Iris (Mike Bravo Ops 1)

“I take it back,” Angel says. “Saint plays frat boy better than even Ghost.”

“Thanks,” Saint preens. “But you can call me Chet. I could pull off being a Chet.”

“I call Brittany or Tiffany,” Angel says.

“Aww, I wanted to be Tiffany,” I complain.

Angel pats my arm. “Of course you do, but I think you’d suit something like … Buffy.”

“Ooh, do I get to pretend to be a vampire slayer?”

The elevator opens, and we encounter another security guard outside Danyal’s room. We couldn’t get the room next to his, but we have one down the hall.

Once we’re inside, Ghost pulls out his computer and all the surveillance equipment while Angel, Saint, and I prepare to go to the pool.

As we get geared up, though, Saint’s manufactured personality disappears a bit, like he’s shrinking into himself.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“Just getting in the zone.”

I don’t entirely believe him.

Chapter Sixteen

Saint

As I put in my earpiece and prepare to actually get out there and face the son of the man who killed my team, it all becomes a bit too real.

Even though I really do think this is a dead end and Danyal won’t lead us to Farouk, being this close to one of his family members sits heavily on my shoulders.

I don’t understand it because I have been completely fine, right up until now.

I think Iris can sense my unease, and Trav’s voice rings through my head saying if I can’t handle it, all I have to do is speak up, but I have the need to prove myself, to push past this sickly feeling in my gut. I have to do this. If not to prove it to Trav and Iris that I can, then to prove it to myself.

I just need to compartmentalize.

“We all set?” Iris asks Ghost.

Ghost gives us the thumbs-up.

Faking as much confidence as I can, I throw my arm around Iris. “Come on, Buffy.”

We get to the rooftop bar and pool where we assume Danyal will show up eventually, but in the meantime, we pretend to fit in by drinking soda and acting like it’s alcohol. Having the chance to get situated out here and comfortable before he shows up settles my nerves a little.

“Are we sure he’s going to show?” I ask.

“According to Trav’s sources, he’s been up here every night since he arrived,” Iris says into his cup.

“In other words, we could be waiting forever,” I say.

The sun is beginning to set over the beach across from the hotel, so hopefully that means he’ll be here soon. I’m in the middle, stuck between wanting him to show up and being okay with him not coming at all because I don’t know how I’m going to react when I see him in person.

“The hallway is still clear,” Ghost says. “He’s still in his room.”

Iris gets to go swimming like he wanted to, though he has to keep his head above water because of his comms. He covers it by keeping his sunglasses on the whole time. But all of a sudden, he swears under his breath.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Hey, Trav, you there?” Iris talks as he climbs out of the pool and grabs a towel to dry himself off. He’s so casual and calm, you wouldn’t suspect he was talking to anyone let alone with such concern.

“What’s up?” Trav’s voice comes through my ear.

“Your boyfriend’s here.”

I mouth, “Boyfriend?”

“Fuck you,” Trav says. “Rodriguez is not my boyfriend.”

Iris grins. “Yet, you knew exactly who I was talking about. What do we do?”

“Ignore him. He doesn’t belong there.”

“I think the bigger question is why DEA would be here,” Iris says.

“Because he likes to make my life hell,” Trav grumbles. “Seriously. Pretend you didn’t see him. You have a job to do, and I doubt Rodriguez is there for Danyal.”

“He kind of looks like he’s on a date,” Iris says.

It’s faint, but I swear I hear Trav growl. “Don’t care. Focus on Danyal.”

“And it’s about to start,” Ghost cuts in. “Danyal is leaving his room now.”

Iris turns to Angel, who’s on one of the lounger deck chairs. “Time to shine.”

The second Danyal steps through the doors, in another polo shirt and cotton pants, Angel stands from her spot and strips off her kaftan, revealing her tiny string bikini. I’m aware of every set of eyes on this rooftop being directed our way.

Iris is right. She might hate being the honey, but even as a gay man, I can appreciate her body.

She has a tattoo down her left side, a mixture of swirls and tribal print, starting from her rib cage under her breast all the way down to her thigh.

She’s the perfect trap.

Gone is any semblance of her serious side, and she’s suddenly flirty and smiley as she walks past us and heads for the shallows of the pool, standing where it’s only ankle-deep.