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“Ten-four, pretty girl.”
“Don’t sweet-talk me when I think you’re holding back.”
A half grin hitched on his face. “I’ll be gone a few days.”
“Gone where?”
Trace sighed. “Back to hell. Where Michael was killed.”
Wow, that weapon had traveled the globe. South America, the United States, the Middle East? Her stomach dropped at the thought of Trace leaving soon but… he wanted to go. “I thought you wanted back over there.”
“I did. But not necessarily in this way.”
“What way is that?” she asked.
He hooked an arm around her, and they made their way toward the front door. “The only way to go through this particular gate of hell—with my SEAL team and the CO who wants me in the brig.”