“You really do look great,” Tom said.
“You think so? It feels comfortable, I guess. But still. You’ve had so much training you’ve earned the right to wear a flight suit. Don’t I look like a fraud?”
“Maddy, you’ve had training from me, remember?” Tom said. “And according to you, I’m the best. That means you’re almost the best!”
Maddy was happy to see him joking around.
“Now your pilot wings truly fit you, Lieutenant Commander,” he said.
“I still can’t believe they gave me that title.”
“What were they supposed to call you? Miss?” Tom said. “Hell no. You’re helping command forces, Maddy. And you know something? You outrank me now. You could order me around! That’s actually kind of kinky. . . .”
“Lieutenant, you’re being impertinent!” It felt good to laugh a little; it’d been too long.
“You know, the other guys here are going to want your autograph,” Tom said. “I might get jealous.”
“Don’t worry about the other guys,” Maddy said playfully.
But suddenly Tom looked uneasy. Had she said something wrong?
“What is it?” she asked.
“It’s . . . nothing,” he said, his face turning hard toward the ocean.
The other guys. His friends. He was thinking about the men who’d perished in the attacks. Tom looked back at her, his face softening again. “Have I told you how glad I am that you’re here?”
“Just a few times.”
“Well, I’ll say it again, then.”
• • •
Tom was walking Maddy back to her cabin when they passed a wounded sailor, who was being rolled out of the sick bay on a stretcher. Half of his body was wrapped in bandages, and his left arm had been amputated.
Tom saluted the sailor, who returned the gesture with a meaningful stare. The haunted expression in his one uncovered eye said it all. Maddy could tell he’d seen something terrible, something that had frightened him beyond repair.
But Maddy saw something else in his eyes as he passed. It was recognition. And a tiny shred of hope.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The atmosphere in the solarium was uncommonly pleasant, although Jacks didn’t know why that would be the case. Everything was controlled and kept consistent, from temperature and airflow to flora and fauna. Nevertheless, something about today was . . . nicer.
Gabriel and Jacks strolled along a path lined with short cherry trees on the far eastern corner of the indoor gardens. N
ormally a few of Gabriel’s sleekly clad assistants would be waiting in quiet corners for any orders, but today he had sent them out. There was something he wanted to discuss with Jacks. Alone.
Jacks had shown up determined to focus on the politics at hand, but he was still perturbed by what had happened with Emily. How had he let himself go that far? He’d just come back from that disturbing conversation with Sylvester, and then there was Emily, ready to pounce. That’s what happens when you let your guard down, thought Jacks as he cleared his thoughts and turned his full attention to Gabriel. They crossed the stone bridge and stopped at a bench. Gabriel’s face took on a cold, serious expression.
He reached inside his robe and pulled out a manila envelope, which he placed in the space between him and Jackson.
“Jackson, as you know, I fought alongside your birth father in the first era of the Troubles. During that time, atrocities were committed on both sides. Too much Angel blood was shed. I don’t ever want that to happen again.
“However, ever since the Troubles, I have sworn that although difficult decisions must be made, if a small amount of blood must be spilled to save thousands, then that blood must be shed. For the greater good, for Angelkind. I need you to understand why that must be. And know that no decision is to be taken lightly.”
Jackson nodded silently, thinking of the centuries Gabriel had lived through, shielding the Angels the best he knew how. What must that be like? What might it do to someone to experience so much bloodshed?
Gabriel tapped the envelope lightly with his fingers. “Open it.”