Logan’s shrug didn’t match the tightness in his jaw. “This isn’t coming from me. Higher up requested him personally.”
Him?
Something twisted in my gut. “Who?”
He pulled off his gloves, shoved them in his pocket, and met my eyes like he was bracing for impact.
“Adam Stoker.”
The name landed like a punch.
I laughed once, but there was no humor in it. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish I were.”
My hands curled into fists. “Why would they send him?”
Logan tilted his head, voice dropping. “Figured you’d want to know before he walks in.”
Too late.
Bootsteps echoed across the hangar. I didn’t turn around. I didn’t have to.
That voice—I’d know it anywhere. Confident. Careless. Untouchable.
“Permission to enter the disaster zone, Captain?”
I swallowed hard, forced my face blank, and turned.
There he was.
Adam Stoker. Broader shoulders. A little scruff. Same damn smirk, just a bit older.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered.
His eyes met mine. Steady. Unflinching. Like he didn’t remember—or worse, like he didn’t care.
“Nice to see you too, Carter,” he said.
3
Adam
The hangar felt smaller with her in it.
Raine Carter stood like she was welded to the floor, every inch of her telling me she’d rather be anywhere else. Those hot, steamy nights with her in my bed made my blood boil. But then she was gone. Two months with her, and then she disappeared.
“Logan,” I said, breaking eye contact first, “is your bird still pulling a clean lift with the extra fuel rig?”
“Barely,” he said. “Depends who’s dangling off it.”
“Cute,” Raine muttered.
I set my bag on the table next to her dripping helmet and forced a smile. “I’m not here to step on toes. Command asked for outside coordination. I coordinate.”
“You control,” she shot back.
“Semantics.” I scanned the whiteboard: red grease pencil sectors, magnets showing who hadn’t come back yet. “We’re behind. If the river crests again, half of Sector Foxtrot will be gone.”
