“That’s ridiculous,” Opal muttered.
Kennedy grinned. “Welcome to Blackout Charlie, where things aren’t always what they seem.”
Before she could argue, the women began neatly folding the clothes and filled a duffel. Izzy topped it off with a small bag of travel essentials. And Kennedy disappeared into the walk-in closet and returned cradling—of all things—a designer handbag.
“I really don’t need that.” Opal jabbed a finger at it in distaste.
“It’s a knockoff. But maybe you’re right—someone might try to mug you.”
I’d like to see them try.
Senses prickling, Opal glanced up to find Izzy studying her closely. When Opal caught her staring, Izzy gave her a soft smile. “I was going to bring my makeup box, but your skin isflawless. And those eyelashes are a mile long. You don’t need any makeup.”
“I never wear makeup except the one time I covered a black eye.” The moment the words left her mouth, conversation stalled like someone had cut a wire.
To her utter surprise, Alyssa giggled. Izzy grinned. May laughed next, and then all of them joined in until the room pulsed with a weird, pajama-party energy Opal had zero experience with. She had run through gunfire with less confusion than she felt right now.
Sophie caught her expression and nodded as if everything was settled.
They were wrong. She didn’t fit anywhere. Not in the FBI. Not in the world she grew up in. But fitting in had never been a requirement.
Surviving was.
TWO
The meeting ended, but the questions were just beginning.
Sinner slipped out of the war room before anyone could voice them. Before the wordQuanticolit a wildfire he couldn’t smother with jokes or deflection.
He’d already clocked the looks from the Charlie team—curiosity, shock, disbelief. A few flickers of respect mixed in.
They all had pasts. His just happened to be something he didn’t advertise.
After meetings like this, the mansion usually buzzed with restless energy. Guys hit the shooting range or gathered around the pool table. But this time, every corner he turned, he felt eyes tracking him. Weighing him.
They wanted answers.
Instead of going through the kitchen, where he was bound to run into a couple teammates, he took the side door and cut across the lawn, headed for the outdoor kitchen and the pizza oven.
It might be a joke that he made the pizzas, but it kept his hands busy, which he needed right now.
The thick grass whispered against his boots as he strode toward the paver walkway leading to the patio. The acres surrounding the mansion were kept as tidy as the team could manage, but they didn’t have a lot of time for cutting the lawn when they were deployed.
Izzy had taken up gardening, so the flower garden was less wild than it once was, but it didn’t do anything to ease his soul.What he needed was the dough under his hands…and time to think.
Thankfully, no one was on the patio—yet. But they would be, as soon as he fired up the oven, and they’d be firing questions at him.
He grabbed a couple logs off the pile and built a small fire for the perfect crispy crust. While the oven was heating, he puttered around the outdoor kitchen—his domain—gathering supplies.
The dough he’d been working with earlier could be salvaged if he wanted to risk going into the house to get it. Through the patio door leading to the kitchen, he could see guys grabbing snacks and probably talking about him.
Not that a SEAL cared about crap like that.
With practiced hands, he rolled out a batch of dough he had stocked in the fridge, muscle memory taking over when his thoughts refused to settle.
His mind kept straying to the meeting, to the woman with eyes as dark as a midnight raid. He couldn’t stop questioning what made her the most qualified for this op besides FBI training. Hell, he didn’t even know the entire scope of the operation at all.
He tossed the dough over and over until he achieved the shape and thickness required. He placed it on a pizza stone and spread the sauce he canned himself. He needed to make more sauce—he didn’t like running low. Next was cheese. Basil last.
