Page 40 of All Twisted Up
“That has to be hard.”
“It really sucks sometimes,” I agreed. “I do have breakfast with them every morning, though. I even take them out for pancakes at IHOP when I get the chance.” I suddenly missed them so badly. He must have sensed something in my change of mood because he reached over and rubbed my back.
“Don’t worry. It’s not forever. You’ll be eating at the International House of Pancakes with them again before you know it.”
I really hoped so. “Thank you.” As we worked side by side in the kitchen getting all the ingredients ready, I couldn’t help but wonder at how domestic it felt to be preparing such a simple meal with him. I decided small talk was the way forward. I cleared my throat. “So, exactly what does a Tac Team at the FBI do? I mean I’ve seen you in action a couple of times, but it can’t be like that all the time, right?”
Nash laughed and took the garlic back, peeling it, seeming happy to move onto a safe topic. “Not even. We’d die from the adrenaline rush if we had to do that every day.” He shrugged. “Most of the time, we spend our days in the FBI gym downstairs or out on the track. Captain Sorensen is nothing if not diligent about our training regimen.”
I thought hard, picturing the tall Federal Building I’d seen a million times as I’d driven past the Veteran’s Cemetery across the street from it on Wilshire. “I didn’t realize the FBI had a gym. It’s in the Federal Building?”
He nodded. “Yeah, and it’s a good one. It has all the typical machines, weights, and everything else, including an Olympic-sized pool. There’s even a rock-climbing wall, ropes, and a regulation size boxing ring.”
I looked over at him in surprise. “That’s great.”
“Of course, Candy—that’s Captain Sorensen—is always taking us on field trips to the beach so we can get plenty of time in the ocean for the SEAL on our team…or should I say for the rest of us, since the SEAL already spends half his life in the water.”
It took me a second to realize what he was talking about. “Wait…you have a Navy SEAL on your team? I thought you guys were all Marines.”
He turned to look at me, then down at the veggies I’d been cutting before moving the cutting board beside the frying pan. “Actually, we’re from varying branches of military services—all Special Forces—but different branches.”
“Like what?”
“Snickers—that’s Napoleon Smith—the huge black guy?” He looked at me to make sure I could picture the man in my mind.
“Yeah.” I nodded.
“Anyway, Snickers is our Navy SEAL. I’m Marine Corps Force RECON. My buddy Mickey—Milky—Way is also RECON. He’s the man who was with me when we crashed into the cartel’s apartment.”
“Oh, yeah. How’s he doing by the way?” I felt guilty for not asking before this.
“I talked to him this morning. He’s fine. His sternum is a little sore but if you’ve ever been shot in the chest, even with a vest, trust me, it’s gonna leave a hell of a bruise.”
I absently rubbed my chest as he began whisking eggs. He finished that and picked up the veggies, scooping them into the pan with a pat of butter. I leaned back against the counter as he chased the veggies around the pan with a spatula, enjoying the sound of his voice as he kept on talking.
“The short Irish guy is Patsy Good. We call him Plenty.” He glanced at me, and I couldn’t help but grin. “Patsy is former Army Ranger Wing…that’s a branch of the Irish Defense Forces, basically the Special Forces equivalent of our Army Rangers.”
“Good and Plenty, Snickers, Milky Way, Candy? I’m beginning to sense a theme here.”
He smiled back. “The nicknames were Rex’s idea.”
I thought, trying to remember who he was. When the giant southerner’s face popped into my head, I nodded. “The tall Texan, right?”
He nodded. “Yep. He’s our Army Ranger and a damned good sniper who fancies himself as the comedian of our team.”
“What’s his nickname?”
“Reese’s Pieces. His full name is Reese Monroe, but he likes to be called Rex. I’m pretty sure it’s a cowboy thing.”
I chuckled, watching him pick up the eggs and pour them into the pan over the cooked veggies before adding the shredded mozzarella. The food already smelled delicious.
“Okay, so who else is on the team?” I was thoroughly enjoying this conversation as he described the men he called brothers.
“Well…there’s Marshall Clifford—Mars Bars. He’s the guy who drives our BearCat; that’s the armored personnel vehicle we were in last night.” He waited for me to nod before going on.“Anyway, Mars is former British SAS and a pretty damned good sniper as well.”
“Where are the plates?”
He pointed to the cupboard and I pulled out two plates, setting them on the counter, watching as he divided the large omelet, and scooped half onto each plate. He reached for a sprig of cilantro and decorated each plate, and for some reason, a warm feeling washed through me. This big, rough around the edges guy, was a romantic…either that or he was a chef. I had to admit I was pleasantly surprised. He picked up the plates and walked around the room divider to the small table, setting them down.
