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I reached for her hand and held it warm and tight in mine. “Ash and I are getting married. Here. On the beach. Tomorrow. You’re all invited.”
Another cheer went up, as well as shouts of congratulations.
“Wait a minute,” Penn said. He held up his hand, which was clasped with Phillip’s. “You’re not telling us you think you can’t be in HEAT if you’re married, are you?”
I shook my head. “No. I’m telling you I’m in a different phase of life. The happiest one yet, and I want to stay on this new path.” I lifted my glass again. “To the new Alpha Team, and to the future.”
“To the future!” everyone repeated.
I leaned close to Ashlee and tapped my glass against hers. “You’re my future, and I can’t wait to see where the journey takes us next.”
“You’re just happy I’m going to be the boss of you.”
“No, pretty sure it’s the other way around,” I said.
She grinned. “I guess we’ll find out later tonight, won’t we?”
We would, and every night after that, as well.
* * *
Would you like to read more in the Agents of HEAT series? Turn the page to see how the series began with Derek and Cynthia’s story.
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UNTITLED
How It All Began (Baby One Last Time Excerpt)
There had to be a better way to make a living.
I glanced down at the deflated inflatable flamingos I clutched by their limp necks. Who the hell had ever heard of flamingos in a Christmas lawn display? There weren’t flamingos in Bethlehem or at the North Pole. No respectable Christmas story featured the ridiculous pink birds. But Mrs. Leary had insisted that the damned things—part of the year-round yard décor on her two-acre plot in the heart of Beverly Hills—be included in the Christmas decoration design.
“Miss Klauson, you wanted to see me?” Old Mrs. Leary, probably never very tall, but now well under five feet, with tight, shoulder-length curls shot through with gray, tottered toward me.
“Please, it’s Sandy.”
Sandy Klauson. Seriously. I mean, Jesus of Nazareth. Never let it be said that Ms. X didn’t have a sense of humor, but if she had to cut me loose from HEAT—Headquarters for the Elimination of Advanced Threats—a month before Christmas, she sure as hell could have come up with a better cover name for me. And a better civilian job. And a better place than LA at Christmastime under a beating hot sun with nary a snowflake in sight.
No doubt, X—no one knew her real name—had done it out of spite, but it was ridiculously unfair. Anyone could have made the mistake of tranquilizing an overly handsy ambassador from an important US ally. OK, so it was more of a choice than a mistake. And yes, after four years in the field at the FBI, followed by a desk job that bored me to tears, then one joyful year back in the field courtesy of the off-the-books agency HEAT, I should have made better choices. Especially when the bad ones had impacted my ability to make a living and save for a cozy cottage somewhere cold, like the place in Vermont my mom and aunt took me over winter break when I was a kid.
Mrs. Leary sucked in her breath, dragging me back to my sad life in the city of broken dreams. “Oh, this is a catastrophe!” She petted one of the limp, plastic birds. “My dearly departed husband gave me these flamingos on our twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. I’ve had them in my yard ever since.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Well, hell. So much for suggesting she re-home the birds in the trash can.
“I don’t know what happened.” I didn’t mention the small slits I’d seen in their throats. Who would do that to a nice old lady’s lawn pets? “I found them like this. But I’ll fix them for you. We’ll make them good as new.”
Mrs. Leary wiped away a tear. “Oh, you’re a good girl. Thank you, dear.”
As the old lady returned to the house, I looped around the outskirts of the palatial building until I found TJ, the job foreman, and explained the dilemma and my plan. “I’ll take the van, find a garage or bike shop that repairs flat tires, and have these patched.” I calculated the time it would take in LA traffic and grimaced. “I should be back in a couple of hours.”
Across the lawn, the old lady emerged from a side door of the house and headed for the detached garage with her oversized chauffeur in tow. I suspected he doubled as her bodyguard because, hello, ultra-rich. Her daily 2 p.m. outing to get a newspaper, a cup of tea, and a comb-out at the beauty parlor. Yes, I’d clocked her movements and done some recon. So sue me. Old habits die hard.
I turned back to TJ, who’d been watching me watch her. He had his own interesting habits, and with his height and heft, I wouldn’t mind having him at my back in a fight, just like Derek… I wouldn’t let my mind go there. Still, TJ would have been good HEAT material, and if X hadn’t lost her mind and fired me, I might have recruited him.
TJ shook his head at me. “Get the old lady’s birds fixed. But you can’t take the van. We still have half the strings of lights in there. Take a cab and get a receipt.”
I nodded and headed for the front gates, which stood wide open to give us easy access to our van and equipment, because Mrs. Leary refused to let us park in her driveway. I’d just pulled out my phone to contact an Uber—and yes, I would turn in the receipt for reimbursement, thank you very much, since X had frozen my assets, including the nest egg I needed to escape to snowier climes—when something caught my eye. Something that didn’t belong on this neat, narrow, tree-covered street in the Hills.
