16. Ben
Islowly rolled out of Savannah’s bed and stood beside her for a moment, watching her. I stretched, trying to ease muscles that usually never got sore. Remembering how I’d earned every sweet ache made me hard. I wanted to climb under the covers and accrue some more, but Savannah was sleeping so peacefully, and she needed the rest. We’d fucked each other senseless and to the point of exhaustion. After that, for the second night in a row, we’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms.
Friends with benefits, my ass. Even my year-long relationship hadn’t included such intimacy. Sleepovers, sure. But those nights had ended in side-by-side sleep, not all-night cuddling.
But I would refer to whatever this was any way she wanted. And when it was over, because of course it couldn’t last—permanency wasn’t in my DNA—I would get the hell over it and move on, knowing that at least this time, her heart hadn’t gone along down with mine.
Back in my own room, I shaved, showered, and dressed in a pair of fatigues, an Army-green T-shirt, and running shoes. I didn’t know what HEAT training entailed, but I hoped it was something physical. I needed some serious weight training and a good long run to work out the kinks in my muscles and siphon off some of the excess adrenaline that pumped through my veins from being this close to Sav.
I replayed round three from last night, which had included those blue high heels, while I trotted down the steps and turned into the kitchen. Wheeler and Bloom sat at opposite ends of a table that could easily seat eight. They were both staring down at their phones when I entered. Wheeler glanced at me, then leaned back in his seat and gave me a shit-eating grin.
Whatever he was about to say, I knew I wouldn’t like it.
He let out a long whistle. “Looks like someone got ridden hard and put away wet last night.”
I stopped in my tracks and glanced between him and Bloom, who was also now looking at me. I could laugh it off, deny it like Wheeler was an idiot, turn the attention back on him about… Christ, anything, maybe starting with his highlighted hair. But Savannah and I hadn’t discussed the party line on our friends-with-benefits arrangement, so I deflected.
“No idea what you’re talking about, asshole.”
“My God, you’re right.” Bloom grinned at Wheeler. “I guess we’ll have to stop calling her the one who got away and start calling her the one who got it good.”
“I think you’re assuming facts not in evidence, mate,” Wheeler said with a laugh.
“Piss off.” I smiled cheerily as I said it because at the end of the day, I’d spent the night in Savannah’s bed and they’d both slept alone. Then, to put a fine point on the conversation being closed, I asked, “What’s the food situation in this place?”
“Cupboards and fridge are stocked, and everything’s up for grabs.” Bloom pointed to scrambled eggs and bacon on a griddle on the stove. “Still warm. Help yourself. Courtesy of Pasco.”
I didn’t need to be told twice. Bloom pointed me in the direction of dishes and silverware, and I loaded up my plate. I’d need some carbs before my long run, assuming that was coming, but starting the day with a hearty pile of protein would replenish me after last night.
“So, Pasco’s here?” I asked as I poured a cup of coffee from the nearly full carafe. “I’m looking forward to meeting him in person.”
“Then it’s your lucky day.”
I turned around to see a guy with dark hair, a full beard, and a wide grin join us. I set down my coffee mug to shake hands with him.
“Jack Pasco,” he said.
“Ben Hayes. I owe you a lot of favors for your help over the past couple of days.”
Pasco poured a cup of coffee, and we sat at the table, me near Bloom and him near Wheeler.
“Just doing my job.” He took a sip from his mug. “Plus, I’m always happy to help Li.”
He was referring to my sister, who used Li, her middle name, as her surname because, in military circles, the Hayes name came with baggage and expectations. I hadn’t been smart enough to do that, and although Dad was a big deal in the Navy and not the Army, every now and then, someone connected the dots.
I glanced around the table. “Have all of you worked in the field with Mai?” I didn’t know yet what ‘the field’ meant in the context of HEAT, but there weren’t that many options, given they were a covert agency aligned somewhere between the FBI and NSA.
“She was part of the team that recruited me to HEAT,” Pasco said.
I wondered if his recruitment had been coerced, like mine had. I didn’t like to think of my sister as being capable of something like X had pulled on me. Then again, if my read on HEAT was correct, X pulled all the strings so everything led back to her.
“I worked with Li and her partner, Kessler, a couple of times,” Bloom said. “They’re pretty much the dynamic duo of tactical teams here.”
I’d met Cynthia Kessler a few times since she and Mai had started working together under the guise of providing private security for Wilder Enterprises, which made high-end athleisure wear and protective clothing for the military, and was expanding into other market spaces. Mai was dating Chase Wilder, and Cynthia was dating his brother, Derek. The relationships were real, but I’d never for one minute believed the two of them were dating their bosses. The military contracts of Wilder Enterprises must have been what made the company a good cover for covert work.
“Wait,” I said, as a new possibility occurred to me, “the Wilder brothers. Are they—”
“Chase has never been an operative,” Pasco said. “Derek was. It’s my understanding that he was one of the best.”
I’d met the guy once. He was intense, brooding, and probably intimidating to people who weren’t used to working with balls-to-the-wall types. “If he’s so good, why did he leave?”
It wasn’t an asshole question. I was genuinely curious. There were those who wondered the same thing about me leaving the Rangers.
Pasco sighed and laid a hand over his heart. “L’affaire de coeur.”
“HEAT’s like the Army in that way,” Bloom said. “No fraternizing.”
“He left so she could stay?” I wouldn’t have expected that from Mr. Intensity. Then again, I hadn’t expected most of the things I’d seen, learned, and agreed to over the past couple of days.
“There is one notable exception,” Bloom said. “But the unspoken rule is we don’t mention it. HEAT’s lead IT guy, Jensen, and Sparks, one of the loggies who was on Alpha team with him.”
“Fucking Jensen.” Pasco grinned as he said it, so I suspected it was a term of affection and not bad blood. “Rules don’t seem to apply to him.”
I glanced at Wheeler. That’s what bothered me about him. I’d met enough knuckleheads like him to know they thought rules and regs were for the other guys.
“Jensen’s the second-best white-hat hacker in the world,” Pasco said.
“Let me guess,” I said, “you’re the best.”
“It depends who you ask,” Pasco said, “but since you’re asking me, yeah.”
“What else are you authorized to tell me without leadership here?” I asked.
“And outside the SCIF?” Bloom said, referring to designated and regulated spaces where classified information could be shared. He pushed away from the table and walked to one wall of the kitchen that was done in chalk paint.
He wrote across the top and circled SSC and President, then wrote X underneath them. Based on what I’d seen and heard last night and my familiarity with how secret ops work, I took SSC to mean secret senate subcommittee. Bloom drew lines from X to the bubbles, indicating that X reported straight to the most powerful civilians in the country. That explained her arrogance.
“The organization works mostly in groups of eight,” Bloom continued, drawing lines down from X indicating multiple teams. “A few of the teams are set, but most come together ad hoc to carry out specific missions. Anyone can be cross-matrixed to provide additional support.”
I nodded, following the organizational structure thus far.
“Right now, X is setting up a new team made up of former spec ops troops,” he said. “We’ll be a set unit, stationed here, able to be assigned anywhere we’re needed.”
“Sounds like the Rangers all over again,” I said.
Under one of the lines he’d drawn, Bloom wrote Hartmann, then a dash, then a question mark. “Every team has a lead. In our case, Kat Hartmann. She’s in DC with X this morning, but you’ll meet her this afternoon.”
I didn’t ask what was happening tonight. I had to get through the rest of the day before I thought that far ahead.
“The lead has a counterpart, a medical officer—a lot of them former field surgeons.”
“No shit.” I didn’t like what that said about the potential for injury or worse on this job.
“There was a bit of a cock-up with medical staff a while back,” Pasco added, “which is why we don’t have a permanent doc of our own, but as needed, Dr. Bond will join us. She heads up HEAT’s entire medical branch.”
“Reporting to the lead team are three more units.” Bloom drew more lines and names. “In our case, we have Pasco in IT, and we’re borrowing Jason Jensen, who’s head of HEAT IT. That’s another limited resources situation.”
“Luckily, I can do the work of three hackers,” Pasco said. “Not that that’s my only function. It’s just my favorite.”
“The other two teams are logistics and tactical.” Bloom grinned. “You know I’m one of the best loggies, so it’s obvious where I’ll be. My teammate will be Logan Lang. I worked one job with him before. He’s… intense. But really good.” He pointed to me. “You, of course, are on tactical.”
I nodded. That’s exactly where I would expect to be. But there were two spots on tactical, and only one person not yet accounted for in the org chart.
“Pasco and Jensen on IT,” I repeated slowly to Bloom. “You and Lang on logistics. That means…” I turned slowly and looked at Wheeler.
He grinned and held his coffee cup aloft like he was toasting me. “You and me, mate. A match made in spec ops heaven.”
I realized then what a pathetic case I was. I would do anything for Savannah, even—Christ on toast—agree to be stuck with the asshole Aussie for six weeks. Every time I thought fate was done having its way with me, it turned around and kicked me in the nads.
It wasbad enough that I’d learned I’d be tied at the hip to Ryan Wheeler for six weeks. Then I spent the rest of the day without catching a glimpse of Savannah. After Ryan had given me the two-cent tour of the building and grounds, including the many workout and training spaces inside and out, we’d convened on the second floor, which held the medical bay and the SCIF, which was the classified briefing room.
There I met Kat Hartmann, who wore her long red hair tied up in a ponytail and had a wide, welcoming smile. She looked like sweetness and light in contrast to X’s dark energy. But I would hold off on assigning good intentions to her until I really got to know her because first impressions can be deceiving. Kat wasn’t former military, but she was way up in the HEAT hierarchy, which probably meant she was a master spy. You don’t want to get on the bad side of someone with that skill set.
She led the briefing for our small team, which included just Bloom, Wheeler, and me to start. I assumed this was mostly for my benefit, anyway. Hartmann—or Kat, as I had to remember to call her because civilians rarely use the last-names approach of the military—had spent the morning on a deep dive of HEAT, its history, its mission, and our happy little team.
After a quick lunch from catered platters lined up in the hallway outside the SCIF, Pasco joined us. He and Jensen, who was working remotely from an undisclosed location, had completed their morning task, which was to set up a backdoor to get Savannah into her company’s computer systems. Jensen joined us via teleconferencing.
Kat had just moved to the front of the conference room to stand beside the smart board when the SCIF’s cipher lock clicked. A woman, another redhead, entered the room. She was taller than Kat and wore black stilettos with what I guessed was a designer black-and-white dress.
Savannah would like those shoes. Maybe I’d buy her a pair like them, and she could model them—no. No for so many fucking reasons, not the least of which was that I was in the middle of a classified briefing. Then there was the little matter of being friends with benefits, which probably did not allow for one friend to buy the other friend a pair of fuck-me stilettos.
“Good afternoon,” the tall woman said. “Hayes, we haven’t met. I’m Samantha Bond. Yes, I’m aware of the coincidence of the name, given our line of work. No, I do not find jokes about it amusing. I’m a former Army field surgeon, in case you need that information to make you comfortable following orders.”
“No, ma’am,” I said. “But appreciate the knowledge and hope I never need your battlefield expertise.”
“That only leaves Logan to complete our team,” Kat said. “Good news. He’ll be at the team dinner at my house tonight.” That sounded mandatory.
“Um, what time is that, exactly?” I asked. After a day with my new team, I’d hoped to spend the off hours with Savannah.
“Happy hour starts at six. Nothing fancy, so casual attire is fine.” She glanced at me. “Maybe not fatigues, though.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I answered.
“That reminds me, note to self,” Kat said. She bent and scribbled something in her notebook. “I promised Savannah she could borrow something of mine.”
With that, a team dinner didn’t sound like such a bad idea after all. I hoped Kat would lend Savannah something blue so she could wear those shoes again, because I was planning on a repeat of what we’d done with her wearing them last night.