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Avery! Where the hell is that thing with the doohickies?

” Haven sorted through the stack of files sitting on her desk for the umpteenth time as she bellowed for her assistant.

Avery Knapp had been a godsend these past months.

The former CIA-turned-Deimos operative, who’d gotten her nursing degree after retiring from the agency fifteen years ago, had been the ideal person to help Haven recover from the shooting.

The woman’s smooth skin and toned physique belied her age, making her appear far younger than her fifty-five years.

In addition to being able to render care as needed, and doing most of the cooking and housecleaning, with her high-security clearance, the woman could also be fully trusted with all the classified information that filled Haven’s office.

To give them both solitude when needed, a small guest house had been built for Avery in the backyard of the three-acre property that was surrounded by a high-tech security fence, complete with an electronic, retractable gate for the driveway.

While both women were no longer field operatives, it didn’t mean someone from their past might not come gunning for them one day.

The petite, platinum-haired woman strode into the room, opened the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet closest to the door, and pulled out a yellow folder before handing it to Haven.

“That thing with said d oohickies in it. You know, it’s a little ridiculous I understand your filing system better than you do. ”

Haven huffed as she rolled back over to the massive computer setup that covered an entire wall. “I would have found it eventually.”

“Uh-huh. Want to talk about it?”

“Talk about what?”

Avery crossed her arms and leaned against the door frame. “Whatever’s had your panties in a twist since you got home. You haven’t been this surly in months.”

Ignoring the other woman—Haven had no desire to discuss what a bitch she’d been to Frisco with anyone—she flipped through the still photos from the night she’d been shot.

Not that she didn’t have them memorized after studying them over and over again, hoping someone she’d missed all those other times would jump out at her.

A minute or two passed before Avery sighed and pushed off the jamb. “Fine. Don’t talk to me about it. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”

Haven was glad when she was finally alone again.

Part of her felt like a heel for how she’d treated Frisco, while the other part of her was angry at him for putting her in that position.

She didn’t need his pity or guilt or whatever it was.

If he wanted to be friends, she could handle that, but anything beyond that wasn’t going to happen.

Haven wasn’t even sure if she could have sex with a man anymore and enjoy it.

The only way to find out was to do it, but she’d be mortified if things sucked.

She’d rather continue to wonder instead of risking knowing for sure if she was less than a responsive woman.

She’d always enjoyed sex, but now she doubted she could relax enough with a man for it to be pleasurable.

Her mind would be filled with insecurities she hadn’t had since she was a teenager with her first boyfriend.

The click, click, click of toenails tapping against the wooden floors in the hallway announced Haven was about to have another visitor—this one she could deal with.

Avery’s golden retriever/border collie mix padded into the room.

She plopped her furry butt next to the wheelchair and laid her head on Haven’s knee with a sigh.

Unable to resist, Haven lifted her hand and stroked the dog’s thick, reddish coat. “Hey, Roxie-girl. Why can’t everyone be like you? Mum except for the occasional ‘woof’ to make me laugh.”

As if she’d been cued, Roxie let out a soft woof , which brought a smile to Haven’s face. “See, that’s what I mean.”

One thing she’d always wanted growing up was a dog—she loved them.

But money had been tight for her mom, who’d raised her two daughters without help from anyone.

Then, just after things had improved dramatically for them, when her mom had received a well-deserved promotion and raise after working for the same advertising company for years, it all fell apart at the hands of al Qaeda terrorists.

What was supposed to have been a celebratory vacation in Madrid was cut short when ten explosions rocked the Cercanías commuter train system in the middle of rush hour.

When the smoke had cleared, Haven had found herself in the hospital with a severe concussion and other non-life-threatening injuries.

One hundred ninety-two people were killed, and over 2000 injured.

It took four agonizing days for her to receive confirmation her mother and sister were among the dead.

On day five, when she was being discharged, an American stranger had walked into her room and, once again, her life was changed forever.

Her cell phone rang, shoving the thoughts about her family, the day she lost them, sex, and the hunky guy she was attracted to, but who now hated her, from her mind.

Checking the screen, she was glad to see it was Kenny.

She pushed the connect button and made sure her voice sounded cheerful.

Her friend was dealing with his own guilty feelings and flashbacks to India—he didn’t need her to be a downer and add to them. “Hey, kiddo. What’s up?”

“You’re only two years older than me, you know.”

“Yeah, but you’ll always be like a kid brother to me, so I get to call you ‘kiddo.’ What’s up?” she repeated.

The sound of typing came over the line. “I’m sending you some new intel and links. Looks like our mysterious Mr. Smith has decided to pop back up on the Dark Web and is interested in arranging a new meet with Preston Ward.”

“What? Hang on.” Sitting up straighter in her chair, Haven put the cell phone on speaker, so she had her hands free.

She signed into her secure email account and found the message had already been delivered.

She opened it and downloaded the attachment, which was fifteen pages long.

In the meantime, she clicked on the first link he’d supplied.

Her eyes scanned the chat thread. “Holy shit! Does Gene know this?”

“Just came from his office—he’s having a script made up for me to work with. I’ll probably start chatting with this bastard sometime tomorrow morning. As soon as I arrange to meet Mr. Smith, Carter and Jordyn will escort me. They’re on their way back from Africa and will be here tomorrow night.”

“You think it’ll be that easy to set up a meeting?”

“No, but you know better than I do terrorists don’t do things the way we expect them to, so Mr. McDaniel wants us ready to go at the drop of a hat.”

Her chest felt tight at the reminder she was no longer a field operator. If it weren’t for the damn wheelchair she’d have been assigned to the mission as well. Her funk was returning, and she didn’t want Kenny to worry. “Let me dig into this stuff and see if I spot anything that might help.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. When he spoke again, his tone had softened. “Hey, are you doing okay? I mean, really okay?”

“Of course. I’m fine,” she responded with false cheer. “I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

After disconnecting the call, Haven began stroking Roxie’s fur again as she sent the intel to her printer.

Her window of opportunity for figuring out who she’d spotted at the wedding just before the explosion had just become smaller.

Whoever it was, Haven had a bad feeling about him, which was getting worse each day.

Lying on his back, at an incline, Frisco used his lower limbs and abdominal muscles to push the loaded leg press upward.

He may not be able to do exercises for his arms, shoulders, and back at the moment, beyond stretching and range of motion, but there was still plenty he could do.

The indoor gym was filled due to the inclement weather that’d blown in, dumping over four inches of rain in a few short hours.

A bunch of Deltas were working out around Frisco, but as far as anyone else in the place knew, they were regular soldiers with normal jobs on the base.

If you weren’t Delta, you didn’t get to know who was on the teams.

It had been three days since he’d had lunch with Haven, and he was still pissed.

Did she really think he was so shallow he’d be turned off by her disability?

For a few moments there, while he’d been holding her hand, talking about the teammates he’d lost, he’d gotten the impression she’d been showing a side of herself very few people had ever seen.

It really sucked that the only woman he’d ever met, who had him thinking about things he’d easily done without—a wife, kids, a dog, and a house with a white picket fence—didn’t feel the same way.

“Are you going to bend your knees again, or just hold the weight up for the rest of the damn day?” Fletch stood above Frisco, his brow raised in question.

Turning the handles to lock the platform in place, Frisco lowered his legs, got to his feet, and wiped his sweat from the machine’s back pad. “Sorry. Spaced out for a moment.”

“It wouldn’t have to do with a hot-looking brunette you ran into the other day, would it?” the other man asked as he took the spot Frisco had just vacated.

He glared at his two teammates Trigger and Oz, who were doing bicep curls, with free weights a few feet away. “You two have big fucking mouths.”

It had been a stupid thing to do, meet his buddies for drinks the other night when he was still seething—and heartbroken—over his blowup with Haven. He should have kept his own big mouth shut.