Page 16 of Unmade

Most floors looked the same with their pale gray walls and black linoleum floors, but the eastern side of the fourth was one of the exceptions. Everything here was locked down behind thicker walls, reinforced steel, and security systems, and the entire floor ran on its own microgrid. Cell service was a pipe dream, only senior operators had clearance—and only to some parts—and the walls were covered in yellow warning signs with protocols for various emergencies.

After swiping my card once more, I walked past one operations room after another, each containing equipment and technology worth hundreds of thousands of dollars, until I reached the end of the corridor where Coach and a few others had their offices.

I knocked on Shira’s door and hoped she was in. She was supposed to be.

We’d gone through recruit training and selection together, and she’d headed straight for Intel, while I’d aimed for a life in the field.

The door unlocked with a mechanical whirr, meaning it was okay to enter.

I poked my head in and spotted her behind her desk.

The past nine, almost ten months…she’d had that sympathetic smile for me.

“Hey,” I said. “Any updates?”

“You’ll be the first to know, hon,” she replied. “Hyatt is flying in two new operators on Monday. They’ll be briefed first thing that morning.”

“Are they back in Mogadishu?” I asked.

“For now,” she said. “We’re making sure we didn’t miss anything.”

I released a breath and clenched my jaw. Weweremissing something. An entire fucking container ship couldn’t just disappear. We’d tracked it for seven goddamn months following my brother’s death, and now it was gone?

We had to find it. We had to get on board and look through it. My gut was still telling me we’d find clues about the motherfuckers who’d murdered Vince.

* * *

Just get through the fifty minutes.

Doc should have one of those sofas you could lie down on. I was sick of sitting up and staring at the fuck-ugly painting that took up the majority of the wall behind his chair. It was just blotchy squares of blue paint forming some kind of patchwork.

There was nothing else to stare at in here.

Doc had no diplomas or medals on his walls, even though he had plenty to brag about. He was, what, in his mid-forties or thereabouts? A boy wonder who’d advanced quickly through high school, premed, and med school. But then, 9/11 had changed his plans. Coach had mentioned a Purple Heart.

Most of all, Doc had a master’s in being a pain in my ass.

“Are you seeing colors again, Bo?”

I flicked him a glance. “Huh?”

“After your brother’s death, you told me that you’d stopped registering colors, scents, and details around you.”

Oh.

Fuck if I knew.

I scooted farther down in my chair and rested an ankle over my knee.

Half an hour left?

“I’m more present,” I said. I wasn’t gonna let him take away my ready status. “I even pay attention when Alex talks.”

“What about Kristen?”

I made a face and folded my arms over my chest. I’d rather not talk about her. There wasn’t much of a point anyway.

“Same old,” I answered. “She says she can’tfeelmy emotions—whatever the fuck that means.”

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