Page 77 of Luck Be Mine
She grabbed her jacket, flipped off the light, and turned to find Mackey filling her doorway.
A slight scream escaped, and she slapped her chest. “Geesh, you scared me. Stop doing that. You move like damn smoke.”
“It’s a skill.” He nodded in the direction Quaid took. His dark hair mussed, scruff on his face, and jeans with another in a line of dark shirts accented his controlled persona and reinforced his authority. “Do you see what I mean?”
“He’s depressed. For good reason. Give him a minute.”
“Like we’re giving you.”
She shrugged into her jacket. “Go away, Bossman. I’m okay.”
Mackey frowned. “Hours and hours over your contracted time here, football with the boys. No, you aren’t.” The man saw everything.
Cait rolled her eyes. “I should never have asked your mother to adopt me. I really wasn’t serious about wanting to be your sixth sister. You nag.”
Mac’s eyebrows twitched. “I told you how it would shake out. You get the advice and attention anyway.”
“Peachy. Night. I’m going home now.”
He put a hand on her arm to stop her. “To what?”
“A book, comfortable pajamas, and I’m planning on eating all the rest of Hunt’s favorite ice cream. Any other questions?”
Mackey’s face twisted in horror. “That’s so domestic, it’s scary.”
“Domestic girl. Right here.”
He snorted. Of course he didn’t believe her. “Good night, Doctor.”
“Good night, Bossman.”
Cait made her way to her car with a smile on her face. They wondered why she kept this crazy schedule so she could have them in her life.
It was simple.
They were her Army, her family, her stability. Besides, she could hold her cards close on the wish Hunt would retire and join QM, too. She would not mind working with her husband.
Maybe then they could be in the dark together.
Chapter Twelve
August 2024
On the Coast of Libya
0130 Zulu Time
The plan was flawless, the approach clean, the breach silent, the charges planted. Until gunfire erupted from the shadows and the mission fractured in an instant.
Hunt’s hand itched for a weapon, his body tightening in muscle memory. He shifted between three monitors instead and made do with action transmitted on body cameras and sparse radio traffic.
The Middle East was a powder keg, one spark away from detonation. Libya was his least favorite mission spot in all the world. He’d bled here once. Lost someone here once. Left a piece of himself here and never got it back. The place offered bad actors exactly what they needed: political instability and sprawling paramilitary smuggling routes for arms trafficking.
The ancient weapons factory, tucked into the countryside near the coast, had earned itself a bullseye, thanks to intel from US naval assets and local allies. Taking it out would choke off a fresh supply of arms headed for terror cells across North Africa and possibly much closer to home. Unfortunately, it was another fail in finding Barzan Madari, but the factory had to go.
The night drop via helicopter with off-road vehicles had been smooth and precise, the approach to the factory unimpeded. The concrete, multi-room compound was rife with shadows, twisting corridors, and dozens of storage areas. The mission objectives were brief and specific – find intel and destroy the factory.
Brennan led as Alpha. Stemmons and Hernandez had door breach and interior sweeps. Doogie took the search for tech, intel, and hardware. K-Rock handled his favorite thing – explosives. Planned, practiced, executed with precision.
