by Angel Payne
During the two and a half hours after that, spent mostly inside Ghid’s van in a convenience store parking lot, Zoe refused to look at Shay, let alone acknowledge his assurances about how everything was going to be “copacetic,” Apparently, he and Tait had used their bond of brotherly connection to mind-meld back at the hotel and there was already some kind of plan in the works. The moment Rok pinged back at Ry with a green light on them all invading his home, they were on their way. During the trip, Colton kept showing both thumbs up, assuring Shay and Tait that all parties involved in their plan were on board for the challenge.
She’d succumbed to the royal eyebrow spike with that one. What the hell did “all the involved parties” mean when they were being hunted by every military, police, and special intelligence officer within a fifty-mile radius? Did they plan on recruiting mercenaries from the strip clubs and bars at the other end of town? The way they chattered on about “the team” and “the op” made her seriously ponder the idea, tempting her to vomit all over again. Did Shay actually think his ragtag little crew would stand with him the second anything went sideways with this plan?
And things would go sideways.
They always did when she loved the person at stake.
Mom had returned from Greece with tuberculosis. Ava moved to LA for a dream job and ended up working for a lunatic—then was nearly killed by another.
And dammit, now it would be Shay.
Who she loved just as much.
And maybe, in certain parts of her heart and soul, a little more.
She gazed at him crossing the room, joining Tait in the foyer to greet the newest arrival at the house: Sergeant Garrett Hawkins. She recognized Garrett at once from the photos of Ethan’s team that were now part of the décor in Ava’s Hermosa Beach, California bungalow. He was a muscular hunk with thick, dark blond hair that spiked naturally at the top and a proud jawline that spoke to his Iowa farm boy origins.
“Well, alooooha, asshat!” Garrett threw the warm greeting to Tait, who volleyed a mock sneer in return. Zoe figured he was allowed. The men had been on the same Special Forces team for years, until Tait’s transfer to a new assignment in Hawaii back in September.
“That’s my line, you pussy.” Tait took Garrett’s mission pack from him and tossed it along the wall next to a pair of nearly identical dark green bags. “How have you been, man? How are Sage and Racer?”
“Good…and great.” Garrett pulled out his phone to proudly show off an image. “As you can tell, he really loved his first birthday cake—though I think Sage is already worried. Seven out of the ten kids at the party were girls.”
“Let me guess,” Tait drawled. “StarWars theme?”
“You think Uncle Zekie would have it any other way?”
A man the size of a small mountain strolled in behind Garrett. He yanked the sunglasses off his formidable face, making Zoe shiver more than the first time she laid eyes on Ghid. Like Garrett, his hair was also thick. Unlike Hawkins, his near-black waves tumbled to kiss the collar of a shirt in a blinding lime green jungle print and scuffed khaki pants, a look that likely served him well if he needed to masquerade on an op as a slumming-it sheikh. Or a tree. Mierda. Ava was right. Zeke Hayes’ pictures were awful stand-ins for the man’s real-life command of a presence.
“What kind of mayhem are you blaming on me while I’m not around, Hawk-Man?” He barked it while hooking his elbow around Tait’s and Shay’s necks then yanking them into a pair of gruff holds, apparently his version of “hugging it out,” Or in. Zoe wasn’t certain she wanted to truly find out.
“Nothing requiring bail, Psycho Zsycho.”
“Holy fuck.” Zeke took in Rok’s place, with its gold-plated Greek columns, moss-green walls, French Rococo furniture, and swagged satin drapes, and promptly choked. “This place looks like Liberace had a wet dream.”
“Thank you.” Roklan emerged from the dining room, looking like one of the Hemsworths but preening like June Cleaver. “Some of the pieces actually came from his estate.”
“You don’t say.” Zeke looked as interested in that as the sidewalk he’d just walked in off of. “So are those Rhett and Rebel’s packs? Are they already here?”
“They’re setting up in the dining room.” Zoe offered it before thinking twice. She needed to help the poor guy. He looked as comfortable as a punker at the opera. She just wasn’t sure if she had the heart to tell him the dining room was just as gold, gaudy, and swirly. Maybe she’d let him be surprised.
Though it looked like a stare at her accomplished the job first. “Holy fuck,” Zeke blurted.
“Huh?” Tait questioned. “Z, what’re you—”
“I thought she was Ava.” He blinked and flashed a dopey grin that turned the cliff of his face into pulse-grabbing charisma. “Sheez,” he muttered, stepping toward Zoe. “Sorry for gawking but it’s like harmonic convergence. You could be twins with somebody I know—who also happens to be a cousin to my fiancé.”
Zoe relished the chance to slide his smart-ass words back at him. “You don’t say.”
“Seriously. You’ve got me believing in doppelgangers now.”
“Is that a good or bad thing?”
He shrugged, still a goofball in the skin of a hulk. “I think it depends on whose side you’re on.”
Shay appeared at her side. Correction: loomed at her side. “Zoe, this is Zeke Hayes, bull-in-a-china-shop extraordinaire. Zeke, meet Zoe Chestain. She’s my china.”
Zoe dug her teeth into the inside of her lip. Mierda. If the man thought he’d turn her nerves—and her pulse and her pussy—into fifteen kinds of gooey with proclamations like that, he was totally right.
She forced her attention back to Zeke, who’d gone semi-apoplectic when hearing her last name. “It’s awesome to finally meet you. Sorry it couldn’t be under more pleasant circumstances. I’ve been trying to get Rayna to bring you down here to see the show for months.”
Zeke grimaced. “Yeah, I know. Our absence is my fault. The bad guys of the world don’t take a lot of breaks. The team’s been everywhere from Manila to Mumbai lately.”
Shay clapped him on the shoulder. “Yet here you all are, spending your leave doing this one off the books. I can’t thank you guys enough.”
“From what I hear, nobody’s done ‘off the books’ better than you the last six months, dude. Now we get to be a part of the fun, too. Hell, we all might be thanking you when the fireworks are done.” He cracked his neck with cocky swagger. “I’m going to get a world-class boner off this, aren’t I? Might as well order Rayna’s ass on the next flight in from Sea-Tac right now.”
“Great plan. Maybe we can talk her and Ava into the I-dos right now.”
That interjection was issued by the next guy through the door, who received a double set of head-to-toe assessments—and subsequent approvals—from Rok and Ryder. Zoe sprinted to him in three seconds, nearly bowling him over with the enthusiasm of her hug.
“Ethan!”
“Hey there, hermana.” The guy warmed her with his smooth laugh, letting enough of his rogue’s grin linger to fill her eyes with grateful tears. His face darkened with concern. “You okay? I-Man promised me you were safe and would stay that way…”
“I am,” she rushed out. “I…am. It’s just so good to see family.”
Her tears dampened the shoulder of his black T-shirt as he drew her into another embrace and murmured, “I know. And it’s going to be okay.” He tightened his hug. “Ava’s on her way, too.”
So much for attempting to keep her composure. Joyful sobs crashed over her like a hurricane surge, making her sag a little more against him. Ethan’s encouraging hum brought even more of the emotions to the surface, and Dios, did it feel wonderful to let them free.
“Archer.” Shay didn’t hide a note of his accusation. “What the hell did you—”
“Ay,” she shouted. “Callate, silly! They’re good tears, okay?”
All the guys, including Ethan, were silent for a lon
g moment. When they all burst into chuckles, Shay was the only one to abstain.
“Welcome to the world of being smitten by a Chestain,” Ethan finally drawled.
“Down with your bass on that, brother.” Zeke pumped a solidarity fist. “At this point, I still have one burning question for the I-Man.”
Shay scowled. “Do I even want to encourage you?”
“How the hell did you snag a gem like her—in the middle of working undercover for Cameron fucking Stock?”
Zoe was thankful for the chance to join their laughter, despite how Shay reclaimed her from Ethan’s arms and tried to move in for a little peck on the lips. Not happening, amigo. He might have just cranked up the moisture readings in all the right places in her body but she was still incensed as hell at him. The thought of him walking into Adler’s lair, even with some well-trained, bad-ass Special Operations backup, still terrified her soul in corners she never knew it possessed.
“That’s an interesting story,” she said to Zeke. “I can tell you, but then you’ll be questioning how many shots of loco I got in first.”
To her surprise, Zeke and Ethan shook in harder laughs. “Ohhh, little Zoe,” Zeke explained, “this team has downed so much loco already, it’s a wonder they don’t call us the wild boys.”
“Maybe they should.”
The comment cracked the air like a whip—wielded by a Dom who knew exactly what he was doing with it. Before he even looked toward the newest arrival in the doorway, Zoe knew who it was. The six-foot-six man, a dark, skull-haircutted cross between a Samoan god and a Special Forces recruitment ad, could be none other than Captain John Franzen. Ava had gushed plenty about Ethan’s CO. The man’s presence could be felt before he entered a room and long after he departed, not only eliciting the obvious respect of the men already standing here but pulling Rhett and Rebel back out of the dining room to greet him.
“Look what the transport dragged in.” The Creole-accented jibe came from the self-described “explosives man—in more ways than one” for the team. To the rest of the guys, he was known as Moonstormer, a call-sign derived from a 1700’s pirate legend about one of his ancestors. It had taken Zoe five minutes to decide it completely fit. With his jet-black hair and fully-tattooed arms, the only thing Rebel was missing was a real brigantine. Or a Harley.
“Yo, Moon.” Franzen swapped a fist bump with his man. “You and Double-O finding a crap-ton of trouble to get into?”
Double-O was the call-sign for the man who emerged from behind Rebel. That fit, too. Rhett Lange was a stealth-quiet, brilliant-minded, completely hot ginger with biceps that stretched his dark blue polo to capacity. The shirt matched his eyes to breathtaking perfection, not that the man seemed to care. Rhett focused on his work with such force, it frightened her. Fortunately, his expertise was comm, tech, and intel, which meant his laser beam was mostly directed at the three computer screens in the other room.
“Hawk just declared he and Zsycho haven’t needed bail dough yet,” Rhett issued. “So I suppose Moonstormer and I will pick up the slack somehow.”
Garrett lobbed a glower. “Who’re you calling slacker?”
Rhett eyed a hangnail. “If the shoe fits, man…”
Zeke cracked his neck again. “Hey, uhhh, Double-O?”
“Hmmm?”
“I really dig that new Powerpuff Girls screen saver on your phone.”
“Pfffft. Like you hacked my phone.”
“Like you unlocked it on the plane so I could earn that Chuzzle trophy for you.”
Garrett and Zeke high-fived while Rhett dug his phone from his pocket.
“Fucker!” Rhett jabbed and swiped at the screen.
Rebel, clearly unable to hold back anymore, surrendered to a soft snicker. “That was righteously cool, Z, but you know payback’s a bitch with Double-O.”
Zoe dared to move into the fray. If she didn’t do something, Rok’s chichi décor was going to need therapy from the abuse it suffered beneath a bunch of Spec Ops studs in the mood to be puppies. “How about some fajitas?” After all the guys eyed her, instantly conveying one message—fuck, I hope she’s not kidding—she broke a bigger smile. “Roklan was kind enough to take a grocery list from me then called one of those cool delivery services, telling them he was having a party as a cover. I’m making beans and salad, as well, and there’s chocolate cake for dessert. I can make veggie, chicken, pork, or—”
“Beef!” The round of alpha male enthusiasm made her giggle. It didn’t hurt for drowning out the prayer resounding through her spirit, either.
Please, any saint or espíritu listening, don’t let the first meal I fix him also be his last.
* * * * *
Later, with the clock fast approaching midnight, everyone was stuffed full—and still hard at work. Though the activity through the night had included everything from gun cleaning to mission pack prep to letters for families “just in case,” everyone on the team now gathered at the dining room table, concentrating on the schematics flashing across the three large computer monitors.
They’d been able to borrow the screens from the eight Rok had in the house. And the model called this his “winter place?” Zoe’s imagination soared about his summer digs, with the Central Park views and private lap pool, in one of Manhattan’s most exclusive high rises. Not that she didn’t love it here. Cooking in this kitchen was like driving a culinary Cadillac.
After cleaning up, she reentered the dining room as Franzen directed Rhett to restart the digital mock-up of their logistics plan for the morning. The images, showing grainy shots of the little mining camp Melody had converted for the compound, had clearly been pulled off the internet. There had been no time to gather anything fancier. Even with that shared understanding, the team shared a groan. They were used to working with much more sophisticated intel, making this scenario something that probably felt like walking on tacks after strolling on grass. She was moved and amazed that though the conditions weren’t optimal, they were all alert and on fire about getting this done—all for two guys who weren’t even on their real team.
“Okay, let’s run the plan again,” Franzen prompted. “I want to be sure we’re not missing a goddamn thing.”
“Great idea,” Tait murmured.
As Rhett re-set the simulation program, Franz turned a probing gaze to Tait. “Speaking of great ideas…T-Bomb, we need to talk.”
All of Tait’s features expanded except for his mouth, which flattened. “Ohhhh no, we don’t.”
“Tait—my boy—”
“Don’t you ‘my boy’ me, dammit. Don’t you dare do this to me.”
“You want to hear me out? We have enough guys for the op, okay? If you weren’t—”
“I don’t report to you anymore! Even if I did, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re operating just a few thousand miles below the radar.” He rose so violently, his chair toppled behind him. “No matter how you slice it, you can’t command me to sit this one out.”
Franz scooped up the chair and shoved it back under the table before following Tait’s stomping path down the length of the room. “Dammit, Bommer. What do you think your mother is going to tell me if this op trips into the mud like a blind duck, loses its head then ends up being foie gras on Homer Adler’s fucking cracker? You think that woman is going to let me keep my balls after learning I led her sons, neither of whom she’s seen in twenty years, into an off-book rescue mission for her ass—that killed them both?” The man’s jaw grinded like he crunched on nails. “You want to know what kind of a padded room that’ll land her in for the rest of her life?”
That seemed to penetrate Tait’s gray matter—for two seconds. He shook his head, hands on hips, before glaring at Franz again. “She understands the pain of giving yourself for a cause that’s right. She’d—she’d understand.”
Franzen folded his arms and braced his massive legs. “Good thing you’re not on trial, Bommer. You would’ve just gotten the electric chair.”
“Are you done?�
��
“Ohhh, I’m just getting started.” One of his eyebrows hitched up. “You think I’ve taken out the heavy artillery yet?”
Tait blinked slowly. When he was done, incensed fire blazed in both his eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“You know me better than that.” Franz widened his stance, settling into the confrontation with confidence. “So let’s talk Hokulani.”
Tait wheeled away. “Let’s not.”
“Okay, Dick Tugnuts, you want to spin it like that? You want me to remind you that the only reason I let you or Kell keep sniffing around that girl was because I saw how happy you two make her? You also want me to remind you that she’s just as much a kaikuahine to me as my biological sisters and if you cause her a single splinter of pain, I’ll hunt your ass down, even if you’re on the other side, and chop your dick into bite-size chunks for hell’s Crock-Pot?”
Tait growled. “She’ll still have Kellan.”
“‘She’ll still have Kellan.’ That’s the best you can do, ass munch?”
“He’s good to her. He’s good with her.”
“Oh, shut up. You have no damn idea what you mean to her, do you?” When Tait answered with nothing but fuming silence, a surly sound prowled out of Franzen. “You know what two sides of a triangle is?” He narrowed his eyes. “Broken, T. That’s what. So hey, go ahead. You need to feel like you stuck with your brother until the bitter end because he made the big sacrifice for Mom and you didn’t? So are you going to ride with him off the cliff, just to prove you can?”
Rocks of anxiety weighed Zoe’s gut all night. With Franzen’s rant, that pit turned into a whole quarry. Logistically, she understood his tactic on Tait. Emotionally and spiritually, the man might as well have put her on a stretching rack and started cranking the handle.
“Stop,” she pleaded in a rasp.
Franzen didn’t hear her. “Which one are you going to be, T? Thelma or Louise?”
“Stop it. Please.”
Shay got up, his chair grating the floor with a vicious sound. “Christ—Franz. He gets it. We all do. Now—”
