CHAPTER EIGHT
Boone tightened the laces on his boots, pushed up off the bench, and swung his locker door shut with a metallic bang. He tucked his black shirt into his tactical pants and tugged his OSI ball cap down on his head.
“I think today’s the day I finally beat you,” Eddie chimed in from his locker about five feet away.
“Hey, ya never know. I might fall and break my leg or something, ’cause let’s face it, that’s the only way it’ll happen.” Smack talk was one of the great things about being a guy.
“We’ll see about that.” Eddie’s phone rang, and he reached into his locker, grabbed it, and tapped the screen.
“Hey, Reina.” He put it on speaker and set it on the bench. “I got you on speaker, and Boone is here, so don’t say anything to embarrass me.” Joking as usual, he started to reach into his locker for something and stopped. “What do you mean? What happened to her?”
Eddie became suddenly very serious.
Despite the phone being on speaker, Boone couldn’t really make out what his sister was saying. And eavesdropping wasn’t his thing, so he turned away and tried not to listen.
He needn’t have worried, because Eddie snatched his phone off the bench and took it off speaker. Then he put his hand over the phone and turned to Boone. “You guys start without me.”
“Everything okay?” He’d never seen him like this before.
“Yeah.” Eddie gave him a tight smile and a thumbs-up, put his phone to his ear and sat down on the bench with his back to Boone.
When he started talking again, his voice was much lower, and all trace of his lighthearted tone had disappeared.
Eddie came from a large family with seven sisters.
His father died when he was young, and he’d assumed the role of protector.
And boy, did he take it seriously. More than once, Boone had overheard him on the phone with one or more of his sisters, giving them the what-for in Spanish.
The first time it happened, he gave Eddie a heads-up that he also spoke Spanish.
Boone left the locker room, jogged past the obstacle course, and met Cole, Lucas, Calliope, Viking, and Hawk at the start of the run course. The five-mile trek weaved through the woods adjacent to the Dark Ops facility.
Remy wasn’t working today, so he was home, hanging out with Charlotte.
“Where’s Eddie?” Cole looked behind the group toward the main building.
“He took a call and said to go on without him.” Boone masked his concern.
“Maybe I should go check on him.” Calliope started toward the locker room.
“Leave him,” Cole said. “He knows we’re here if he needs anything.”
Everyone on the team was pretty close, and Cole knew Eddie from their time working for Jeffrey Burke at the National Security Agency.
But Calliope and Hawk probably spent the most off-time with Eddie.
The last thing he needed right now was a stubborn alpha female running in there to prod him into sharing his personal business.
“Yeah, you’re right.” She squatted down, adjusted her socks, then stood. “Besides, Eddie isn’t the kind of guy who keeps secrets.”
Boone could cite one example of a guy who was known for keeping secrets. The very same guy had been court-martialed and was currently going into his third year of a fifteen-year sentence at the correctional facility at Lackland Air Force Base in Texas.
And Boone had been the one to put him there.
“Run, then hit the weight room.” Their boss wasn’t one for small talk.
They all reached for their tactical watches at the same time, pressed a button on the side, and set off into the woods.
Calliope, in her typical fashion, took off like she’d been shot from a cannon and with the same level of explosive energy.
Her typical approach was to get a good head start on all of them to further increase her chances of beating them.
Sometimes it worked, sometimes not so much, and then she would be grouchy and pissed off until Lucas teased her out of her funk.
Hawk and Cole were silent the entire duration of their run. Then again, silence was pretty standard for them. Just like in those old commercials, when Hawk or Cole spoke, everybody listened. Viking kept pace with Boone for about a mile or so before Boone opened up some distance between them.
Running through the woods was right up his alley, and he was often the one responsible for Calliope’s losses and post-run hostility. He could’ve let her win, but that would be an insult to her amazing abilities … and she’d likely beat the shit out of him for it.
His time as special recon had been riddled with runs in full battle gear through some of the shittiest terrain on the planet, all while being shot at.
This was nothing by comparison. And once Boone got started, it took a lot to slow him down.
Being chased by people with guns who wanted to kill you had a way of ingraining habits into a guy.
Calliope’s bouncing pigtails came into view through the trees up ahead, and she was going at a pretty good clip. But, at six one, Boone had longer legs than hers, and he easily caught up to her and blew past her.
“Asshole!” she shouted.
He chuckled at the sound of her grumbling behind him and picked up his pace.
For the first two and a half miles, his mind was happily preoccupied with memories of the day spent with Luna—and their friends, too, of course. But it was the time with her that had him smiling.
Right up until he rounded a bend in the trail and noticed a giant tree had fallen overnight and was blocking his path about ten yards ahead of him.
He was forced to make a split-second decision—stop, scramble over it and lose time, or try to jump over it.
Behind him, the sound of footsteps crunching over the dense ground cover of pine needles, pine cones, and twigs closed in, making his decision for him.
Hell with it, he thought.
“Tree down!” Boone yelled a warning over his shoulder as he quickened his pace.
He got to about three feet in front of the downed evergreen, launched himself off the ground, and vaulted over the damn thing.
His feet hit the ground on the other side, and momentum drove him forward.
He turned his torso, landed on the back of his shoulder, did a quick combat roll, and hopped back up to his feet.
Within seconds, he was charging forward again.
His heart rate kicked up for about a minute and a half before it recovered to his typical fifty-five to sixty beats per minute. Thanks to his training bio-patch, Luna would see the spike and want to know what caused it.
That woman loved her data.
He didn’t mind—it gave him an excuse to go see her. Even if she would be so into analyzing all of her data that she would hardly notice him. He’d be happy just looking at her and watching the way she tapped her pencil to her lips and drew her brows together when she was concentrating.
His pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the sound of gloves scraping over bark behind him, and he assumed a few of his teammates opted to climb over the tree. Knowing Calliope, Lucas probably had to stop her from attempting to jump it.
Boone lengthened his stride, leaned forward, and sped across the designated end point of the run course. He tapped the button on his watch to stop the time, propped his hands on his hips, and paced back and forth to slow his breathing.
A minute or two later, Cole and Viking bolted from the woods and crossed the finish, followed closely by Hawk. Right behind them, Calliope was already cussing when she and Lucas came across the finish line.
“You guys may be able to”—she leaned over with her hands on her knees—“run faster than me”—she sucked in a breath and blew it out—“but I bet I can”—another deep breath in and out, then she looked up at them—“climb a tree faster than all of you.” She straightened, blew out a long, slow breath, and looked at Viking. “Well, except maybe you, Sasquatch.”
She used the nickname Marigold had sarcastically given him when they first met and he’d been assigned to guard her. Something she hadn’t been happy about at the time.
“Hey, babe, if you shake off your mad, I’ll make it worth your while later.” Lucas waggled his eyebrows up and down at Calliope.
She cracked up laughing. “You’re on, damn you.”
And just like that, she wasn’t pissed anymore.
The promise of sex was magical.
Thinking of sex made him think of Luna. He hadn’t even kissed her yet, had barely held her hand, but thoughts of them together had entered his mind frequently since their time together at his place.
“Okay, everyone.” Cole clapped his big hands together. Overhead, birds screamed and shot out of the treetops. “Weight room.”
On their way back to the main workout facility, Calliope told them about her granddad shooting a fourteen-foot gator that got too close to his chickens.
“It was early in the morning, and he heard his chickens outside, ‘raisin’ a fuss.’” She used air quotes. “So, what does my eighty-year-old granddad do? He grabs his rifle from beside his bed, runs outside in his boxers and bare feet, and puts one right between that stupid gator’s eyes.”
They were all still laughing when Lucas said, “Hell, thanks to Jacob’s excellent aim—and somewhat bizarre love for his chickens—Calliope and I scored a couple of sweet pairs of alligator boots.”
“He’s not lyin’,” she said. “They are pretty dang sweet.”
As they got closer to the workout facility, Boone thought how privileged he was to work with this incredible group of people.
They’d made him feel welcome from his first day, pushed him to be his best, and had his back, no matter what.
He was incredibly proud to be a part of such a stellar team, and to be able to call them his friends was the cherry on top.
Boone wouldn’t want to work anywhere else.