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“Tell me what you were going to say, Aine.”
“It isn’t important.”
“It is to me.”
She stood and flipped the switch to turn off the fire. “It’s getting late.”
“You’re angry.”
She clenched her fists inside her jacket pockets, turned back toward the ocean, and closed her eyes.
“Why do you know so much about the University of Oregon’s neuroscience program?” She opened her eyes, turned, and went inside without looking at him or waiting for him to answer.
Aine didn’t care if it was rude. She locked the slider, went straight into her bedroom, and threw herself on the bed.
They’d talked about her field of study several times and about the fact that if she was to continue her education, it would be with an emphasis on psychology and behavioral analysis. He’d even mentioned once that if she did choose that course of study, she might make an excellent profiler.
They’d never gotten far enough into it to talk about schools she might consider, which meant Striker would have had to look into the U of O on his own. But why would he spend the time on something like that if he didn’t want her in his life?
4
Striker knew better than to do what he’d just done to Aine. He’d let her know, in no uncertain terms, that he was keeping tabs on her, and that was something he had no right to do.
He shouldn’t have taken the trail from the hotel back to her house. He shouldn’t have accepted the invitation to join her on the deck. He shouldn’t have insinuated himself back into the life he’d walked out of so abruptly.
It had been eight months since he told her they needed to talk. Eight months since he stood back and watched her sadness turn to humiliation when he refused to tell her the real reason they couldn’t continue seeing each other.
Aine had taken the blame for the relationship’s demise squarely on her shoulders, and he’d done nothing to dissuade or reassure her. The angrier she was at him, the better, he’d thought at the time. If she hated him, never wanted to see him again, maybe he could force himself to stay away.
Now he’d done the very thing he knew then that he couldn’t do. In the span of only a few seconds, he’d given her hope. Thankfully, her anger came to the surface quickly, and she stormed away from him, saving them both the embarrassment.
He took his time walking back to the hotel. The exhaustion he’d felt earlier had faded away, leaving him with what he knew would be another sleepless night.
When the sun rose, Striker was still awake, staring out at the same ocean he had been watching since he sat on the deck with Aine the night before.
He hadn’t talked himself in or out of anything in the hours in between. He still knew he wasn’t good for her, and yet he still knew that as long as he was in Yachats, he wouldn’t be able to resist talking to her, wanting to be around her, hearing her voice, and seeing her smile.
After the K19 meeting, he planned to get a flight out as soon as possible, even if it meant flying commercial, which he didn’t mind doing at all. In fact, there were times he preferred it, especially if the rest of the team took a private plane.
The meeting today wasn’t until zero eight hundred hours, which meant he had two hours to shower, get some coffee, and check his email to see if McTiernan had anything else to report on Abdul Ghafor’s whereabouts.
Whether he did or not, Striker had no intention of telling him what he knew or what he’d seen in Razor’s office yesterday. The CIA couldn’t be trusted to do the right thing where Ghafor was concerned. The K19 team, he knew, would do whatever it took to neutralize the bastard.
When he walked into the conference room where Ranger texted they’d be meeting, he surveyed those in attendance. Doc was there with his wife, Merrigan. Razor, Monk, Onyx, Ranger, and Diesel were there too.
Missing were Gunner and Mercer, aka Eighty-eight, the two other founding partners, along with Mantis, Alegria, and Dutch. Maybe Doc would give a rundown of why those missing weren’t there.
The first person he greeted was Merrigan. Back when the two of them were starting their careers, him with the CIA and her with MI-6, they had had a brief affair. It was hard to imagine now, since he thought of her more like a sister than even a colleague.
“How are you, Striker?” she asked, kissing one cheek and then the other.
He pulled back and studied her. “Nowhere near as good as you are, by the looks of it.”
Merrigan smiled. “I’m a very happy woman. I suppose it shows.”
“It looks good on you,” he said, turning to shake Doc’s hand when he approached.
“Why are we meeting h
