What could Fury possibly want to talk to himabout?
They’d been stationed together at Camp Taji, Iraq for a few months. Cord’s team, Task Force Scorpion, TF-S, had been assigned to work in tandem with Clint’s unit to help round up small bands of locals the CIA had tagged as a level II threat. There hadn’t been much downtime, but he and Clint had shot the shit. Truth be told, they’d had a pretty decent time, as decent of a time as you could have in that wasteland, but they hadn’t spokensince.
Curious, Cord made quick work of his shower and slid on a fresh T-shirt and another pair of lightweight track pants. Then he snapped into the special-made tennis shoes and made his way to the parkinglot.
Clint sat with his windows rolled up in a fancy black Land Rover. Cord flung open the passenger door and wedged himself inside the luxury SUV, savoring the burst of cool air. “I see your fancy suit comes with a fancycar.”
Clint grinned. “If you’re trying to make me feel guilty for enjoying this bad baby, your failing miserably. Hand-stitched Italian leather seats, air-conditioned cushions and a V-8, 518 hpengine.”
Cord smacked a hand to his chest, faking a heart attack. “Stop, I think you’re making mejealous.”
Clint chuckled and shifted the SUV into drive. “I haven’t been to this side of town in a while, but if my memory serves me correctly, there’s a pretty badass little Mexican joint a few blocks fromhere.”
“La Rito. They do make one hell of a burrito, but I’ve got one better. Hang a left around thetrack.”
Clint arched a dark blond eyebrow and complied. “They set up a taco shack in the parking lot orsomething?”
“Hell no, but that sounds like an awesome idea. Maybe you should put it in the suggestions box they keep by the entryway.” Cord shifted in the seat. Sharp pain sliced down his right thigh and, it seemed, straight through his toes. Cold sweat beaded his brow despite the air conditioning. He was much better than he’d been, there was no denying that, but the muscle spasms still caught him by surprise sometimes. Cord looked out the window, keeping his grimace turned away from Clint, while he tried to subtly rub the painful knot in hisleg.
“How bad is it?” Clint asked in a quiettone.
Cord ignored the concern and gestured to an empty parking space a couple of rows up. “It’s good. You can park up there. That spot a couple of spaces down from thedoor.”
Clint glanced at him from the corner of his eyes but let the questions drop. He turned into the parking spot, but stopped before they were all the way in. “That concrete bumper says counselor. I think this is someone else’s parkingspot.”
Cord’s lips twisted into the first real smile he’d allowed himself in months. “Itis.”
“Won’t we get in trouble for taking their space?” Clintasked.
“You still in the Marines?” Cordreplied.
Clint took a beat. “Nope.”
“Then what are you worriedabout?”
Cord’s stomach clenched and rolled. His thigh tightened, like someone had stuck a corkscrew in his leg and was slowly rotating it tighter and tighter. He needed to get out of the car andstretch.
Now.
Cord shoved his hand into the gym bag between his legs, fished out his blue disabled sign and slung it over the rearview mirror. “There—it’s your get out of jail freecard.”
Cord fucking despised that symbol of weakness. He made a point of never using it. In fact, he almost always parked at the back of the parking lot. But he’d learned one thing in rehab—he could tell the difference between a twinge and the beginnings of a full-on muscle spasm that would require the use of heavy muscle relaxers and a massage by his physicaltherapist.
Thankfully, Clint shut his mouth and parked the car, killing the engine. Then he went and ruined it by saying, “Damn, I’msorry.”
Cord grabbed the door handle and was outside before his buddy could finish the rest of his sentence. Cord had gotten enough pity from his team and his family. He sure as hell didn’t need it from ClintFury.
Carefully testing his weight on his injured leg, he began the slow and painful process of walking and rubbing and stretching. If he pulled up his jogging pants, he knew he’d see the hard lump of twisted muscles contracting andclenching.
It still amazed him how he could push his body to such limits, running for miles, testing his endurance, and then a simple shift could set off the pain like a fucking explosion ofC4.
“How about we take a walk around campus before we eat? I’ve been thinking about donating for a while, just haven’t had the chance to stop by and take a lookaround.”
Cord glanced over his shoulder to see Clint standing at the back of the Land Rover, watching him with a semi-shadowed expression that couldn’t quite hide the worry. Fuck. He hated this. He hated every part of this situation. The weakness. The pity. A small part of him wished he hadn’t woken up from his date with the roadside bomb. “Sure, the cafeteria will wait. I’ll give you the grand tour.” He shot Clint a grin that felt like a grimace. “I’d take the jacket off if I were you, though, wouldn’t want to mess up your fancy suit with pitstains.”
Clint had to jog to catch up after shrugging off the garment, but they soon fell into an easy pace with each other. “You call this hot?” he joked. “I’m pretty sure this would be considered balmy in thesuck.”
“Yeah, you wouldn’t be in a suit, though,” Cord walked, a.k.a. limped, and pushed at the knot in his thigh with the heel of hispalm.
