Chapter 6
Cole
Cole adjusted his headset, fingers tapping absently against his laptop as Commander Harris appeared on the screen. The encrypted connection sure wasn’t HD, it was grainy around the edges, crackling slightly, but Harris’s expression was as sharp as ever. Stern, no-nonsense, and just a little tired.
Across the kitchen table, Travis sat with his own laptop open in front of him. His brow was furrowed in concentration, fingers moving with slow precision across the keys. It wasn’t like Cole’s typing—quick, constant, and effortless. Travis typed like he was punching in codes to launch missiles.
“How’re you fellas getting along?” Harris asked, his deep voice filling the quiet space between them.
For half a second, neither of them spoke.
Cole, seated cross-legged on one of the kitchen chairs, shifted slightly. “Oh, you know...”
Travis quickly finished Cole’s reply. “Fine.”
Harris gave them both a long, unimpressed look. “Uh-huh.” He looked a little stunned, unsure about what to say.
Cole forced a grin. “Would it be more believable if I said great?”
Travis exhaled, finally lifting his serious stare to Cole, signaling for him to stop.
Cole shrugged. “We haven’t killed each other.”
“Yet,” Travis muttered.
Harris went uncharacteristically silent. “Gentlemen, I will remind you both that we are professionals.” He paused, letting those words sink in. “Can you work together?”
Travis sat upright instantly as if jolted by his commander’s tone. “Sir, yes sir.”
Cole was impressed at the sudden affirmation and he sat a little straighter himself. “Yes, sir.”
“Good,” Harris continued, “now give me your report.”
Cole straightened, he typed effortlessly at his keyboard as he pulled up the decrypted messages. “Alright, so here’s what I’ve got. The Whitaker gang isn’t running just one drop location. They’ve got five, spread across the city at different times. Staggered movements, different handlers.”
Travis, now fully engaged, switched tabs on his laptop, cross-referencing Cole’s intel with his own notes. “That’s more organized than their usual M.O.”
Cole nodded. “Exactly. And here’s the fun part.
There’s a guy named Denton who is handling all the logistics.
He’s in charge of coordinating drop points and making sure shipments move efficiently.
If we can tap into his real-time messages and decipher his secret code, we’ll know exactly where and when the product is moving. ”
Harris frowned. “Denton? He’s mid-level. Why would they trust him with this?”
Cole tilted his head, thoughtful. “Maybe he’s just their best guy for the job. Not every operation needs a kingpin micromanaging every move.”
Travis shook his head, clicking through what looked like gang hierarchy records. “No. If he were disposable, they wouldn’t be running all their shipments through him. There’s more to it.”
Cole leaned back in his chair, realizing he was out of his depth next to these two experienced older men. “Or maybe they just don’t have better options. Not every gang is playing five-dimensional chess…”
Travis glanced up, giving him a level stare. “And maybe you should consider that this isn’t just about better options. There’s a reason they’re trusting him. You know your computers, I know my criminals.”
Cole held his gaze like he was defending a position, like looking away now would hand Travis a little victory that Cole wasn’t ready to give him. The thought made his stomach queasy, but he still couldn’t avert his gaze. Travis’s piercing stare pinned him in place.
“Maybe they’re desperate,” Cole continued.
“With all due respect, Steele, you’re throwing around useless conjecture now,” Travis replied with easy, rehearsed professionalism.
“With all due respect…” Cole didn’t get to finish.
“You already said that they were running five different drop points.” Travis’s tone was level, and commanding, like his calmly asserting his dominance over Cole was the most natural thing in the world. “That sounds like five dimensional-chess to me.”
“But…”
“Denton is clearly important to this operation, but there’s no way he’s the real mastermind,” Travis spoke with certainty.
Harris cleared his throat loudly, cutting Cole off mid-sentence.
“Gentlemen,” he said dryly, “we need answers, not conjecture. Steele, stay locked on Denton’s messages. If he moves, sneezes, or takes a goddamn coffee break, I want to know about it. McAllister, make sure Steele stays focused and doesn’t get lost in his own head.”
Cole gave an easy nod. “Understood, sir.” Then, glancing at Travis, he added, “Not that I’d ever get distracted.”
Travis let out a small breath, shaking his head. “That’d be a first.”
Harris pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath before continuing. “Alright. Keep your heads down. Stay put unless absolutely necessary. We can’t risk you getting burned. Keep that intel flowing.”
The screen went blank, leaving behind a weighted silence.
Cole stretched, rolling his shoulders. He pulled his glasses down his nose and rubbed at his tired eyes, already shifting gears toward his next goal: coffee. His caramel macchiato, extra whip, extra sugar, was waiting for him in the refrigerator.
He’d barely slept, running code and chasing encrypted leads long after Travis had turned in for the night.
His fingers were sore from typing, his brain buzzing with half-deciphered messages and fragmented data, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He wanted results. Needed them. And maybe, just maybe, a small part of him hoped that dumbass straight jock Travis would even notice all his hard work.
“Finally,” he sighed, reaching for his sugary reward. “A reward for my labor.”
But before he could even take a sip, a shadow loomed over him.
“You’re not starting your day with that poison,” Travis said flatly.
Cole blinked. “Uh. Yeah, I am.”
“No, you’re not.”
Cole groaned, taking the drink with him and dramatically flopping back against the couch cushions.
“Jesus, Captain. Do you ever take a break?” His voice was deliberately lazy, but his gaze trailed along the broad set of Travis’s shoulders, the way his T-shirt clung just a little too well to his torso.
Just observations. Just normal, totally non-weird, colleague observations.
Travis, however, didn’t acknowledge the question. He was already rolling his neck, shaking out his arms like a man preparing for battle.
“You need to work out, Steele,” Travis said flatly, towering over him powerfully. “You’re shaving years off your life by not exercising and eating that… junk food.”
Cole smirked. “Well, last I checked, it’s a free country—”
“No, Steele,” Travis cut him off, tone serious. His voice dropped, hard and commanding, the edge of authority unmistakable. “We’re in the FBI, and I’m your superior. I’m giving you an order to put that sugary crap down.”
Cole went still.
The shift was sudden, sharp like a wire pulled too far, trembling from the strain.
It wasn’t the words, exactly. It wasn’t even the fact that Travis had pulled rank on him. It was the way he said it.
Steady. Firm.
Undeniable.
A strange, almost electric sensation tingled along the back of Cole’s neck like someone had just flipped a switch he hadn’t even known existed and it sent blood pumping in every direction.
And the worst part?
His body was fucking listening.
His fingers twitched slightly against his drink, and without really thinking about it, he set it down.
This was stupid. Objectively stupid.
He had never taken orders from any straight jocks. He was a hacker, not a field agent.
“Now get up off that sofa.”
For some reason—some dumb, inexplicable reason—he found himself standing.
Travis smirked like he’d just made a big win, which only made Cole scowl harder.
“Fine,” Cole muttered. “But if I pass out, I’m haunting your ass.”
“You don’t have the stamina to haunt me, Steele,” Travis shot back smoothly. “Now get on the floor.”
Cole groaned theatrically as he dropped down beside him. “I regret everything already.”
◆◆◆
Barely ten push-ups in, Cole’s arms were shaking, but there was no way in hell he was stopping.
“Ugh,” he wheezed. “This is inhumane.”
Across from him, Travis looked like he could do this all day. Effortless. Controlled. Barely even a damn sweat breaking on his forehead.
“You’re acting like I just asked you to run a marathon,” Travis said, voice maddeningly steady. “It’s basic conditioning, Steele.”
“This isn’t basic, this is torture.” Cole collapsed onto the hardwood floor, limbs splayed out dramatically. “Leave me here. Tell my laptop I loved it.”
Travis sighed. “You’ve not even done ten push-ups.”
“Fifteen,” Cole corrected, lifting a trembling finger. “And for the record, that’s ten more than I planned on doing today.”
“We can try knee push-ups or even wall pushups…”
“Why do they all sound like exercises my mom would do?”
“I thought your parents didn’t exercise.”
Cole fell silent.
“Let’s get you doing wall pushups for now,” Travis said sternly.
“That sounds like defeat.”
“No, it’s not, it’s just scaling to your ability level. You’re not strong enough to do full push-ups at scale yet so you need to build your muscle mass through an exercise that’s more appropriate to your actual level.” Travis’s tone was matter-of-fact, no hint of sarcasm or mockery.
“When you put it like that…”
“I want to help make you fitter, I don’t want to destroy you.”
But I would totally let you ruin me…
But it was hard to keep his usual effortless front when Travis said things that were so practical, steady, and just genuinely looking out for him. It threw Cole off balance in a way he wasn’t used to, like he was slipping on a patch of ice he hadn’t seen coming.
Travis gave him a stern look—the way you’d look at a cute but annoying lost child when you were already late for work. You had to help it, it was cute and defenseless, but it was still a pain in the ass.
He guided Cole through the proper motion of wall pushups until Cole had completed enough to satisfy Travis.