It had taken Hancock longer than he would have liked, but he wasn’t about to risk his men by stopping in the open in an area that wasn’t defensible. At least here, they would be underground in a blastproof bunker, and they’d take turns at watch so they’d know if anyone ventured close.
His men were well used to operating on little to no sleep. They could stay up for days and still be alert and aware in a fight, so a few hours spent on watch would hardly impair them going forward.
He eased from the vehicle and then reached in and lifted Honor’s small body into his arms, anchoring her against his chest as he strode toward the entrance Conrad had already hurried to open.
“Get the vehicle to cover,” Hancock ordered, pausing at the entrance to issue orders to his men. “Mojo, you and Conrad take first watch. Two hours. Henderson and Viper, you take the next shift.” He glanced at Copeland—or Cope as he was called for his cool-under-pressure way of being able to cope with anything. “Cope, you and I will take last watch. I’ll get everyone up when it’s time to get on the move again.”
“Why we stopping now, boss?” Conrad asked, his gaze inquisitive.
Hancock could well understand why his men would wonder at his uncharacteristic stop. They usually pushed themselves, going days without sleep in order to achieve their objective as quickly as possible.
“The woman will be useless to us unless she has time to rest and recover.”
“Bad mojo,” Mojo muttered.
“I don’t mind saying that this mission blows,” Cope spoke up.
Hancock looked at his man in surprise. He couldn’t ever remember any of his men taking issue with the many missions that were in that nebulous area between good and bad. Some of them soul sucking, taking a piece of them at a time until there was little humanity left in any of them. Hancock included. This mission was hardly one of their worst. They’d done far worse in the name of “good” and the protection of others. The innocent who couldn’t stand for themselves. That was Titan’s job. To stand for them. To protect them while they slept the sleep of the ignorant, never knowing how close they came to death.
“She doesn’t deserve her fate,” Cope said by way of explanation, his expression grim, actual anger brimming in his usually cold, emotionless gaze. “And I don’t like the fact that we’re deceiving her. She’s . . . courageous,” he said, as though struggling to come up with the right word to describe her. “She deserves to be spared. She held off those fuckers for over a week and evaded capture. I don’t know of anyone, much less a woman, who can claim the same. She’s already a fucking national hero, not only to the people here, but in the U.S. as well.”
“Bad mojo,” Mojo said again, making Hancock realize that Mojo’s feelings mirrored Copeland’s own, and that was why he’d uttered the first “Bad mojo.”
Well, fuck. This wasn’t ever a complication he’d encountered with his team. Not once. Not even when they’d forcibly taken Grace from KGI, shooting one of KGI’s men in the process and damn near killing Rio later. And Grace as well. Not when they’d allowed Caldwell to abduct Maren when she was pregnant and vulnerable and keep her under lock and key until Hancock was forced—by his goddamn newly developed conscience—to intercede and blow his mission all to hell to get her out.