Reef’s eyes lit up. “Exactly. The ocean’s a beast, sure. Unpredictable. But when you catch that perfect wave? Nothing else compares. Out here, it’s just flat, hot, boring sand.”
Wolf laughed. “You’ll take your ocean any day, and I’ll take my desert. Just means we’re all tough enough to handle whatever’s thrown at us.”
Picasso shook his head, smirking. “Talk is cheap. Let’s see who’s standing strong when this mission’s done.”
He caught the glance Wolf threw toward his phone. Picasso knew that look—the way a man checks for a message from someone waiting on the other end. Word was Wolf had met someone recently, a civilian named Caroline.
Distractions.
Picasso kept his eyes fixed ahead. Relationships were a luxury civilians could afford. For men like them, they wereliabilities. The loud bar crowds, the barrack bunnies, the women drawn to the uniform but not the empty nights that came with it, and Picasso had no patience for the noise.
“Alright,” he cut in, his voice pulling the group back from distraction. “Let’s get inside. I want eyes on the intel before we deploy.”
As they stepped into the hangar, the dry heat instantly gave way to the hum of industrial air conditioning and razor-sharp focus. Voices overlapped, radios cracked, and personnel moved in tight, purposeful circles around a central command table.
Glowing monitors displayed maps of the disaster zone: red sectors marking danger, collapsed bridges, and supply routes choked with debris.
Picasso’s gaze settled on the woman at the center of the controlled chaos. She moved with calm authority, commanding the room without raising her voice. He noted the determined set of her jaw, the steady focus in her eyes. She was all woman: focused, capable, and unyielding.
G. O’Reilly.
Picasso’s brow furrowed. She was a five-foot whirlwind. Her bright red hair was braided back, but loose strands escaped, framing a face far too expressive for a command center. She wore practical cargo pants and a shirt patterned like an explosion of wildflowers, a stark contrast to the uniforms around her.
She didn’t walk. She darted around, barking orders, pointing at screens, laughing at a technician’s joke, then snapping back to business with equal speed.
To Picasso, she was a variable he hadn’t calculated.
Her sharp green eyes locked onto his. A sudden smile bloomed across her face.
“Good! You’re here.” She clapped her hands together once. “Time’s short. Let’s get the wheels moving.”
Picasso’s eyes narrowed. Being rushed was not his style. “Whoa. Hold on.”
Gabriella blinked and halted, her momentum stalling. “Hold on? Supply trucks are being loaded, and we’ve got to move before aftershocks make the pass unstable.”
“We need a plan,” Picasso said, voice crisp and commanding. “And a backup. We don’t just jump in trucks and hope for the best.”
Her chin lifted defiantly. “I have a plan. The plan is go.”
“That’s not a plan,” Picasso countered. “That’s a death wish. We don’t fly by the seat of our pants, Firecracker.”
The word slipped out sharp and condescending. Silence fell over the hangar like a sudden freeze.
Picasso’s stomach clenched instantly. The nickname hung heavy in the air between them. As their eyes met, he saw the flicker of surprise and disbelief reflected in Gabriella’s gaze, an unspoken moment of shock that mirrored his own.
From the corners of his vision, he caught the team’s reactions. Falcon’s brow furrowed in quiet concern. Grizzly’s mouth tightened, a silent question in his gaze. Even Reef stopped his usual banter, lips pressed into a thin line. No one spoke, but the gravity of the moment settled over them all.
Professional to the core, Picasso wasn’t that man right now. Not this time.
Her green eyes flared, the mischief gone and replaced by cold, striking Irish steel.
“My name is Gabriella,” she said quietly but firmly. “If you want to hide behind your maps, fine. Stay out of my way while I get this done.”
The tension thickened, like a distinct wall between them. Reckless. Impulsive. She was everything Picasso wasn’t, and she was in his way.
Before the stand-off could escalate, Wolf stepped smoothly between them, his calm acting like a buffer zone.
“All right,” Wolf said, voice low, trying not to attract attention. “Let’s gather at the table. Review the route, check the intel, and then we move. Together.”
