“Rav,” I corrected, surprising myself. I rarely offered my first name to people I’d just met, especially on ops. “If we’re going to be stuck with each other for three months, might as well use it.”
“Brooke, then.” Her grip was firm, telling me her confidence wasn’t an act. “Nice to officially meet you, Rav.”
Something about the way she said my name resonated in unexpected places. I held her hand perhaps a moment longer than necessary, struck by the peculiar sense that something significant had just happened.
“Hungry?” I asked, releasing her hand. “The chow hall should be serving something marginally edible about now.”
“Starving, actually.” She shouldered her pack. “Lead the way.”
As we walked across the dusty compound, I absorbed everything about her—as my professional duty. The way she matched my stride without effort. The subtle scent of flowers beneath the universal stench of the nearby burn pit and sewage. The way she barely acknowledged the wind and dust swirling loose bits of hair that had escaped her ponytail.
“So,” she said as we approached the DFAC, “what trouble did you get into that caused them to assign you to scientist detail? Seems like a waste of your training.”
“Maybe they thought I’d learn something.”
“From a trio of lab rats?” Her tone was light, but some part of it felt forced. Perhaps she was irritated there were only three of them, which I’d heard was because the OPCW didn’t think the risk here was real.
“From someone who knows things I don’t,” I countered. “That’s usually worth paying attention to.”
She studied me for a moment, then nodded, apparently satisfied with my answer. The metal door of the DFAC creaked as I pulled it open, releasing a wave of noise and the competing smells of institutional coffee and overcooked food.
“Fair warning,” I said as we entered. “The coffee’s terrible.”
“After three deployments, I’ve developed a stomach lined with lead.” She grinned, looking every bit like she belonged in the middle of Afghanistan with us.
But it was her smile that nearly knocked me off my feet. Three months suddenly seemed both too long and not nearly enough time.
Chapter 5
Rav
I scrolledthrough the contact list for my Naples connections: Luigi at the marina, Sierra, who managed concierge services at a luxury hotel frequented by wealthy tourists, and Christophe, whose firm handled several archaeological sites.
They were all plugged into Naples’ unofficial information channels, but I’d only used them in this capacity a few times before. Not even a year ago, they’d helped us track down a fresco stolen from the Pompeii Archaeological Park—the type of work weusuallydid.
Fenix was quickly becoming a different kind of threat.
A knock came at my door, and I barked out, “On the phone.”
Ignoring my words, Scarlett slipped inside and closed the door behind her. She cocked her eyebrow, and without waiting for a response, she flicked the lock.
“Is that her?” She rounded my desk and leaned against it. “The woman from Afghanistan?”
Câlisse.Scarlett had pulled out fragments of the story over the years, usually after too much to drink. But I’d never shared Brooke’s name or the details of what had happened. Scarlett hadno doubt put it all together the moment I laid eyes on Brooke coming into the building.
“I have calls to make.” I flashed my phone at her, with Luigi’s name showing.
“She’s beautiful.”
Beautiful wasn’t a strong enough word for her. More like breathtaking, captivating, or a masterpiece. Her smile was like sunshine, and her touch was?—
Stop it, man. She’s your past.
Scarlett took my phone and placed it on my desk, face down. “And I think she still has a thing for you.”
“And you’re basing that on what?” I folded my arms and frowned at her, fully aware the pose wouldn’t intimidate her like it did most others. “The five seconds we were in the same room?”
“The way she intentionally avoided looking at you. Her little flinch when you left.” Scarlett’s smile widened. “Plus, you’re still pretty cute, in a brooding mountain-man kind of way.”
