Page 35 of Danger Close
Then—
“Today’s lunch report ...I attempted soup.It bit back.”
Ricky bit down on a smirk.
“Define ‘soup.’”His voice barely above a whisper, but with Marsh’s tech, he didn’t have to be louder than that.Ezra would have him clear as day.
“Hot water.Random ass spices.Mystery meat.Possibly a sea sponge.I regret my choices.”He sounded so sad, he had to fight a smile.
“Sounds like deployment food.”
“Don’t pretend you don’t miss it.”He was fast becoming addicted to the man’s voice.Jesus he had it bad.
“I miss your mouth when it’s not running.”
“Liar.You love me.Say it.”
“I’d rather eat your sponge soup.”Although he was pretty sure he felt it, he wasn’t quite ready to say it over comms, when the likelihood of his teammates listening in was pretty damn high.
Ezra chuckled in his ear, and Ricky closed his eyes for half a second, letting that warmth wash over him.He knew Ezra was out there—watching.Tracking.Waiting.Not able to touch, but tethering him to something real.
Sometimes Ezra would just check in with a joke.Other times he’d whisper where he was.“Two clicks west, line of sight.You’ve got backup.”And once he’d said simply, “You’re not alone in there.”
That had meant more than any mission briefing ever had.
The truck began to slow.
Tires grinding over gravel turned to a low hiss as they hit paved stone.The shift in sound made every muscle in Ricky’s body coil tight.
This was it.
The compound’s gates loomed ahead—two security guards posted at either side, rifles slung low, posture casual.Don’t ask, don’t care.Ricky recognized the look.They were either paid well or scared stupid.Maybe both.
The rear door rattled open with a squeal.Sunlight spilled in, harsh and blinding after the shade.
One of the local guys jumped down first.Then another.Ricky followed, landing in a crouch, his boots hitting concrete with practiced ease.His duffel swung at his side.He kept his head low, his posture neutral.A man with a job, not a mission.
The compound sprawled in all directions—outbuildings, stacked crates, satellite dishes disguised as water tanks.High walls.Too clean.Too staged.
The kind of place that looked safe until you looked twice.
Ricky scanned without turning his head.Just subtle glances.Angles.Reflections in windows.Movement behind curtains.
Then—
There.
A flash of color.
A child’s laugh, light and quick.
A little girl darted across a patch of artificial turf, chasing something invisible, a stick clutched in one hand like a sword.She was maybe five.Maybe six.Dark hair in a messy braid.Scraped knees.Dirt-smudged cheeks.Could it be her?
Then, she looked up and he caught sight of her eyes.
Hazel-gold.Bright.Curious.Wild.
Van’s eyes.
