“Where is the house in relation to the highway?” Parker asks, chewing the inside of her bottom lip. I understand her concern.
“It’s not that far from the highway, pretty easy access, but the main problem is his security system. The only real way to get in is to score an invitation. Which I have,” Jake says with a mysterious smile.
“How the hell did you do that?” DeShaun asks, impressed.
“I may have indicated an affiliation with a certain basketball god.”
Anders grips his own head. “Dude! What if that gets out? It’ll ruin Jean-Pierre’s reputation.”
Jake’s brow arches imperiously. “Please. Also, I’ve been documenting the bad data with Ronan, and we’ve gotten pretty good at identifying altered data ahead of time. So I believe this op will go very smoothly. Ronan, do you want to go over the details with everyone?”
Ronan and Parker review the details of the mission, and it does seem pretty straightforward. The way those two work together on both the tactical logistics and the physical needs of the mission…it almost feels like we’re a professional outfit. It for sure feels like we’re a family.
The thought of family makes my chest feel tight andI glance over at DeShaun. His body’s angled in my direction, but when our eyes meet, he refocuses on the screen.Same as it ever was.
And just like that, my attention is shot to hell. As Ronan and Parker wrap up the details, I fall into a memory, the one that’s like a hard bit of ache that has never fully gone away.
“I think I’m going to ask him out for a beer when I see him tomorrow,” I tell my brother, packing up my gear for my trip into Baghdad. “There was definitely a spark there last month.”
Anders grimaces. “Uhhh…I already tried that and he read me the riot act about not fraternizing with people under his command. Which was total bullshit. We’re not even technically under his command. We’re on loan for fuck’s sake.”
I drop my rucksack on the bed. “You hit on him?”
Fuck. Of course my brother would beat me to the punch.
Anders shakes his head. “I just thought he’d be fun for a quick one and done, but I was unambiguously rejected. I mean, if you like him, he’s all yours. But I doubt he’ll go down easy.”
I scowl, not sure why I’m so bothered. My brother and I often have to navigate around similar crushes, and we’re both pretty sanguine about letting the other pursue if they’re more interested. I think it’s the idea that I’d be shot down before even having a chance that sticks in my craw.
That’s okay, I’m a smart guy. I’ll find a workaround.
By the time I get to DeShaun’s location, I have a plan in place.
Stretching after a day of installing a new security system at the compound, I make sure I dawdle enough to be one of the last ones in the building. I wander over from the server room into the command center. “Hey, DB. I don’t suppose you can point me to a place to get a beer and a burger, huh?”
DB chuckles to himself, then looks around. We’re alone. Scratching his chin, he answers, “The Iraqi parliament banned alcohol, but…if you’re willing to be discreet, I know a place that’s friendly to Americans.”
“Lead the way.”
The place isn’t too far away, though we enter through a back alley and are led to the restaurant owner’s tiny, crowded office. I don’t care—I would endure far rougher environments for the chance to spend some time with this guy. Also, the burgers are fantastic.
Pushing aside the dinner remnants, I squint one eye as I examine the homemade brew we’re drinking. “Call me crazy, but this beer is kind of growing on me.”
He clinks my bottle with his and takes a swallow. “Careful, it’ll put you on your ass.”
He’s right, of course. Only two drinks in and we’re both a little bleary-eyed and chatty. We somehow get onto the subject of family and I have him rolling with tales of the Bash family.
He has a few nice stories, too, but then describes the night that his parents were killed in a house fire. His grandma had been sleeping in his room, and she’d been able to get him out through the bedroom window. A few years later she died of a heart attack, and he went into the system. He doesn’t say a whole lot about his experiences in foster care, but the way he absentmindedly strokes the small scar in his eyebrow tells me that it wasn’t a good experience.
Hesitating, he pulls out his wallet, carefully sliding out an aging picture. “That’s the only picture I have of my mother.”
I take the delicate picture and smile. “Who’s this little guy?” I ask, pointing to a well-loved teddy bear. One of his eyes has been replaced with a carefully stitched X, the bow has lost some of its shape, and the fur is patchy.
“Oh, that was Dylan,” he answers, a sort of sweet melancholy shining in his eyes.
I laugh softly. “Dylan? That’s a funny name for a bear.”
He shrugs. “I dunno, that was the name it came with. Anyway, the first foster home I went to threw everything away. They acted like I should be grateful that they at least saved this picture.”
