Wyatt and Chris had to practically carry A.J. onto the plane. And Chris had threatened to tape his mouth shut, worried he’d get them booted from flying commercial if he didn’t stop talking about his firearm collection.
“You happen to know why we were called here?” Finn asked Harper.
“No idea why Secretary Chandler called us aside from the obvious.” Harper’s lips eased into a smile. “A mission.”
It’d be their first official mission this year working for Admiral Chandler in his new role as Secretary of Defense. And now Wyatt’s future father-in-law was officially one of the select few to know about Bravo and Echo Teams’ off-the-books operations. To the world, the guys had retired, but hell, they were far from it. Of course, if they were to ever be captured during an op, they’d have to claim they were acting on their own accord under the guise of Scott & Scott Securities. They’d secured four more years of operating when Isaiah Bennett won the presidency, but if the media ever got wind of their ops, it’d be game over.
“How much did you drink last night, by the way?” Harper must have been asking A.J. since he was the only one with sunglasses on in the dark basement to hide his bloodshot eyes. All the ibuprofen in the world wouldn’t get rid of his headache, either. It was worse than the one he’d had yesterday.
“His buddy made a bet.” And that was all Roman needed to say for Harper to get the idea.
“Mmhm.” Harper gave A.J. an accusatory but playful grin, her white teeth showing between her parted lips, coated in that nude gloss that Roman was clearly unable to take his eyes off. Captain Obvious was about as good at hiding his desire for Harper as Asher had once been with Jessica. Only, Asher and Jessica had done their best to make a show of hating each other while secretly wanting to rip each other’s clothes off.
But Roman kept his cool because Roman was, well, Roman. Quiet. Always thinking. Probably calculating odds and measuring the risks if he were to make a move on Harper.
And then there’s me. I drunk dialed an FBI agent. A.J. pulled at the brim of his ball cap in shame.
“You should’ve taken my phone away from me after all those shots.” The cheap plastic government chair groaned beneath the weight of forcing it to move in ways it wasn’t meant to. A.J. finally allowed the chair legs to meet the ground again.
“And miss out on the chance to watch you do something stupid?” Chris eyed A.J. with intense focus as if A.J. were coming around on the last lap at Nascar, and it was a make-or-break moment. Hell, A.J.’s life was all about those moments, wasn’t it?
He removed his glasses at the sudden realization his drunken message last night had been Chris’s doing. “You . . .”
Chris stopped pacing the length of the table and held both palms in the air. “I may or may not have been the one to encourage you to call her.”
“What am I missing?” Harper asked, but then Roman tipped his chin in the direction of the metal door opening from the other side of the room.
“Harper, you didn’t tell us the admiral was bringing Natasha to our, uh, supposedly clandestine meeting.” Chris dropped back into his seat as if he’d get punished by the teacher for standing. “Um, Wyatt, what’s your future wife doing here?”
Wyatt twisted to the side to peer at Admiral Chandler walking toward the table, his daughter at his right, a stack of folders pressed to her chest. He hurriedly stood, clearly surprised to see his fiancée in this so-called Blacklist-like setting.
Now that A.J. thought about it, the place did give off a bizarre feeling aside from being cold, dimly lit, and beneath a closed-down old county jail. Maybe there were ghosts of previous inmates causing that chill in the air?
Ghosts. Goose bumps exploded across his body as he remembered how clearly Marcus had appeared to him yesterday. You here now? Was Marcus in the room? It almost felt like . . .
A.J. heard a slight crack as he squeezed his palm around his sunglasses.
“What are you doing here?” he overheard Wyatt speak up.
A.J. snatched the bottle of water Harper had placed in front of him earlier, her nose scrunched as if she’d been able to smell the booze on him. Hell, his body was so infused it was probably like a fresh coat of paint on his skin.
“I thought you were working on last-minute wedding details,” Wyatt said while Natasha kept the folders clutched to her chest with one hand and reached out and placed a palm on her future husband’s chest with the other.
“I’ll explain,” Admiral Chandler spoke up, his deep tone deflating any of the residual humor that’d been left wafting in the cool air between the guys.
Wyatt hesitantly went back to his seat, but Natasha remained standing at the head of the table alongside her father, who was out of uniform and in a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved, gray button-down shirt. The casual look worked for the man, but it didn’t make him any less intimidating.
It had to be weird for Wyatt to now report to his fiancée’s father, but no stranger than Knox working for his old man. AKA—the Commander in Chief of the United States.
Admiral Chandler gripped the back of the empty chair and looked at Harper, then on to the guys, before his eyes came to a halt on his future son-in-law. “We’d planned on making this announcement when everyone could be here, but the President and I will be phoning the others after this meeting.” His voice was a bit raspy as if he’d smoked a cigar or engaged in a shouting match before showing up.
Wyatt shifted in his seat, clearly on edge with his fiancée, a CIA officer, in the room.
Natasha set the stack of folders on the table and tucked her blonde hair behind her ears, her gaze following the same pattern her father’s had moments ago.
“When you men first began operating for the previous administration, you had a liaison between those in charge and yourselves.” The admiral’s words had A.J. releasing his viselike grip on the bottle of water, and he let go of the tight hold of his sunglasses, as well.
A.J. hadn’t even remembered gripping them, too surprised by Natasha showing up to their meeting. Plus, that bump on the back of his head was still playing tricks on him, because for a moment, he could’ve sworn Marcus was in the room with them, in that empty seat, listening to mission instructions.
I don’t believe in ghosts. Nope. He shook his head a little too hard, attracting the attention of Roman, who was now eying him with concern instead of focusing on the new Secretary of Defense.
“As I’m sure Luke will tell you when he speaks to you later, having that separation between our men and the President didn’t work too well,” Wyatt informed the admiral. “We don’t need someone else to report to. We don’t want someone.”
“And he speaks for all of us,” Chris said in agreement.
“I thought you might say that.” The admiral pulled out the empty chair and took a seat, but Natasha remained on her feet. “But this will be different. The President and I believe we need someone who can be the eyes and ears at the various agencies who can point out potential problems that need to be handled by alternative means.”
“We’re the alternative means, I assume?” Harper asked for clarification, and the admiral nodded.
“We’ve created a task force of agents. One highly qualified and heavily vetted agent or officer from the FBI, DHS, CIA, DIA, and lastly, the NSA,” he explained, his voice low. A touch smoother than before. A ring of decisiveness coming from a man with decades of experience under his belt.