Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102549 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 513(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 342(@300wpm)
“I’ll be here.” Damn, I want to go over and kiss him, but we’re both on duty, and if I did it without the pretense of it being for Brady or because of Brady, is that crossing the line?
Our relationship is so confusing when it comes to stuff like that.
“I’ll see you soon,” he says and walks away.
I rack my brain trying to remember what this particular training op involved, but my mind is blank. Most ops only go for a few days, but there are extreme ones that last almost a month. I hope it’s only a few days because those two minutes with Prescott were nowhere near enough to get my fill.
When it comes to him, I’m not sure forever would be enough.
After two weeks of no word from SEAL Team Three, I try to tell myself to not worry or be impatient because top secret training ops are top secret for a reason. I found the paperwork for the training op he’s on, but it was vague with the length. It said approximately one week with subject to change. So I shouldn’t be panicking yet. That doesn’t stop me from making my way to command central to ask the new SEAL liaison if he’s heard anything.
Even though I’m a civilian now, when I see a colonel, I salute them.
Colonel Bryan Parker cracks a smile. “You know you don’t have to do that anymore, don’t you?”
I shrug. “Habit.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to check in on SEAL Team Three. They were running a training op I approved, but I thought they’d be back by now.”
Colonel Parker hesitates to answer, and I get it. I’m not supposed to know this kind of stuff anymore. If I hadn’t served under him and knew him, I wouldn’t even be asking. He’s the type of soldier who’s usually in the liaison position. Nearing retirement, experienced, high-ranking. Prescott wasn’t the only one who questioned my move to the Pentagon, but I don’t regret that. Taking this civilian job is another story, but I took it because it’s even less involvement with the navy than the liaison job. It’s another barrier I could put between Prescott and myself. It still hasn’t helped, and now, when I have this worry in my gut over him, where he is, and what’s taking so long, I realize it was the wrong move.
“They, uh, they should be back any day now,” Parker says, but there’s something in his voice that makes me think he’s lying or covering something up.
“Why don’t I believe you?”
“Because you’re an overprotective jerk, maybe?” He smiles, but it fades quickly. “You and Prescott are close, aren’t you? Roommates?”
“Until I moved here. Obviously.”
“Look, I’ll see what I can find out for you.”
“Translation: you’ll find out what you’re allowed to tell me.”
Parker’s eyes are sympathetic but don’t give anything away.
I nod. “Anything you can tell me would be great. Thank you.”
“Let me make some calls, and I’ll come see you in your office later.”
It’s not the answer I was hoping for—nowhere near it. Because if it was a standard training op and everything was going fine, he’d simply say everything is on track. Or maybe even be able to give me a rough date of when they were scheduled to come home. Instead, he took the classified route. I know what that means in these situations.
The training op is FUBAR.
I go back to my office and try to work through my worry, but I can’t concentrate. Every training op application I read, every risk assessment I do, all I can think about is how Prescott’s might be going wrong.
I pick up my phone to call him, though he won’t be able to answer even if he wanted to, so instead of hitting his number, I dial Brady and hope I’m not interrupting anything like work or, worse, a date.
“Kit?” Brady answers. “This is … unexpected.”
“I know.” It’s not that I never call, but if I ever need one of them, it’s usually via text. Calls have purpose, and if there’s something I need to talk about—meeting up or whatever—I try to organize a time to get both of them at once. I know Pres and Brady have their phone calls, but I’m not a phone call kind of guy.
“What’s up?” Brady asks.
“You’re not busy, are you? If you’re working or got classes, I can—”
“Just on my way home from the office. It’s summer. I don’t have classes.”
“Right. Of course. I knew that.” I’m not thinking clearly.
His tone switches. “Is everything all right?”
“I … I wanted to hear a familiar voice. That’s all.”
“Are you sure that’s all?”
Before he’s got the sentence out, I practically blurt, “Have you heard from Prescott lately?”
“No, not since he was sent on some training mission. He said he was going to meet up with you after it, and I was trying to plan to come to Virginia to be there as well, but it’s been difficult without knowing exactly when he’d be back. What’s happened?”