"Anything new?" Mara asked.
Quinn shook her head. "Still quiet. No blowback from Iraq. Delta team made it back to the States two days ago. They're at Fort Liberty now."
"And Logan?" The name came out before Mara could stop it. More personal than "Steele" or "the operator." More real.
Quinn's expression was carefully neutral but Mara saw the flicker of understanding in her eyes. "Recovering. He was in the hospital at Erbil for thirty-six hours, then medevaced back with his team. Last intel I have says he's at Womack Army Medical Center. Prognosis is good. They saved the leg. Arm should heal clean. He'll make a full recovery."
Mara felt something loosen in her chest. Relief so strong it was almost physical. "Good. That's good."
Sloane was watching her with the kind of look that meant she saw too much. "You did good work in Mosul. All of you. The op went as well as could be expected given the parameters."
"But?" Mara heard the unspoken word.
"But we can't do it again. We can't risk Shadow Veil on unauthorized military ops. We got lucky this time. They kept their word. Next time we might not be so fortunate."
"I know."
"Do you? Because from where I'm sitting, you're having trouble letting this one go." Sloane stood and walked to the window. "I get it. He made an impression. You feel responsible for what happened to him. You wanted to see it through. But it's done now. He's safe. His team's safe. We're safe. Time to move on."
Mara wanted to argue. Wanted to say it wasn't just responsibility or guilt. That something had happened in that compound and again in that cell. Something that felt like the beginning of something instead of the end. But Sloane was right about one thing. Logan was back with his team, recovering, getting back to his life. And Mara needed to get back to hers.
"Understood," Mara said.
Sloane turned to face her. "We have three new potential targets. Atlanta, Dallas, and Miami. Quinn's running analysis now. I need you focused on those. Not on what happened in Iraq."
"I'm focused."
"Then prove it. Operations briefing this afternoon. I want you ready."
Mara nodded and left the ops center. She should feel relieved. Should be grateful that the Mosul operation hadn't destroyed everything. Should be ready to move forward with the work that actually mattered. Instead, she felt restless. Unfinished. Like she'd left something important behind in Iraq and couldn't quite remember what it was. Except she knew exactly what it was. Or rather, who. Logan Reed. Delta Force operator. The man who'd looked at her and said he'd find her. The man whose real name she knew. The man who'd promised to buy her a beer and figure out what the hell had started between them in that compound.
She wondered if he remembered. If the promise had been real or just something to say in the moment. If he'd meant it when he'd said Louisiana. If he'd actually try to find her or if the reality of recovery and military obligations would make that impossible.
She wondered if she wanted him to find her. And knew, despite every tactical reason she shouldn't, that she did.
Fort Liberty, North Carolina Same Time
Logan sat in the hospital room at Womack Army Medical Center and tried not to go insane from boredom. Three days since they'd pulled him out of Mosul. Three days of antibiotics, surgery on his leg, pain meds that made his head fuzzy, and doctors telling him how lucky he was. He didn't feel lucky. He felt like he'd been run over by a truck, put back together with duct tape, and told to be grateful about it.
The arm was in a proper cast now. The ribs were wrapped. The leg wound had been debrided and was healing clean. He'd keep the scars but he'd keep the leg too, which Risk said had been touch and go for a while.
But the physical injuries weren't what kept him awake at night. It was the memories. The ones that came in fragments and flashes. Nazari's voice. The pain. The certainty that rescue wasn't coming. And then the door opening. Mara's face. Her voice telling him they'd come back. The way she'd looked at him like she actually saw him despite the blood and the bruising and the fact that he could barely stand.
He remembered the feel of her hands on him. Supporting his weight. Steady and sure even when everything else was chaos. He remembered her eyes. Dark and intense and focused on him like nothing else mattered. He remembered the way she'd said his name. Mara. Like a gift she was giving him. Like something that meant more than just identification.
The door opened and his team filed in. Hawk, Bulldog, Risk, Ghost, and Joker. All of them in civilian clothes. All of them looking like they'd rather be anywhere else than a hospital room.
"How's the invalid?" Bulldog asked, dropping into the chair beside the bed.
"Fantastic," Logan replied. "Living the dream. How'd the debrief go?"
Hawk grimaced. "About as well as expected. The colonel knows we're lying. Knows there's no way you made it back to base on your own with those injuries. But he can't prove anything and we're all sticking to the story."
"Which is?"
"That you escaped during a prisoner transfer. Made your way back to Erbil on foot. Showed up at the gate half-dead and we got you medical care." Hawk crossed his arms. "It's thin. It's full of holes. But it's all he's getting."
"And he's not pushing?"
