“There he is,” Percival called out, rising to his feet as I approached. His handshake evolved into a half-embrace and backslaps. “Fucking surreal working with you again. Like old times.”
“Let’s hope not exactly like old times,” I said, settling into the chair across from him.
“The server recommended these local IPAs,” he said, gesturing to the flight. “Couldn’t tell you which is which, though. She rattled off names faster than I could process.”
“Good choice.” I raised the darkest of the samples in a toast. “To unexpected reunions.”
He clinked his glass against mine, and we both took appreciative drinks. The musicians launched into their first set, the traditional Irish sounds of a fiddle, guitar, and bodhran almost loud enough to end our conversation before it began.
“So.” Percival leaned forward, studying me with the same tactical assessment I was no doubt serving him with. “Security for a recovery company. Not where I thought I’d find you.”
“You’re one to talk.” I sampled another of the IPAs, which was lighter with citrus notes. “I didn’t expect you’d still be with Pendragon. How long’s it been now?”
“Almost six years,” he replied. “Since right after we wrapped up Op Clearwater. Satisfying work, steady pay, though having Brooke on our team isn’t standard protocol. The science division usually stays in the labs.”
“Figured as much.” I gestured to a passing server, who nodded when I mouthed ‘Wings.’ “You like it?”
His laugh was genuine. “Beats getting shot at for government pay. Though I’d argue my days are considerably more dangerous than your posh assignment.”
“Maybe.” I took another slow sip. I’d been shot at more times than he’d likely expect. “Scarlett can talk her way into any secure facility, lift your wallet, clone your security badge, and have you thanking her for the conversation before you realize anything’s missing.”
“I wanted to ask about that.” He leaned closer, though the music and crowd noise provided enough cover for our conversation. “How’d you get tied up with the James Bond crew?”
“More like Robin Hood.” At least, that was how I imagined us.
“Your boss is a little intense.”
“Evelyn?” Intense was an understatement. We were all still adjusting to the news that she’d lied about most of her history, even to her children. She’d claimed to be from Ottawa, but she was from England. Former MI6, but pretended to have been a simple accountant. “She reminds me of my first CO: terrifying efficiency, knows things she shouldn’t, zero tolerance for excuses.”
“And the team?”
“They’re family.” The words came without hesitation. “I moved here when I was twelve and fell in with Scarlett.”
“Romantically?”
“At twelve?”
Percival gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and finished his second sample glass. “Obviously, I meant later.”
I scanned back through the years. Perhaps it was because we’d become such close friends so young, but I’d never been romantically attracted to her. However, youth could hardly be my excuse, since Will and Brie were a couple. “We were never like that.”
He nodded thoughtfully, pulling another glass closer. “Seriously, though. You doing okay with this op? Working with her?”
Finally. The only real question of the evening. I’d rehearsed a dozen different ways to answer, but settled on the simplest. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Cut the bullshit, Rav. I was with you when it happened, remember?”
The memories flooded back despite my efforts to keep them buried—the gunman appearing out of nowhere, registering only that Brooke was in danger, then waking up alone in Germanywith no idea what had happened to Brooke or the rest of the team.
“Ancient history,” I said, though we both knew better. “How’s the arm?”
He flexed his right hand, although the scars were hidden under his sleeve. “Gives me trouble in the cold. Nothing serious.”
The server appeared with a large plate of chicken wings drowning in a dark sauce. “Irish whiskey BBQ wings. Anything else I can get you?”
“We’re good for now, thanks,” Percival replied, immediately reaching for the food. After she left, he shifted to a safer topic. “I didn’t invite you for a trip down memory lane. I wanted to touch base before we’re airborne tomorrow. Compare notes.”
“Confession time?”
