Sinclair had offered to send his private jet, but Maverick flew commercial. He didn’t want special treatment. He wanted to blend in and fly home under the radar. No fanfare, no press. Just a normal guy returning to his normal life.
He wouldn’t be leading another overseas mission for months. Even he knew that. Running ThunderStrike from base camp would have to suffice. Small steps, like the first ones he’d taken in the hospital.
His dad had visited him on two different occasions. When he’d first landed there, and again, weeks later. Maverick had no memory of that initial visit, nor could he recall any of his other visitors. But his father had assured him that all three of his siblings had visited—Sinclair, Desiree, and Hudson—along with his closest friends, Colton, Crockett, and Carly. Jagger had flown in from California, too. He wished he could remember, but the first few weeks had been a hazy blur.
The jumbo jet touched down at Dulles. Passengers grabbed their phones, but Maverick didn’t have his. After weeks of being unplugged, he was ready to jump headfirst into the fray.
When he exited the craft, he followed the crowd. His plan? Head outside and grab a ride home. After passing through customs, his attention fell on a large handmade sign.
WELCOME HOME ASHTON!
As his family waved him over, he shoved down the well of emotion. Showtime. He threw out his arms and grinned. “I’m back, baby!”
Desiree flung her arms around his neck. “I’m soooooo happy to see you!”
Damn, it felt great to be home. Better than great. Fucking sensational. “Thanks for coming out. I wasn’t expecting to see you guys.”
Hudson didn’t do his usual handclasp, one-armed hug, either. Like his sister, he bear-hugged him. “Heya, Ash. Love the beard, man.”
His father didn’t even try to fight the tears. “Welcome home, son,” he said, pulling him close.
“How’d you guys know I got released ahead of schedule?”
“Seriously, you did not just ask us that,” Hudson said.
“Sinclair?” Maverick asked.
“Of course,” Desiree replied.
Maverick slung his arms over his siblings. “I never told him. Hell, I never told anyone.”
“Sinclair knows all,” Hudson said with a chuckle.
Maverick regarded three of a small handful of people he loved most in the world. His closest friends were missing, as was his favorite gal pal.
“Where’s Carly?” Maverick asked.
For the last several weeks, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. And some of his erotic dreams—all starring the beautiful blonde—had woken him with a stiff one that could not be ignored.
Before his family could answer, a torrent of reporters gathered around. Seconds later, a leggy brunette emerged from the swarm and sauntered close. Alexandra Reed, local news anchor and fiancée of his close friend, Crockett Wilde.
Maverick grinned, full on. “Hey, baby girl. What’s going on here?”
“The press caught on to your homecoming. If you can spare a minute, I’ve got some questions.”
Maverick puffed out his chest. “Ask away.”
“You accomplished something the government couldn’t. Tell us about the rescue.”
“We kicked some serious ass.”
The group laughed.
Maverick lost the bravado and rubbed his aching thigh. “Seriously, our goal at ThunderStrike is to ensure a safe return in a hostage situation. Lives lost are unacceptable. I’m damn proud of my team. We did what the client hired us to do. Got in, grabbed the Americans, and got the hell out. I was the one who got a little detained.”
He surveyed the mob of reporters, their phones shoved close. When he locked eyes with a cute one, she smiled, her cheeks flushing. Normally, he’d check her out, grab her name and number. Depending on circumstances, he’d hook up with her. Might even take her to dinner. But that’s as far as things would go.
Instead, his thoughts jumped to Carly. Again.
