“Exactly, but not just any partner.”
He hums, letting me know he’s dropping it for now, but this conversation is far from over. “I suppose I should leave you to your relaxing. When are you due back?”
“Two weeks, but I’ll check in on Tuesday like always. My phone is on. If you need me, give me a shout, and I’ll be there.”
“Don’t forget the camping trip when you get back,” he says. “Too many bloody vacations, if you ask me.”
I snort. Club camping is a quarterly trip taken by core members and their families. It’s an easy way to get everyone to touch base. We’ve moved away from the clubhouse being a pit of old lady wannabes. That was something William was invested in, focusing on the family aspect and getting rid of practices modern women would find distasteful, including Cheryl. I didn’t blame him, and I was happy to follow a man with a moral compass.
The screen goes black. William’s not great at goodbyes, but he’s an exceptional leader. My biological family is scattered to the wind, and I’m partly to blame for not being available in their time of need. A price was paid, and I’ll never forgive myself for it. After leaving the military, I was adrift without structure, roots, or security. When I joined the Desert Reapers, I found my genuine family with them.
I pull on a clean white shirt, fasten the buttons, and fold the sleeves up. It’s too muggy for my leather jacket, and I’m not planning on going far tonight. Some good food, a little chit chat with the locals, and probably a good book. Cliche maybe, but I want the simple things out of my vacation.
I grab my phone and it rings as I’m about to shove it in my back pocket. William probably forgot something. I swipe accept without noting the name.
“Hunter?” an unexpected deep baritone rumbles. My eyebrows rise.Oh, hello.
“Fox, what can I do for you? Need a plane blown up? The wife need saving from one of her crazy rescue missions?”
“I resent that!” Honor shouts in the background.
“You saying you don’t go on crazy rescue missions?” I tease.
“Flip to video.” Her voice rings sharply in the background.
“Put some damn clothes on, woman,” Fox snaps.
“What do you call this?”
“Scraps of fabric imitating a bikini.”
“For goodness’ sake.” I snort at the woman who gives my friend a run for his money. Until her, no one dared to push back against him. There’s shuffling in the background. “There. Happy?”
“Hardly.”
The video icon appears, and I click accept. Honor’s flushed face appears, her red hair wild around her face. “For your information, my crazy rescue plans work ninety percent of the time with no hiccups.”
“Seventy percent,” Fox corrects. “The other thirty, shit goes south, and you need help.”
“Keeping you on your toes,” she says with a saucy smirk, making Fox growl.
“Is there a reason I’m getting a mid-coital call?” I ask.
“Yes. It’s about Ghost.”
The hairs on my nape rise, and my muscles tense. The one that got away. Until now…
“What happened?”
“She’s in trouble,” Honor states.
“We don’t know that,” Fox amends. “She triggered her tracking device. She’s hunting someone from her past. I didn’t pry, but she sounded shaken up.”
Ghost, shook up? The only time I’d seen that was when we almost lost Fox after he was shot. She’d garnered more nicknames in the military with her closed-off manner. Ice queen, bitch, data. According to Fox, guys made passes at her daily, but she shut them down before they’d even finished their sad old chat up lines. People don’t care enough to look beneath the surface. There’s a boiling pot of emotions she keeps locked down, one I want to spill everywhere.
“You are tracking her phone?”
“No. It’s her personal tracker.”
