“What are you making in here?”
Bea startles, dropping her rolling pin and letting out a tiny yip of surprise.
“Shit, sorry,” I blurt as I race over to the counter and snatch the rolling pin just as it rolls off the edge. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
She takes a steadying breath before looking at the wooden rolling pin held securely in my prosthetic hand. The fear in her eyes shifts quickly to admiration. “Indy. You caught that sofast.”
My instinctive reaction whenever someone mentions my prosthetic is to change the subject as quickly as possible. But it’s different with Bea. Maybe it’s partly because she knows how it works and was there while I learned how to use it. Maybe it’s because she’s never looked at me like I was less. Maybe it’s because—though belatedly—I know she understands how it feels to have to rely on technology to do things other people take for granted.
But as she smiles at me, pride shining in her eyes, it’s hard to feel self-conscious about it.
So I set the rolling pin back on the counter and say, “I’ve practiced a lot. Even after our sessions ended, I kept up the exercises every day. And with the mods Yara made, the reaction time is even better than before.”
Moving beside her, I rest my flesh and blood hand on her back. “I’m sorry I startled you, though. I should have thought.”
“It’s okay.” Bea leans against me, her shoulder bumping my arm. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m a little jumpy, still, I guess.” Picking up the rolling pin again, she starts working the dough laid out on the counter in long, even strokes. “I can’t believe Yara did all that on her own. It takes companies years to produce even small upgrades, let alone the ones she created.”
Settling in beside her, I watch Bea’s rhythmic movements, appreciating the strength in her slender arms and delicate hands. “Yara’s a genius when it comes to robotics. She was actually accepted to MIT, Carnegie Mellon, and USC to study it. But she decided to enlist instead. So she just played around with inventions while she was serving; for fun and to keep her skills up.”
“You weren’t on the same team, were you?”
“No. But she was stationed at Fort Campbell, like the rest of us. So I knew her pretty well.”
Bea sets the rolling pin to the side and starts cutting the dough into squares. “When did she leave—I mean, separate from the Army? That’s the right term, isn’t it?”
“Technically, yes. But people might say they left, or they didn’t renew their contract. Or if they’re like me, no longer fit to serve, they were medically retired.”
And even though it’s been years since then, the words still sting.
“Well.” She turns to me. Her eyes are soft with affection. “I think you’remorethan fit to serve. And I’d rather have you at my six than anyone else.”
My heart does that crazy flipping thing again.
And even though we’re standing in the middle of Yara’s kitchen, where someone could walk in at any minute, it’s a struggle not to pull Bea into my arms and kiss her.
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if Ace or Tyler saw us. And Yara’s still at work for another hour, though I doubt she’d care, either. But Bea might be embarrassed, and I don’t want that for her. Plus, she’s been through some shit over the last twenty-four hours, what with that fucker using her implants to threaten her, the worry over her parents—who are safe and sound with Cole and his teammates in Sleepy Hollow—and making this unplanned trip north to Seattle in the middle of the night.
“When did Yara separate from the Army, then?” Bea asks again. “Or is that private?”
I think for a moment. “Almost two years now. She went through some pretty bad shit the last few months she was in. So she chose not to renew her contract.”
“And now she works in robotics.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure what she actually does, though.”
Bea gives my prosthetic another admiring look. Then she places her hand over it, lining up her fingers with mine.
I feel thattugin my chest again.
“She could do what she did for you. I bet there are a lot of people who’d want it.” Bea glances at the kitchen doorway before adding, “Did Yara work on Tyler’s prosthetic, too?”
It’s easier for Tyler to hide his prosthetic leg, since he often wears pants when he’s out in public. But around HQ, he wears shorts, so Bea saw his leg one of the first days she was there. And being Bea, she didn’t blink an eye at it.
“She didn’t,” I reply. “At least not that I know of.”
“Oh.” Her brow wrinkles in thought. “Well. It was really nice of Yara to let us—me—stay here. Especially when the house isn’t very big.”
Not very big is a generous way of describing it. Yara’s little cottage has two small bedrooms, plus a little alcove she uses as an office. Since we weren’t about to kick Yara out of her own bedroom, and we wanted Bea to have her own space, I’m bunking on an air mattress in the office, along with Webb, while Tyler slept on the living room couch last night.
