Page 76 of Dash

I’d been flying in private jets most of my life. Some had been bigger and grander, but I had to admit that this one impressed. It was configured especially to provide creature comforts for the warriors who traveled in it. The galley included a medical station with all kinds of meds and gadgets, a designated storage space divided into cubbies that fit military rucksacks, and a secure rack that held the team’s weapons, tactical vests, and helmets.

The plane was also spotless. Against a background of cream leather furnishings and polished wood walls, Dash and his team looked dirty and weary. The flight attendant was currently offering rolled up warm washcloths that the guys were using to wipe their hands and faces. He didn’t seem surprised or bothered by the filthy lot soiling his aircraft. I imagined a lot of his passengers looked just like this upon boarding.

Sitting in one of the two bucket seats at the far end of the lounge, Dash wiped the blood and dirt from his face with the washcloth as he wrapped up his debriefing. He needed a shower and a change of clothes. The back of his shirt had been singed by the drone’s explosion, and ashes soiled the leather chair as he spoke.

Even so, he still looked powerful, strong, and in command. Under the overhead lights, the platinum streaks glinting in his hair augmented his gravitas. Sitting on his high-tech throne, he looked like a battle-weary king. He also looked sexy as hell.

Down, Thena. Down.

He’d survived the day. My lungs expanded with new breath. Celebration now. Consummation, later.

The debriefing session included some others connected via remote. Their faces appeared on the split screen of the TVthat hung at an angle high in the corner. Since I’d video chatted with Mina when we talked about my sisters before, I recognized her on the monitor.

“I need answers,” Dash was saying. “How did the tangos know the route we were gonna take? Why did our scouts fail to see the signs of an ambush? Who the fuck is Coco and what’s his connection to the Valdez Cartel? The police denied sending a response team, so who were the men we now know were fake cops? Who the hell ordered the police to stand down after Mina called in the attack? And finally, after inspecting the drones’ charred remains, how did Coco get his filthy hands on Iranian-made drones operating on American soil?”

Lots of questions. He was right. We needed answers.

“Okay, people, get to work,” Dash ordered when he spotted me at the threshold. “Omega out.” He turned off the TV.

“Any news about my sisters?” I asked, holding my breath.

“Sorry, nothing yet.” He pointed from me to the bucket chair next to his. “Over here. Ferranti’s a trained corpsman. He’s gonna take a look at your feet.”

“I’m fine.” I tossed the towel over my shoulder, somewhat annoyed at his tone. I understood Dash had a job to do, but I wasn’t one of his soldiers and I didn’t like being ordered around.

“Goddess, please.” The man Dash had called Ferranti rose from the couch and opened his med kit on the coffee table. “I promise this won’t take long. If you let me take care of you, we’re also taking care of the boss.” He wiggled his heavy eyebrows at me and smirked. “Otherwise, he’s gonna be growling all the way to Wyoming.”

His smile showcased his chiseled features and lit up his green eyes. His naturally curled eyelashes conspired with his vivid green eyes to deliver a full-impact gaze. It invited me to collude with him in appeasing Dash’s inner grouch.

I crossed the lounge, eased down into the bucket seat, andset the towel aside, allowing my damp hair to hang free. Kicking off my slippers, I plunked my feet on the coffee table and met Dash’s gaze. “I’ll do this, but only because Ferranti asked me nicely.”Unlike you, I broadcasted my displeasure at Dash.

He nodded. He got the message. He needed to return to civilized mode.

The flight attendant came by to offer me something to drink.

“Water, please.” I cupped a hand on one side of my mouth and pretended to speak to him in a conspiratorial tone. “Do you think you can conjure some food for these guys? I hear rumblings coming from over there.” I nudged my chin toward Dash. “Food might be our only hope to avoid catastrophe.”

The guys laughed and even Dash’s lips twitched. The attendant assured me he had what we needed. He exited the lounge and made his way to the forward galley. Now I just had to work to improve the mood for everyone on this plane, and especially Dash’s.

“So, what’s your first name?” I asked as Ferranti knelt down and examined my feet.

“My name’s Matteo.” He lathered my soles with some sharp smelling disinfectant that stung a little. “But my friends call me Matt.”

“Or Ferrari.” A brown-haired man with enormous honey-colored eyes curved his lips into a playful smirk. “We call him that because when he’s in battle mode his engine roars.”

“Fast, powerful, and expensive,” I teased Matt. “Not a bad call sign for a corpsman.”

“It could’ve been worse,” he agreed, and we all laughed. Heck, even Dash smiled.

“Surely I’m not the only one who deserves a shower.” I shifted into my caretaker persona. “Who’s next?”

“I’ll go.” Micah got up and stalked across the lounge,massaging his jaw.

“Hey, Granite?” Dash called after him. “Is that tooth bothering you again?”

“Nope.” Micah kept going.

“Operational readiness,” Dash reminded him. “I want it looked at.”

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