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“She had to be tougher than the men to get through.” Mace sounded proud of his foster sister, in a gruff kind of way.
“You were Army Rangers?” She glanced back, and he grasped her hips.
“Eyes front. Concentrate. If you can’t do that while talking, you need to be silent. This is no game, chère. I will knock you out if you look back at me one more time. Hear me?”
“Yes, Striker.”
Her soft words sent shivers down his spine. If they’d been alone, he would have been on her faster than a cat in heat.
“Keep it in your pants, dude,” his best friend muttered. “Case you didn’t notice, this ain’t the place to get horny.”
“Horny?” Friday said. “I missed something. Did I black out again?”
“No, bébé, he’s is just being an ass.”
“A perceptive ass,” Mace muttered.
“You act like brothers.” She sounded awed.
“We are brothers. We’re family.” And Striker would die for each and every one of them.
“We’re the only family we got left.” Mace reminded her.
The silence was suddenly heavy. Striker fought the memories that were brutally fresh. His parents, grandparents, sisters, cousins—all gone. They’d been gone for decades, but for him, it had only been three short years.
“I’m sorry.” Friday’s soft voice filled the silence. “I didn’t think. It must have been terrible to wake up and find your families had been gone for such a long time.”
They didn’t reply. There was nothing to say. Striker wondered what was worse, that his family had mourned him as dead while he slept, or that he woke up to find them all gone. He hadn’t even dared to research who was left, what descendants might still be around in the bayou. None of the team had gone looking for relatives. It was something they’d all agreed on when they woke. It was too dangerous for them to call attention to themselves and their families by digging into their pasts.
“Oh my,” she whispered. “I never thought. Some of you must have been married, had children. Striker?” Her voice trembled as she asked.
His first instinct was to comfort. “Not me, bébé. I was single. I lost family, but not that, no kids.” He paused. “You might want to keep your curiosity about our pasts to yourself where family’s concerned. Some of the guys did lose partners and kids. It’s hard on them.”
“Of course; I’m so sorry.”
They all were. Sorry didn’t change a damn thing. They walked on in silence for a while longer, trying not to become distracted by the oppressive presence of the never-changing red mist.
“How do you map the Red Zone? You can’t use satellite imagery, and there are no landmarks to keep you from getting disorientated.” Friday’s curiosity couldn’t be subdued for long.
“We use drones to check the passages and to bring back changes in data,” he said.
“Of course.”
He watched her head bob, moving that huge protective helmet. “That means you must have people on the team who are good with the current technology, unlike Mace. It must have been a huge learning curve for you when you woke up.”
Mace growled again, and Striker grinned.
“Is your animal a wild dog? You definitely growl a lot.”
“Only around you,” the big guy grumbled.
Friday looked back at him. “Is it an armadillo?”
His hands shot out to clutch her hips and stop her from backing into the mist.
“Wait up,” he called to his partner.
When he looked through the glass shield in Friday’s helmet, she was biting her bottom lip. “I won’t do it again. I promise I’ll be more careful and keep my eyes front. Honest, it won’t happen again.” She batted those big blue eyes at him.
