“Franzen put you up to this, didn’t he?”
Z lowered his legs and then balanced his elbows on his knees. When he lifted his head, deep assessment defined his stare. Garrett almost rolled his eyes in return, but he caught sight of himself in the dusty mirror over the bureau. His hair, a nice gold when it was clean but the color of a worn dishrag now, was as rumpled and long as Zeke’s brown waves. His eyes also looked like rags—blue ones that’d been used on muddy boots. His skin was sallow. He hadn’t slept well in over a year, and it showed in every wrinkled, grungy inch of him.
He scowled. If he was Franz, he’d likely have a few concerns about adding his name to the mission roster too. It didn’t matter that he’d proved himself on over three dozen ops in the last year. He knew the concern was for this trip. He didn’t have to be told why. But he’d put up with the formality anyway.
“Yeah, okay,” Zeke conceded. “The captain and I had a brief talk about your involvement on this one. You’re a key piece of the team, Hawk. We could really use you. Even though you look like crap, your reflexes are still the best on the squad. You’re able to make smart snap judgments even if the shit gets thick and the op goes sideways.”
Garrett dropped his pack and leaned against the door. “Are you planning that much on this one taking a detour?”
“No. Hell, no.” Like the protest about the shirt, his friend’s answer flew out suspiciously fast. “It’s just—we’re gonna be deep in the forest on this one, G. I wouldn’t be surprised if we come across fucking Jurassic Park or something.”
“You know Jurassic Park is technically off the coast of Costa Rica and not Thailand, right?”
“It’s sick that you know that.”
“It’s pathetic that you don’t read.”
His buddy’s stubbled chin gave way to a grin. “And it’s nice to see you getting pissy about something.” In a murmur, he added, “Maybe there’s hope for your humanity after all, Hawkins.”
“Shut up and get to your point.”
Zeke let the smile fall. “Okey dokey, Prince Charming.” He rose and crossed his arms. “To be frank, the captain and I are concerned about your focus on this one.”
A needle of irritation joined the knives in his chest. “That’s never been an issue before.”
“We’ve never been called to retrieve hostages before.”
Garrett snorted. “Yeah, what about that? The Rangers and Delta getting their nails done or something?”
“You think I know or care? The op is what it is. More importantly, the hostages are what they are. American women, many with fair hair and eyes.” Z leaned forward, intensifying his gaze. “I need to know you can keep the emo lockbox down on this, G. Complete objectivity. These girls will be terrified and traumatized, but our main objective is to get them to safety using any means necessary. The conditions will be shitty and the time frame will be worse. I need to know you can do that. I need to know you’re gonna maintain your edge.”
Garrett pushed off the door in order to take a determined stance. He bolted his stare into Zeke’s, unwavering in his purpose, unblinking in his concentration.
“You think I’m gonna go cookie crumbs on you because some girl looks like her?” He shot out a bitter laugh. “You think that alone would do it? You really don’t remember what Sage and I had, do you?”
“Why do I need to? You’re doing the job to stellar perfection for me and half the world.”
“And?”
Zeke’s eyes slid shut and his mouth tightened, his version of contrition for the accusing words. “You haven’t let go of her. You still got that goddamn ring hiding between your tags, which should be secured to your bootlaces, assface, not your sorry neck. I can write you up faster than—”
Garrett cut him off with a derisive laugh. “Oh, that would be entertaining.”
“I’ve got genuine concerns here, Garrett.”
“Got it, Oprah. Can I get you a tampon for that now?”
Zeke closed the space between them in one wide step. His jaw went harder beneath his stubble. “What you can do, damn it, is look me in the eye and swear to me that you’re squared with the personal shit and are solid to go on this op.”
Garrett notched back his shoulders and set his own jaw. He confronted the stare of his friend again. He’d seen those hazels oiled with booze, gunned with adrenaline, bleary with exhaustion, afire with exhilaration, and likely a thousand other things. But this was one look he always treated with respect. This was a stare of the guy who would be at his side out there in Jurassic Land, holding the gun that could save Garrett’s life. He’d be counting on Garrett to do the exact same.
“I’m solid,” he said. “And you know I’d tell you otherwise, Z.” The last shrouds of his dream fell away from his mind, dissolved by the salvation of mental mission prep. “Let me help you get these dick lickers.”
Zeke didn’t answer at first. He subjected Garrett to another minute of silent scrutiny. That was all right. He’d been through it before. What he couldn’t handle were the daggers Z kept trying to add to the others in his chest, to open up new parts of him so he could “move on” and “live again.” That wasn’t going to happen. Not today, not tonight, not anytime soon. The knives were his. The pain was his. As long as both were still there, he still had some part of her with him.
Finally, Zeke cracked a lopsided grin and chuckled. “All right, you charmer. Let’s get the hell out of here. You need a shower, dude. Bad.”
“Says the chump who smells like ass.”
Zeke knuckled him in the shoulder. “You sure you got everything in that pack? Did you get your Jane Austen novel off the back of the toilet?”
“I’ve got your Jane Austen at the end of my dick.”
“Hawkins, your dick is probably as blue as your balls by now.” Z snapped his fingers. “Hey! Maybe that’s where you should secure your tags, yeah?”
Garrett rolled his eyes, scooped up his pack again, and discreetly adjusted the body parts his friend had insulted with screaming accuracy. His cock was still doing its best to relax, though his balls throbbed in frustration, sending shots of erotic what-the-fucks at him. They were supposed to be enjoying some post-jackoff serenity right now, and the bastards were hitting the target damn well at reminding him of that every two seconds.
Get used to it, guys. He sent the dismal promise as he and Zeke made their way out into the sultry Bangkok afternoon. Life isn’t going to change anytime soon.
Chapter Two
Day four hundred thirty-three…
The paper’s running low. Soon it’ll be gone. I’m not sure how I’ll hang on after that, without the words to write each day…the few seconds that I have to look at them and remember that I’m real. That somewhere in the world, you’re real, and what we had was real. I think they might be moving us again today. I don’t know what will happen, but I think we’ll be sold again or killed. This time, I’m praying for the strength to leave this packet behind—and in doing so, to leave part of my heart behind with it. These pages will tell you everything. They’ll explain where we’ve been and who’s held us and maybe help you guys catch the assholes. I have to believe that someone will find this. I have to believe that they’ll get it to you somehow, and that you’ll read it all and know I never stopped loving you. I never—
“Sage! Put it away!”