Page 47 of Shadow Blind

By the time she turned to follow O’Neill, he was already charging up the jet’s staircase. The steel steps clanged and shook beneath each fall of his boots. She followed him up the stairs, pausing at the top to look behind her. Aiden and Cosky were halfway to the plane with Stick Man. They’d each wedged a shoulder beneath her would-be kidnapper’s armpits and were half-dragging, half-carrying him across the gravel lot. Little puffs of dust stirred beneath their boots. Aiden’s head rose, his gaze catching hers. She was too far away and at the wrong angle to see the expression in his eyes, but his face looked the opposite of friendly.

She jerked her chin up and squared her shoulders, holding his intense gaze. It was his fault she couldn’t care for Trident from the comfort of her own home. So, he could suck it up and let the cat on board. She held eye contact until he scowled. Certain he’d received her mental screw you, she turned and sauntered into the jet.

She paused at the mouth of the cabin to appreciate the view. The interior of the airplane was the personification of luxury. Rows of oversized, cream-colored leather chairs, the upholstery soft as butter beneath her fingertips. Plush carpet the color of a robin’s egg cradled her sneakers. The walls shimmered with a pearl sheen. Even the air smelled expensive—fresh and floral.

O’Neill had seated himself at the back of the plane. But from her position, she didn’t see the cat’s carrier. At least until she reached the last two seats and found he’d tucked the crate next to his chair against the wall.

“How’s Trident?” She dropped into the seat across from him.

She bent to look inside the crate. The cat was curled in a tight ball at the back. No growling, howling or rocking and rolling. The duct-taped plastic looked bizarre now that the cat wasn’t trying to rip the kennel apart.

“Trident?” O’Neill scoffed. “What kind of pussy name is that?” He lifted the kennel until the grated gate was directly in front of his face. “Is that what has you so cranky? You’re pissed because the chosen one named you after the symbol of dirty, nasty squids? Can’t say I blame you, buddy. Not one bit.”

Demi’s mouth fell open in surprise. The shock quickly morphed to pissed. “Excuse me! The chosen one? A dirty, nasty squid?” Her voice turned shrill. “I didn’t choose any of this. And I don’t appreciate being called a squid.”

Let alone a dirty, nasty one.

O’Neill’s head snapped up. Startled green eyes collided with hers. “I wasn’t referring to you.”

“No?” Demi frowned, studying his face. With his eyes so wide and horrified, he looked almost comically contrite. “Then who?”

“Aiden.” He said the name with a pucker to his lips, as though it left a foul taste in his mouth.

“You call Aiden a dirty, nasty squid?” Her lips twitched.

He shrugged. “Not just him. All SEALs.”

Ah. There was obvious rivalry there.

With a tired sigh, she leaned back. “Aiden didn’t name him, I did. I haven’t had him long and hadn’t settled on a name when those two assholes pounded on my door.”

O’Neill frowned over that as he settled the crate between his knees again. “How did he end up with Trident?”

“I needed a distraction to keep the assholes occupied until Tag arrived.” Demi offered a wry smile. “I chose the cat, pretended he was Aiden’s beloved pet. And, well…Trident seemed like something a SEAL would name his pet.”

Muffled footsteps and voices at the front of the plane caught her attention. Aiden and Cosky appeared at the head of the cabin with Stick Man. They dragged him to the first chair and forced him down.

A sneer spread across O’Neill’s face at her explanation. “You chose well. That’s exactly the kind of ridiculous name a special operator would name their pet.”

Okay. That wasn’t sarcastic at all.

She glanced toward the head of the plane. Aiden was scowling—no surprise—at either her or O’Neill. Probably both. He took a step in her direction, only to stop short as Cosky’s hand descended on his forearm.

“He needs a more appropriate name.” O’Neill lifted the kennel from his lap and carefully swung it to the left, setting it down beside his chair again. “Something that doesn’t conjure up candy-assed wannabe warriors.”

Demi’s lips twitched. Unlike Aiden and his three friends on board, O’Neill had obviously never been a SEAL. She could just imagine the amount of razzing that went on between the five men. Military dudes were notorious for hazing members of other commands. Although, she hadn’t realized such intense animosity existed between them.

A horrendous clanging—much like the noise that had accompanied O’Neill and Trident up the jet’s staircase—came from the front of the plane. Zane and Rawls staggered into the cabin with a writhing, struggling Muscle Man. When the fake priest tangled his legs with Rawls, tripping him, Zane hauled back his arm and drove his fist into their captive’s face. Muscle Man went limp.

Seriously, hadn’t anyone explained to the asshole that smart people picked their battles? Trying to free himself when he was bound by his ankles and wrists, surrounded by a horde of SEALs and stuck on a plane didn’t seem particularly bright. Rawls and Zane shoved their captive into the chair in front of Stick Man and buckled him into place.

O’Neill had laid his head back and closed his eyes, the picture of relaxed insolence. Mimicking his vibe, she leaned back, too, sighing as her butter-soft chair’s upholstery accepted her weight, cradling her exhausted body like a fluffy, yet supportive cloud.

Oh, my…

Before long, curiosity infiltrated the contentment. Trident was oddly silent. Had he died in there, suffered a heart attack after all his caterwauling and cage rattling? Demi leaned over, tugging the front of the crate toward her so she could check on him. A brilliant green eye glared back at her and a low, rumbling growl vibrated through the crate.

“None of that,” O’Neill muttered without opening his eyes.

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