The morning sun crept over the horizon, painting the jagged peaks of the Devil's Backbone in hues of bruised purple and gold. The air was finally still, the violent thrum of the helicopter and the scream of engines replaced by the distant, rhythmic clinking of federal agents tagging evidence. I sat on the rear bumper of an ambulance, a thick wool blanket draped over my shoulders, watching as the paramedics stabilized Dax's arm. He looked like he'd been dragged through a rock crusher, but the way he stared at me across the clearing made my chest tighten with a heat that had nothing to do with the rising sun."He's going to be fine, Mia," Tank grunted, stepping up beside me. The massive enforcer looked relatively unscathed, though his leather vest was shredded at the shoulder. He handed me a bottle of water, his eyes reflecting a rare, quiet respect. "The Vice President has a skull made of reinforced iron. It'll take more than a fifty-foot jump to knock the sense out of him."
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