“She’s more Kennedy than anything,” Rock grumbled, “and spent most of last summer in Texas with her uncle Micah. “She’s picked up his bad habits and forgotten what it means to follow the rules”
“And you’re proud as all get-out about it.”
“Just don’t tell her that,” Rock smirked, “we have our hands full as it is, without her deciding she’s the commander and we should follow her rules, not the other way around.”
“I can see how that would be a problem.”
Rock glanced at Grif and quirked up an eyebrow, clearly a silent question that Grif responded to with a nod.
“Come with us.” Rock grabbed a set of keys and led them from the outdoor kitchen around the side of the house to another locked gate. Once they were through and into the garden, it was more than obvious that kids lived here. The pool had inflatable toys and a kids’ tricycle lay on its side near the door to the house.
Rowan could see all his men breathe sighs of relief when they were brought to another building tucked away at the bottom of the garden. This one was lined with weapons cages, had screens on the wall, and a massive table running down the middle of it.
This is more like it.
“Welcome to Ghost’s remote office,” Grif said wryly. He went to one cage and unclipped the door. “M4s, M16s, mags, frags, and anything else you need. If it’s not here, then it’s probably not been made yet.”
Man, their weapons cache is an operator’s wet dream.
“Thanks, Bro. Appreciate it.”
“If you tell me where you are heading,” Rock flipped on the screens, “we can tell you the best way to get there.” He moved to the center of the room and leaned his butt against the table between two of the chairs.
“May I?” Rowan pointed to the remote on the table.
Rock glanced at Grif and shrugged. “Knock yourself out, Salieri.”
“What if knocking myself out comes with a side of connecting your computers to the ones at Stronghold?”
“That’s above our pay grade.” Rock pulled out his phone and punched in a number. “Bro, I have Stronghold here, and they need to do some computer shit. After the fuck-up with Ramos, I’m not touching a damn thing. I’m putting you on speaker.” He placed the phone on the computer desk that ran the length of the wall.
“About time you learned your lesson,” the voice on the phone said.
“Speaker, asshole,” Rock grumbled.
“Yes, sir.” The man on the phone snickered.
Clearly, Rock had a good relationship with his people.
Rowan’s eyebrows flew upward when one of the screens flipped from the maps of the Amazon to what was clearly a war-room.
“Don’t do that shit, asshole.” Rock glared at the man on the screen.
The man on screen ignored his boss and turned his attention to Rowan. “Which Salieri brother are you?”
“Gael,” Rowan answered immediately. He wanted to see if this man could tell the difference between them.
“Weird,” The man had a slight accent that Rowan couldn’t place. “I thought Gael was the untalkative one.”
Rowan had been pretending he was his brother, and vice versa, for long enough that he knew he could pull it off if he had to, so rather than answering, he just watched the man with a bland look on his face. He snapped his fingers and hoped Gael would hear it over the din of the men picking weapons and gear from the cages.
Within seconds, his brother stood shoulder to shoulder with him. He, too, quirked up an eyebrow at the man on the screen.
“Which one are you?”
“Rowan.” Gael clearly remembered the tricks they played as boys—before war, too many missions and deployments to count, and a stint at the hands of the bastards they now hunted again wreaked havoc with everything that had made Gael sociable.
“Does it matter which is which?” Rock growled.
