Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

“I’m sure we can find something better,” Angel says. “You know I can make almost anything work.”

Proxy raises his hand. “Can I put in an official request for a transfer? Last time, she made me climb a damn electrical tower.”

I snort. Proxy is Angel’s spotter, and while I haven’t had the chance to work alongside them yet, from what I’ve seen, they act like an old married couple, which is hilarious for a gay dude and a lesbian.

“Denied,” Trav says. “And you know you love it.”

Proxy grumbles something I can’t hear, and Angel blows him a kiss.

“Next up,” Trav continues. “Once we’re inside, we have only one goal. Find Farouk, take him down, and then get out of there. You’re all going in with body cams, so if we pull this off, we have proof to send out into the world.”

Even though I’ve already said I’m sitting this out, hearing the plan again doesn’t fill me with relief. If anything, all I have left in the pit of my stomach is dread.

I’m too close and need to compartmentalize, or all I’m going to do for the next couple of hours is stress about Iris and Farouk.

The plane starts its descent, and I hold on to Iris’s hand for dear life. And maybe grip a little too tight because he squeezes out of my hold.

“I kind of need that for the mission.” He shakes out his hand.

“Sorry.”

“Stepping back didn’t help at all, huh?”

“Not one bit. It might actually be worse now because even though I’ll be safe, you won’t be, and …” My chest lurches.

“Don’t worry about me. This is my job. It was what I was born to do.”

“I was the same way last year, and look what happened. Don’t let your cockiness get you killed. You can’t leave me now.”

Iris bumps me with his shoulder. “Oh, you’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

He looks hesitant because in this line of work, right before a big job, it’s considered bad luck to tell your loved ones you’ll be back.

But when his gaze meets mine, his eyes soften, and then he leans in and touches his lips to mine.

It’s not exactly a promise, but it’ll have to do.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Iris

The sound of the helo blades doesn’t fill me with the usual adrenaline. Instead, I can’t forget the image of Saint’s face as I left him back at the base.

It was forlorn and full of concern, and the last thing I need is that hanging over my head. Being distracted in the field is the worst thing that could happen.

I would say this is an argument for Trav to keep Saint and me off the same job because this is exactly what he doesn’t want—for us to be so wrapped up in each other that we miss the bigger picture. But that argument is thin when I’m sure he would have looked at me the same way whether he’d stayed in the US or came here with us.

As we were taking off in the Hawk, he started helping Ghost load all the tech equipment into a car to drive to the hotel at the edge of town.

I can only assume he’s listening in, but I hope for his sake he’s not.

Trav flies low through the jungles of Northern Udoola. There are three types of terrain for such a small country. It borders Tunisia and the Mediterranean Sea, so there’s a beach, then away from the coastline is forest, and the farther south you get, it turns to desert.

Last time we were here, it was all sand. This time, we’re surrounded by lush trees, humidity, and the smell of jungle.

We hit our mark, a clearing in the middle of nowhere, and Trav brings the Hawk low enough to the ground that we can each jump without needing to rappel. With four of us exiting, it’s the quicker way for us to get out.

As soon as we’re all on the ground, Trav lifts off and flies west to drop Angel and Proxy at their location.

“Comms in,” Atlas says.

“Check,” I say, and each of the others does the same.

“Received,” Ghost adds when he’s heard us all check-in.

I wait for another voice to come online, but it doesn’t.

It’s better this way. He’s keeping his distance, which is what Saint needs.

“Let’s roll out.” Atlas takes the lead with Decaf watching on the map to make sure Atlas doesn’t take a wrong turn.

Why we always end up with Atlas leading the way, I’ll never know. Well, other than he’s a great leader and the size of a tank, so he can barge his way through anything. Especially with the machete he’s using to clear us a path.

Decaf has a cup of coffee with him, of course, and it’s about his fifth cup in the last couple of hours. I swear that much caffeine can’t be good for him. But I’ve also seen him when he has tried to quit, and he’s worse than a meth addict going through withdrawals. More of a baby about it too.