“Wow.” Shep stared at the plate of food hungrily. “If this tastes half as good as it looks and smells…”
She beamed at him. “It does. But make sure you leave room for apple pie.”
“Oh, there’ll be room.” Shep dug in.
Boone gave her a small smile before he started his own meal.
“Fuck,” Shep said. “Gemma, this is good.”
She felt a flush in her cheeks. It was one of her most favorite things in the world when people enjoyed her food. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a good home-cooked meal that I haven’t thrown together myself.” He ate another large forkful of food.
It was after they’d eaten, and after Boone and Shep—despite her protests that she could help—had cleaned up the table and kitchen, that she found herself on the couch in front of the fire. She snuggled into Boone’s side, Atlas lying at their feet. Shep sat in an armchair across from them.
The men had switched to Scotch, both of them cradling glasses.
“So, any more information on this Carruthers?” Shep asked.
Gemma stiffened, and Boone stroked a hand down her arm.
“Not yet,” Boone said. “He’s rich and British, that’s all we have.”
“And he’s an arms dealer.” Shep’s tone said exactly what he thought about that. He sipped his drink.
“How does the man sleep at night?” Gemma asked quietly. “When you’re responsible for so much death and suffering.”
“He probably doesn’t feel anything,” Shep said. “Doesn’t care.”
“Or he justifies it to himself,” Boone said. “That he’s not the one pulling the trigger or detonating the bomb. That the weapons he sells aren’t the problem. It’s the people who use them.”
“Right, but he sells dangerous weapons to dangerous people. And profits off it.” She shook her head. “I’ll never understand.”
Boone gently tugged on her hair. “Try to turn it off for a bit. You’re just a woman relaxing in a cabin in the Rocky Mountains.”
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that easy.”
He lowered his voice. “I’ll help you relax later.”
She shivered, desire a lazy coil in her belly. Oh, yes, despite everything they’d done to each other last night and today, she wanted more. So much more.
“Miles loved a good Scotch.” Shep was studying his glass.
Against her, Gemma felt Boone stiffen. She pressed a hand to his chest.
“Remember that expensive bottle of…” Shep shook his head. “I can’t remember the name of it. The bottle he wanted when he got engaged.”
Boone’s lips twitched. “I remember. The whole team pitched in to buy it for him. Damn stuff tasted like ash.”
Shep laughed. It was a low, sexy rumble that Gemma guessed he didn’t use very much.
She stayed quiet and listened as they reminisced about their fallen friends.
Shep leaned forward. “Remember the time Julio drank that entire bottle of tequila? He was celebrating when Martina had Eddie.”
“Eddie is Julio’s son,” Boone told Gemma. “He was sad that he missed the birth while we were away on a mission, but he sure made up for it with the enthusiasm of his celebration.”
“Never seen anyone puke so much.” Shep grunted. “He was green the next day on the helo.”
Gemma smiled. She wondered if they let themselves remember their friends—and the good times—very often. “What was Charlie’s drink of choice?”
Shep groaned. “Craft beer. He used to brew his own.”
Boone chuckled. “He was obsessed. Talked about his home-brewing all the time.”
“Finally, we were all stateside, and he made us try it.” Shep pulled a face.
“He called it Ghost Hops.” Boone started laughing even harder.
“Fuck, I’d forgotten that.” Shep’s deep laugh joined Boone’s.
“It tasted horrible,” Boone told her.
Shep snorted. “It tasted like dirty bath water.”
“It sounds like they were good friends, and lots of fun.”
Boone toyed with her hair. “They were.” There was a ding from Boone’s pocket. “That’s my phone.” He pulled it out and looked at the screen, his brow furrowing. “There’s a message from Vander.”
Gemma couldn’t help but stiffen, her good mood leaking away.
Boone’s face hardened and he met her gaze. “Ace found something on the dark web. He’s sent it through.”
Mouth dry, she reached for the laptop sitting closed on the coffee table. She opened it and peered at the screen. “Oh, God. Apparently, Carruthers is planning an auction very soon.”
A muscle ticked in Boone’s jaw. “Of what?”
“An encrypted satellite targeting system called Flux.”
He frowned. “Okay.”
She kept reading the information, her chest winding tighter. “Boone, Flux is used by countries across the world. Militaries across the world. They use this satellite targeting system for their missiles and drones.”
“Fuck,” Shep muttered.
Boone looked like he’d been hit hard. “So, if someone had their hands on Flux, they could hack our military’s missile strikes, drone missions…?”
She nodded, horror filling her. “And not just our military, but most of our allies as well.”
“Are you a secret expert in satellite targeting systems?” Shep asked.
“No.” She tapped on the keyboard. “Let me look into Flux a bit more. It was designed by a tech company called ZonaTech…”
Oh, God. An icy cold washed over her.
“What is it?” Boone asked.
She swallowed, her throat tight. “I did work with ZonaTech. When I was at Expanse. I was the project lead.”
He leaned forward. “What was the project, Gemma?”
She swallowed again. “Data storage for low-orbit communications satellites. We did lots of behind-the-scenes systems stuff.”
“Systems that ZonaTech then probably used when they created Flux for military applications,” Shep said.
Boone nodded. “Carruthers thinks that you can give him a backdoor into Flux.”
“Which he then wants to sell off to the highest bidder.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I feel sick.”
“Send the intel to Vander.”
She nodded and saw Shep and Boone lock gazes.
“It isn’t just Gemma’s safety at risk now,” Boone said quietly, “but national security. Hell, global security. If terrorists or unfriendly nations could redirect other countries’ missiles and drones…
“How could someone do this?” Gemma shot to her feet. “Carruthers must have no conscience.”
Boone rose and wrapped his arms around her. “Like a lot of people, he just cares more about money and power.”
She looked up at him. “You don’t?”
His gaze locked on hers. “I have more than enough money. I don’t need much. And I don’t give a flying fuck about power.” For a second, his gaze changed, and she knew he’d gone somewhere dark. “In life-or-death situations, it doesn’t matter much.”
“You haven’t once asked about my father, or—”
Boone gripped her jaw. “Because what I feel for you has nothing to do with your father.”
God, this man. She managed a small smile. “You don’t want a job at Expanse?”
“Fuck, no.”
“Or a Ferrari and a few million dollars?”
He shook his head. “I’m a truck man, and I don’t need a few million dollars.”