“Okay. We’re going to need to spend a few minutes studying these, and then we’ll head out into the village and make sure Jupiter and Specs get the angles they need, or at the very least, we get bodies where we can see the dark zone and communicate with Specs and Jupiter what we’re seeing.”
“Guess you’ve been upgraded to full support.”
“As if there was any doubt, sweetheart.”
She grunted. “Stop calling me that. You know how much I hate it in the field.”
He stepped closer, the faint scent of her—sweat, metal, and something citrus—pulling an old memory to the surface. That week in Key West. They did nothing but sit their asses in the sand, drink tequila, have great sex, and confess things they both probably wished they hadn’t.
“I’ll respect your rank. You earned it. And you deserve it. I shouldn’t have ever called you that in front of your team. I’m sorry.” He smiled—a real one, the kind that acknowledged he'd screwed up and meant to do better. She'd worked too damn hard to have him treat her any less than the leader she was.
She looked up. Real close now. Close enough, he could see the ghost of sleep deprivation under her eyes and the fine tremor in her left hand.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m not the same woman I was two years ago.”
“And I’m not the same man.” He reached out and traced her jawline with his index finger.
For half a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
“Boss,” Alvarez called from the other room. “Clock’s ticking.”
Lark took a slow step back, face shuttering.
“I guess it’s time to get to work,” Kawan said, dropping his hand to the side.
“We don’t have much time to plan.”
He watched her walk away, spine straight, damn stress ball rolling between her fingers.
He’d spent the last two years putting that woman out of his mind. Out of his heart. Out of his dreams.
And now she was back, and all he could think about was how much he’d missed her.
3
VILLAGE OUTSKIRTS, SOUTH AMERICA
Lark shifted on top of the crumbling clay wall and adjusted her earpiece, ignoring the thumping of her heart rattling behind her ribcage. She focused on the low stucco buildings that formed a maze of narrow streets, their sunbaked tiles glowing in the afternoon light. Market stalls sat half-shuttered. The air hung with heat and tension.
Her gaze swept the square below. Children kicked a deflated soccer ball. Men stood on a corner, chatting while enthusiastically waving their hands. A young couple strolled down the street, fingers locked, pointing and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world. A woman hung laundry with slow, practiced ease.
The scene was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that came right before the sky cracked open, allowing the stillness to sneak up and put a bullet in your temple. Slowly, she blinked, once. Inhaled for a count of three. Held it for two beats. Then released it with a quiet, but powerful exhale, expelling the negativity. There was no room for insecurity.
“Specs,” she said quietly. “Give me eyes.”
“Already patched in, boss.” The open line carried Specs’ serene lilt to Lark, through layers of static. “You’re in positionone. You’ve got Moose covering the west wall, Sloan northeast. Thor is on the edge of the square, checking out the produce, a book under his arm.”
“Always amazed how he can look like a linebacker one minute, and a bookworm the next,” Jupiter said.
“A regular chameleon.” Lark swept the scope left. A fruit vendor waved lazily at passersby. A dog slept beneath a faded umbrella. It all looked… normal.
Her elevated position—tucked on a second-story balcony with rotted railings and a clay pot full of dead basil shielding her from view. Wes and Alvarez were embedded in the lower streets. At the same time, Specs remained in the makeshift HQ with Jupiter and Lief, keeping comms up and eyes on every available feed.
An SUV at the ready—if needed for quick evac.
"Buyer update?" Lark asked, voice low.
“No visual on Torin and Amir yet,” Jupiter said. “But we’ve got movement from Sentatrix’s contact for the sale of the product. Bretton said Hector, the seller, was on his way, and he wasn’t coming alone.”
