Page 40 of Declan's Hope

The man moved toward him—his gait giving only a slight hint of unevenness—as his hand came out and Declan took it.

"Chance Granger," the man said with a smile as he gave Declan’s hand a crushing, rigorous shaking. "I take care of the finances here now. I’ve heard a lot about you."

He looked the man up and down. "I’ve not—"

"We had the situation with Salazar—"

"Bullshit," Solace huffed out.

Salazar.

At the name, Declan’s hand tightened on Chance’s. Then he let go as his frowning gaze went down the length of the wide hall toward where Solace was on a roll. "Your operation was a cluster and you know it. Your mole was working against you and you let innocents die. A young girl almost joined them because your people didn’t know what the hell they were dealing with."

What were the chances he’d return to work on the exact day the team had the DEA busting their balls over Salazar? And it was news to him the DEA had been involved with their extraction, or that they had an operation going. And whatever it had been, Solace was right. It had been a cluster.

"This has been going on for about twenty minutes," Chance said, scowling, his own gaze going down the hall before meeting his again. "And they still haven’t said why they’ve come out of the woodwork all of a sudden."

"Let’s find out," Declan muttered, heading toward where Colonel Sheppard and another man’s voice once more shouted over each other. Chance stayed right beside him as he walked through the door and straight into a tense standoff, with the conference table the de facto battlefield. The team stood on one side, facing two men dressed in suits with their backs to him. His boss had his fists ground into the wooden surface of the table, his pale blue eyes narrowed. "Why are you here, Trussell? It’s obviously not to finally give me the answers I’ve been after."

"You’ve gotten all the answers you’re going to get," the gray-haired man, whom Declan had to assume was Trussell, answered.

The team stood at the ready around their boss. He’d missed this familiar sight—his team preparing for battle. The two DEA agents didn’t stand a chance.

No one noticed him until…

Solace’s blazing gaze flicked toward him, then widened. "Carter?" Her eyes brightened while a grin spread over her face as she rushed around the table—obviously not concerned about the agents or the irritated look she received from the older of the two, as their gazes followed her progress toward him. "About fucking time," she groused before launching herself at him—nearly taking him down. His arms went around her in a hug while she placed a stranglehold around his neck.

"Yeah," he choked out. "I’m happy to see you too." His gaze landed on the colonel’s scowl going over them in their tight embrace as he, Cal, and Garrett came around the table as well. If his boss was as territorial over Solace as the look he gave Declan implied, the man needed to do something about it—sooner, rather than later. He didn’t need to be like Declan and put off staking his claim.

He might lose her.

So, to ease the colonel’s mind, he carefully pulled Solace’s arms from his neck and let her down onto the floor before stepping away. Only to have Cal nearly take him off his feet with a vise-like hug of his own.

"Too skinny, but you’re still a heavy bastard," Cal grunted, dropping him.

"I’m not skinny," he grumbled, then ran his hands over his chest and frowned. "I might could stand a couple of days in the gym."

"At least a couple," Cal said, slapping him hard enough on the back he pitched slightly forward, while his gaze went to Garrett’s satisfied smile.

"Carter." The colonel’s sharp call of his name had him standing at attention and his gaze going to the disconcerting one of his boss eyeing him up and down.

"Yes, sir."

"Good to have you back." Then the colonel grimaced as his focus lingered on Declan’s head. "You need a haircut. And, for god’s sake, do something about that beard."

"Yes, sir," he said again, then muttered, "I guess I could use a trim," while stroking a hand across his scruffy facial hair before running it over the top of his head. He’d have to stop for his first haircut in months at his barber on the way to Hope’s school. But the beard stayed—just not so shaggy. Mainly because Hope had threatened him with bodily harm before she’d driven off the night before if he ever shaved it off.

She liked how he put it to good use.

"Any cats we come across would probably appreciate it," Solace said, drawing his attention to her slight smirk.

"Cats?"

"Yeah," she said, giving him a shove. "You could scare the hair clean off 'em."

"Have you been talking to my sister?" Mercy had said almost the exact same thing to him.

Solace grinned.

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