Doc's eyebrow arched in that way that suggested Sarah was being deliberately obtuse. "I watched that man during your video call yesterday. The way he positioned himself when you leaned into frame. How his shoulders tensed every time one of his teammates asked you a direct question. That wasn't protection—that was pride. He was showing you off."
Before Sarah could stammer out a response, Doc continued. "Now, we should pray before you leave. I find it settles the nerves wonderfully."
"You pray?" Sarah tried not to sound surprised, but Doc mentioned casually extracting assets in Prague the way other people discussed grocery shopping.
"Constantly. How do you think I've survived this long in such a dangerous profession?" Doc wiped her hands on a dish towel that probably cost more than Sarah's entire kitchen. "Shall we?"
They moved to the breakfast nook, morning light streaming through windows that Sarah now knew were bulletproof. Doc took her hands with the same matter-of-fact grace she applied to everything else.
"Heavenly Father," Doc began, her cultured voice carrying the confidence of someone accustomed to being heard, "we come before You this morning seeking Your protection and guidance. Watch over Sarah and Griffin as they travel today.Give them wisdom to see through deception, courage to face whatever dangers await, and strength to see justice done."
Tears prickedher eyes as Doc continued. "Lord, we especially lift up Griffin to You. Heal his wounds—not only the ones we can see, but the deeper ones that grief and loss have carved into his heart. Help him remember that You are still there, still listening, even when the darkness seems overwhelming."
"Yes," Sarah whispered, squeezing Doc's hands. "Please."
"And Father, bless this team that's coming together. Keep them safe as they risk themselves for others. Let their skills serve Your purposes. And if it's Your will, let this mission bring an end to the evil that took Tank's life. And James’s."
"Guide their steps, guard their hearts, and bring them all home safely," Doc concluded. "In Jesus' name?—"
"Amen."
The voice came from the doorway, rough and quiet. Sarah's eyes flew open to find Griff standing there, fully dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt that made him look less lethal operative, more someone who might fix your porch railing. His hair was still damp from a shower, and his face held an expression she couldn't quite read.
"Amen," Sarah echoed, her heart doing something complicated at the sight of him.
"Amen indeed," Doc said smoothly, as if she'd known he was there all along. "Perfect timing. Breakfast is ready."
Griff moved into the kitchen in that silent way Sarah was learning to recognize, but she caught him glancing at the spot where they'd been praying. Something flickered in his eyes—longing, maybe, or loss.
24
Twenty minutes later,they stood beside an older, silver Honda Accord. The most boring car ever manufactured. After Doc's armored food truck, Sarah had been expecting something a little more... exciting. Or at least quirky.
"That's our ride?" she asked, unable to hide her disappointment.
Doc laughed. "Were you expecting the Batmobile?"
"Kind of. I mean, after yesterday..." Sarah gestured vaguely toward the garage where the tactical food truck waited. "That Honda’s something my mom would drive."
"That’s the point," Griff said, loading gear into a trunk that was surprisingly spacious. "Best camouflage is being completely forgettable. Nobody will look twice at this grocery getter." He eyed Doc. “I’m guessing there’ve been a few upgrades where it counts?”
“Exactly. You’ll appreciate the superior acceleration, if needed. And the suspension. Julius upgraded it—KW Variant 3s, fully adjustable. Should handle admirably if you need to take any corners at speed."
Griff whistled. “Favorites of the Swedish Special Forces.”
“They always did have the best drivers.” Doc approached with a small cooler and what appeared to be a picnic basket. "Road trip supplies. Real food, not those dreadful protein bars."
As they pulled out of the driveway, Sarah watched Doc's house recede in the mirror until it disappeared behind trees. The Honda, despite its boring appearance, rode smoothly as they merged onto I-95 South. Sarah had expected awkwardness—being trapped in a car for hours with someone who made her pulse race and her brain turn to mush. Now, if she could only turn off her own thoughts and enjoy this last bit of quiet time with him.
"You seem tense," Griff said after they'd been driving for an hour.
Sarah glanced at him, noting how he could read her mood without even looking away from the road. "I'm fine."
"Your jaw's been clenched for the past fifty miles, and you've been doing that thing with your glasses."
"What thing?"
"Pushing them up when you're nervous. You've done it twelve times since we left Doc's."
