Page 11 of Donovan
Declan had laughed at me when I struggled to find my own boots. He’d stolen my jacket and refused to give it back.
I’d called him a bastard, and he’d smirked, leaning in too close, his breath warm against my skin, his eyes dancing with amusement.
"What, Donovan?" he'd murmured, challenging me.
I almost kissed him. Should’ve kissed him.
Instead, I’d done something infinitely more devious. While Declan wasn’t looking, I’d grabbed his phone and activated track my phone on our linked accounts.
I could still hear him drunkenly swearing at me the next morning when he realized I’d messed with his settings. I’d laughed it off, telling him it was for his own good.
"What if you go missing, huh? What if I need to come save your sorry ass?" I had asked him.
He had rolled his eyes, shoved my shoulder, but hadn’t bothered to turn it off. And now… now I needed it.
The moment the realization struck, I moved. I turned off the water, grabbed a towel, barely dried myself before yanking on my clothes.
My fingers worked fast, unlocking my phone, pulling up the tracker. My pulse pounded as the map loaded.
Come on. Come on, come on.
The location pin popped up. A small, isolated point. Nowhere near his last mission site. Nowhere he was supposed to be. My stomach twisted. My Declan was in trouble.
I swiped over to my flight app, ready to book the next flight out, but I hesitated.
Commercial flights were too slow. I couldn’t afford to sit around in an airport, waiting for a scheduled departure, praying for no delays.
Then I remembered. I had another option.
A contact of mine, someone who owed me big time for saving his life on a mission a couple of years ago.
A guy who, conveniently, was a pilot with access to a private jet.
I didn't waste another second.
I scrolled through my contacts, found Tom’s name, and hit call. The phone barely rang twice before he picked up.
"Donovan?" Tom’s groggy voice answered. "You do realize it's the ass crack of dawn, right?"
"I need a ride."
A pause. "A ride?"
"Jet. Fast as you can get it in the air."
That woke him up real quick.
“What kind of trouble are you in?" Tom asked.
"The kind where I don’t have time to answer questions,” I replied.
Another pause, then a sigh. "Shit. Fine. Where to?"
I rattled off the location, pacing the room as adrenaline coursed through me.
"Give me an hour," he said.
"You’ve got forty minutes."
