Mission: Her Protection (Team 52 #1)(13)

Lachlan frowned. “We were sent to rescue you, but it isn’t our only objective.”

Her heartbeat was a loud pounding in her ears. “I want some answers.”

“We aren’t authorized to give you answers,” Blair said in a low voice.

Rowan stumbled back, but Lachlan grabbed her arm. She tried to pull away from him, and the dark look on his face told her that he didn’t like it. “Let me go—”

“We’re a covert, black ops team.”

“Lachlan,” Blair growled in warning.

He ignored his second-in-command. “We’re tasked with collecting and safeguarding certain objects and artifacts.”

Rowan frowned. “Black ops?”

“Off the books. We report to one director who reports directly to the president.”

“The President of the United States?” When he nodded, she dragged in a breath. “Artifacts? Why?”

“Special artifacts. Ones with certain…abilities and capacities.”

“This makes no sense.”

“I know. We can talk some more later. For now, we need to focus on finding Lars.” Lachlan looked up. “Smith?”

The big man nodded. “There’s a clear trail leading out of the domes and heading due south on the ice. I’m ready to track.” He lifted his rifle.

“I can’t leave you here alone,” Lachlan said to Rowan.

She nodded. She didn’t want to be left here alone with the bodies of her dead team. “Let me get my gear and boots.”

Lars. She’d focus on her colleague who needed her help. Rowan just prayed he was still alive. Answers would have to come later.



*

As they headed out of the base, Lachlan kept an eye on Rowan. She was in her cold-weather gear, and her color was much better now.

God, little, red-haired Rowan. It was hard to believe this well-built, attractive woman was the skinny little girl who’d once been an important part of his world. For several years, they’d been each other’s lifelines. They’d sit for hours in her treehouse, Rowan doing most of the talking. It hadn’t taken him long to work out how hungry she’d been for attention.

They’d first met, talking through a hole in the fence, one day when his dad was drunk and on a tear. She’d been all freckles and red pigtails.

But the freckles had faded, the red hair had deepened in color, and the skinny was now curvy. With surprising difficulty, he resisted the urge to continue studying her.

As he followed Blair out onto the ice, he pulled his goggles on. The light was bright, reflecting off the white landscape.

“Okay, Smith, you take point,” Lachlan ordered.

Smith moved ahead, and the rest of Lachlan’s team moved into formation. Automatically, they kept Rowan to the center of their group.

Lachlan nodded discreetly at Callie, and the medic shifted closer to Rowan. The woman was dependable and had nerves of steel—combat medics required those qualities in order to race in under fire to rescue injured soldiers. More importantly, Lachlan knew Callie cared. Despite the terrible attack that had ended Callie’s career as a pararescueman, she still cared about the people she tried to save. Lachlan knew the medic would run straight through the worst firefight to get to an injured person.

Smith moved at a fast clip, stopping every now and then to study something on the ice or rub his glove over something.

“You like being up here?” Blair asked Rowan, her voice skeptical.

“Believe it or not, it’s challenging and interesting,” Rowan said. “The team’s doing amazing work on climate science, biology, hydrology…” Her voice hitched. “Or…we were.”

Lachlan hated the grief he saw flash over her face. He wanted to touch her, try to ease that pain. He gritted his teeth. Shit. He’d never felt that need before. Actually, he usually sucked at that kind of thing.

They kept moving and Lachlan scanned ahead. They still had no clue of what they were dealing with.

He glanced at Callie again, noting the medic’s second weapon attached to her belt. A tranquilizer gun.

Smith paused. “Something ahead.”

Lachlan’s gaze fell on something breaking the ice. It looked like a small mound.

“Stop.” It was a near-soundless murmur. He gave hand signals to his team. “Rowan, stay back.”

She swallowed and nodded.

Team 52 lifted their CXMs, closing in on the mound of churned ice that had been pushed into a pile.

His team fanned out.

All of a sudden, a huge body sprung out of the ice. It crashed into Seth.

“Fuck,” Seth yelled.

“Hold your fire,” Lachlan yelled. If they fired, they’d risk hitting Seth.

Seth was lean, but he was strong as hell. He wrestled wildly with the attacker. Lachlan quickly took the man in.

Bulging muscles were coated in smooth opaque white, like he was wearing icy body armor. And he was big. At least six and a half feet. He also had a head of shaggy, blond hair.

Lachlan inched closer, and when Seth managed to roll the man, Lachlan reached out. He grabbed a handful of blond hair and yanked backward, trying to heave him away from Seth.

The attacker crashed back on the ice, then turned and snarled.

Fuck. Lachlan stepped back and whipped his rifle up. The man rose, towering over Lachlan’s own six foot two inches.