact beneath the fire damage. He flipped one, squinted.
“Shipping manifests,” he said slowly. “Not domestic. Looks like port codes. This one’s…Lisbon. That’s Porto de Aveiro there. This one’s in Marseille. Some of these are in code.”
Boomer’s jaw tightened. “One of those ships was already reported derelict.”
Bash narrowed his eyes. “You think these are tied to the ghost ships?”
Boomer’s voice was quiet. Lethal. “I think someone just gave us their playbook.”
The wind shifted behind them, carrying salt and smoke and the dying hum of generators. Boomer stood. “They fucked us up, and we’re going for them hard.”
“Roger that,” Bash said with a nod, sifting through more of the debris.
Boomer joined him, tucking the notebook into one of their SSE containers. They bagged everything that looked useful.
Ice’s voice came through the comm. “You two about done?” Boomer responded that they were on their way out. “Debrief in an hour.”
He and Boomer headed for the van that would take them back to the compound. He said, his voice a little rough. “If you ask me?” Bash lifted a brow. “You’re still one of the strongest fucking countries holding the line.” He let it hang there. Then, quiet. Meant for no one else. “Allies,” Bash said.
Boomer looked at him. Smirked. “In theory,Your Majesty.”
“Get out of here, Southern fried.”
Boomer was in the cages,moving automatically, rifle cleared, safety checked, hands going through the rituals his body knew better than sleep. The vest felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. He shifted to unbuckle it, muscles stiff from adrenaline and grief and the backwash of what could’ve gone wrong.
His hands went to the clips at his shoulders. Her palms covered the backs of his hands. Her presence hit him like pressure at altitude, silent, crushing, inescapable. He froze.
When he let his arms drop, need lit him up, her fingers warm and sure as they unfastened the vest with careful precision. She slipped it off like she’d done it a thousand times, and he didn’t move. Couldn’t. The metal buckles clicked softly as she eased it to the bench. She was so close, and he looked down at her, eyes dragging over the curve of her cheek, the slope of her neck, the loose strand of hair that had come free from her braid. His whole body was in turmoil.
She looked up at him with a spark that undid him.
“Mein Hübscher Sprengmeister?” he asked.
Her brow arched with quiet provocation. “Your team isn’t the only one who gets to tease you. Besides, you made me soar off the broom.”
He blinked. “What the hell…oh. You mean ‘fly off the handle’?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “Whatever. I wasn’t thrilled about you running in there again. There were plenty of professionals who could’ve done the job.”
Boomer exhaled through his nose, throat tight. “We don’t leave anyone behind, no matter what, darlin’. That’s what I just told Bash.”
Her head tilted slightly. “You talked to Bash? Like, an actual conversation?”
He nodded, still half-shocked himself. “Maybe he’s a somewhat decent guy.”
