Dante’s throat worked. “I remember.”
“You looked like hell,” Mike went on. “Skinny. Pissed off. Too quiet. Like if anyone touched you, you’d break or swing, and none of us wanted to find out which.”
“Probably both,” Dante said dryly.
“Probably,” Mike agreed.
He breathed out through his nose, eyes dropping to the concrete for a moment before coming back up. “I didn’t know what you’d be back then. I just knew you were watching everything. Filing it away. Deciding who you were going to be in the middle of all that grief.”
Dante gave a small nod.
“I like who you picked.”
Dante blinked once. “Thank you.”
Mike stepped a little closer. “You’ve got two jobs over there. You already know them, but I’m going to say them anyway.”
“Hit me.”
“Job one: keep Ford alive. He’ll pretend he doesn’t need it. He’s lying. Don’t tell him I said that.”
A corner of Dante’s mouth lifted. “Won’t say a word.”
“Job two,” Mike continued, “come home. Not in a body bag. Breathing. Enough of you left that she still recognizes the man she gave her heart to.”
Dante looked down, jaw tightening. “I’m going to do everything I can. For both.”
“I know you will,” Mike replied. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t let you within fifty miles of this op or my daughter.”
Dante unconsciously rubbed his chest.
“Just so we’re clear,” Mike added, “I don’t like this. Any of it. But I trust you. Ford does too. And Shannon…” He exhaled. “She loves you. That means something, coming from her.”
Dante swallowed. “It means everything, coming from her.”
Mike nodded once like that was the answer he needed. He stuck out his hand.
Dante took it. Mike’s grip was firm, warm, and familiar. Then, instead of letting go, he pulled Dante in that extra half step and clapped his other hand on the back of his neck. It wasn’t exactly a hug, but something damn close.
“You bring my friend back,” Mike said, voice low. “You bring yourself back. And if you have to choose in the moment which one you can save… you make the call you can live with.”
Dante held his gaze. “You sure you want to give me that latitude?”
“No,” Mike said. “But I’m doing it anyway. Because that’s what this is.”
They let go.
Dante stepped back, the weight of the bag suddenly very real on his shoulder. “I’ll call her when I hit DC.”
“You do that,” Mike replied. “And, Dante?”
“Yeah?”
“If Krueger’s shadow shows up anywhere near that meet… you don’t owe him a damn thing but a clean shot.”
Dante’s eyes went cold around the edges. “Agreed.” He turned toward the car, then paused and glanced back. “Take care of her while I’m gone. She’ll pretend she doesn’t need it.”
Mike huffed. “She gets that from me.”
