Gambled - A Titan Novella by Cristin Harber Page A

she’s a lost cause. Satellite footage suggests there’s a holding compound on Saint Lucia. She’ll be there less than eight hours if our intel’s right, and the countdown clock is already clicking. You’re her only chance.”
    Brock glanced at Sarah. There was no way he could say no. The things that happened in the foreign sex slave markets were enough to make a grown man vomit. He’d taken out enough freaks, rescued enough victims to know death was sometimes a better option. The answer came easy. “Done. I’m in.”
    Sarah’s eyebrows rose. Her lips pinched together, and Brock didn’t know if it was worry or anger or something more.
    Jared let out a sharp breath. “Thank fuck.”
    “Tell me how this is going to happen.”
    “I’ve got no boots on the ground down there. Few connections, and they can only arm you on the quick. No backup. Nothing.”
    “Roger that.”
    “You get in trouble, there’s nothing I can do. No way to pull you out. That has nothing to do with you and me, you and Sugar. Nothing to do with Titan. You get that?”
    “I know.”
    “This doesn’t mean we’re good.”
    “Didn’t make that assumption. I’ll get that kid safe. Titan can take it from there.” Because he wasn’t Titan anymore. Brock’s chest tightened. A sad swell of pathetic loss swirled deep in his gut.
    Sarah mouthed, “Kid?”
    He nodded, held up a finger to give him a minute.
    “You ready for the details?”
    Brock looked for pen and paper. This was the most rudimentary briefing he’d ever experienced. No satellite footage from Parker. No GPS coordinates to pinpoint locations or intelligence briefings that downloaded at the touch of a screen. He walked away from the bedside nightstand toward the desk, but the snag of the phone cord stopped him. A harsh chuckle escaped, and he shook his head. This was literally the least amount of technology he’d ever used on a rescue op. He was on a phone that had a cord, attached to a wall.
    Brock motioned to the desk. “Can you hand me that pad and pen?”
    She moved fast and returned to the bed. “Here.”
    He sank next to her, ready to take tactical notes on coral-colored paper with a sun and beach logo while Sarah stared over his shoulder. “All right. Go.”
    ***
    Sarah listened and watched, realizing this was the closest she’d ever come to hearing her husband talk about work. Her mind raced, wondering what it could be that required multiple phone calls and referenced a kid .
    Brock stared at his notes. She didn’t make much out of it. Numbers. Maybe an address in code? Nothing that explained what their conversation meant. They’d had an unmentioned don’t ask, don’t tell policy. But now, watching him with his jaw muscles ticking and his forehead creased, Brock personified intensity. More than a man. Larger than life. She bit her lip, still very concerned as to what was happening and oddly interested by the idea of what terrified her.
    No. She wasn’t interested. That was ridiculous. If there was an emergency, bad things were happening. Someone suffered. Someone may’ve been hurt. Brock had said a kid. She’d witnessed the aftereffects from what he had sacrificed for his own kids. But never had she seen him do his job. An hour ago, he was all sex and testosterone, rolled into one hot man. Now, he was all alpha and deadly toughness, though nothing on his exterior had changed. Yet it had.
    The air was charged. A prickle of dread and concern laced over her skin. She shifted, but the uncomfortable weight of the room didn’t alleviate its push on her shoulders.
    “Angel.” He looked up, a genuinely torn expression tensed over his cheeks and eyes. His jawline remained rigid, his mouth thinned into a straight line. “I know this trip is all about you and me, and I don’t expect you to get it. But I have to go out. Probably be back late tonight, maybe tomorrow.”
    She expected her heart to sink, expected panic to choke her, but curiosity didn’t let it.