Page 4 of Gryphon

“I…have a…” Miranda stopped again, stuttering like a robot with a short in its power supply. No, her team didn’t have a rotorcraft specialist—anymore. Even after months, Mike knew that Miranda hadn’t integrated Andi Wu’s abrupt departure from the team and her life.

“Mr. Jobson—” Mike started.

“Tad.”

“I’m Mike Munroe.” His handshake didn’t crush down on Mike’s as he’d expected. “Why don’t you have a seat for a moment? Eat some lunch.” He had to get Tad away from looming into Miranda’s personal space. He was back far enough for a normal person, but that wasn’t Miranda.

Mike noticed something else. It was still a new factor, but he was getting to know it better and better.

Meg the dog had come up out of a deep sleep the second her mistress had frozen. Short enough to do so, she stood before stepping out from under Miranda’s chair. Mike snagged the handle on the back of Meg’s therapy-dog harness and lifted the gray Glen of Imaal Terrier. Not as easy as it looked as she was a solid little scamp. As soon as she was high enough in the air, she stepped forward and Mike released her onto Miranda’s lap.

After a long few seconds, one of Miranda's arms came around the little dog. And then, as if nothing had happened, she picked up her fork and inspected her plate. Carefully avoiding the grilled langoustines that Mike had placed neatly around the edge of the plate, she twirled up a forkful of the olive oil-and-lemon pasta—without mushrooms—and began eating.

“What the…?” Tad had sat in the only open seat at their table. The seat next to Holly.

Mike hadn’t thought that through very well, had he?

Miranda set down her fork and turned the noise-canceling function back to high. He knew she’d now be able to ignore anything below a shout. As usual, Jeremy remained utterly oblivious to everything except the three Japanese engineers beside him.

Mike turned to Tad. “We recently lost our rotorcraft specialist. Miranda was very close to her.”

“Well, that had to suck the big one.” He glanced at the oblivious Miranda, then raised his eyebrows like a shrug. At least he’d taken her preference for another woman in stride. Andi had made an amazing couple with Miranda, until Andi’s betrayal six months earlier that had shattered everything and nearly destroyed the team.

“It did and it does. For all of us.”

Tad raised his hands just in time for a waiter to place a luncheon plate before him. “Hands off on the topic. Reading you five-by-five, buddy.” Another glance at Miranda to which she didn’t react. “And the rest of it?” He had the decency to lower his voice despite the headphones.

“You ever work with an autistic, Jobson?” Mike kept his voice steady to avoid attracting Miranda’s attention. He had better luck at that than at keeping the testiness out of his voice.

Holly’s raised eyebrow said he did even worse than he thought.

Meg looked up to drive the point home, but Miranda didn’t and that was all he cared about at the moment. She cut off a tiny piece of the grilled prawn, then held it out to Meg. After sniffing it carefully, Meg ate it, confirming its acceptability with a rapid wag of her stub tail and perking of her ears.

Miranda cut off an even smaller piece and tried it herself.

The rest of the prawn disappeared quickly enough between the two of them, and it never touched the pasta.

“With an autistic? Nope.” If Tad took offence, he did a good job of hiding it. “My kid brother’s a raging ADHD, does that count? Taught me a passel o’ serious patience early on. Oh, and my gunner was way on the OCD side of things. Didn’t bother me any ’cause it meant he triple-checked everything, and I do mean everything, probably even wiping his ass. But when it be my ass depending on his missiles flying true, I’d have let him do it fifty times to keep him happy.”

“What did you fly?” Holly spoke for the first time since his arrival. Her Australian accent wasn’t too broad, but it wasn’t her normal accentless tone either. She’d pulled out her playful accent without tipping over into mocking or dangerous.

It was a rare balance, one she typically reserved for him. His own prawns weren’t sitting nearly as comfortably in his gut as they were in Meg’s and Miranda’s.

“Zulus,” Tad answered as he bit off an entire langoustine and chewed on it. “Tight fit for a dude like me,” he flexed his massive shoulder muscles, “but I managed.” Also, like Holly, he managed to talk around his food without garbling his words. Perhaps it was a military trait.

Mike had to think for a moment. Zulu for Z? That rang a bell. Oh, Zulu Cobra, the AH-1Z Viper attack helo—the thin one with the pilot seated above and behind the gunner. Only one outfit flew those, but which one? Army? Navy? Marine Corps. Bingo!

The conversation had flowed on without him. Tad and Holly were trading place names, half of which he didn’t recognize, the other half that he knew were the horror spots of the globe.

Ex-Marine, except there was no such thing according to a Marine. Which meant Mike had to be careful how he asked the next question.

“Why did you stop flying?” Without meaning to, Mike cut them off in mid-laugh over what crap passed for food at yet another African place with far too many vowels for the number of consonants involved.

Tad tapped his left ear as he twirled a load of pasta and secured it to his fork with another massive chunk of prawn. “Blew it out. Wasn’t even in my bird. Riding a cougar that was supposed to be getting me out of theater when it caught an IED. Big one, lost three, jostled me pretty good. Damn loud, I’ll say that much.”

“A cougar?” Mike clamped his jaw shut. Too late.

“MRAP,” Holly answered for him. “Mine Resistant Ambush Protected vehicle,” as if he were a simpleton. “An IED is—”

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