Chapter 8
Brooke
The Reynolds company jet was roughly the same size as the one Pendragon normally flew my team on. It was equipped for twelve passengers in the main cabin and two more in the VIP cabin at the back.
Jayce and Zac had their seats in the fore-cabin swiveled to face the screen mounted in the mid-cabin, as did Emmett and I in the aft.
In the heart of the jet, Rav stood beside the screen, which displayed a three-dimensional topographic map of the Naples area and a glowing marker on a hillside south of the city.
“Evelyn arranged for us to stay at the villa of a friend of a friend,” said Scarlett, sitting on the divan opposite the screen, next to Malcolm. “If this is a trap, that puts a buffer layer between us and anywhere Noah would guess we’d stay.”
“The man’s name is Mario De Luca, and he’s an archaeologist who works in Pompeii.
” Rav pointed at the marker as he began guiding us through the virtual terrain.
“His villa is in Montechiaro, on high ground with excellent visibility.” His finger traced an arc across the display.
“You can see the entire Bay of Naples, the Sorrentine Peninsula, and as far as Capri on a clear day.”
I tried to focus on the location’s tactical advantages rather than on how his hands moved—strong, deliberate, familiar. The same hands that had once traced every inch of my body with equal precision.
Stop it.
“We’ll be landing at Salerno Costa d’Amalfi Airport,” Rav continued, zooming out to show the area south of Naples. “It’s smaller, less monitored than Naples International. About thirty minutes from the villa.”
“Looks like a drive into the city center.” Malcolm was casual, his arm draped along the back of the divan. “Ferry port nearby?”
“By car, you can expect roughly an hour.” Rav highlighted a coastal area. “The nearest ferry port is twenty minutes from the villa, giving us multiple extraction options if needed.”
“It’s not ideal,” Scarlett added, “but since we don’t know Fenix’s exact location yet, it’s a solid compromise.”
My gaze drifted from the map to Rav’s profile. The years had sharpened his features, adding lines at the corners of his eyes that hadn’t been there in Afghanistan.
The beard was gone, but there was still something raw and dangerous about him. A coiled readiness in how he stood, weight balanced perfectly, ready to move in any direction. How that body had felt pressed against mine, the scratch of his beard against my skin, the weight of him…
Christ’s sake, Brooke. Focus.
Percival’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Son of a bitch.”
He strode into the mid-cabin from the galley, where he’d been on a call. Everyone turned to look at him.
“Something wrong?” Scarlett asked.
“Evelyn was right to keep you out of the hotels.” Percival pocketed his phone, dropping into one of the leather seats. “Since they didn’t need to wait for us, our team flew in last night.”
“And?” Rav prompted.
“And someone leaked to the police that a ‘dangerous American paramilitary group’ is operating in Naples.” His jaw flexed. “They’re all over our team. Surveillance, plainclothes officers, the works.”
“Shit,” Malcolm muttered.
“Could your contacts help smooth this over?” Percival asked Rav. “Get the local authorities to back off?”
Rav shook his head. “They’re intelligence gathering types, not people with pull in law enforcement.”
Why would someone do that? It wouldn’t be a coincidence, would it? “Could this be related to the Carabinieri tip-off? The one that sent them after Fenix?”
“Bobcat’s checking into that exact question,” Percival said, referring to our team leader. “The leak came from somewhere high up. Someone with access to both our operational plans and Italian government contacts.”
“You think you have a mole?” Malcolm asked.
“We don’t know yet, but it doesn’t sound like the analyst who called the Carabinieri was behind this.
” Percival looked pointedly at Rav, who nodded.
They must have talked after Bobcat had informed us about the analyst last night.
“Either way, my orders are to join the team in Naples. We’ll show our faces, cooperate with authorities, convince them we’re just private security consultants. ”
If those were his orders, what about mine?
My stomach dropped. “And me?”
“You stay dark,” he said. “Bobcat wants you to remain with Reynolds. No official trace of your presence in Italy.”
“How dark can I be? Lark would have told them everything he knew about our team.”
He shrugged. “Orders are orders, Doc.”
Fuck. I wouldn’t be joining my team. I’d be staying with—
Oh shit. Instead of joining my team, the group who’d helped me find purpose in this screwed-up world, I’d be staying with Rav.
With his team, but still.
With Rav.
Scarlett nodded. “That’s doable. We’ll need to modify our sleeping arrangements at the villa, but we’ll have room. We could use your expertise on site, anyway.”
“I’d rather be with my team,” I said, more sharply than intended.
“Not an option,” Percival said. “It was Bobcat’s call, not mine. Your knowledge of Greek Fire is too valuable to risk you getting caught up in whatever game is going on.”
I swallowed my protest. He was right, strategically speaking. But the prospect of being separated from the men I’d spent the last three years working with?
“This has Fenix written all over it,” Drew said from where he stood behind Jayce’s seat. “They’re probably retaliating against Pendragon for sending the Carabinieri after them.”
“It’s a fucking mess,” Percival muttered.
“Although,” said Drew, “Noah wouldn’t have given us the heads up if that tip hadn’t come in.”
Rav turned to face Drew, and I couldn’t stop myself from checking out the curve of his ass in his jeans. A wave of heat washed over me, unexpected and unwelcome. Six years, and my body still responded to him like it was yesterday.
I needed distance.
Space.
Air.
I slipped from my seat as the others resumed their discussion of the villa’s geography and made my way toward the front of the jet.
The galley offered a moment of respite. I poured coffee from a carafe into a mug, adding milk and sugar from a small container nearby. From here, I could still hear the briefing going on, see Rav pointing something out on the map. But the physical distance gave me an opportunity to collect myself.
I turned back to watch them as memories kept fighting their way into my consciousness.
Rav and I had been natural. Easy. I’d thought we had something real. Something that would survive beyond our deployment.
Then everything went to hell.
I’d called him once, about a year after the incident. Late at night after too many drinks, loneliness and memories had overwhelmed my better judgment. I’d left him a rambling voicemail about how much I missed him, how I thought about him constantly, how I wanted him back in my life.
He never called back.
Clearly, whatever we’d shared hadn’t been enough for him to want to continue. I was just another fling, a wartime convenience, not someone worth keeping in touch with afterward.
Scarlett left the group and approached me. “Any coffee left?”
“Two or three cups, I think.” I gestured toward the carafe with my mug.
She passed me and poured her own drink. “Did you have a chance to inspect the incursion suits?”
I leaned against the counter, positioning myself where I could observe the whole team while talking to Scarlett. “The quality’s impressive. Better than I expected. The design allows for good mobility while maintaining protection. Your team does quality work.”
“They do.” She added a splash of cream to her coffee. “Have you spoken with your lab contacts in Naples about having them treated?”
“I have an appointment scheduled for tomorrow.”
Scarlett nodded, apparently satisfied.
I glanced back toward the main cabin. “Why isn’t Will with you? I thought he’d be eager to test his equipment in the field.”
“He’s usually support personnel. After what happened at Mnemis, I wouldn’t ask him to come on site again so soon.” She stirred her coffee. “Listen, I know you’re not happy about being with us instead of your team, but we’re friendly.”
“It’s fine.” I pulled my mug closer to inhale the scent. “The mission comes first.”
“I hate rushing in like this.” She shook her head slowly as she dropped her spoon into the sink. “I hate rushing. Period.”
“You mentioned that yesterday.”
“It’s Noah.” She paused, eyeing her mug rather than drinking. “I’ve known him for a long time, but I’ve never heard him like that.”
There was more than they’d told us. I’d seen enough operational briefs to know when someone was holding back a personal story.
She took a sip of her coffee. “Your team from Mnemis—were they all former military?”
“Every one of them.” Maybe that’s why I was more comfortable with them, even though I’d never been a member myself. Protocols, clear chains of command, and defined roles. “It’s been my normal since I started my PhD and went to Syria.”
Scarlett’s eyebrows lifted. “Syria?”
Before I could explain, Rav called to her, “Scarlett, we need your input on the extraction routes.”
“On my way.” She gave me a quick smile and headed back to the briefing with her mug.
I lingered in the galley, watching the team work. Percival was fully engaged now, deep in conversation with Rav and Scarlett at the map. Their movements were synchronized, efficient—three professionals who knew exactly what they were doing.
The chain of command was there—Scarlett was obviously the lead. Defined roles, though? From the introductions yesterday in their boardroom, they had those, too. Maybe working with them wouldn’t be so different.
I sipped my coffee, still unable to stop staring at Rav. The confidence in his posture, the authority in his gestures. Heaven help me, it was all too familiar. Too appealing.
How could it not be?
He was the last man who’d looked at me like I was attractive. Whole. Like I was something worthy of a man’s attention. For the first couple of years, every time I touched myself, I’d imagined it was his hand. His tongue.
Then another man tried to step into Rav’s place. Owen. Things had started well between us, but once it got serious, he’d instead confirmed that no one would ever want me again.
I’d never forget his eyes. The way they’d bulged when he slipped my shirt over my head.
How he’d looked away and told me to put the shirt back on.
I’d warned him ahead of time, but instead of making love to me, Owen had suggested plastic surgery.
The briefing broke up, but Rav and Percival remained at the screen. The two big men mirrored each other, folded arms, occasionally pointing at the map, nodding thoughtfully.
Percival’s scars decorated his arm. Sure, they messed with a few of his tattoos, but they didn’t change his life. They were war wounds—something to show off and boast about how tough he was.
My fingers curled around the top of my turtleneck, pulling it higher.
Would you ask me about plastic surgery, Rav? Would you recoil and tell me to put my shirt back on?