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Mackenzie laughed. She had to admit, she loved Foster’s sense of humor. Though, she had a nagging feeling it wasn’t the only thing she loved about him. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more obvious it seemed.
She’d been completely honest when she told him that being with him had been the first time she’d felt whole in what had probably been years. Flying was the only thing that ever came close, and even that had been lacking lately — as if she was missing a piece.
A Foster-shaped one.
Mackenzie groaned inwardly. The nonstop threats and lack of sleep were obviously getting to her. And she needed to rein in her emotions before she made a complete fool of herself.
Foster parked the truck outside the office door, looking over at her as if he knew she was having an internal conversation. And she had a bad feeling she wasn’t hiding those emotions nearly enough. As if it was written in the lines of her forehead that she was falling hard.
That she had fallen hard.
He chuckled, and she knew she was right. “Come on. The faster we talk to Bodie, the sooner I can get you out of those clothes.”
She nearly tripped as she jumped out of his truck, shaking her head before meeting him at the front. The jerk just smiled and placed his palm on the small of her back, glancing over his shoulder several times on the short walk to the entrance. Even after they’d walked inside, he scanned the gravel lot one more time.
Bodie strode through another doorway a moment later, his hair disheveled, smudges beneath his eyes. She doubted he’d gotten any sleep.
“Foster. Mac. Thanks for coming over.”
Foster shook the man’s hand then gave him a slap on the shoulder, the same way he did with his other teammates. What Mac assumed was some unspoken show of kinship. “It sounded important and likely something you didn’t want to discuss over an unsecured line.”
“You could say that.” Bodie walked past them, locking the front door before waving them through. “Let’s go where it’s a bit more secure.”
Foster placed his palm on her back, again, leaning in close. “I really hope this isn’t an intervention.”
Mackenzie gave him a playful swat, following Bodie down the hallway then through a set of doors. He motioned to a desk on the other side of the room, closing the doors behind him.
He walked straight to the chair on the far side, sliding onto it then tapping on his keyboard. Ten seconds flat, and the machine was humming, the blue light reflecting off the far window. “You two look as if you might fall down, so pull up a chair.”
Foster held one out for her, giving her shoulder a squeeze before taking his. “This is quite the setup. Bug-proof room?”
Bodie grinned. “That obvious?”
“It’s got that feel about it.”
“And before you say anything, the glass has a coating that makes it impossible to see through from the outside.”
Foster nodded. “Are the doors blast proof?”
“Depends on the magnitude. But it’ll stop a fair amount. And I’ve got an armory behind that wall, so…”
Foster nudged her. “And you think I’m paranoid.”
Mac leaned in. “I’m pretty sure Zain has all of this and more at his place.”
Foster merely grinned, laying his arm across the back of her seat as he focused on Bodie. “I’m really hoping that all of these precautions mean you uncovered something interesting.”
The corner of Bodie’s mouth lifted slightly. “I guess that depends. Let’s start with that device. In a nutshell, while it looks innocuous, it’s a freaking art piece. Small. Unobtrusive and virtually undetectable. I haven’t seen anything like this outside of the military. Hell, it might be beyond what they’re using. Which makes sense considering my next point. Does having an ex-Green Beret on your ass count as interesting?”
Foster was out of his seat a second later. “I knew that guy was way too cool to be some run-of-the-mill mercenary. And the way he countered that flash bang…”
Bodie arched a brow. “There was a flash bang involved?”
Foster waved it off, reclaiming his seat. “Old news. So, who’s the name at the top of my shit list?”
Bodie tapped a few more keys then turned his monitor. “Meet Captain Jack Voss, aka Striker. As I said, former Green Beret turned mercenary for hire. The man left the service a year ago on very unfriendly terms. I can’t confirm a dishonorable discharge, but something went seriously sideways because he was essentially booted overnight.”
Foster leaned in, studying the man’s image on the screen. “Any idea who he’s currently working for?”