23. Ben
Iheaded down the stairs to scrounge up some breakfast at 0730, half an hour later than I’d planned and still a little worse for wear. Through the half-glass walls, I spotted Kat and Sam in Kat’s office and Pasco in the IT room, talking either to himself or someone on the other end of his computer.
I waved to all of them and headed into the kitchen. Wheeler and Bloom were there again. This time, instead of staring at their phones, they were poring over blueprints. I patted Bloom on the shoulder as I passed him on my way to the coffeepot. I said a general, “Good morning. Are those plans for the Lamp;M office building?”
“Yes,” Bloom confirmed. “There are two more sets printed out for you and Lang, assuming he ever shows.”
Wheeler glanced up at me and grinned that shit-eating grin. “He manages to look like holy hell and like he got laid last night,” he said to Bloom. “The boy has talent.”
“The boy is nearly thirty years old,” I muttered. “And when I’ve recovered from yesterday, I’ll be happy to kick your ass over comments like that.”
Wheeler didn’t stop grinning. “So, I’m smarter and better-looking than you and have three years’ experience on you. It’s good to be me.”
I didn’t have the energy to engage with him before breakfast, so I dropped it and focused on filling a plate with the French toast and bacon that were in the warmer on the stove. “Is this Pasco again?”
“Yep,” Bloom said. “Jensen, who’s technically Pasco’s boss, but I wouldn’t mention that to Pasco, started the tradition. The majority of the meals here come pre-prepped, but most days, breakfast is courtesy of IT.”
“What kind of strange fucking organization have I stumbled into?” I sat down at the table and started on the French toast, which was a fucking party in my mouth. I might have pulled a look that was something like my O face.
“Right?” Wheeler said. “Don’t question it, mate, just thank the breakfast gods and roll with it.”
“Understood.” I pointed my fork at the blueprints. “Since this operation is in two days, can I assume there are planning sessions today?”
Bloom nodded. “Kat has us scheduled for an UNCLASS meeting in the conference room at 0900, then the four of us—assuming Lang ever makes an appearance—”
“Are you shit-talking me, Bloom?” The gruff voice reached us seconds before a lanky, bearded guy with graying temples loomed in the doorway.
And I do mean loomed. His presence filled the room even before he entered it.
“Not a chance, Lang,” Bloom answered him. The humor was gone from his voice. “Good to work with you again.”
Lang stalked across the kitchen. “Lucky you.”
I raised my eyebrows. Bloom shrugged.
“Nice of you to join us,” Wheeler said.
I swear, the Aussie asshole would kick over a yellow jacket hive for shits and giggles.
Lang whirled around and stared him down, and I decided I’d have preferred a hundred angry wasps swarming us.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Lang snarled. “I was busy getting my ass shot at in a foreign country that shall remain nameless. And they were using real bullets, not the tranq darts HEAT lets you boys play with. Is that okay with you, or are we going to have a problem?”
Wheeler, to his credit, looked the same as ever. A little cocky, a little amused, a little stupid. I was begrudgingly starting to admit that that last one was for show, which was borne out by him agreeing with Lang and not throwing any more rocks at the bear. “No problem at all,” he answered.
That, somehow, left me as the focus of Lang’s attention. He pointed his full coffee mug at me. “You must be Li’s brother.”
“Yes.” I resisted the urge to say “sir,” because we didn’t have military ranks here, and he wasn’t the boss of me.
“She’s a tough act to follow.” He stared at me, and I swear the guy never blinked.
I took a page from Wheeler’s playbook and nodded my agreement. “I’ll do my best.”
“Hm.” He started walking away. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he tossed over his shoulder.
Outside the kitchen, he said, “Pasco.”
“Lang,” Pasco answered.
One person, at least, had been unscathed by close contact with our other logistician. Poor Bloom. Meeting Lang almost made me glad to be Wheeler’s partner.
Pasco entered the kitchen with a big smile on his face. “I see you’ve met Logan Lang, Hurricane L Squared, as we affectionately call him.”
“Behind his back,” Wheeler added.
I blew out a breath. “Wow, he’s going to be a joy for the next five weeks.”
The three men exchanged looks. I ignored them.
“Really?” Pasco pulled the empty glass carafe out of the coffeemaker. “I make breakfast every day for you ingrates, out of the kindness of my heart. The least you assholes could do is make a new pot of java when you empty it.” He opened a cupboard and pulled out a white coffee filter.
“Let me do that.” I walked over and took the filter from him.
“I’ve got it,” he said.
“Nope.” I pulled out the used filter and grounds from the top of the machine and dumped them in the trash. “I need to start earning my keep. Not to mention, I hear I have to do better.”
The second the words were out of my mouth, I knew I’d stepped in it. I turned to look at my teammates, who had fallen silent. I waited to see if any of them would rise to the unintentional bait.
Pasco was the one who cracked. “That’s what she said.”
As I returned to setting up the coffeemaker, we all laughed, because when you’re brothers in arms, insults aren’t a put-down; they’re a love language. Although I wouldn’t swear that applied to Lang. In his case, I was pretty sure he just hated everyone’s fucking guts.