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Aric pulled away from Brick. “I don’t think so. I think Jake and Seth got all they’re going to get out of him.”

Seth huffed. “You may be right.”

“And if we’re at war,” Aric continued, his heartbeat quickening, “that makes Fielding a war criminal.”

There was only one way to deal with those.

Brick sighed, gazing at him with compassion. “We’re trying to stop this war before it even starts.”

“Brick? H wants you,” Crank hollered across the tarmac, beckoning him. “And Jake’s asking for Seth.”

Seth chuckled. “No rest for the wicked.” He kissed Aric’s forehead; then he and Brick strode to where Crank stood.

“Hey, Seth!” Aric shouted after him. When he turned, Aric smiled. “You don’t have a wicked bone in your body.”

Seth grinned. “Maybe, maybe not, but I get a wickedbonerwhen I think about a certain kitty cat. And if we’re lucky, we’llbothhave a wicked bone in our body when we’re alone with Brick.”

Aric could feel Brick getting hot at the thoughts Seth was sending out, not to mention the delicious thrill they sent through Aric, but he shoved his desire somewhere deep.

Right then he had to think clearly, and the last thing he needed were images of Brick’s dick taking up space in his head.

How big does that dick get?

He watched Brick and Seth until they were out of sight, then hurried over to the hangar where Brick had stowed his combat gear while they waited for whatever transport was going to take them out of there.

His heart pounded, and his mouth was dry as a bone at the thought of what was about to happen.

What he was about to do.

Aric made sure no one was around as he snuck into the hangar. Brick’s combat harness lay next to his duffel bag, and Aric saw the M17 handgun in its holster. His hands shook as he picked it up. The manual safety was on. Aric removed the magazine and checked the bullets.

Don’t think about it. Just do it.

He stuffed the weapon into the waistband of his combat pants, hidden below the baggy shirt they’d found for him to wear. Then he scanned his surroundings for the prop he needed.

There it is.

Aric grabbed the first aid box and headed out into the sunshine. He leaned against the hangar wall and assessed the situation. The guard hadn’t moved from his position in front of the building where Fielding was being kept, and there was no one else in sight.

Now all Aric had to do was make his move.

The sun was at its highest point when another soldier came out of the hangar, a tray in both hands, and walked toward the makeshift jail.

Perfect.

Aric ran across to him. “Hey.”

The soldier came to a halt midway between the hangar and Fielding’s temporary prison. “You need something?”

Aric pointed to the tray, which contained a plastic bowl covered in foil, a plastic spoon, tortillas, a snack-size packet of peanut butter, a bag of mixed fruit, and a bottle of water. “Is that for Fielding?”

“Yup.” The soldier grinned. “And no, you can’t spit in his cheese tortellini.”

Aric grimaced. “Oh my God, is this one of those ready-to-eat meals I’ve heard the guys talking about?”

He chuckled. “Sure is. Fielding should count himself lucky he isn’t getting the curry chicken I asked them to give him. It was cruel and unusual punishment, they said, because he’d end up shitting through the eye of a needle.” He gave Aric an inquiring glance. “Well? Did you want something, or are you delaying me so his food gets cold?” His eyes twinkled. “Becausegee, that would be tragic.”

It appeared as if Aric wasn’t the only one who held Fielding in pretty low esteem.