Stop it, Q. Stop being a fucking coward.
Clementine head butts my chin, and she’s purring so loudly, it’s all I can hear.
“You didn’t overstep.” Digging deep for a fraction of an ounce of bravery, I reach for his hand. “You…took care of her.”
Neither of us move or speak until Clementine wriggles out of my arms and sniffs at my damp pant leg. I can do this. Take one step towards anormallife.
“Breakfast comes with a lot of baggage. For me.” Dropping my gaze, I try to force Alec’s voice from my head. “I can do coffee.”
“I’ll make you a fresh cup.”
* * *
Graham
If I don’t get a move on, West is going to kick my ass. One of the newbies, Raelynn, is coming by for a crash course on some of our moretraditionaltech. Ryker’s starting her and Caleb off at a snail’s pace. Our fearless leader doesn’t trust anyone. Not even after Raelynn’s former CO called him personally.
West’s message—the one I got moments after I woke up with Quinton still in my arms—told me to be at the warehouse at nine, and it’s already 8:40 a.m. It’s a damn good thing Q wakes up early. Or did today.
I left him with a slow, lingering kiss at his door, and an offer to bring pizza by for dinner. He agreed, and the prospect of seeing him again—even if it’s just a meal—has me grinning. I don’t care if West forces me to climb that fucking wall a hundred times today for showing up late, it’ll be worth it.
Traffic is almost non-existent this early on a Saturday morning, though, and I park my tiny red SmartCar at the warehouse at exactly 8:58 a.m.
Raelynn’s locking her bicycle up outside when I sling my duffel bag over my shoulder. “You rode here?”
She clips her helmet onto the crossbar and snorts. “No. I walked here all the way from White Center. Carried the bike on my head.”
I probably deserved that.
“Sorry. Been kind of a weird morning. You can bring it inside, you know.” Angling my head towards West’s perfectly restored old pickup truck, I reach for the handle on the warehouse door. “Sampson’s already in there.”
“Didn’t want to assume.” She makes quick work of the lock, then picks the bike up and balances the crossbar on her shoulder.
Following me into the warehouse, she scans the large space until I point to the far corner. “Over there’s fine. Pretty sure one of those lockers has your name on it by now, so take a couple of minutes to stow your stuff and set your combination. Make it a good one.”
Raelynn gives me the side eye as she sets the bike down. “A good one?”
I don’t say another word as I head for the kitchen. Hell, I probably shouldn’t have warned her at all, but when I joined up, I made my combo my mom’s birthday, and a week later,someonehad taken all my shit and filled my locker with packing peanuts.
My money’s on West, but despite having zero sense of humor, Ry’s the more likely culprit. He’s so fanatical about security, he routinely tells all of us whenever we’re not careful enough for his liking.
“You call this ‘on time’?” West asks. “One more near miss and I’m going to padlock the coffee machine.”
He’s deadly serious, but he also cracks a smile as he pours me a cup. It’s 9:00 a.m. on the dot. While yes, Raelynn and I are bothhere, that doesn’t matter. We should have been ready to go by now. Instead, I’m expressing my deep and abiding loyalty to the SEAL and Hidden Agenda by moaning into the coffee mug.
“Want to explain that shirt?” he asks, one brow arched.
Oh, shit.
I meant to change the second I walked in here. Instead, I’m still wearing the black tee with the multi-colored sparkling unicorn emblazoned on the front. “Late night.”
“As in one that didn’t end at your apartment?” He snorts, then claps me on the back as he heads for the tech hub. “I’ve done a few walks of shame in my life,Jimmy. Never one quite that blatant.”
We use code names in the field. Most of the time, I’m Golf. But since the mission to Venezuela to rescue Trevor—one of Dax’s guys who got himself on the wrong side of the entire Venezuelan government—mine’s been Jimmy Olsen.
“Give me two minutes.” I don’t dare set the coffee down. Given his mood today—surprisingly good—he’d spike it with salt to teach me a lesson about being on time. Instead, I rush over to my locker, enter the ridiculously long string of numbers on the keypad, and grab a fresh shirt, briefs, and a pair of basketball shorts.
“So, this is a thing,” Raelynn drawls as I drop my pants.
