Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
I double-check my lock and make my way past the loading desk down into our dining hall.
Polished live edge slab tables line the concrete floor.
Our chef, Miss Onida, begins filling the stainless-steel food warmers along the outside of the kitchen with our breakfast. My toes scrunch at the smell, the bacon specifically beckoning me and my feet begin to carry me toward it.
I lift the corner of the hot top, slipping my hand in quickly to grab a crispy piece. Nimble fingers latch onto my wrist. I smile, knowing those fingers are the only ones I’d allow to do such a thing. Miss Onida stands close, closer than anyone ever gets without permission. “Miss On?—”
She slips her delicate hand into the pocket of her woven blanket and pulls out a folded napkin. “Only for you, Florence, would I allow a special taste test before Grace is said.”
I smile, tucking a silver fly away around her ear and plant a quick kiss to her wrinkled cheek, her generosity stirring something uncomfortable in my chest. Miss Onida often reminds me of my own mother, but not in the obvious ways.
It’s quieter than that. The way she puts everyone else first without making a show of it.
My mother was a saint. I wouldn’t be half the woman I am today without her. Eight years of cancer couldn’t take that from her, even in the end. She spent her final days worrying about everyone else before herself.
Only a select few know of my past around here, and she is one of them. Though I didn’t freely tell her everything.
Miss Onida might be older, but you can’t let that fool you, nothing gets past her.
She comes from the Cherokee tribe. They call her “owl who sees clearly.” And I believe it.
You can feel it in the way she watches. Like she’s listening to something deeper than your words.
“The eyes whisper what the mouth does not,” she once told me.
I’ve avoided her for some time because of that.
Until she started insisting on braiding my hair for missions.
Miss Onida claimed that my own braids looked like rats nests.
So, I tossed her the comb, daring her to do better.
And she did. She sat me tightly between her knees, singing the ancient songs of her tribe as she worked her way through the tangles.
My mother used to do the same, singing old Baptist hymnals.
I felt like a child again, in that moment. I didn’t want it to end. So, it hasn’t.
I follow her into the kitchen grabbing plates and silverware before taking them to the front of the table.
Voices fill the room as the team make their way in.
I greedily grab my own plate first and begin to fill it down the line.
Miss Onida made my favorite today: cheesy sweet corn bread muffins.
Nyx and I take the opposite ends of the tables.
Both being lead, it allows a placement of respect.
Bear takes the caboose in the line— that was one of our first rules for him after he emptied the full warmer of sausages twice in a row.
I stand, waiting for everyone to take their seats.
Cici and Nina take the opposite sides of me, nodding their heads once as they scoot their wooden chairs up tightly to their plates.
My eyes drift to Greer, taking her place beside Cici.
Without meeting my eyes directly, she offers a nod in recognition.
Nyx sets his plate down at the far end but continues to stand as the men fill in their own places.
I wince at the creak in Bear’s chair as he not-so-subtly plops down.
He shrugs his shoulders and innocently folds his hands and bows his head.
Grace is not something I rush. I softly repeat my mother’s words at every Greyline meal: “Dear Lord, bless the food before us and bless the hands that prepared it. Keep your guardian Angels around us and your healing hands upon us. Forgive us and guide us to do better. Lord, we thank you for your many blessings. In Jesus’s name, amen.
” I don’t need to open my eyes to know which fork hit the plate before the last syllable left my mouth. Bear.
Nyx waits for me to take my seat before taking his own and we all dig in.
The sound of silverware clanking echoes throughout the room while pitchers of OJ and water are passed along the table to fill our glasses.
I glance around to make sure everyone’s getting their fill and notice Jasper awaiting my attention.
The cuffs of his own flannel are rolled to his elbows, the hunter-green-and-white plaid making his hair a little more golden than usual.
He gives me a quick wink as I raise the glass quickly to my lips, careful not to allow my dimples to appear.
The only one I notice not stuffing their face is Jett, who already has our weekly folder in hand.
We usually wait to finish our meals before discussing our assigned mission, but the furrow in his brow makes me pause to reach for mine in the pocket behind my chair.
I look up to Nyx, who is following in the same motion.
The label is printed with our next destination, in bold letters:
KODIAK ISLAND, ALASKA
Wow. We usually aren’t required there but once a year. This explains Jett’s concern because I can’t hide my own either.
“Twice in a year,” Nyx mutters to himself.
“Yeah, that’s unusual.” Jett looks up to him, waiting for more.
Skimming the pages, I only see our normal positions. “Maybe we can speak to Ana later and see what’s up?” I offer.
I’m not against it; we haven’t had the wolves in sight all year.
I’ve grown very frustrated being run in circles and coming up empty-handed.
Catching the associates and saving the wolves are two different stories.
They’re still out there. These wolves need us, and they only have so much time when they’re in B.A.I.T’s custody.
“No need.” The dining hall doors swing back and forth as Scott enters with Talia.
Her fiery-red lip stick matches the shade of her hair, subtle platinum blonde streaks perfectly blended throughout.
Talia’s black stilettos click louder as they approach our table, and she greets us with a mocking smile, purring on her husband’s arm.
The silver fox is always dressed in a teddy-brown suit that screams money.
A rust-red tie is adjusted neatly around his neck, with a simple gold chain tucked beneath the dark fabric.
“Good morning, ladies, and gentlemen.” Talia’s bright amber eyes skim the Greyline men. I narrow my glare as she rakes her eyes down the table to me, crinkling her freckled nose.
Crinkling my own nose, I mockingly reply, “Good morning, Talia, and Scott.” Our boss eyes me with amusement, a slight chuckle escaping under his breath.
It’s no secret his wife’s a flirt, fishing for someone to react to her so she can go cry wolf to her husband for attention.
He’s learned her games by now, but with two decades between them he doesn’t mind Talia keeping him on his toes.
Bear jolts to his feet, food crumbling from his beard.
He pulls out his chair, gesturing for Talia to take his seat.
What an idiot. After delicately scooting her in, he grabs his plate with one hand and turns to Scott, stiffly saluting him with the other, and steps behind Nyx’s chair to stand and finish his meal.
Nina chokes on her water as Cici and Greer duck their heads giggling across from her. I reach under the table and gently pinch Cici’s thigh for warning. Scott can handle a laugh or two but he’s not keen on any team member being the butt of the joke when he’s talking business.
Nyx clears his throat, diverting the attention away from the women.
“We were just reviewing the location, Scott— is there anything in particular we missed at the previous assignment there that we need to consider more carefully this time?” He’s looking for a way to appropriately say, why the heck are we going again? And I’m with him.
Scott places his hands on the back of Talia’s chair, the gold rings lining his fingers shimmering beneath the lunchroom lights. “We got word this morning the wolves were moved back to Kodiak Island and we’re taking the opportunity to seize them before their next scheduled shipment.”
My eyes light up at that. This is what we’ve been waiting for. “How many are suspected?” I ask impatiently.
Scott whips out his iPhone scrolling through the email. “A pack of twelve to be exact.”
Emotion floods my chest; I’m furious over the fact that they’ve had twelve wolves all year in their grip but overjoyed that we’re going to save them.
Pronto. Nyx subtly nods at me in understanding, and I look eagerly to each of my team members so they can see the importance of this mission in my eyes.
Talia sighs heavily, drumming her freshly painted French tips on the table. “Are we done now?”
Jett raises his hand warily, eyeing Nyx for permission. His lead blinks in a wordless grant. “Any word on REDU?” Jett asks cautiously.
“Ana will prepare you all this afternoon with further details. You leave first thing tomorrow morning. I don’t need to explain this is obviously top priority—no updates on the Red Earth Directive Unit— you will hear from me once there is.”
Scott extends his jeweled hand to Talia. Rising from her chair, she gracefully slips her fingers into place. “Jett,” Scott pauses. “Please see me in my office later.”
Our heads turn to the sniper, who only offers a small shrug.
Scott nods curtly, then takes his leave, Talia’s heels echoing across the room behind him.
As her husband disappears through the frame, she slows, peering over her shoulder with a tightly lined smile, tossing her fox like hair over her shoulder and struts out behind him.
Bear whistles low then howls: “Owa Owa Owa.”
Nina rolls her eyes, throwing a piece of cornbread at his chest. Bear only laughs, clutching his heart.