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Trigger dropped his heavy curl bar to the mat he was standing on, then shrugged, but didn’t offer an apology.

These men were Frisco’s brothers, and they gave each other shit all the time.

But they also covered everyone else’s six, on and off the battlefields.

They’d all known he was still bothered by that night in India, but it was something he had to work out for himself.

Each one of the Deltas had lost someone in combat.

Since 9/11, it was hard to find someone in the military who hadn’t.

Many of them also knew what it was like to have a teammate permanently disabled and/or disfigured by bombs, RPGs, bullets, or other forms of destruction, but each dealt with it in his or her own way.

However, Frisco’s problem was he couldn’t get past the attraction he felt toward Haven, something he’d never experienced before with a teammate.

While his current team was all men, he’d had women in his squads before going into Special Forces.

Technically, Haven wasn’t their teammate, but they defended the same flag and constitution, bound together by love of, and loyalty to, their country.

They’d been on the same mission to take down a terrorist hell bent on destroying the American way of life, therefore, for a brief period of time, she’d been one of them.

And one thing the Deltas did better than anyone was take care of their own.

Grabbing his towel, Frisco wiped his face, then guzzled half the water in his bottle.

He was just about to head toward the treadmills when a bunch of cell phones chirped or buzzed with an incoming text.

He glanced around and saw members from three different Delta teams check their devices.

Shit, that’s not good . Frisco looked at the text on his phone.

Mission alert. Briefing room #1. 1130 hours.

Damn it . Frisco wasn’t medically cleared, yet, so he was probably going to have to sit this one out, but he still had to go to the meeting.

They all hated to be left behind when missions rolled around, but it was even worse if someone got hurt or killed during it.

That whole “what if” game came into play again.

What if I’d gone on the mission? Would that have altered the universe enough to have made a difference?

Or would that teammate still have gotten injured or lost his life?

A few of the Deltas headed for the showers, while the others finished their last sets first. They had about forty-five minutes to clean up, grab lunch on the way, and hightail it to the briefing room on the other side of the base.

Frisco decided to leave his run until later since he was usually on the treadmill for about an hour.

Downing the last of the water, he tossed the empty bottle in the recycle bin on his way to the locker room, pushing thoughts of Haven from his mind. He had to get over her somehow.

Three quarters of an hour later, the larger of two briefing rooms was filled.

Deltas from three different teams sat in rows of chairs that faced the podium or stood in the aisles as they chatted.

Thanks to a phone call from his mother, giving him an update on his dad’s latest stress test, Frisco had been one of the last people in and ended up taking a seat at the back of the room.

After a mild heart attack last year, the elder Ingram had been doing what he could to keep his cholesterol and blood pressure within normal limits.

He’d started eating healthier and exercising more, which had resulted in a twenty-pound weight loss.

He’d also retired, after twenty-five years, from his stressful job as an air traffic controller at San Francisco International Airport, and had taken a position with the Oakland Aviation Museum in the East Bay Area, much to his family’s relief.

“Attention!”

Ghost’s barked command had everyone on their feet, arms at their sides, eyes straight ahead, facing the podium. From the doorway near the front of the room, their colonel walked in. “As you were. Let’s get started.”

Almost as one, the men sat as the colonel stood behind the podium and looked out over those under his command.

Seated to his right were the ranking officers of each team.

He cleared his throat to make sure he had everyone’s attention, not that he needed to do so; everyone was already silent, waiting for him to speak.

“All right—for once, as I’m sure Captain Bryson is happy to hear, the feds and military are sharing intel before the shit gets too deep.

The elusive ‘Mr. Smith’ from that clusterfuck in Mumbai a few months ago has made an appearance on the Dark Web, looking to arrange a new meeting with the person he believes has the nuke codes.

Apparently, he’s chosen Mexico, just over the Texas border, as the location for the deal to go down, and you’ll be backing up the agents from Deimos.

We don’t have complete details as of yet.

After India, he’s being even more cautious, not giving the time and location until the last minute.

The only reason we have Mexico is he has no idea where the seller is coming from and how long it will take him to get there.

I’ll let Agent Caldwell fill you in with what her agency knows. Agent Caldwell?”

Frisco’s jaw dropped as he strained to see over everyone’s head.

What were the chances there was more than one Agent Caldwell in Deimos?

Unfortunately, because of her wheelchair, he was too far back and couldn’t see more than a flash of her brunette hair as she positioned herself in front of the elevated podium.

But it’d been just enough for him to confirm it was Haven.

“Thank you, Colonel. I apologize to those in the back who can’t see me, but I’ll try to speak loud enough to be heard.

” Captain Bryson and another officer stood and began handing out orange folders—the color signifying the information inside was extremely classified and was not allowed to leave the building.

When the mission was complete, the pages within would be shredded and then incinerated.

As the two men made sure every Delta member present got one, Haven continued.

“The communications team at Deimos intercepted several attempts made by Mr. Smith to contact Preston Ward on Monday. For those of you who weren’t on the mission in Mumbai, that’s a persona the agency has cultivated over the years.

Preston’s a reclusive computer hacker with a penchant for trading anything that piques his interest for cash or intel.

We’ve made sure he’s on the watch lists for the FBI and CIA, as well as agencies around the globe, but his travel hasn’t been restricted.

He’s also an expert at covering his tracks and has never been caught .

.. obviously. It’s kind of hard to capture and hang a person who only exists on paper, unless he’s Flat Stanley.

” Her sarcastic joke about the popular figure from an educational project that’d spread around the world was met with a bunch of chuckles, mostly from men who had kids.

“Our computer specialist who portrayed Preston Ward in Mumbai is on his way to Texas with the two agents assigned to him. It could be a few days, a week, or a month before he’s contacted with the time and place for the exchange of $10 million for the codes to a nuke that was stolen from Russia in 1995.

The US and its allies have been searching for it ever since.

It’s one of dozens that went missing around that time, however, this one left a trail after it was taken.

During the getaway, the codes were separated from the device, but we assume it was done on purpose with the intent of later reuniting the two.

We know for a fact that never happened.” In other words, the codes were probably secured somewhere within the United States, having been recovered before now .

“The device is roughly the size of an extra-large suitcase, and the codes were on a software protection dongle. For those who don’t know what that is, it’s the predecessor to DRM—digital rights management—used in gaming systems and digital media, like e-books.

The hardware key is difficult to crack, and when it comes to a nuclear device, I highly doubt you want to take a chance it’ll go off if the wrong code is entered.

“Now, when MI6 intercepted three known suspects in London, two months after the theft, they were no longer in possession of the nuke. There was a gun battle, and all three were shot and killed along with an agent and a police officer. We have no idea where the device has been all this time. Approximately eleven months ago, Mr. Smith showed up on the Dark Web searching for the codes. As I’m sure everyone here knows, his first attempt to get them was a failure—whether or not he was involved in the disaster in Mumbai is still up for debate.

“Are there any questions?”

Frisco had a bunch of them, but none were appropriate at the moment.

They had nothing to do with the mission and everything to do with the beautiful spy at the front of the room.

The spy he still hadn’t been able to see completely.

Several men raised their hands, and Haven answered their inquiries as best she could.

There were quite a few holes in the mission, as it stood now, but hopefully they’d be filled in as more intel came in and the meeting between Mr. Smith and Preston Ward was scheduled.

When there were no more questions, the colonel addressed his men. “Another briefing will take place tomorrow at 0800. Captain Bryson will be the lead on this detail. First Sergeant Ingram, where are you?”

Surprised at being singled out, Frisco jumped to his feet and stood at attention. “Here, sir.”

“Stay behind and see me. The rest of you are dismissed.”

As the teams filed out the two available doors, Frisco weaved his way through the small crowd. When he finally reached the front of the room, the colonel was talking to Haven. His cock twitched at the sight of her. Damn it, not now!

Dressed in a professional, black pant suit, with a royal blue blouse, Haven had her hair up in a ponytail, just like the last two times he’d seen her.

He yearned to pull on the elastic band, setting the strands free so he could run his fingers through them.

In practically every fantasy he’d had, her hair was down, framing her face, as it had been during that fateful mission.

Her gaze met his, and he could tell she was just as surprised as he was the colonel had requested to see him. A slight blush stained her cheeks, causing his ire from the other day to lessen under his reemerging lust for her.

Standing nearby, Ghost loudly cleared his throat, catching Frisco’s attention with the clear but unspoken reprimand. Giving himself a mental shake, he stood at attention and addressed the colonel. “Sorry, sir. You wanted to see me?”

“At ease, Frisco.” The use of the moniker, instead of his rank and last name, had indicated this was going to be a casual conversation. Frisco relaxed as the colonel continued. “I understand you and Agent Caldwell met in Mumbai.”

Uh-oh.