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Max pulled a tight smile.
She patted his cheek. Then straightened to flutter a wave.
“Be good, boys.” She angled past toward the next customer.
Crusty guzzled from his cup, his gaze fixed on Darcy laughing with Bronco as the big guy whipped out his key chain and flashed a dangling photo. “How many places do you think he can store pictures?”
Max watched Darcy stroke a finger along the plastic-covered image. He sighed heavily. She should have her own pack of family portraits. His own kid with Eva would have been almost two now. The thought scratched at his insides like the broken shells under his legs. Tipping back his water, he forced himself to swallow.
Crusty dunked a pretzel in his milky drink and popped it in his mouth. “Back when Bronco and I took Wren to the infirmary, Cutter had her hooked up to those antivenom IVs. Cutter and Bronco started sharing pictures, passing their phones over her like she wasn’t even there.” Crusty tossed another soggy pretzel in his mouth. “I expect it from Bronco. But even the prior die-hard bachelor Cutter babbled on about his little girl and new baby boy. Then they passed their phones to me with big goofy-ass grins on their faces. Know what I mean?”
Max grunted. Perry pulled up photos of his three sons to share at the drop of a hat, too. Max always smiled and tried not to think about his own kid who’d never had a chance to pose for pictures.
Crusty drained his cup, then pitched it into a nearby trash can. “As if I could tell one wrinkled-faced infant from another. Next thing I knew, I had ’em all mixed up. The two dads looked at me like I’m a moron. Thank goodness, Wren called time-out.”
“Sounds like Darcy.” Max stared across the small patch of sand at the leggy dynamo flicking coconut milk into Rokowsky’s face.
Crusty swiped his arm across his milk mustache. “You gonna phone her when all this op is over with?”
The shells dug deeper right along with thoughts of images never developed. “I’m not after your precious copilot who loves babies and puppies.”
“Oh really? Could have fooled me.”
“Doesn’t she already have a brother?”
“Yeah, and a whole squadron more of them besides ready to kick your tail if you mess with her.”
“This is getting old, Baker.” He’d about tapped out his chitchat quota for the day, but knew Baker wouldn’t leave him alone without reassurance. Max scrounged up a few more words. “So I’ve been watching out for her and along the way she became a friend. What’s not to like about her?”
“Wren has a way of making friends easily.”
Yeah, yeah, Max heard him loud and clear. No need to think he was special, and he had the distinct impression Baker had jabbed on purpose. “She sure does.”
Crusty stared ahead, pitching pretzels to scavenger birds. “Those friendships have a way of sneaking up on a guy and becoming a lot more when you least expect it.”
Max cut his eyes toward Crusty. Was the guy hung up on Darcy after all? But Crusty wasn’t ogling Darcy. He stared out over the ocean with glazed eyes that seemed to be taking him to another place. Another time.
Max threw away his empty water bottle. Less than a month with Darcy Renshaw trying to socialize him and he was turning into some kind of Sigmund Freud.
Baker swiped a hand over his face, his eyes clear again. “Guys like us don’t lead the kind of life that lends itself well to relationships. Too many ‘can’t tell you where I’m going babe or when I’ll be back’ moments. Too many secrets.”
Memories crashed over him in a tidal wave. He’d lived that nightmare with Eva. She’d wanted them both to get out of the CIA, start a more sedate family life. Had even walked out on him more than once. Not that he blamed her. Even when he was around, he was only half there. Distant on a good day. Distant and hungry for the next mission on a bad day.
He and Eva had weathered more than a few bad days. After his near miss in South America, she’d insisted for a month he back off and take lower risk assignments. Every time she’d traced that scar on his shoulder, she’d cried. If only he’d listened to her and changed the course of their lives, her cover might have never been blown. She might still be alive.
To hell with social skills. He didn’t want to talk to anyone tonight, anyway. “Get to the point, Baker.”
Crusty crumpled the empty pretzel bag. “She’s leaving soon. As much as you may think she’s clear on the friendship issue, I know her better. As a real friend. And I can tell you, pal, she doesn’t look at me the same way she’s looking at you.”
Max started to disagree, but just his luck Darcy chose that second to glance over at him. Her smile faltered. Her fingers crept up to twine around the chain on her dog tags.
“Cut her loose.” Crusty interrupted Max’s thoughts with harsh reality. “Unless you’re genuinely interested in her. Then we’ll throw you a keg party and give you an honorary call sign. Something like ‘Spike’ for your hair or ‘Fin’ for your job. We can even get you a batch of your own coconut bra pictures.”
Max stayed silent, listening, gauging how best to respond when he didn’t have answers for himself either.
Seriousness stained Crusty’s eyes, all the more powerful for its rarity. “Just be careful with her, man. She’s got history. She may be friends with the lot of us, but she doesn’t let life get deep too often.”
Even across the stretch of beach, Max could see those shadows lurking in her eyes. Had they been there from the start and he’d missed them because he didn’t know her well enough then? Darcy’s file chronicled her kidnapping— with conspicuous holes, thanks to her father’s influence, no doubt. She seemed to have moved past it. But of course, what did he know about reading people’s emotions?
