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“Leave my ass out if it, please,” Pharaoh said in a stilted voice.
“But it’s such a fine ass,” Bruja teased and they all snickered.
He huffed out a breath. “What the hell, Bruja? For all you know, I have a wife at home.”
The rest of the team exchanged looks and they all said a resounding “no” at the same time then laughed again.
Everyone turned in Saint’s direction, waiting for his response. He shrugged a shoulder. “Why the fuck not? Just may want to let the sorry bastard know it could be a suicide mission.”
The broody man’s words didn’t give Harper any comfort and she hoped he was wrong.
Banshee nodded. “Since we’ll be back in Cali, we may as well go up to L.A. and drop in on him. You guys might change your mind. Hell, I may, too. We haven’t spoken in maybe eight months, and I have no idea what condition he’s in.”
“We’ll find him, evaluate the situation and make our final decision,” Pharaoh said, and everyone nodded their agreement.
Ryland sat forward in his seat, like he was about to stand, then surveyed the room and asked, “Where’s my dad?”
???
The drive back to San Diego was uneventful and the closer they got, the heavier Ryland’s chest grew. Almost to the point where it felt like someone was standing on it. Before leaving, the team had returned to Cross’s bungalow and he’d said goodbye to his father in private. But something was nagging at him about their final conversation.
Ever since finding out his dad was still alive, Ryland had experienced mixed emotions. From shock and disbelief to hurt and anger to betrayal and finally acceptance. Currently, he still had no idea where they stood or if it was possible to rebuild their relationship. It felt like they were straddling a fault line and the tectonics were steady for the moment. But if the Big One hit, their tentative foundation would crumble.
As the Suburban cruised up the 405N, Ryland thought back over their parting words.
“You can’t go back. That’s suicide.”
“I have to go to my best friend’s funeral,” Ryland said between gritted teeth. Something that should’ve needed zero explanation.
“That’ll be the first place they’ll look. Don’t be stupid, Ryland.”
“Have you forgotten what it feels like to lose a brother?”
“He wasn’t your brother.”
“What?”
“I mean, not technically. He wasn’t on your SEAL team.”
“Semantics,” Ryland snapped. “We were teammates, he was my brother and I’ll be there to punch his coffin with my Trident.”
“How well do you know your team, Ryland?”
“What?” He didn’t like that question for a number of reasons. His dad damn well knew The Agency didn’t want them exchanging personal information or getting too friendly with each other. It was part of the contract they all signed, including, he assumed, their handler.
“Think about it. Other than Tanner, who is everyone else? What are their real names? Where do they live?” When Ryland didn’t respond, his dad arched a dark brow. “Think about it hard. I know you were told to trust each other and work as a team, but who gave you that directive?”
The Agency. The Agency fucking gave them that directive.
“Trusting your team is comparable to trusting The Agency.”
“Bullshit,” Ryland growled.
“Is it? Or is it an ingenious way to plant a mole?” He shrugged. “Food for thought.”
And since they’d left Mexico, it had been all Ryland could think about. Was his dad right? Aware of something that Ryland wasn’t? If that were true, why be so mysterious about it? Why not just be straight and come right out and say who the mole was?
If there even was one.
