"Doing what?"
"Classified."
She throws a napkin at him. "You can't classify everything."
"Watch me."
I lean back, watching her hold her own with my guys. They're testing her—seeing if she can handle the humor, the casual intensity, the way we interact. And she's passing without even realizing it.
Santos catches my eye across the table. Raises an eyebrow. I know what he's thinking—this is different. This matters.
I give him a look that says drop it. He grins and goes back to his food.
After dinner, we migrate to the living room. Hayes claims the best chair using his injured shoulder as an excuse. Santos, Garcia and Sullivan take the couch with Sullivan grouching about Hayes taking advantage. Gwen settles next to me in the remaining space, close enough that our shoulders touch.
"So," Garcia says with a grin that means trouble. "How long have you two been?—"
"Careful," I warn.
"—working together?" he finishes innocently. "I was going to say working together."
"No, you weren't."
"Maybe not."
Gwen looks between us, trying to follow the subtext. "We've been working together for about a week. Since the parking lot attack."
"Right. Working together." Sullivan's grin is wicked. "Very professional."
"It is professional," I say.
"Sure it is. That why she's wearing your shirt?"
Gwen looks down at the t-shirt she borrowed this morning and is wearing again. Color floods her face. "I forgot to grab clothes after my shower."
"Uh-huh."
"It was the closest thing."
"Very convenient."
"Sullivan." My voice carries warning.
"What? I'm just making observations."
"Observe quieter."
Santos is trying not to laugh. Hayes and Garcia aren’t even trying. Gwen looks like she wants to disappear into the couch.
"Okay, new topic," she says firmly. "Tell me about the captain. What's he like on deployment?"
"Oh, that's easy," Sullivan says. "Bossy. Controlling. Has opinions about everything."
"So exactly like he is here."
"Pretty much. Except on deployment he can actually order us around."
"And here?"
