Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Thirty-nine





Jem was convinced it was the worst plan in the world, if not the most difficult, far-fetched one, which was exactly why he was on board with it.

“He won’t kill me on sight,” Grace had insisted.

“That a psychic thing or a wishful-thinking thing?” Jem asked, and Grace had said honestly, “A little of both.”

Now, with Gunner and Avery hidden in the back, the helo rose over the ocean stretch that would deliver them to Rip’s mysterious island. None of them had let Dare or Key in on the plan, in case they’d already been compromised. They hadn’t heard from either man in twenty-four hours, and they were all trying not to believe Powell’s party line.

Grace had paced all night, but she hadn’t gotten a single lead on either man. Or Powell, for that matter.

“This is not good,” Gunner muttered over and over as they mapped out the water surrounding the island.

Avery barely said anything. She was stoic and serious. She’d told Grace she was terrified of heights, but with Gunner’s help she was holding it together well. She had something else to focus on—getting Dare and Darius back safely—and that would go a long way in keeping her fears quashed.

“We’re sixty miles out,” Jem called back.

Grace sat next to him, hands clasped tightly in her lap.

“You know, one of your visions would be most helpful right about now,” he joked.

She gave a thin smile, trying not to look nervous and failing spectacularly. “I wish.”

“He’s fine,” he repeated for the millionth time. “You’d know if he wasn’t. You would.”

“Yes, I believe that,” she said into the miked headphones they all wore to block out the noise in the helo.

Gunner would drop out of the helo over the ocean, then wait until the right moment to surface on the island and hide. Jem and Avery would drop Grace on the island, then land the helo back on the mainland and travel by boat back to the island under the cover of darkness. Because this wasn’t about a stealth escape. No, this was about killing Powell and anyone else on the goddamned island who worked for him so their lives weren’t a total goatf*ck.

Granted, they could be totally goatf*cked for so many other reasons, but why dwell on that now when they were facing sudden death?

He hadn’t been on a mission this shit-in-your-pants in years. He was back.

“ETA?” Gunner asked.

“You’d better start getting ready. Got to drop you well out of binocular range.”

Gunner was trained like a SEAL for the UDT. He’d needed no convincing to take part in the mission and had assumed this role with no arguments.

“He’ll swim in after the dust has cleared. Powell will be convinced you’re alone, as promised.”

“Dare’s going to kill you for this,” she murmured.

“Hoping you can convince him differently, sweetheart,” Jem muttered back, and this time she gave him a real smile.

“I’ll put in a good word.”

Good, she was feeling confident about the plan—an excellent sign, which meant she was ready to tangle with this Powell bastard.


* * *

Grace watched Jem pilot the chopper with an ease she hadn’t seen before. She had mixed feelings about the birds in general, remembered her first trip in one to Rip’s magical island when she’d just turned ten.

“Richard’s having a birthday party for you, to welcome us into his life,” Esme had told her, pointed out the sights through the window as Grace tried not to throw up. Her nausea had nothing to do with the flight or the altitude, but rather with knowing that life as she knew it was over.

Years later she’d watched the chopper rise with her mother inside it. The woman she’d been told was dead and now knew lived somewhere on another island in luxury, no doubt funded by Rip. She’d be finding out more about that on this trip.

The last time she’d been on a helo, she’d come out of the trunk she’d been hiding in, helped by the two caterers/black ops operators hired by Section 8 to take her out.

And now . . . she was doing this last trip here for herself as much as to save Dare and Key and Darius. As angry as she wanted to be at Dare for tricking her, she understood he’d done it for her. A declaration of love couldn’t have been more beautiful.

She couldn’t wait to see him again and tell him that feeling was reciprocal. But first things first—she had to prepare for Rip. To get back into cold, calculating mode. To play the role of the grifter, in case her gift decided to remain unpredictable.

“I know I said I didn’t want you back, but I’d welcome you with open arms,” she whispered to herself, not caring if Jem heard. “I’d take you every day for the rest of my life if you’d help us with this.”

No answer, no sign from above. But Jem reached out and gave her a squeeze on her shoulder. For now, that would have to be enough.


* * *

Dare wasn’t sure where the hell he was when he woke. Last he remembered, he and Key had fought through sixteen men and won. Stolen a car and gotten to the hotel, where they were ambushed by stun guns and tranquilizer darts, enough to take down a goddamned elephant.

He listened carefully, heard the rush of ocean waves, and he knew exactly where he was.

“Powell’s island of fun,” Key muttered from the cell next to him, his voice coming through the small opening in the cement wall. “About time you woke up from your beauty sleep.”

“You all right?”

“Fine, except for the bonds.”

Dare felt the chains weighting his wrists and ankles. A nice, sadistic touch. He’d expected nothing less.

“They’re coming for us,” Key said. “There are ten of them. I bet I can take mine down first.”

“Bastard,” he muttered. “You’ve got a bet.”

The chains wound around his limbs would take too long to unwind. He’d use them to his advantage. When the first guy came in, he backed up to get him close. And then Dare slammed the man’s nose with both fists together, next opening his forearms to slip the man’s head inside.

He checked the man and let him drop.

He glanced at the dead man on the floor. Ten men—nine to go.