She’d worked under both men. It wasn’t that she had a preference, but switching gears mid-mission planning was always a recipe for disaster.
However, what had bothered her the most about this change had been Lorre’s hovering yet hands-off attitude. He’d demanded to be involved—which was a good thing—but refused to aid in the fights with the brass. The hours of torture with the congressional oversight committee and the Special Operations Group (SOG) regarding using the AI prototype nearly made her lose her mind and caused her to go off script. That alone made her look like a loose cannon.
And then there was Lorre’s constant micro-managing regarding some of her recommendations for team members. Lorre had wanted a say in the make-up of the team, and in the end, she’d caved on two operatives.
Mina and Torin. However, neither one was much of a cave. Mina was a no-brainer. Lark had worked with her a half dozen times before, and she was as solid as they came. Focused. Mission-oriented. And her instincts in the field were nothing short of perfection. Her knowledge of the local terrain and the culture had already proved to be invaluable.
Torin, well, he was good at being an arrogant prick, and that trait would come in handy in what he was being tasked to do. He wasn’t the worst operative she’d ever worked with—just a sexist asshole. However, he was already working undercover with a company that funded terrorists, and when the seller at Senetrix began looking for a buyer on the dark web, Torin made it easy toset up the sting. Now he was sitting pretty to help them achieve their objective.
“Three months of planning for a mission that'll last a few hours at best,” Lark said. “We fuck this up, and the brass is going to hang me and this program out to dry.”
“You say that on every mission I’ve ever worked with you on,” Wes said. “And at least two of them were total?—”
“Don’t finish that statement, Wes.” Lark glared. She wasn’t typically superstitious, but everything about today felt…off.
A low rumble outside caught her attention. She swiveled. Two matte-black SUVs kicked up a cloud of dust as they rolled up to the hangar. For the first time in the last forty-five minutes, Lark stopped pacing. But her pulse kicked up a notch. “Who the hell is that?” she asked.
"I believe that's our evac package,” Specs said. “I literally just got an email two minutes ago about them showing up on site. But it’s strange. You need to see it.”
“I think I need to deal with who’s about to get out of those vehicles before I do that.” Lark squeezed the ball and stared at the military grade SUVs. Tinted windows. Bullet-proof armor. Big tires. Hopefully, not big egos to match. Most men and women in the special forces were quiet—until they needed to be otherwise. They didn’t brag. They didn’t need bravado. They came. They did their jobs. And they left. But every once in a while, she got the oddball who pounded his or her chest.
But what concerned her right now was why an evac team was rolling in, locked and loaded? This wasn’t a difficult mission. Not on the backend. She didn’t need them here. All she needed was the knowledge that they were close by, ready to come to her rescue if things got dicey.
“Boss, a quick scan of the email says they come from SEAL Team 4. Extraction for when the buy has been completed. Butthey’re to be in town when the op goes down,” Specs said, glancing over the screen.”
“What the hell is Lorre thinking? That’s too many fucking strangers, and the last thing we need are men looking like US military lurking around making the people at Senatrix nervous.” Lark turned and tossed the ball at the side wall.
“I take offense.” Wes leaned forward, squinting. “Us military types can get gnarly looking and blend.”
“You know what I meant,” Lark mumbled. “I can’t get them up to speed in time.” She cracked her neck, because shifting her gaze wasn’t an option. “Specs, track down Lorre on a secure line and find out what the fuck is going on.”
“Email’s not from Lorre,” Specs said.
But Lark didn’t get the chance to respond. The doors of the SUV opened. Six men stepped out, all wearing Navy camo, armed, scanning, tight formation. All looking badass and way too familiar… especially one.
Her stomach dropped.
Kawan Noa.
Of course, it was him—all six-foot-flipping-three-inches of him.
He walked like the ground owed him something, tall and broad with a center of gravity so solid he might as well have been carved from granite. His dark hair laced with silver, certainly not regulation. Buzzed underneath, longer on top. Sexy as hell, but she’d never admit that aloud. He had the same dark eyes she remembered. Same unreadable expression. Same mouth that could ruin a girl for anyone else if she let it.
She had. Once. Okay, for years. Didn’t matter. Each time—it had been a fling and ended as fast as it had started. She had no room for romance in her life. She’d been shocked that Kawan thought they could be something more than a good time.
Lark rounded her shoulders and prepared for a different kind of battle.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Kawan said as he approached, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Should've known you'd be running this op."
Lark nodded, once. "Lieutenant Noa.”
“So, we’re going with formality.” Kawan laughed. “Alright…Major Strattan," he returned, voice deep and low, like whiskey poured over gravel.
Micah "Jupiter" Onyx followed close behind. He carried a black, thick, military grade case in hand. His gaze was already scanning the tech as he stepped in behind Specs. “Interesting setup.”
“More like state of the art with the best at the helm,” Specs said. She glanced over her shoulder and locked eyes with Jupiter—the same look that sent junior analysts at the FBI scrambling to fix their mistakes before she finished her sentence.
Jupiter raised an eyebrow and smirked. “That’s usually my line.” He set his case on the table. “I’ve got more equipment in the SUV, but let’s take a look?—”
