The mood had shifted among the team, weighted by exhaustion. Dim lights provided a serene atmosphere in the cabin of a hired private jet ferrying them back to Virginia. The Lorings were tucked away at the back, resting. Trace had opted for the quicker route rather than the predictable one. He wanted the Lorings on U.S. soil as soon as possible. Boone couldn’t blame him, especially now that there was a chance Misrata could get laid to rest with a healthy dose of truth.
Across and one group up from the Squid the girls sat, mostly quiet. On second thought—Téya and Noodle were in animated conversation. Annie sat with her hands in her lap, looking down. Boone could see from his seat that every now and then her gaze slid toward the Squid. Now. Wasn’t that interesting that she wasn’t sitting with him. Wasn’t talking to him. She’d given them grief over not being able to talk to the guy and now that he was here, she wouldn’t give him the time of day.
Renewed focus surrounded Zulu and propelled them to action. Along with that came a new level of tension and agitation, partially laid at the feet of Téya Reiker for her unwilling connection to The Turk. Having that type of breathing down your neck was the equivalent of a nuke’s skin-melting fire. Especially with the fury rolling off Trace.
Trace dropped into the chair across from Boone and ran his hand along his closely shorn hair with a heavy sigh.
“Things a’right?” Boone asked as the plane seemed to level off to make its trek back to the States.
Shaking his head, Trace leaned back against the headrest. “Couldn’t be worse.”
Boone adjusted in the chair. Concern knotted his shoulder muscles. He knew things had gone a bit crazy with Téya making contact again with The Turk. And with the addition of the Squid. But Trace. . .he’d been a storm brewing since they started packing up. “Something I don’t know about?”
After another long sigh, Trace leaned closer, his elbow resting on the arm of the seat and his hand hovering near his mouth. “They’re launching another hearing about Misrata.”
“What?” Boone angled toward Trace and kept his voice down, so the others didn’t hear them. “Why would they open that thing up again? There’s nothing to prove.”
Trace shrugged. “I’ve been ordered to stand down. Cease all operations.”
Boone went still and eyed the man he considered both a friend and a confidant. Shutting down Zulu now. . . “We must be getting close.”
Jaw out, Trace gave a slow nod. “That’s one way of looking at it.”
“Do the girls know?”
“No, and they won’t. We’re making progress, but we need to speed things up.” Trace stretched his neck. “We need to get the Lorings back to the bunker and get every mote of dust out of their brains about Misrata.”
“Still don’t get why they weren’t listed among the survivors.”
“There was a lot wrong with the information provided,” Trace countered.
“True.” Boone nodded, lips pursed as he seemed to think through things. He sighed and met Trace’s gaze. “Kinda strange, the way The Turk sent Mr. Loring to Téya, don’t you think?”
“Definitely. She’s going to answer for that,” Trace said, a warning in his words.
“Think The Turk will be a problem?”
“I’m going to be a problem. She broke the rules. She stepped outside to do what she wanted. She put everyone in jeopardy,” Trace said.
“And if she hadn’t, we wouldn’t have found Loring.”
After shooting him a look, Trace pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m getting too old for this stuff, Boone-Dawg. I feel like I’m trying to corral second-graders.”
Up the aisle a bit, the Squid scooted across the seat. Angled around to face Annie. He said something softly to her, and she slowly met his gaze. She seemed to be considering something. Maybe he’d asked a question. Or commented on something. Her expression seemed pained, what with her knotted eyebrows and tormented eyes. That’s when she finally shook her head and looked away.
“What about the Squid?” Boone asked as the Squid sat straight and pushed his gaze out the night-darkened window. “Annie didn’t give him the reception he expected.”
“She never does,” Trace muttered.
“What’s that about anyway?” Boone muttered. “Why’s she ignoring him?”
“Annie compartmentalizes. She’s an ace at it, which is why she’s good at ops.” Closing his eyes, Trace leaned back against the white leather seat. “He stepped into the wrong box, and she can’t cope with him being in this part of her world.”
“So, what? They’re over?”
Without a word, Trace pushed out of his seat. Away from the Squid. Away from the girls who sat two seating groups up from Boone. Away from Boone and this conversation.
It didn’t take a genius to see the pleasure Trace took in Annie’s cold shoulder toward the SEAL. But Boone struggled to figure out why his buddy didn’t make the move he so clearly wanted to make. To fix that bridge he’d wrecked five years ago.
Maybe that’s what perturbed Annie, too. Not so much the compartmentalization but the fact that with Squid back in the picture, the chances were rickety that she could figure things out with Trace. Even now, her gaze trailed Trace to the rear of the plane.
They’d set the girls loose on an unsuspecting populace five years ago, and each of them had found a romantic interest at one time or another—well, all except Noodle. The pretty little thing didn’t lack for looks or sweetness, so he wasn’t sure why she stayed single. Maybe the men she met were afraid of the siren who could slay with looks and a Remington 700. Boone found himself grinning. Noodle’s pale blue eyes came to his and something in his chest knocked funny.