Page 2 of Booker's Mission

And he’d reined it all in. Carried her back to the bed then tucked her in before spending the night on the couch. Occasionally checking to ensure she hadn’t suffered from alcohol poisoning or succumbed to some kind of allergic reaction he wasn’t aware of. Getting called back to the base early — while she’d still been sleeping — hadn’t done him any favors. He’d left her a note he’d hoped would have her calling him in record time, but…

It had been two days, and his phone hadn’t so much as vibrated. Which was part of the reason hisspidey sensewas tingling because she’d grabbed him during one of his checks and told him how crazy she was about him. That she’d been waiting forever for him to finally make a move, and how she wanted so much more than just a quick tumble between the sheets.

He’d chalked it up to the liquor. To a life that probably mimicked his with too much work and too little time for any kind of relationship. Still, not having her call him after confessing she wanted so much more, stung.

Booker sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know if we crashed and burned or if there’s something else going on. Which implies drug dealers and secret missions. Either way, you can buy me a beer later, and I can cry into it.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “She probably just got called into work. You don’t always have to be so dramatic.”

Booker grinned. “At least, I’m not still ‘keeping it casual’ with the lady I’m stupid in love with but don’t have the balls to tell her.”

“I already told you. I’m not in love with Kirby.”

“Yeah, you are.”

“Just, shut up, already. Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

“Who’s a bitch?”

Booker turned, nodding at the man standing off to their left. Second Lieutenant John Calloway. FCD’s newest recruit, and Booker’s co-pilot. Though, if the rumors held any credence, the guy was cocky, arrogant, and had a severe hero complex. Not exactly the kind of pilot Booker enjoyed working with, but who was he to question the Air Force? Besides, this was a one-off for Booker. A favor when the regular pilot had contracted food poisoning and they’d been left scrambling. Why he suspected Wyatt’s team had been called in, as well. Half of the SEALs had also gotten ill.

Booker ignored the prickling feeling still tingling along his spine as he shook Calloway’s hand. “John. Good to see you, again. This is Master Chief Wyatt Bixby. Wyatt, Second Lieutenant John Calloway. He’s one of the new guys here at FCD.”

John stared at Wyatt’s hand for far too long, looking smug. “New isn’t the term I’d use. I’ve been flying for over a decade, most of that with the Air Force.” He gave Wyatt what appeared to be a reluctant handshake, all the while scowling as he scanned the ship. “Not quite what I thought it’d be. Hopefully, this isn’t another taxi run. I was promised some action.”

Wyatt glanced at Booker, arching his brow, and Booker could only shrug. He knew what his buddy was thinking. That the kid was already outing himself — playing the part of the lone wolf — the guy they should all be honored to have working with them. What would ostracize him if he didn’t wise up — understand everyone was equal once bullets started flying. And theyalwaysstarted flying.

Booker cleared his throat. “Not sure how many taxi drivers get pelted with bullets, but then, I’m not from New York. And new just means you haven’t worked in this division with these teams, before.”

Calloway gave them both a scathing look. “Trust me, I’ve worked with these kinds ofteamsmy entire career.”

Wyatt took a calculated step forward, chest pushed out, hands fisted at his side. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

The man merely snorted. “Nothing… Master Chief.”

Booker moved between them when his buddy took another step. “Easy, Wyatt.” He turned to Calloway. “Just so we’re clear. Bixby’s been running Black Ops missions for longer than you’ve been in the service. He’s commanded and survived more action than you’ll ever get a chance to see, so… Show some respect.”

When the guy just stood there, sneering, Booker leaned in. “Second Lieutenant.”

Calloway muttered a hushed, “sir,” then turned and headed inside—humming as if nothing had happened. That he hadn’t just insulted one of the Navy’s top SEAL team leaders.

Wyatt whistled, knocking Booker’s shoulder. “Who the fuck picked that guy?”

“He’s probably the hotshot son of someone important.”

“He’d better wise up before Gunnar decides he needs a lesson in manners.” He gave Booker another shove. “You didn’t have to do that. Throw your weight around. I’m used to dealing with guys like him.”

“No one disrespects one ofmyteammates. Period.” Booker grinned at Wyatt. “And you are. My teammate. Maybe not all the time, but I take that seriously. Not that Calloway’s attitude matters. Unless the jerk can somehow convince me in the next thirty minutes that he’s worth me taking an interest in him — that this was all for show because he’s the new kid — he’s going to spend the entire flight watching me skim the treetops.”

Wyatt laughed. “That’s what I love about you, Booker. You’re so nurturing.”

“I’m a freaking den mother.”

He motioned to the doorway, grinning when Wyatt blew him a few kisses before marching in. They gathered in the ready room, nodding at the rest of the men as everyone took a seat. Booker glanced at Calloway, shaking his head at how the guy had distanced himself. Not completely separate, but it was obvious he didn’t consider himself part of the crew — a joint task encompassing eight SEAL members and six Rangers. All highly trained, looking like death dressed in black. The kind of men no one wanted gunning for them.

Which only made Calloway’s behavior stand out. How he snubbed the gathering of men, heading for the helicopters as soon as the commander released them. Not even bothering to introduce himself or get a feel for the teams.

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