“Did they tell you what went wrong?” she asked Boss, forcing her mind to latch onto a topic thatwasn’tFisher.
No easy task.
“Nope.” Boss shook his head. “Just said the whole damn thing was pear-shaped from the beginning.”
“That’s the second time that’s happened.” She felt a crease appear between her eyebrows. “I’m starting to wonder if the guy inside the D.O.D. who’s been dropping intel to Dad knows what the hell he’s doing.”
“That’s a question for another day.” Boss shifted all three duffels to one hand so his giant paw could grip her shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. “For now, let’s be glad they’re home and give them time for some R and R.”
“Right.” She nodded.
When Hewitt and Hunter lumbered past her, their shoulders weighed down with all their gear and Britt’s crutches, she told them, “I made spaghetti and lasagna. There’s tiramisu for dessert. If you’re not full of Taco Bell, of course.”
“I’ll take you up on that, thanks,” Hunter said over his shoulder as his foot landed on the metal staircase’s first tread. “In high school, I got a case of Montezuma’s revenge from Taco Hell and haven’t been able to touch the stuff since. Mind if I load some up in Tupperware to take home to Grace?”
“Not at all.” She shook her head. “Everything is on the stove. Help yourself whenever you’re ready.”
“Has Becky eaten yet?” Boss glanced at his wife who was in the shop welding some framework. Becky wore pink bib overalls over a white tank top, and her thin, muscular biceps bulged as she worked. Becky had always given Eliza arm-envy.
“Not yet. She was waiting on you.”
“Excellent.” He smiled broadly. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
“You avoided Taco Bell too?”
“Nah. I ate two burritos. But you know me. That was just an appetizer.”
She chuckled and watched him saunter up the stairs to deliver her guy’s gear to their rooms. After he disappeared onto the second floor, she turned to see if Fisher was still sequestered in the van.
She nearly fell over backward when she realized he was standing directly behind her, his own duffel thrown over his shoulder.
Her hand automatically clutched at her locket. When she realized what she was doing—a dead giveaway that she was nervous—she hastily dropped it.
“Welcome home,” she said. Or, rather, whispered because her throat had suddenly closed up.
Welcome home? Seriously? That’s the best you could come up with?
“Thanks.” He dipped his chin and then brushed by her.
She opened her mouth to say…what? She had a million things she wanted to tell him and yet she couldn’t think of a single one of them. In desperation, she reached for the one topic she knew he wouldn’t avoid. “What happened out there?”
He swung back around. She tried to read his expression and couldn’t. “Simple. Either they knew we were comin’ or they just got really,reallylucky.”
She blinked uncomprehendingly. “No way they knew you were coming. If they knew that, you’d all be dead.”
“Oh, they tried. Believe me. And once they realized we were getting the best of ’em, they figured out a way to hurt Britt.”
“Hurt him? Not kill him?”
“A dead soldier reduces a force comin’ against ya by one. But a wounded man puts a strain on theentireforce. They were good.” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Too good.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re all okay.”
“Thanks.”
There was that word again. She was beginning to hate it.
“Is there anything I can do for Britt? Should I run to the pharmacy or?—”
