Page 13 of Evening Shadows

“They’re taking Kate and Rylee also. Along with the rest of the brood.”

“Well hell,” Franks said. “Who does that leave us as backup if we get called out?”

He knew they’d balk at this—by whether being passed over for the op or because they’d be left with Franks for the first time if called out—but they’d find out the truth when they walked into the war room. “Old Man and Devon.”

Cowboy snorted. “So you mean Old Man.”

“Hold on,” Franks said. “Devon can hold his own out there. You’ve seen him.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen him kick some ass. He surprised the hell out of me, but he doesn’t go out,” Cowboy argued.

Needing to put a stop to it, Ken jumped in. “Look, we need Devon back here on that magic computer of his. Besides, since I’m down, Old Man will automatically go with you to give you support.”

Tension filled the air. He should’ve told them when they split the team instead of waiting until after they’d had a tough training session. Even though they’d love to work with Old Man, they probably felt like they were being punished. It resembled having the principal take over the class instead of the teacher. No one really liked that as they feared they wouldn’t measure up to the standards.

“You didn’t tell us that,” Sugar said in a strange voice. Ken couldn’t tell if she was happy or angry about it. “I thought Franks would lead us.”

Ken shrugged. “It’s the only way you can go. Since we brought the group down to smaller sized teams, we can’t afford any shortages. It’ll take us some time to add more agents.”

The team worked in silence, then Cowboy piped up. “I still say on the second run I got the drop on the tango in the back room.”

Laughter filled the room and the tension disappeared.

Sam slapped the table bedside her weapons. “Done.” She beamed with pride. “And it’s not even my piece. It’s just that crap you guys carry.”

A bit of grumbling went through the men since they knew the M4 she’d used today was nothing to laugh about, even compared to her top-notch sniper rifle. As for the handguns they carried, HIS allowed the men—he had to remember women also—to carry what they felt most comfortable using. Mostly Glocks, but plenty of SIGs.

For rifles, they’d all argued over their favorite—M16, AR15, AK47, and M4. In the end, after weighing everything, Devon purchased them M4s, which they all enjoyed even if they grumbled about how their service weapon had been superior. When he provided them with M203 grenade launchers to attach to the rifle, the grumbling ceased. Devon promised to look for anything better. Ken figured that meant before it went on sale to the military or civilians.

Bragging rights for the first to complete their weapons cleaning were held in the balance. There seemed to be some non-tangible reward that went with it, but Ken hadn’t extracted that information from them. Smartly, they kept it to themselves because he’d have to lecture them on doing it right instead of doing it fast for reward. Although, he remembered those days as a Ranger when the teams had done the same thing.

Picking up her weapons, Sam stood. “I’m off to shower. See you guys in the rec room.”

Ken hadn’t realized he’d been blatantly watching Sam’s backside as she exited the room until the snickers reached his hearing. Turning his head back to the men, they abruptly quieted but kept smirks on their faces. Had he really been that obvious? Apparently so.

Tipping his chair back on two legs, he thought of something to say that would take their mind off his wandering eye. “Did I tell you that Em’s pregnant again?”

Cowboy shook his head. “That family is a regular baby factory.”

“Only if you put them all together. Separate they’re not too bad,” Doc said.

A stabbing pain gutted him. He hadn’t thought much of children before, but having a family….

Without looking up, Cowboy stated, “I’m not having kids.”

“That’s because you haven’t learned how to make babies,” Stone said.

“Fuck you.”

Franks made a tsking sound. “It’s a good thing you’re not having kids with language like that.”

“Are you kidding me?” Cowboy asked. “What about all your language?” He looked around the table.

“We’re trying to clean it up—at least when we’re home. Reagan gave us a tongue-lashing the last time we were with the family. Then she introduced us to her swear jar.” Franks shook his head. “That girl is way too grown up.”

“What type of military team doesn’t use foul language?” Cowboy persisted.

“One that isn’t only military,” Franks responded. “Some of us were taught manners.”

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