Page 101 of Fixed Asset

And there it was again, total and absolute completeness.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The swim to shore was quick and thankfully uneventful.

However, something happened out there in the water. Unfortunately I didn’t have time to ask her about it, but whatever it was looked important—like she’d had a revelation.

But that would have to wait. We had a plane to catch and an uncertain route to get there.

“New grievance unlocked,” Cat started. “Or maybe it’s not a complaint and more of an unhappy observation. Swimming with a vest on sucks.”

Pete was digging through his SealLine pack but looked up at Cat to say, “True story.”

Her expression was comical when she asked, “What, no tough-guy Team Guy recounting of how you swam ten miles upstream in frigid water with a vest and a fifty-pound ruck? All of this before you ate snails for breakfast.”

Pete pulled his phone out and began rolling the top on the pack closed. “Tough guys don’t need to tell fish tales.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“Because the shit we do doesn’t require exaggeration.”

“What he means is,” Mase interjected, “the cool-guy shit we do gives regular men boners.”

Fucking Mason.

“Are you always this full of yourself?” Calista inquired.

“If by full of myself you mean confident, then yeah, sweetheart. All the fucking time.” Mason shrugged. “And before you ask, yes, my confidence skirts arrogance, but only because I can back my shit up. Most people like to think they’re better than they really are. I know I’m better—not because of the cool shit I’ve done. Not because I think I’m a tough guy. But because when the call comes, I’m out the fucking door no questions asked.”

Without missing a beat, Calista remarked, “And that’s why Tom sent you to find me, because you wouldn’t ask uncomfortable questions.”

I wasn’t sure if that was an accusation or a statement of fact, but still Mase fielded it. “What questions would Tom find uncomfortable?”

Calista closed down. “Forget I said that.”

“Sure,” Mason magnanimously agreed, even though it was a flat-out lie.

He might drop the line of questioning with Calista, but he wouldn’t forget to dig in when we got home.

“Three missed calls,” Pete announced. “Shep. Fallon. Tom.”

Well, fuck.

Fun-time Mason fled, replaced by pissed-off warfighter.

“Call Fallon.”

Pete didn’t need Mason’s directive. He’d already engaged his phone and was lifting it to his ear.

“You good?” Pete asked into the phone. “Right. Good work.” Pause. “Yeah. We got the package, tangos are down, on the way to the mainland airport now. We’ll debrief when we get on the plane.” Another pause. “Later.” Pete lowered his phone but didn’t look up as he slid his finger across the screen again and told us, “Mission success.”

“Righteous,” Mason muttered, and his shoulders relaxed now that he knew the team was safe.

If they weren’t, Pete would’ve led with injuries.

Pete’s phone was back at his ear. “Whatcha got, Shep?”

Mason’s gaze jerked over his shoulder. Cat’s hand landed on my forearm and squeezed. My other hand shot up to silence Pete.