Blake (Blue Halo Book 3)

The van careened through the Seattle streets. Blake had spent the last two hours in a military aircraft with his team, and in about fifteen minutes, they would pull up outside T-Mobile Park.

“You still haven’t been able to make contact with the security office?” Aidan asked Steve, frustration heating his words.

Steve was on Aidan’s phone via video call.

“No.” The agent’s frustration rivaled everyone else’s. His lips were tight and his shirt rumpled where he’d been tugging at it repeatedly. “I’m almost certain they’ve taken over the security booth and the control room.”

Goddamn it. That essentially gave them control over the entire stadium—without drawing attention to themselves. It could give Ahmad just enough control to pull off an attack.

Steve, as well as everyone else on his end at the FBI, wanted Blake and his team to go in quietly to avoid mass hysteria and a panicked stampede of tens of thousands of people trying to get out. Worked for Blake. It would keep Ahmad from being tipped off that they knew exactly where he was. It gave them some much-needed time to find Willow.

“We’re inside.”

Jackson’s voice came from Blake’s earpiece. He hoped to God there weren’t any bombs involved today, but if there were, Jackson and Declan’s advanced training on bomb deactivation and demolition were Willow’s best shot. They’d done a comprehensive check on all three guys from the plane. Their backgrounds checked out.

Both men had been sent a picture of Willow and Ahmad. They knew who they were looking for.

“The place is packed,” Declan said quietly.

Blake’s teeth ground as he checked his weapons.

Steve straightened, looking at someone else in the room. “You got it?” He looked back at the screen. “We just hacked into security footage at the park.”

A second later, the screen flicked to the field at the ballpark. It was only on the screen for a second before the view changed to an interior hallway, then another. Steve’s men didn’t stop until they reached the security office.

Blake’s fists clenched. Dead security guards lay on the floor of the room while two men sat in front of the cameras. Ahmad’s men, no doubt.

“Ahmad’s men have breached the security office,” Callum said to Jackson and Declan.

“How many?” Jackson asked.

“Two,” Blake replied.

“I’ll go there now,” Declan said quietly.

“I’ll search for Willow,” Jackson added.

Blake’s team huddled over the phone, knowing there would be more men elsewhere. The footage flicked from camera to camera in the stadium.

“Stop!” Blake said, leaning forward. “Go back to the last screen with the staff entrance.”

The screen flicked back.

Blake’s fists clenched. “More of Ahmad’s men.”

They were both wearing the same security uniforms as staff at the other entrance points. Both were Middle Eastern, one with a scar across his right temple, the other with a scar on his right hand. But what set them apart from others was the way they held their guns. The way their eyes searched the area, as if waiting for something.

A second later, a group of men approached the two guards.

A thick dread seized his lungs. And not just because one of the guys was Ahmad.

But because of what two of his men were holding.

A long black bag. He was betting anything Willow was inside.

The air hissed from his chest in dark rage and every muscle in his body vibrated with the need to get to her.

“Ahmad and four of his men are entering the park via the north side staff entrance,” Logan said to Jackson.

The man cursed. “I’m on the other side of the park. It’ll take me a while to get there, especially with the crowds, but I’ll head there now.”

They continued watching Ahmad and his men, Steve’s guys flicking through the security cameras as they went.

Blake’s rage continued to bloom. “What’s his plan?”

They watched them enter the Mariners’ locker room. A security guard tried to stop them. One of Ahmad’s guys quickly shot him with a silent bullet to the skull before pulling him into the room.

Blake’s heart pounded in his chest. The locker room was the perfect place to detonate a bomb. Ahmad and his men would never be able to get on the field. Not with all the security. But the locker room was close.

If the bomb was big enough, not only would the explosion be heard, but the stands sitting directly above the locker room could collapse, injuring, even killing, thousands of spectators.

The loud sound of a zipper tugged at Willow’s consciousness. Then there were heavy footsteps, walking away from her.

She scrunched her eyes at the throbbing pain in her skull. The migraine was in full force now, pounding in her head like a drum. Blinding her. Making it hard for her to think.

Something in her brain told her she needed to open her eyes. There was danger. Something she needed to be awake for.

Forcing her eyes open, she frowned, the room a blur of bright light.

Slowly, she pushed to her feet. Everything around her spun, and she almost fell back down. She barely stopped herself by grabbing onto a wall.

She felt heavy. So unbelievably heavy. She wasn’t sure her legs would hold her.

She took a step forward, only to have bile rise in her throat. Pausing, she sucked in deep breaths, doing everything she could to push down the nausea. Then, she took slow steps toward what looked to be a door. Her legs still felt wobbly, her body heavy, each step taking all her effort. It was all she could do to remain on her feet and keep moving. To not collapse.

But there was still something in her head, a whisper that demanded she go. Get out.

Reaching for the handle, she pushed it down. A small whimper escaped her lips when it didn’t open. She tried again, this time pressing harder.

Oh God. Locked. She was locked in this room.

When muffled shouting permeated the air, a soft moan fell from Willow’s lips. She had no idea where the noise was coming from, but it was loud, stabbing at her skull like a knife.

She forced herself to breathe. Deep breaths, in and out of her chest. Then she scrunched her eyes, trying to force the shapes in the room to clear. It took several blinks, but she began to make things out.

Was she in a…locker room?

Something to the side caught her vision. A scream tore from Willow’s chest when she realized what it was. She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop herself from being sick.

The body of a security guard. He had a bullet wound between his eyes. Eyes that were open and lifeless.

Turning away, she bent over, pressing her hands to her thighs, and breathing deeply.

That’s when she finally noticed something else. Her jaw slipped open, trembling fingers going to her chest before quickly pulling away.

A bomb. Strapped to her chest.

Her entire body seized. Raw terror bolted through her heart, and fear paralyzed her limbs.

That was the heaviness. That’s why her entire body felt weighed down.

Her vision hazed, and this time she wasn’t sure if it was because of the migraine or fear.

“Breathe, Willow! Breathe.”

She sucked in more gulps of air, but they were barely reaching her lungs. Turning back to the door, she banged her fists against the metal, screaming as loud as she could.

“Help me! Please!”

Every bang caused a fresh wave of pain to skitter through her head. Every scream pierced her ears. But she gritted her teeth and continued. Needing someone to hear her.

She’d barely been banging for a few seconds when a voice responded. An angry voice that she had no way of understanding, speaking Arabic.

She pulled her fists away quickly. Oh God! They were guarding the door. Were they intending to stay out there even as the thing blew up?

Suddenly, something else penetrated her muddled mind. The guy said she’d die at seven thirty.

What was the time? She had no watch or phone.

Her gaze shot to the security guard. It looked like they’d taken any weapons he might have had, but the watch on his wrist remained.

She took a reluctant step forward, and a wave of nausea caused her legs to buckle. Her head pounded so hard she could feel the vibrations through her entire body now.

She took another slow step forward. And another. When she reached the dead body, she lowered to her knees, and with trembling fingers, lifted his wrist.

Seven twenty-two. She had eight minutes.

Willow’s eyes shuttered, and a tear she couldn’t stop trickled down her face. A tear for her daughter who would lose her mother. A tear for all the kids and parents in the ballpark about to lose their lives and their family and friends about to lose loved ones.

She sucked in a breath. Mila was strong. She’d be okay. Eventually. Blake would make sure of it.

And Blake…

At the thought of him, another part of her heart cracked. She and Blake had only just found each other again. And now they would be separated…this time forever.

A sudden bang from outside the door pulled Willow’s attention. Then another.

She forced herself to her feet. Could that be help? Blake?

Icy fear rolled over her skin. She didn’t want him anywhere near this bomb!

Then the door flew open, and a man stepped into the room. A man she’d never seen before, tall and broad, with a gun in his hand and a bag strapped to his back. He was wearing casual clothing but there was something about him, something that had her thinking of Blake. Of his team.

Military. He had to be.

“My name’s Jackson Ford,” the guy said, shoving the bag off his shoulders as he approached. He rummaged through it from the ground. “I’m working with the FBI and the US military.” He studied the vest before meeting her gaze. His eyes softened, voice gentling. “I’m going to deactivate this bomb.”

Behind him, she noticed two men lay by the door, blood pooling around their heads. Then she noticed another man…someone who looked a bit like this Jackson guy. His gun was drawn and he scanned his surroundings.

“That other guy is Declan. He’s with me. If there was anyone in this world I’d want watching my back or yours, it would be him.” Without looking up, he said softly, “I met your daughter.”

Hot tears she couldn’t stop or slow flooded her eyes. Her vision blurred as he rose and started working on her vest. “You did?”

“I did. She found me at a little cafe in Lindeman. We called her dad. She’s safe with one of my guys. They’re probably eating hot dogs and watching Netflix.”

Suddenly, the pain in her skull dulled just a little. The tremble in her limbs lessened.

Mila was safe. Would be safe forever, regardless of whether Willow lived.

“The bomb’s going to explode at seven thirty,” Willow said quietly, watching the man’s face rather than what he was doing. “You and your friend should go. Save yourselves.”

He gave a quick head shake. “I can’t do that, Willow. I’ve never left a woman behind before, and I don’t intend to start now. Plus, I already promised your daughter and Blake that I would get you out of here alive. And I never break a promise.”

She caught a glimpse of his watch. Seven twenty-five. Five minutes.

Blowing out a slow, shuddering breath, she shut her eyes, allowing thoughts of Mila and Blake to flood her. Calm her. All her best memories were with them. Every single one.

As Jackson worked, she prayed that Blake and Mila would keep making memories together. That they’d fill every moment with joy and laugher and love so thick that it consumed the heart.

“Stay with me, Willow. I’ve almost got it.”

She opened her eyes, watching the guy’s face. He was concentrating fully on his task, his hands steady. He didn’t look fazed at all that the bomb could explode at any second.

She tried to stop herself, but she couldn’t. She shot a look at his watch. Seven twenty-seven.

Her heart felt raw, her limbs barely holding her up. This time, she didn’t draw her eyes away from the time. She watched, waiting for the last three minutes to tick down.

You have my heart, now and forever, Mila and Blake.

She whispered the words in her head, praying that the words floated through the ether and touched them.

“Got it.”

Her legs caved—strong arms just catching her before she hit the ground.