Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ghost was late to the Dawg. His guys were already there, probably knocking back beers and talking about how things had gone wrong that day.
It’d started innocently enough.
Daphne Bryant, their amazing assistant and the love of Kane’s life, was determined to create an event space at the range. Ghost had—in a moment of weakness, he fully admitted it—agreed to let her start something small.
He should have asked for her definition of small. That was on him.
Because twenty tables had shown up, with twenty floor-length tablecloths, and what looked like a fucking truckload of flowers. There was also sawdust, twinkling lights strung everywhere, and a stage for a band.
When he’d first walked outside to see what all the noise was about, he’d felt like one of those cartoon characters whose eyes bugged all the way out of his head before snapping back again.
The noise had been a flipping truck dumping sawdust.
When he found Daphne, holding a clipboard and talking to a man in overalls, he’d managed to hold onto his temper. Barely.
But then she smiled at him, her face happy and full of enthusiasm, and he’d reeled his inner raging demon in, stuffing it into the hole it’d crawled out of.
Hard to be pissed at Daphne, especially when she still held it over his head that he and Kane had once made an agreement about her life without consulting her.
Namely that Kane wouldn’t touch her and fuck things up for the range because she was so damn good at her job and Ghost didn’t want to have to find a new assistant when Kane broke her heart.
He’d thought it was the right thing to do, but damn if Daphne hadn’t let him have it when she found out.
He didn’t feel ashamed of much, but she’d gotten to him with her talk of infantilizing her and not letting her make her own decisions.
Which is probably why he had a soft spot for her now. Good thing he did, too.
Because there were twenty tables, a truckload of sawdust, twinkling lights, chairs, and an impending event happening tomorrow. When he’d asked Daphne what her definition of a large event was, she hadn’t batted an eyelash when she very seriously told him five-hundred people would be a large event.
His guys had all sidled up at one point or another as Daphne directed the anthill of workers that crawled all over the field near the range, raking sawdust, setting up tables, assembling the stage, and stringing lights.
“Damn, boss,” Chance had said with a low whistle.
Kane had started shaking his head. “I swear I didn’t know. She didn’t tell me. She just said she’d booked a small event and it’d be a great test of her ideas.”
Seth had snorted. “Even if she’d told you, you wouldn’t have listened. Too busy staring at her a—”
“Don’t say it,” Kane growled.
“I was gonna say assets, but okay,” Seth said with a shrug.
Ghost had to give him points for the save.
“Wait,” Blaze said as another truck rumbled into the field. “Is that… are those goats?”
“Uh-oh,” Chance said. “If they don’t have a plan to keep those goats away from the flowers, this could go wrong real quick.”
There was no plan, apparently. And it definitely went wrong. It would have been funny to watch Daphne shooing goats with her clipboard and shouting like a banshee if those fucking goats hadn’t been trampling and eating what was certainly an expensive load of flowers.
They were supposed to be milling around in a pen, strictly for photo ops at what Daphne called a Small-Town Brunch Experience (capital letters on her clipboard) tomorrow, but the pen wasn’t stout and the goats were determined.
There’d been goat shit and the wreckage of flowers everywhere when Ghost left.
Daphne was still there with her hired help, still making calls and dealing with the situation.
Kane had tried to stay with her, but she’d kissed him earlier and told him he was distracting her.
Ghost stayed behind to deal with his own stuff.
Now he was here, walking into the Dawg and trying not to think about one-hundred and sixty-ish women descending on One Shot Tactical for brunch tomorrow morning.
Where the fuck had Daphne found that many women willing to fork over eighty-five bucks a head anyway?
The mood around the table was a lot more somber than he’d expected as he strode over and dragged out a chair.
“Ordered you a beer,” Blaze said. “Big Nikki’s bringing it.”
“Thanks.” He looked around. “Where are the ladies? Group bathroom break?”
Blaze shook his head. “Emma’s hanging out with Rory.”
“Upstairs,” Chance added. “Rory thinks she has to go over invoices. Theo tried to tell her he had it under control, but she’s been feeling cooped up lately—so if it makes her happy…” He shrugged.
Rory Harper’s pregnancy was progressing fine, but she had to be careful and rest. Her diabetes was controlled, and the fetus was healthy at all the checks thus far. But Rory wasn’t the sort of woman who liked sitting still for long.
“She’s smart,” Ghost said. “She knows what she can handle.”
“She does,” Chance agreed. “Still worry though.”
Ghost put a hand on Chance’s shoulder and squeezed. “Of course you do. But Dr. Sutton is with her. She won’t let anything happen.”
“That’s what I told him,” Blaze said.
“Payz is still at the library,” Ethan said when Ghost made eye contact. “Vivi’s having a sleepover at Lily Park’s house.”
Seth took a drink of his beer. “Callie’s working on a program for a client. Nik’s at cheerleading practice.”
“And we know where Daph is,” Kane said with a grimace. “Fuck, that was brutal.”
“Sorry, man,” Chance said. “She’ll fix it though.”
“She will, but I know she’s upset about it going wrong. She wants to prove herself so damn bad.”
“She doesn’t need to.” Ghost accepted his beer with a wink when Big Nikki sidled up. She grinned and winked back before sashaying away. “We know she’s good at what she does. Hell, she’s damn good at talking me into shit before I even know what I agreed to.”
The other guys laughed and made noises of agreement. Ghost was about to read over the specials when a familiar blonde walked into the Dawg from the back entrance. His gut twisted even as his balls tightened.
Fucking hell.
Diana Corbin found a table against the wall where she could sit with her back to it and survey most of the room while she picked up a menu and looked it over.
“So,” Blaze said. “Got some interesting news from Emma when I got home.”
Ghost dragged his attention from the shining blond head and back to his friends around the table. Blaze was watching him warily. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
“What is it? Bad news doesn’t get better with time.”
Blaze forced a smile. “Emma told me somebody rented Daph’s old apartment today.”
“So? Isn’t that good?”
The other guys studied their beers. Ghost’s twitchy feeling intensified.
Blaze grimaced as he rubbed the back of his neck. “You’d think so, sure. But it’s, uh…” He jerked his head in the direction of Diana.
Ghost’s insides turned to ice. Well, why the hell not? This was just one more pile of shit on the shit sandwich this day was turning into. “You’re fucking kidding me. She’s moving to Sutton’s Creek? Into your building?”
“Yeah. Emma’s mom gave her the tour and Diana said she’d take it. She’s moving in next week.”
“For fuck’s sake,” Ghost grumbled.
Not that he cared what Diana did, but she was as persistent as a bloodhound.
They were working on the same side these days—correction, they’d always been on the same side.
But Diana hadn’t known what the Ghost Ops mission was until she’d used her family connections to find out.
Now she thought she could demand information at will.
When she’d found out they’d been surveilling Brent Gannon, the retired Air Force colonel with the sketchy background, she’d wanted to know everything.
Since they hadn’t learned much of anything, other than the guy liked beer and babes, he’d told her.
Then he’d told her to go watch the fucker herself if she wanted more.
She’d glared daggers at him before she’d left his office that day. It was the last time she’d dropped in unannounced. He’d thought she’d found something better to do.
But this? Moving to Sutton’s Creek? She’d be up his ass all the time.
And that was not what he needed right now. Not when he was about to do something he wasn’t authorized to do.
He picked up his beer and made his way to her table, his gut churning with simmering frustration. Damn woman had no right getting involved. He didn’t want her in his op, didn’t need her in it.
They were a spec-ops team, the best of the best, and he didn’t want to be worried about the FBI screwing anything up. Or about Diana Fucking Corbin getting into a situation she wasn’t prepared for.
Not that he didn’t think she wasn’t well-trained, but nobody was trained the way a special operator was.
Through the years, he and his teams had been sent into foreign locations to rescue alphabet agency employees at least once a year, which didn’t give him confidence.
Because when those alphabet people got their asses into trouble and couldn’t get out, who did it for them?
SEALs. Delta Force. The Hostile Operations Team.
He didn’t want to have to do it with her. Didn’t want her in the way and didn’t want her distracting him.
Especially now.
She must have sensed him because she looked up from her menu, her eyes darting over him apprehensively before she managed to drape herself in that icy mantle she wore like a second skin.
He dragged out a chair and sat. “Why are you here?” he growled.
She blinked. “Hello to you, too.”
He ignored her.
She broke eye contact first. “I’m getting a burger if you must know. What does it look like?”
“Not what I mean, Diana.”
Her blue eyes flared. Her chin tipped up like she was a debutant at a ball and he was the hired help. “It’s a free country, colonel.”
His body went rigid. “Don’t. Not here.”