“Don’t call her that, especially in front of Gunner.”
Griffin laughed again. “What’s with everyone deciding they don’t want to be called by their code names anymore?”
“I call you Griffin. Would you rather I called you Striker?”
“Aine.” She could tell he was smiling. “I will answer to Rover if it’s from your lips.”
“Hmm. I kind of like that. Okay, Rover, when will you be here?”
“Two hours tops. Text me the address.”
—:—
Striker disconnected the call and threw the phone on the passenger seat of his rental car. He’d splurged and rented a convertible Mercedes, hoping he and Aine could take a drive up to Big Sur in it, maybe farther. He was thinking about asking her if she’d let him drive her home after the holiday. From the Central Coast to Yachats, Oregon, would be a breathtakingly beautiful drive, and it would give them more time alone together.
As for his splurge on the car, the money he was making as a K19 partner allowed him to have a little fun after getting by on CIA pay for so many years. It wasn’t that they didn’t pay well; it was just that the money he made with K19 was so much more than he’d ever dreamed possible.
He’d been considering putting his condo in McLean on the market. He wasn’t sure he’d be there that often anyway. With his new tax bracket, he could afford something new. Maybe something closer to Yachats—and Aine.
He scrubbed his face as traffic slowed to a crawl, trying not to overthink this thing with Aine or what kind of reception he was going to get from Gunner Godet.
The first time they met, Striker knew Gunner didn’t like him. Ever since, he’d worked hard to get the guy to give him an inch, to no avail. He’d even talked to Fatale about it.
“Can you put in a good word for me with Paps?” he’d asked.
“I can, but it won’t do any good,” she’d responded. “He doesn’t like anyone from what I can tell.”
“He likes you.”
“He tolerates me.”
“It’s worse with me. He hates me.”
Fatale’s advice had been to stay out of Gunner’s way, which hadn’t worked too well considering the last op they’d done was to rescue Zary, the woman Gunner was in love with. Hard to stay out of someone’s way when they want your help saving the love of their life.
Striker scanned the satellite radio stations and thought about Aine instead of the man who would likely never accept him into their small circle of friends.
He’d never forget the day he met her at a wedding he still wasn’t sure he’d been invited to, but had gone to anyway.
“This is a bad idea,” he said to Monk.
“You’re part of the team.”
“It isn’t official yet. And even if I am, that doesn’t mean Razor wants me at his wedding.”
Monk didn’t say anything else, which didn’t surprise Striker. The man said as few words as possible.
He was halfway down the steps to the beach, considering turning around and going back to his car, when he saw her.
He recognized the woman. She was Ava McNamara’s twin, Aine, and she took his breath away. With her tan skin, sandy blonde hair, and curves that made his mouth water, she looked like the quintessential California girl. He knew better, though; she’d been raised on the East Coast.
As he got closer and their eyes met, he saw that hers were deep blue, like the ocean.
The brief ceremony, during which her sister and Razor Sharp were married, became a blur. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Aine.
“Hi,” he said, intercepting her as she walked between clusters of people.
She put her hand on her heart.