Page 4 of Gunnar

Damon joins in Jagger’s jovial jesting, and I flip them both off, a gesture that carries years of friendship in its casual vulgarity. While I am the eldest, I’m not quite sure how forty-six made me the designated old man of the group. According to Jagger, being this close to fifty means I should be shopping for recliners and worrying about my fiber intake. To be fair, my lower back does occasionally complain, a souvenir from a protection detail in Istanbul six years ago that had ended with me taking a flying tackle down concrete stairs. A truth I will never admit to him.

As the three of us walk toward the equipment trailer, I spot a petite figure sitting on the steps. My mood plummets immediately. Jagger follows my gaze, and he groans, “Uh-oh…”

Abby pushes off the steps and tucks her tablet beneath one arm. Unlike the rest of us, she is dressed in professional business attire, tailored slacks that fit her perfectly, coordinating with the sleeveless black blouse tucked into them. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a sleek knot that exposes the elegant line of her neck. She looks every bit her part, managing administrative operations for the entire company.

While we joke that she bosses us around, she actually controls the schedules, logistics, travel arrangements, budgets, and the prevention of us accidentally burning the entire organization to the ground through negligence or stupidity. It also means that when she appears unexpectedly in the field, somebody’s day is about to take a sharp turn toward paperwork or an international flight.

She walks over to us, her heels clicking against the asphalt with a purposeful rhythm. The movement is efficient, determined, and somehow manages to convey threat despite the fact she is unarmed and wearing pumps. “Good afternoon, boys. Smooth driving, Gunnar. I caught the last thirty seconds or so from the fence line.”

“Thanks.”

Jagger immediately points at me, his voice rising to a whine. “Teacher’s pet.”

“I literally said one word.”

She lifts her tablet, the screen catching the sunlight, and all three of us groan in unison; a harmony of dread.

“No.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Not interested.”

She chuckles, “I haven’t said anything yet.”

“We know that tablet.” Damon sighs, his voice heavy with resignation. “It never brings good news. That tablet is basically a harbinger of doom.”

Abby sighs dramatically, the sound carrying the weight of someone who spends her days herding dangerous men through bureaucratic necessities. “You three are exhausting.”

“We’re efficient,” Jagger corrects.

“That’s not the word I’d use.” She taps the screen, her fingers moving with practiced precision. “Hawk needs all three of you back at headquarters.”

“When?” Damon asks, his voice dropping into a more professional register.

“In a little over an hour.”

Jagger frowns, the lines etching between his brows. “What for?”

“An unscheduled meeting with a Fortune 500 company. They have significant international operations,” Abby continues, her voice taking on the cadence of someone reciting briefing notes. “Executive travel concerns. Facility security issues. They’ve had incidents overseas recently and are looking to establish a full security partnership.”

Jagger lets out an exaggerated sigh that seems to deflate his entire frame. “I was enjoying my day, Abbs.”

“You wanted a do-over,” I correct. “One where you don’t murder cones.”

“Allegedly.” Jagger places a hand over his heart, his expression wounded. “I’ll carry that burden every day. The guilt. The trauma.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Abby snorts, finding us far more entertaining than she lets on. “One more thing…”

“What?” I ask.

“Hawk specifically requested that all attending personnel arrive looking professional.”

The three of us stare at her. Then, as though on cue, we look down at ourselves.

Cargo pants stained with dust and sweat, scuffed tactical boots, and moisture-wicking shirts that cling to our skin beneath ballistic vests. Jagger looks back up, his gaze flitting between Abby’s tailored clothes and our soiled ones. “We are professional-looking.”