Owen strode behind Dad and Navas across the tarmac to the waiting jet. Somehow, bringing up the rear felt a lot like being six years old when he’d followed Dad into work. Feeling like the afterthought, the spectator. Not the one responsible for carrying out the mission.
Took everything he had to shake that thought as they climbed the metal stairs up into the cabin of the plane. This wasn’t a standard private jet—it had a long open center with an anchored table and walls covered in screens. Chairs hugged the table. The chemical smell of the A/C rankled his sinuses. Beyond the central Command area lurked a seating group and a long gangway with several doors.
Impressive.
Someone rose from a chair and turned.
A sense of rightness hit him as he recognized the guy. “Dante!” Owen squeezed past Dad and Navas to greet his Scion brother.
“Bro.” Dante gave him a shoulder hug and patted his back. “You good?”
Question of the year apparently. “Yeah.”
Dante sniffed. “Liar.”
With a shrug, Owen eyed the cabin. “You know how it is.”
“Living in our dads’ shadows?” Dante nodded with a wry grin. “Yeah, know all about it.”
Change the topic. “How’s the wedding coming?”
A slow, content smile spread across Dante’s face. “Not soon enough.”
“You do know you’re violating the Prime Directive.” The unwritten rule that Scions didn’t date each other.
“So sue me,” Dante said with a smirk.
Owen laughed. “Nah, I’m glad for y’all. Mickey’s carried a torch for you long enough. About time you shouldered that burden.” He checked for Legend but didn’t see the tall mountain of a man. “What’re you doing here?”
Dante gave him a strange look.
“Your dad’s not—” Like lightning, it struck Owen. “Aw man…” Cold chugged through his veins as he remembered Dad saying he knew someone who could handle coordinating the effort to save Navas’s daughter. “Omen.” He exhaled heavily. “This is Omen’s op.”
“See?” Dante backhanded Owen’s gut. “Knew you had more than air behind that pretty face.”
“You find me pretty?” Owen couldn’t help the comeback but focused on his frustration. “I told Pike I wasn’t interested.”
As if on cue, the cabin interior darkened beneath more shapes moving through the hatch. A half dozen men crowded the table. Including one Master Chief Pike Auberon. The man he’d told to take a hike.
“Oh man. I’m dead.”
“No, it’s O-men.” Brandishing a wry grin, Dante clapped him on the shoulder. “Welcome to the afterlife, bro.” With that, he headed toward the chief.
Swallowing his pride—what else could he do?—Owen hung back, letting the meet-and-greet happen without him. Avoided Pike’s gaze. Just had to lie low and pretend?—
“Y’all know my son, Owen,” Dad announced, motioning to him.
Yep. Thanks, Dad.
In a blink, Pike was up in his personal space, challenge glinting in his steely eyes. “Owen Metcalfe.”
“Present and accounted for, sir.” Holding the man’s gray gaze took every ounce of feeble strength Owen could muster. Noticed the guy stood a couple inches taller and had a similar build to his own—athletic, bordering on muscular. But there was no doubt that this operator could kill him before Owen even knew what hit him.
“How’s that mistake working for you?” Three lines at the edge of Pike’s eyes crinkled as he studied him, unflinching. The man knew who was in control, and it sure wasn’t Owen.
But it’d be a cold day in?—
“Welcome to the team, Apollo. Quick intros,” Pike said, then gave a laundry list of names—Brick with the red beard, easy enough. Luther who reminded him of an actor that played a character by the same name. Crow looked Native American or Latino, and the medic…whose name he’d already forgotten.
