Page 13 of Unmade

The elevator dinged, and he walked out first.

“I don’t think it’s good that our head of field ops is running his fucking mouth,” I told him.

He laughed.

What happened to confidentiality? I didn’t even know that fucker’s first name.

We arrived outside Danny’s office, and Coach knocked before he opened the door.

As expected, Danny sat behind his desk, looking like he hated the world, while sorting through files. Poor guy. Raised up to be out in the field as one of the best operators this agency had ever seen, but a number of injuries and being on the wrong side of fifty had now confined him to more desk work. Luckily for him, it was mostly at the start of each term. And it was his own fault. He was incredibly invested in what our recruits learned.

“Got any more interviews for me?” Coach asked.

Danny picked up a stack of files. “These are all ready for the second round, and these…” He grabbed a smaller stack. “Get these to Doc. They’re ready for med-eval.”

Hey, so was I. I had my appointment with Doc tomorrow morning, and he’d hopefully clear me for more fieldwork. I wasn’t as angry anymore. Or rather, I could control it better.

“Here it fuckin’ is,” Coach muttered, glancing at one file. “Born in 2000. This one, 2001.”

“I don’t wanna hear that shit,” Danny bitched. “Get outta my office.”

“Are you gonna tell me what I’m teaching first?” Coach drawled. “I didn’t come into work on a Sunday because it’s fun to wander the halls.”

“Oh, right.” Danny dug for something underneath all the paper. “You and Beckett will cover the orientation this year and stay on as their mentors, and other than that… Here.” More paperwork. “Intel and communications. You’ll have Paul with you, as usual.”

Fuck me,mentor? That meant… Goddammit, no more long-term stints overseas. At most, I’d get assigned one week here and there.

“Okay, good. I’ll arrange a meeting with him and River. Adios, buttercups.” Coach was more than happy to walk out.

So it was true? The Tenleys were coming back? River and Reese Tenley had retired five or six years ago, but some shit always went down, and then operators came back for one reason or another.

Those twin brothers were crazy enough to return, though it might have something to do with the guy they were with. I didn’t know what it was called these days—Triad? Throuple? They were in one with another guy who was taking Sydney’s spot as our martial arts instructor.

“Have a seat, birthday boy,” Danny said. “I remember turning forty-three…”

“I’d be worried if you didn’t, buddy.” I sat down in one of the chairs. “You’re not that old.”

He smacked a kiss at me. “Thanks.”

I smiled.

“Since it’s your birthday, I’m giving you first pick,” he said. He pointed at three tall stacks of files and applications. “The first one—government guard dogs in need of the regular shit. Riot control, de-escalation, and communication. Second pile, first-round interviews with applicants—it’s our last batch for the year. Third pile, advancement classes for junior operators.”

I made a face. Where was the fourth option?

I reached forward and reluctantly went with the interviews. At least they’d be over soon. The other two would require committing to months of training.

“Good choice.” Danny leaned back in his seat and threaded his fingers across his stomach. “So, I talked to Em…”

Oh, here we fucking go. I rolled my eyes and slumped back in the chair.Thatguy—he needed to retire. Emerson fucking Payne had earned his last name. I’d been the last operator he’d mentored before retreating to “consulting,” but he came in an awful lot and always had his nose in other people’s business. He was turning into the resident daddy who worried about everyone.

“I’m here for my schedule, not therapy,” I reminded him.

I cared for Emerson a whole lot, and I’d looked up to him from the moment I’d met him. He had roughly twenty years on me, give or take—definitely give—a few years, and the life he’d led… Fuck. He was a hero. Former operator with the British SAS, senior operator here, experience in training Green Berets—the list went on. But he wasdone. He should stay at home on the farm he shared with Danny, cuddle their fucking rescue dogs, and wait for the hubby to come home. I couldn’t handle another “friendly reminder” about my mental health from Em.

“They’re not mutually exclusive in your case,” Danny said. “What do you think Doc’s gonna say tomorrow? Be real, Bo.”

I sighed and scrubbed a hand over my face.

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