Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

It’s not fast enough.

“What’s happening?” Danyal asks.

I turn and smile at him. “I’m so sorry. I went back to my room to get us all the fun things we’d need for the night I had planned, but this guy was passed out.” I slap Saint’s chest. “Chet is a mess. I’m gonna take him home.”

“Will you be coming back?”

“I’ll try,” I promise him.

Danyal steps forward and presses his mouth to mine. I kiss him back because what else am I supposed to do?

We’re broken apart by Saint “losing his balance.” I pretend to scowl at him, but I actually want to kiss his feet. That would make me feel less dirty than kissing Danyal.

“Some incentive to come back,” Danyal says.

I still have to play the part. “That’s pretty damn good incentive.”

The elevator arrives, and I’m more than thankful that Danyal doesn’t want to follow us. I give him a wave as the doors close.

Once he’s out of sight, both Saint and I relax. He steps away from me and leans against the opposite wall.

“What does kissing a terrorist feel like?”

Is that jealousy that I hear?

“Like I want to do anything to get the taste out of my mouth. I was thinking I’d love to kiss your feet for stopping it.”

Saint lifts his foot, but I swat it away.

“Are you okay now?” I ask.

He averts eye contact. “I … kind of freaked out.”

No shit. I have a fairly good idea why, but the elevator reaches the lobby, so it’s time for him to act drunk again in case Danyal’s other bodyguards are hanging around.

Luckily they’re not, so we go to the valet to get the car. Saint still plays it up in case, but not as over-the-top as upstairs. We’re both stoically silent for the first few blocks.

“Do you want to talk about what happened?” I ask.

Saint stares out the passenger window. “I thought I was dead again. I thought it was all about to unfold like it did in Udoola. It paralyzed me, which is why I had to escape over the balcony instead of moving my ass and getting out before they reached me.”

That’s … not a good sign.

“Do you think it had to do with it being Danyal Farouk? Or would it have happened on any job?”

His mouth opens but then closes again. “I honestly don’t know.”

“You got out of there. You did the job.”

“Yeah, but at what cost? I almost blew the whole thing because I froze.” Saint throws his head back against the headrest. “Trav is going to fire my ass.”

“Nah, he won’t. He might not put you back into the field until you’ve dealt with your PTSD, but he won’t fire you because of it.”

Saint screws up his face.

“I know you hate that label, but I think PTSD has got a bad reputation. Like people think anyone who has it is on the brink of losing it twenty-four seven but that’s not how it always is. It can show up in other ways. It might only be that this was your first job since it happened, and it might be your only mishap.”

“It could’ve been a costly mishap.”

“It could have been, but it wasn’t. So focus on the fact we got that job done, and now we have access to Danyal’s devices.”

“And his bodyguards’. At least their computers. If any of them are in contact with Farouk or his people, we’ll know about it.”

“See! Positives.”

A car in the rearview mirror catches my attention. It’s a dark-colored SUV, and I saw it as we pulled out of the hotel and took note but didn’t think much of it until now.

It has been consistently sitting two cars behind us, which isn’t enough to be suspicious, but it is when they’ve had ample chance to overtake us.

“What is it?” Saint asks.

I take my earpiece off mute. “Trav, you still there?”

“I’m here.”

“I think, but I can’t be sure, we might have a tail.”

Saint dips his head to look in the side mirror. “Which car?”

“Two back. Black SUV. I can’t read the plates because the car behind us is blocking them.”

“I can try to get a partial,” Saint says. He takes his phone from the glovebox where we left our personal cell phones and then turns in his seat. “Fucking headlights.” His head swivels, and I move the car over to still stay in our lane but enough he can get something. “Three letters coming your way.”

“On it,” Trav says.

The conversation about Saint’s breakdown is shelved for now. I’m sure Saint doesn’t want Trav overhearing his insecurities, and it’s a conversation they’re going to have to have, but now’s not the time. Not when we could be being followed.

When I get the opportunity to switch lanes, the other car does too, only adding to my suspicion.

“Got a letter,” Saint says, “but they moved too fast to get the whole plate.”