“But... you’ll be without a bra,” he said.
“True,” she said. “But good news, it’s not a magic bra, so...” She thought about that. “Although maybe that’s bad news. A magic bra, right now, couldn’t hurt.Magic Bra, turn into a helicopter!” She waited, and of course nothing happened. “Nope. Not a magic bra. Somehow I’ll survive without it. You’re good to break the straps.”
“Aren’t they reinforced?” he asked, his hands moving up to her right shoulder, where he found the strap—and a whole lot of her bare skin. Tasha closed her eyes and focused on keeping her breathing from stuttering. “If I were designing a bra...”
He moved around to her back, where the strap connected with the band. He felt his way along the connection and gave it an exploratory tug. “Wow, that’s... not very reinforced. You really want me to...?”
“Please,” she said.
He must’ve understood the powerful urgency in her tone onsomelevel, because he did it. Quickly. Efficiently. He turned her slightly so he could reach the other side of her back, and he did the same to the other strap.
And then he helped her pull her shirt, sweater, and jacket back down before his hands were gone and he backed away.
She instantly missed his solid warmth. Of course, her jacket was still unzipped, which was going to be her next challenge after... She unfastened the front clasp of her bra and pulled it off and out from under her clothes, and went back to keeping it light. “Ta da!”
Thomas, meanwhile was checking on the status of the rocks upon which he’d built their earlier fire, and apparently they were finally cool enough to touch. He set one down beside her, and yeah, the heat it was radiating was nice, but not as nice as his legs had been.
“You need me to...?”
“No, I think I can get the wire out,” Tasha told him, snuggling closer to his rock replacement as she shivered again. She couldn’t quite manage to position her hands right to zip up her jacket, though.
“Here. Let me at least...” He reached over and did it for her. Attaching the two bottom ends of the zipper and pulling it up securely to her chin.
It was such a role-defining move, putting them both securely back into their long-established places—big brother, little sister. Adult and child.
How had Thomas put it?
Hoo-yah.
Yeah.
Chapter Eight
The Admiral’s outer office was teeming with high-ranking officers, all with their hair on fire. But as soon as Admiral Francisco saw Rio and Dave, he beckoned them into his inner chamber and shut the door.
“We’ve lost all contact with Lieutenant King,” the older man said without any greeting or introduction as he limped around to the back of his desk and sat down heavily. “He missed his check-in. His last report was from the airfield near the Ustanzian facility. He and Tasha were on the ground in New Hampshire, about to take a car to the ski lodge, just over the border in Maine, ETA about three hours. They should’ve arrived by now. The Ustanzian royal delegation, however, received what they called a viable threat—as of yet unconnected to the situation in Los Angeles and Tampa, but it’s hard to believe that it’s not. They pulled out of the area—completely—and are in lockdown in an undisclosed location.”
Rio felt his mouth drop open. “The Ustanzians justleftthem behind—Tasha and Thomas, I mean Lieutenant King, I mean...” He snapped back to attention. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
“Yup, they just goddamn left them.” Francisco was furious. “Get the poles out of your asses, men, so this assignment doesn’t take all damn day to discuss.”
Dave glanced at Rio as they dropped into parade rest. “What exactlyishappening in Los Angeles and Tampa, sir?”
“Coordinated terror attacks,” the admiral told them curtly, “targeting civilian airports. Bombings, shootings, rampaging trucks. At least one airliner’s been brought down by some kind of surface-to-air missile.”
“Jesus, really?” Rio backpedaled, hard. “Of course I believe you, sir. I’m just...”
“It’s bad,” the admiral agreed. “We’re also dealing with power outages—cyber attacks, both on the electrical grid, and on our SAT system. Cell phone towers have been hit, and what’s left can’t handle the load. We’re down to landlines—and that system’s strained—and radios. I just got an urgent message in Morse code. Damage seems to be limited to LA and Tampa, but every major city’s on alert, all air and train travel’s been shut down.”
“Daesh, sir?” Dave asked.
“No. This is homegrown,” Francisco told them grimly. “White Nationalists, supported by Russia. Intel’s been showing a link to foreign funding for months now, but it’s been ignored by the White House.”
“Very fine people,” Dave murmured.
Rio leaned forward. “How can we help you help Tasha and Lieutenant King, sir?”
The admiral looked from him to Dave and back. “Cowboy up, and head out to the Ustanzian ski lodge,” he ordered. “Be ready for anything. Take a vehicle, and plenty of gas.”
