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Roadkill returned her grin.I like the way you think.Then his thoughts slipped into a far more serious groove, and he locked them out of sight from Hashtag and Eve.

Some things needed to be kept hidden.

In the past, his military superiors had always known how much pre-mission fucking went on, but as long as the men were ready for action whenthe time arrived, they turned a blind eye. Roadkill had played the “but I might not be coming back” card more times than he cared to remember, and it had always earned him a hot night between the sheets.

Now? Everything had changed. Their mate was going to walk into the lion’s den, and while he acted cool about that, Roadkill had no idea what Saul’s plan comprised.

He was praying Eve—and a little kitty—walked out of there unharmed.

Chapter Ten

HASHTAG PEEREDthrough the windshield at the dismal gray clouds.

“Isn’t this supposed to be summer?” The military vehicle sped along winding country lanes, the driving cab open to the back, where the team sat on two benches facing each other.

Next to him, Eve laughed. “Yes, but you know what they say about weather in the UK?”

“Wear layers? Forget sunscreen?” Crank cackled behind them. “Don’t believe the weather reports?”

“They get four seasons in one day over here. You watch,” she said, her voice ringing with confidence. “The sun will be out later.”

Hashtag stared at the thick layer of clouds. “If you say so.”

At the wheel, Roadkill chuckled. “Never mind the weather. You’ve got much more important shit to worry about. You’re gonna be our eye in the sky, remember?”

“Andyou’vegot important shit to worry about too,” Hashtag said, “such as making sure you’re on the proper side of the street. They drive funny over here, remember? Keep your eyes on the road ahead.”

“They do? Gee, I didn’t know that.” Roadkill rolled his eyes. He turned on the windshield wipers as heavy drops of rain splattered against the glass. “Now see what you did.”

Hashtag rolled his eyes. “Oh,Isee. The rain ismyfault for daring to mention the crappy British weather.” He glanced at Eve. “No offense.”

“None taken. I haven’t lived here in years.”

“Sure you can still sound like a Brit?” Crank asked. “Or an even bigger challenge—a Brit from around here.”

Eve said nothing for a moment, then smirked. “Will you stop mithering? Shut your cakehole an’ stop harpin’ on about t’weather. Anyone would think it were cowd out there. It’ll be crackin’ flags by two o’clock.”

Stunned silence.

Hashtag twisted to take a look at Crank. “You okay back there?”

Crank blinked. “I think I understood about half of what she said. And that’s only because they’re normal English words.”

Eve preened. “I’ve still got it.” She blew on her nails and buffed them on her jacket.

“Wait—you mean we don’t get a translation?” The passengers in Roadkill’s truck burst out laughing, and Crank tore his attention away from the road ahead to stare at them. “Well, don’t tell meyouunderstood it either.” More laughter ensued. He tapped Eve on the shoulder. “You made all that up, didn’t you?”

She grinned. “Okay, Lancashire 101. ‘Mithering’ means complaining. Your ‘cakehole’ is your mouth, ‘harping on’ means going on and on about something, ‘cowd’ is how they say cold around here, and ‘cracking flags’ means it’s going to be hot.” She arched her eyebrows. “Want to hear more?”

“I think I’ve heard enough to know English is weird. Plus I can’t be certain, but I think you broke my brain.” That raised an even bigger laugh.

Hashtag appreciated the levity. Anything to take his mind off the upcoming mission.

Eve’s hand was on his thigh.Stop it.

He sighed.I really need to practice hiding stuff from you.

I’m going to be fine.