Page 44 of The Woman Left Behind

She was sweating when she brought him safely in through the open window. Quickly she closed the window against the wind and rain, shutting out the gloomy day, and checked the drone for damage. There were some scraped places, but the powerful cameras and sensors were all working when she ran the diagnostics. The drone was sturdy; it had to be, to function in all sorts of conditions. Granted, some rainy weather in Paris didn’t equal a sandstorm in wherever, but rain and electronics were notoriously unhappy together.

Three hours later, they were on a plane returning to the States. Jina couldn’t believe it. Just like that, her first mission was over, having been as dramatic as doing her laundry. She was exhausted from lack of sleep, disappointed by the boredom, by Paris in general, by missing Thanksgiving for basicallynothing—though “nothing” might change to “something” when the photographs were analyzed—and... “Wait a minute,” she said aloud. She wasn’t sure of her math, because she was so jet-lagged, but she was gaining back six hours, right? They would land in D.C. about three hours local time after they left Paris, because of the change in time zones. She scrubbed her face and poked Snake, who was the one sitting beside her this time. “What day will we get back?”

He’d already dozed off in that annoying way they had, but he woke up and scrubbed his face much the way she had. “Ah... Tuesday. Maybe early Wednesday.”

“So I can still go home.”

He grinned at that. “Yeah. We’ll be back for Thanksgiving.” He gave a rumbling sigh and closed his eyes again. “Grab some sleep, or you’ll be worthless for two days.”

Grab some sleep, he said. He had already dozed off again. Looking around the plane, the others she could see had already done the same thing. Okay, this was a talent she needed to master, as of right now. She was certainly tired enough, so tired that her brain, which felt slightly buzzed, had separated itself from her heavy-as-lead body. Even if she couldn’t sleep, at least she could close her eyes and rest. Wadding her jacket into a ball to use as a pillow, she hugged her arms around herself to ward off the chilly air, curled into herself as much as possible given the constraint of the seat belt, and determinedly closed her eyes without any real hope of catching some sleep.

She was wrong.

Jina stumbled bleary-eyed off the plane and stood staring at the signs directing passengers to the luggage claim area, to the exit area, to public transport, to parking... they might as well have all said “to hell” for all the sense her sluggish brain was making of them. The guys all seemed to be coping with jet lag better than she was, but this was her first time out of the country, period, and she felt as if she’d been body-slammed.

“I need coffee,” she mumbled. “Before anything else, I need coffee.” There had been coffee served on the plane, but the pick-me-up had already let her down.

Seven masculine grins came her way. Then Levi slung his bag over his shoulder and said, “I’m heading over to check on things before I go home,” meaning he was going to headquarters to see if the analysts had come up with anything interesting on Graeme Burger, and strode away.

Looking around for a coffee shop was more important than watching him walk away. Besides, Jina figured she’d see him walking away a lot in the future, so there was no point in letting herself yearn.

“Yeah, let’s find some coffee,” Trapper said. She hadn’t meant for it to be a group thing, but somehow she found herself borne along anyway and that was okay because now she was a real part of the team. However they kicked back and rehashed things, she wanted to be included—though she wouldn’t have chosen a coffee shop in a busy airport, but what did she know? They were the experienced ones. She’d stay a short while, get enough caffeine in her to get safely home, then she’d take a much-needed nap before getting up, showering, and packing for her flight home that night. After two trans-Atlantic flights in about forty-eight hours, getting on a plane again so soon didn’t appeal at all, but going home did.

They found a place and kind of took it over, dragging tables and chairs to their corner and ordering not just coffee but food, too. “Eat,” Boom advised, when she said she just wanted coffee. “You need the energy. Food will get you through.”

So she ate, and he was right, she did feel better afterward. To her surprise they didn’t rehash; instead they unwound, talking sports and Thanksgiving. They did take a few shots at her for packing like an amateur, but she was one, so she shrugged it off.

Then Jelly smiled the innocent smile that always meant he was up to something and said, “Hey, Babe, this is a landmark day for you.”

Instantly wary, she drew back and scowled. “No, it isn’t.” She didn’t know what he was up to, but considering this was Jelly it couldn’t be anything good.

“Sure it is,” Crutch put in. “You’ve finished your inaugural mission. Only happens once in a lifetime.”

Uh-oh. Jelly and Crutch together was a disaster in the making. Whatever they’d concocted, Boom wasn’t in on it, because he was giving them a questioning look. Snake, Voodoo, and Trapper were harder to read, though she thought Voodoo had a slight smirk on his face. “The whole thing was boring,” she said, trying to head off whatever they had in mind. “Nothing worth celebrating.”

“Boring is good,” Jelly said. “We all like boring. Go in, do the job, come home in time for Thanksgiving. Doesn’t get any better than that.”

“Yeah, speaking of Thanksgiving, I need to go home so I can pack—”

Crutch shook his head. “That isn’t what you need.”

“Is to. I haven’t seen my mom in—”

“What you need,” Jelly interrupted, “is a tattoo.” The last three words had a dramatic flourish.

“As a commemoration,” Crutch added.

Her mouth fell open and her eyes got huge. “No. I donotneed a tattoo. Strictly speaking, no oneneedsa tattoo. I don’t like pain. I’m afraid of needles. A tattoo isn’t happening.” She’d have been less dismayed if they’d wanted to shave her head—she needed a haircut, and anyway hair grew back. A tattoo was permanent. A tattoo hurt. “Let’s just get me drunk again instead.”

An unholy light had entered Trapper’s eyes, and he slowly wagged his head back and forth. “Getting drunk is nothing. Drunk goes away. You can’t look at it and remember the occasion.”

“I don’t want to remember the occasion. I was bored. Who commemorates boredom?”

“Your first mission,” Boom said in a wondering tone. “It’s something special.”

Boom, too?Feeling betrayed, she glared at him. “I’m telling on you.”

He tilted his head as though considering what Terisa might have to say, then shrugged. “There’s home, and then there’s team. You need a tattoo.”

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