Chapter 7
Rav
The Old Triangle Irish Alehouse sat at a busy corner downtown, a few blocks up from the waterfront. I’d chosen it for my meetup with Percival specifically because it wasn’t one of my usual haunts—no chance of running into Scarlett or any other Reynolds team members who might want to join us.
The place was packed with locals and tourists rubbing shoulders at the bar, couples and families enjoying meals at the wooden tables, and university students gathered around the longer communal tables near the back.
The noise level hovered just below shouting, a blend of conversations, laughter, and the trio of musicians warming up on the small stage in the corner.
Percival had already claimed a table as far from the musicians as possible. Four small glasses of beer sat in each of two wooden flight holders.
“There he is,” Percival called out, rising to his feet as I approached. His handshake evolved into a half-embrace and backslaps. “Fucking surreal working with you again. Like old times.”
“Let’s hope not exactly like old times,” I said, settling into the chair across from him.
“The server recommended these local IPAs,” he said, gesturing to the flight. “Couldn’t tell you which is which, though. She rattled off names faster than I could process.”
“Good choice.” I raised the darkest of the samples in a toast. “To unexpected reunions.”
He clinked his glass against mine, and we both took appreciative drinks. The musicians launched into their first set, the traditional Irish sounds of a fiddle, guitar, and bodhran almost loud enough to end our conversation before it began.
“So.” Percival leaned forward, studying me with the same tactical assessment I was no doubt serving him with. “Security for a recovery company. Not where I thought I’d find you.”
“You’re one to talk.” I sampled another of the IPAs, which was lighter with citrus notes. “I didn’t expect you’d still be with Pendragon. How long’s it been now?”
“Almost six years,” he replied. “Since right after we wrapped up Op Clearwater. Satisfying work, steady pay, though having Brooke on our team isn’t standard protocol. The science division usually stays in the labs.”
“Figured as much.” I gestured to a passing server, who nodded when I mouthed ‘Wings.’ “You like it?”
His laugh was genuine. “Beats getting shot at for government pay. Though I’d argue my days are considerably more dangerous than your posh assignment.”
“Maybe.” I took another slow sip. I’d been shot at more times than he’d likely expect. “Scarlett can talk her way into any secure facility, lift your wallet, clone your security badge, and have you thanking her for the conversation before you realize anything’s missing.”
“I wanted to ask about that.” He leaned closer, though the music and crowd noise provided enough cover for our conversation. “How’d you get tied up with the James Bond crew?”
“More like Robin Hood.” At least, that was how I imagined us.
“Your boss is a little intense.”
“Evelyn?” Intense was an understatement.
We were all still adjusting to the news that she’d lied about most of her history, even to her children.
She’d claimed to be from Ottawa, but she was from England.
Former MI6, but pretended to have been a simple accountant.
“She reminds me of my first CO: terrifying efficiency, knows things she shouldn’t, zero tolerance for excuses. ”
“And the team?”
“They’re family.” The words came without hesitation. “I moved here when I was twelve and fell in with Scarlett.”
“Romantically?”
“At twelve?”
Percival gave an exaggerated roll of his eyes and finished his second sample glass. “Obviously, I meant later.”
I scanned back through the years. Perhaps it was because we’d become such close friends so young, but I’d never been romantically attracted to her. However, youth could hardly be my excuse, since Will and Brie were a couple. “We were never like that.”
He nodded thoughtfully, pulling another glass closer. “Seriously, though. You doing okay with this op? Working with her?”
Finally. The only real question of the evening. I’d rehearsed a dozen different ways to answer, but settled on the simplest. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Cut the bullshit, Rav. I was with you when it happened, remember?”
The memories flooded back despite my efforts to keep them buried—the gunman appearing out of nowhere, registering only that Brooke was in danger, then waking up alone in Germany with no idea what had happened to Brooke or the rest of the team.
“Ancient history,” I said, though we both knew better. “How’s the arm?”
He flexed his right hand, although the scars were hidden under his sleeve. “Gives me trouble in the cold. Nothing serious.”
The server appeared with a large plate of chicken wings drowning in a dark sauce. “Irish whiskey BBQ wings. Anything else I can get you?”
“We’re good for now, thanks,” Percival replied, immediately reaching for the food. After she left, he shifted to a safer topic. “I didn’t invite you for a trip down memory lane. I wanted to touch base before we’re airborne tomorrow. Compare notes.”
“Confession time?”
“Something like that.” He glanced around, licking sauce from his fingers. “I wanted to be clear about the Carabinieri situation. It wasn’t us—at least not the field team.”
I raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to elaborate.
“I made some calls. Leadership was evasive.” His expression darkened. “Someone knew about Naples before we did.”
“But you said you didn’t know about it when you arrived.”
“We didn’t.” He bit into another wing. “That’s what bothers me.”
Not good. “Either your leadership is running a parallel operation they haven’t briefed you on—”
“Or there’s a leak somewhere,” he finished. “I know we mentioned the parallel possibility when we were in your office, but I don’t like it. I don’t fucking like either option.”
“Especially not when we’re moving against a potential WMD-level threat.”
The fiddle player launched into a lively jig, and several patrons near the small dance floor clapped along. Two couples stood to dance, their movements more enthusiastic than skillful. We sat and watched them play for a while, absorbing the risk in front of us. Absorbing and processing.
“Do you still keep in touch with anyone from Kandahar?” he asked, changing the subject yet again.
“Just you, apparently.” I kept my tone light. “Though that was more circumstance than effort on my part.”
“Hart joined the police force in Chicago.” Percival picked at the label on his beer. “Rogers has three kids now. Cohn started a tactical training company in Texas.”
Names I hadn’t thought about in years. I’d fought alongside those men, trusted them with my life, and walked away without a backward glance.
“And Brooke?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
“What about her?”
I should have let it drop, but something pushed me forward. “She seems… like she recovered well.”
“Physically?” He took another wing, chewing through a few bites, as though we weren’t discussing what was likely the worst day of all of our lives. “You’ll never see her without a turtleneck.”
I pulled a celery stick from the basket, more to fidget with than to eat. My stomach was not interested in food. How could I not remember what happened to her? “That bad, eh?”
He shrugged. “She’s Brooke. All business, brilliant as hell, married to the mission.”
“Anyone else in the picture?” I asked, aiming for casual and missing by a mile.
He tossed the bones into the basket and grinned at me. “You mean, is she seeing anyone?”
I should have thrown the celery stick at him.
“No.” After wiping his fingers again, he started on his fourth sampler. “There was a guy at Pendragon who tried. Made unwanted advances, got handsy at a company thing.”
I gritted my back teeth. What was I feeling? Jealousy? Anger? “And?”
“And he doesn’t work with the company anymore.” Percival’s smile was frosty. “I broke three of his fingers removing his hand from her waist. Then, I had a chat with HR.”
Something fierce and protective uncurled in my chest—satisfaction at the thought of Percival defending her, frustration about not being there to do it myself.
“She can handle herself,” he added, pulling his phone out. “Always could.”
“I know.”
“Speaking of handling chemicals…” Percival swiped through schematics for the thermal suits Will had apparently sent him. “These look promising, but I’m concerned they’re not as protective as standard hazmat gear. Will sounded sure they’d hold up, but how confident are you?”
“I’ve worn them. Will doesn’t cut corners on protective gear. They’re more comfortable than they look, and the integrated monitoring systems are clutch in high-risk situations.”
“What’s he doing building shit for you guys instead of working in Silicon Valley or something?”
“He’s also family.” I tossed the celery stick back and took one of the wings out of habit. “Normally, he’s in a support role—overwatch, drone operation, remote tech. But he’s head over heels for Brie. Would have sacrificed himself in a heartbeat for her, if it had come to that in Mnemis.”
“It was a fucking shitshow,” Percival said, shaking his head. “I can’t believe Lark was a plant.”
“Professionals get caught by surprise, too.” My team had dealt with our fair share of those since Noah returned to the land of the living. “We got there in time to save Brie. That’s what matters.”
“Your boy Will was something else—charging in when everything was going to hell.”
It had shocked me when Will ran after Lark and Brie, but it also hadn’t. They’d been in love with each other for so long that his risk felt as natural as breathing.
The memory of diving for Brooke flashed through my brain again. The searing pain through my shoulder. Bullets hitting flesh instead of my plate carrier.
Or so the doctors told me.
The music shifted again, to something slower, and the fiddle drew out a long, mournful note that seemed to echo my memories.
“Brooke blames herself for the Greek Fire getting out,” Percival said. “She thinks she didn’t push hard enough to have the formula deleted. I talked to her after we left, and I guess she’d half-expected this to happen all along.”
“Brie’s taking it pretty hard, too.” I stared down at the flight of glasses in front of me, all but the last one already empty. When had I done that?
“A lot of people would have done what she did in those circumstances.”
“She didn’t know what it was.” I took the last glass and pulled it close to my nose, inhaling the hoppy scent. “I don’t blame Brooke, either, but someone in your fucking organization should have backed her up, if the formula was that dangerous.”
“They thought it was secure enough, I guess.” He shrugged and turned over his wrist to check the time. “It’s almost eleven. Early flight tomorrow.”
I nodded, leaving cash on the table to cover our tab, plus a healthy tip.
We stepped outside into the cool late-October night, where groups of people still moved between bars and late-night eateries.
Music spilled from other venues down the street, and taxis periodically pulled up to collect patrons.
“One last thing,” Percival said as we prepared to part ways. “She never said a bad word about you. Not once.”
My chest tightened. “Percy—”
“Just thought you should know.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “See you in the morning, brother.”