“The band?”
“Yes. It’s so easy for them. I couldn’t do it.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to that many people.”
“I never took you to be one who hated crowds.”
“Oh, I’m fine with crowds,” she said. “It’s the people in them I have problems with.”
“I never took you for being shy either.”
“Seriously? You know me better than most. When have you ever seen me be the life of the party?” She gnawed at her lower lip. “I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
Ryker followed the bouncing of her eyes and then realized something he’d missed before. T wasn’t checking out the band. She was watching the few women in the crowd, taking note of her competition. He was cool with that. The more competition she faced, the lower the likelihood of her following through with her plan.
“How are you holding up?”
He was honestly concerned about her. Relationship killers messed with the mind, and if she needed to work through shit to stay at the top of her game, then he would be her sounding board. Not that he cared anything about Scott, but he needed to be there for T. His biggest problem was how he managed that role. So far, he was a teammate, and there might be a bit of heat simmering between them. That had been confirmed when the shooter targeted their team. Those few moments when he’d covered her with his body confirmed what he knew to be there. The biggest issue he faced was T’s need to talk. What he wouldn’t do was sink into the abysmal depths of the friend zone. If he let that happen, there would be no coming back.
“You mean about Scott?”
“Who else would I be talking about?”
“I thought we’d agreed not to talk about him.”
“No. You decided you were going to fuck the first man you came across, and I disagreed.”
“You mean, you stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong.”
“Whatever. We agreed we weren’t discussing your sex life, but that’s not what I’m asking now.”
“I’m fine, Lyons. It sucks, but I’ll be fine.”
T stood and worked her way free of the table, tapping Skye on the shoulder and whispering into her ear.
Skye gave a nod and then picked up her conversation with Collins. “And you recommend trauma, emergency, and ortho for a team? This works well for you?”
“Our needs might be different from yours,” Collins said. “We fly into hot zones; combat injuries are what we see, projectile weapons, limb wound salvage, and debridement. It depends on what you think you’ll face.”
“We plan on having a tactical team. Ex-special ops will be on that team. We’re looking at rescues mostly but high-risk scenarios. Most of the situations we envision will be against armed forces. I’m thinking it will be similar to what you see.”
Collins shook his head. “Sounds tough. I like to think we’re the only people with this type of job, but I forget what is happening on the non-military front.”
“Trust me, I’m not looking forward to it, but our medical team would, of course, come in after the scene is secured. I envision much of what you’ve mentioned. Projectile wounds. I doubt we’ll be faced with field amputations, like your team.”
Drummond piped in, “We really don’t do many of those anymore. We’ve learned a lot about limb salvage over the years. Mostly, we debride and stabilize.”
“I’d love to learn more about that,” Skye said.
Ryker listened to their conversation with half an ear. Forest’s comments about the special surprise had turned his stomach into knots, but that wasn’t what had his blood boiling. Of all the members of the band, why had T chosen Bent? With growing anger, he watched her close in on the table Bent had enraptured with whatever story he seemed to be telling. T didn’t waste a second. Despite what she’d said about hating crowds and people, she honed right in on Bent, thrust her hand forward, and said something. Whatever it was, it had Bent’s head swiveling to where Ryker sat.
Great, she was using her association with him to get close to Bent. Well, that simply wasn’t going to fly.
Bent scooted over and made room for T. The table was crowded with excited airmen, but they made room. The look T gave Bent went on for far too many seconds, and Ryker wasn’t a fan of the look Bent returned. It was vital he put an end to this now.
He unfolded himself from the bench. “Sir,” he said to Collins, “excuse me.”
