Surrender A Section 8 Novel

Chapter Forty-two





Dare hadn’t spoken to Gunner about what had happened at Powell’s, hadn’t had the chance once the power went out and Gunner slipped him the keys to his chains.

It had all happened in a blur, Gunner shoving him out of the room in the dark. He stripped his clothes, passed them to Gunner. When the lights came on, Gunner had Powell on the ground, dressed in Dare’s clothes, a gun to his head. He’d knocked Powell out after whispering something to him that Dare hadn’t been able to make out.

And then Gunner had tossed him Powell’s pants, which Dare yanked on. Gunner had pushed Dare to hide in Darius’s cell and disappeared himself when the bodyguards Gunner must’ve called for came charging in. He heard the orders come over their walkie-talkies. Powell’s voice—or Gunner’s best imitation of it.

“Kill him. Don’t call me again until there’s no pulse,” came the order, and at that moment, a high-pitched wail came from under Powell’s hood.

Dare snuck out just as the beating started. Untied Grace and got her to the helo.

Now, they all stood together on the tarmac from where Jem had taken off. The ride had been quiet and tense, with no one speaking much.

They’d all seen what happened between Gunner and Powell from one camera or another. Now they all stared at him, until Dare breathed, “Gunner . . . f*ck.”

“Yeah, that about sums it up,” Gunner said. “Thanks for taking care of that for me.”

He sounded calm, but he looked shaken as he referenced Dare getting Powell alone so Gunner could have him killed.

“Gunner, what the hell?” Jem asked, but Gunner shook his head.

“Can’t get into that now,” he told them. He got no argument. Whatever the story was, it would be huge.

Grace stepped forward and hugged Gunner hard. Gunner hugged her back, and Dare assured him, “It’s over.”

“Not for me, no,” Gunner said. “But this—this was necessary before I could fix everything. I was going to leave it alone, be content with what I had.”

“And now?”

“I’m done with the status quo.”

“What about the team?” Avery asked him, and he shrugged noncommittally.

“Some things I have to do first. I’m not ruling it out.”

“So we’ve got a broken psychic, Powell’s son, a bounty hunter turned murderer, a discharged Ranger, and f*cked-up SEAL,” Jem said.

“Former,” Dare said. “And a mental patient.”

“Not a bad start for a team,” Jem said.

“This isn’t a team,” Dare muttered.

“Smells like one to me,” Key said with a smile. “And pay up, because I won our bet.”


* * *

Dare held Grace back while the others climbed into the waiting truck. Darius’s body would be transported back from the private airport separately, to be cremated in the bayou that he’d loved so much.

It was an ending—and a beginning.

“You saved me,” she said.

“And you saved me,” he told her. “I can’t believe you went there, put yourself in that kind of danger for me.”

“That’s what you do when you love somebody, Dare.”

“I want to strangle you for doing it, so you’re damned lucky I love you too.”

She smiled at that, and he tried not to worry about the bruise on her cheek or the cut on her arm. Even though Darius didn’t make it through, he’d helped put them all together, and Dare couldn’t ever properly thank the man for that as long as he lived.

He figured the best way to do so would be to live up to Darius’s legacy—and surpass it. Because they wouldn’t work for anyone but themselves—they’d need to trust only one another.

“Dare, I have something to tell you,” she murmured.

“You already did.”

“No, there’s more.” She looked troubled. “I knew . . . about Darius. I knew he would die today. And when I see things like that, I can’t change them. There was nothing I could do.”

“Ah, baby, I know. There’s nothing you could’ve done. I hate that you have to see things like that sometimes.”

She gave a small, wan smile. “I wish I could see good things.”

“Maybe you don’t need to be psychic to see the good. It’s all right here,” he told her, and she gave him a fierce hug.

“To fresh starts.”

“That’s the best offer I’ve heard all damned day.” He paused. “When I think of what we almost lost . . .”

“Sometimes, maybe you have to lose everything to gain anything,” she said.

“I think you’re a very smart woman, Grace O’Rourke.”

“I don’t remember getting married.”

“Small detail. You’ve been mine from the moment I met you.”

She wouldn’t have had it any other way.



Acknowledgments


Writing a book is never a solitary venture. I have to thank my editor, Danielle Perez, for her patience and help. For Kara Welsh and Claire Zion, for their support. For the art department and their simply amazing cover.

For the wonderful readers who buy my books, chat about them on Facebook and Twitter and send me terrific e-mails. I couldn’t do this job without your support.

And as always, I have to thank my family—Zoo, Lily, Chance and Gus—for their constant, unwavering faith in me.