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“Would you like to reply?” Henry prompted.
“No,” I said firmly. “Not at this time. Any more messages?”
“No, sire.”
“Okay, then.” I pulled on some clean jeans, my glasses, and a wash-worn Champion Security hoodie I’d stolen from Riggs and headed for the door. I had a busy schedule this morning, and I needed coffee before I attempted to accomplish anything—
“Sire, one of your scans has caught some keywords in an online HOG forum involving SummonerStallion.”
I turned around and folded my arms over my chest. “Way to bury the lede, Henry Cavill. Jesus.” I shook my head. Clearly, my AI needed some reprogramming. “Send the details to my phone, please.”
“Yes, sire. Done.”
As I strode down the hall, I read the information Henry had sent, then headed upstairs to share it with the team.
When I got to the kitchen, several people were gathered around the table, looking as fresh as if they hadn’t been on a late-night op in Miami the night before. I made my way to the coffee machine with a grumble.
Riggs approached with his own empty mug. “Morning, Kev. You’re just the guy we needed to see. Hux needs help on our next op.”
Hux didn’t look up from his keyboard. “I don’t need help.”
Oh. Great. We were back to this? How delightful.
I mentally checked “courtship” and “friendship” off my list of duck-gift-motivations, and I forced myself to look at the coffee maker and not at Huxley’s bed-rumpled hair and gorgeous, closed-off face.
“Ignore Hux,” Riggs said with a grin. “He’s cranky because his rabbit’s depressed.”
“Fuck off.” Hux rubbed his eyes tiredly. “That’s not what I said.”
I paused with the coffeepot in my hand. “Rodrigo? Is he okay? Is he sick? Because sickness in rabbits can turn serious really quickly and—”
“I know. He’s fine now,” Hux said gruffly. He darted a glance in my direction, and his voice softened. “I took him to the emergency vet to be sure, and she said he was just bored because he was in his cage at my apartment most of the day yesterday and the day before.”
“Oh.” I filled Riggs’s mug. “But you could have left him here, you know. Mrs. Carmody thinks he’s adorable—”
Hux’s fingers gripped his computer mouse so hard that the plastic audibly squeaked. “This isn’t his house. He shouldn’t get too used to it.”
I frowned harder. “But—”
“Discuss the rabbit later,” Riggs said. “Right now, we need to worry about the next Horn.” He leaned against the counter and took a sip of coffee. “We need someone who can engage our target in the game for the better part of this afternoon and evening so we can identify which family member is actually using the Horn. Somehow, Hux thinks he can do it while he’s also running surveillance for the op at the same time—” He rolled his eyes in Hux’s direction.
“I absolutely can,” Hux grumbled.
“—but we think it would be better if he had backup,” Riggs concluded.
Champ took a bite out of a slice of toast and made a noise of agreement. “I’ve approved another day of consulting fees if you’re up for it, Kev. Certainly don’t feel obligated if you have other commitments.”
I mentally reviewed my day. “Yeah, no, I can do it. I have a Zoom presentation for some grad students at MIT later this morning, but I’m good after that.”
Riggs knocked his shoulder into mine and raised an eyebrow. “How much is that consulting fee?”
“More than Champ’s gonna pay him,” Carter teased, breezing in from the direction of their bedroom. He snagged Riggs’s mug and took a long sip while Riggs watched him with a look that managed to be simultaneously besotted, amused, and hotly possessive, probably because of the way Carter’s new wedding ring glinted under the overhead lights every time his hand moved. “You still able to meet me to sign the papers today?” Carter asked.
Riggs’s face softened as he looked at my cousin. He reached out and smoothed down Carter’s blue-and-silver striped tie before pressing a kiss to his lips, and I very definitely did not sway against the counter, remembering the feel of Huxley’s lips on mine or envisioning his face wearing that same affectionate, proprietary expression.
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Doc,” Riggs said. “And I can’t wait to see the look on Marisol’s face when we tell her about the scholarship later.”
“What scholarship?” I asked. “Who’s Marisol?”
Carter turned to me, his handsome face alive with happiness in a way that I’d rarely seen it before Riggs came into his life. “You remember the young woman in Venezuela last year? Well, she really wants to become a cardiologist since there’s a huge need for them in her area, and my husband had the brilliant idea that we could sponsor her and her grandmother to move here for her education.”
“And my husband had the brilliant idea that the Rogers Family Foundation could pay for it,” Riggs said, wrapping his arms around Carter from behind.
