Page 13 of Wrecked
Hawk and Cooper hopped in Cooper’s truck. Two minutes later, they parked near the helipad. As Hawk made his way toward the Bell 407 helicopter—stationed at the facility for training purposes—Cooper turned on the stadium lights, illuminating the giant bird.
Hawk ran through the checklist. Didn’t matter that he’d taken the bird out yesterday. He’d run through the inspection again. Unlike some jets, the helicopter had no ejection seats. If the chopper had a malfunction, he and his crew were going down.
Not on my watch.
Halfway through his inspection, Addison drove into the parking lot, cut the engine, and got out. Pausing, he checked her out. Truth was, he could stare at her all the damn day. She was all of five feet four, muscular, yet small boned. Strong, but delicate at the same time. Long dark hair, translucent blue eyes, thin lips, big smile that lit up her beautiful face.
She’d changed into black fatigues, a black T-Shirt, and a floor-length black duster. She’d pulled her dark brown hair into two braided pigtails that trailed down her chest, a knit cap on her head, black combat boots on her feet. While her outfit was extreme for a night at the beach, Addison could pull it off. That woman looked hot in every damn thing she wore.
Beneath that long, flowing jacket she was packing heat. Most likely, multiple weapons. She had one job. To assassinate the Festival Shooter, and he had no doubt she’d get the job done.
Over her shoulder hung his backpack. His jacket and shirt were draped over her arm, his Glock in her right hand.
He wasn’t just attracted to her physically. She was super smart, very energetic, and completely fearless.
“Hey.” She set his clothes and weapon on the passenger seat, laid his backpack on a back seat. “Need my help?”
“I got this,” he replied as he checked the rear propeller.
Cooper, phone to his ear, jogged over. He finished up the call, but grew silent while Hawk ensured the bird was flight-worthy.
“Chopper’s ready,” Hawk said yanking off his white shirt. “What’s the word?”
“According to my source, the shooter might have checked in under a new alias, but we don’t have confirmation,” Cooper explained. “He spotted someone wearing the long-haired wig and a baseball cap. My CI lost him, which means he changed his disguise.”
Hawk tugged on the black shirt, then flicked his gaze to Addison. “Button me up, boss.”
She hesitated for a split second, then a ghost of a smile lifted the corners of her lips. Despite the stressful situation, Hawk would do what he could to diffuse it. They needed to be totally relaxed to pull this off.
She buttoned him up, then held out the holster. He slipped it over his right shoulder, inserted the secondary weapon. Next, she held out his jacket. Once that was on, he tucked his Glock behind his waist, beneath the sport coat.
Cooper chuckled. “Do you normally dress him?”
“He’s challenged when he does it himself,” Addison replied. Then, the playfulness in her eyes fell away. “We gotta head out.”
“Get in,” Hawk said. “We can’t stop him from here.”
Cooper jumped in the back, pulled the door shut. Like earlier, Addison rode shotgun. Hawk settled into the pilot’s seat. They strapped in, pulled on headsets. Hawk fired up the bird.
“Coop,” Hawk said through the mic, “tell me you contacted ATC about my landing on the rooftop.”
“I made a call,” Cooper replied. “It shouldn’t be an issue.”
“We’re about to find out,” Hawk replied. “Tower, this is Bravo King Whiskey Alpha Alpha. Alpha Alpha requests clearance for lift off.”
“Alpha Alpha, you’re cleared for lift-off,” said the controller.
“Alpha Alpha requests touching down on the Pamplona Hotel rooftop in Ocean City,” Hawk said.
“Run that by me again,” said the controller.
“Alpha Alpha requests touching down on the Pamplona Hotel rooftop in Ocean City,” Hawk repeated.
“Right, Alpha Alpha cleared for rooftop landing.”
“Here we go, babe,” Hawk said, as the helo lifted off the ground.
Hawk loved flying. Even with the high stakes of an ALPHA mission, flying relaxed him. As he headed east, toward the ocean, he kept his eye on his instruments, listened to the drone of the propellers. He was one with whatever craft he flew because, by doing that, he could feel if something was off.
