burning with anger as he did so. When he finished, he stood and snapped to attention before walking out and leaving them with their pens and notepads. They hadn’t dismissed him, but he’d gone anyway.
They had not called him back.
A week later, the SEALs were on a mission and Miranda settled to the back of his brain. She never went away, no matter what he did.
Of all he’d seen and done, she haunted him quite possibly the most. Why?
Cage tapped his stick against the floor, jarring Cody from his thoughts. “Maybe she had another plan,” he said, and Cody had to think for a second.
Oh, right. They’d been talking about the fact that Miranda hadn’t killed him when she’d had the chance. “Could be,” he replied. Because what else was he supposed to say? That she wasn’t a rogue agent, that she’d tasted fucking amazing, and that she’d screamed so sweetly when he’d taken her to orgasm again and again?
Cage gripped his shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. “I’m on your side, buddy. Swear to God. If you say she wasn’t going to kill you, I believe it. But it doesn’t matter anymore, yeah? She’s gone and she ain’t coming back.”
Cody didn’t answer because he didn’t need to.
“Hey, mon ami ,” Cage called to the Echo Squad guy, moving toward the pool table. “You ready to lose?”
“Cocky, aren’t you? I missed one ball. There are a lot left to sink.”
Cage laughed. “Yeah, man. That’s me. Cocky to a fault. Watch and weep, baby,” he said as he bent over the table and lined up the shot.
Cody glanced over at the television hanging above the bar. Buddy kept it on a news channel most of the time, and tonight was no exception. But the headline scrolling across the bottom caught Cody’s attention.
Victor Conti Flees US Ahead of Alleged Arrest Warrant
Ice settled in Cody’s belly. Jesus. Not only was Miranda dead, but Victor-fucking-Conti wasn’t even going to be held accountable for any of his crimes. He’d gotten away with everything and paid nothing. Miranda had gotten away with nothing and paid everything.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
Cody signaled the waitress and ordered another beer. He had a feeling he was going to need a few more before the night was through.
* * *
“ M an , you need me to go in with you?”
Cody turned his head to look at Cash “Money” McQuaid. His teammate was a little blurry, but not too bad. Yeah, he’d had a few, and yeah, he’d had to leave his car behind and let Cash bring him home. He’d get his car in the morning when Cash swung by and picked him up again.
Provided his head hadn’t cracked open by then. He sure knew enough about the mechanics of a hangover, thanks to Maggie, to know what was coming. Not that he hadn’t had one or two himself, but he generally avoided them. Growing up with a mother who needed you to hold her hair while she puked and then asked you to bring her aspirin and a sports drink in the morning when her head was pounding sort of knocked the desire for overindulgence right out of a fella.
Except for tonight apparently.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just get me tomorrow. Eight sharp.”
Money laughed. “I kinda doubt that, Cowboy. Good thing we’re still on leave or your ass would be hurting if you had to report to Mendez at 0600.”
“Yeah, whatever. Call me. I’ll be ready.”
Money looked at him with more sympathy than Cody liked. Dammit, did everybody think he was still broken up over the Miranda thing?
“You’ve had a rough few weeks. It’s understandable you’d want to tie one on. I think you can take the time to recover properly. How about you call me tomorrow when you’re ready? I’ll come get you.”
Cody fumbled for the door handle. He just wanted to get inside and lie down. Forget things for a while. “Fine. I’ll call you.”
The door opened and he stepped onto the pavement. The ground wobbled a little, but it was mostly okay. He shut the door and started up the sidewalk, reaching
They had not called him back.
A week later, the SEALs were on a mission and Miranda settled to the back of his brain. She never went away, no matter what he did.
Of all he’d seen and done, she haunted him quite possibly the most. Why?
Cage tapped his stick against the floor, jarring Cody from his thoughts. “Maybe she had another plan,” he said, and Cody had to think for a second.
Oh, right. They’d been talking about the fact that Miranda hadn’t killed him when she’d had the chance. “Could be,” he replied. Because what else was he supposed to say? That she wasn’t a rogue agent, that she’d tasted fucking amazing, and that she’d screamed so sweetly when he’d taken her to orgasm again and again?
Cage gripped his shoulder and gave him a friendly squeeze. “I’m on your side, buddy. Swear to God. If you say she wasn’t going to kill you, I believe it. But it doesn’t matter anymore, yeah? She’s gone and she ain’t coming back.”
Cody didn’t answer because he didn’t need to.
“Hey, mon ami ,” Cage called to the Echo Squad guy, moving toward the pool table. “You ready to lose?”
“Cocky, aren’t you? I missed one ball. There are a lot left to sink.”
Cage laughed. “Yeah, man. That’s me. Cocky to a fault. Watch and weep, baby,” he said as he bent over the table and lined up the shot.
Cody glanced over at the television hanging above the bar. Buddy kept it on a news channel most of the time, and tonight was no exception. But the headline scrolling across the bottom caught Cody’s attention.
Victor Conti Flees US Ahead of Alleged Arrest Warrant
Ice settled in Cody’s belly. Jesus. Not only was Miranda dead, but Victor-fucking-Conti wasn’t even going to be held accountable for any of his crimes. He’d gotten away with everything and paid nothing. Miranda had gotten away with nothing and paid everything.
It wasn’t fucking fair.
Cody signaled the waitress and ordered another beer. He had a feeling he was going to need a few more before the night was through.
* * *
“ M an , you need me to go in with you?”
Cody turned his head to look at Cash “Money” McQuaid. His teammate was a little blurry, but not too bad. Yeah, he’d had a few, and yeah, he’d had to leave his car behind and let Cash bring him home. He’d get his car in the morning when Cash swung by and picked him up again.
Provided his head hadn’t cracked open by then. He sure knew enough about the mechanics of a hangover, thanks to Maggie, to know what was coming. Not that he hadn’t had one or two himself, but he generally avoided them. Growing up with a mother who needed you to hold her hair while she puked and then asked you to bring her aspirin and a sports drink in the morning when her head was pounding sort of knocked the desire for overindulgence right out of a fella.
Except for tonight apparently.
“Nah, I’ll be fine. Just get me tomorrow. Eight sharp.”
Money laughed. “I kinda doubt that, Cowboy. Good thing we’re still on leave or your ass would be hurting if you had to report to Mendez at 0600.”
“Yeah, whatever. Call me. I’ll be ready.”
Money looked at him with more sympathy than Cody liked. Dammit, did everybody think he was still broken up over the Miranda thing?
“You’ve had a rough few weeks. It’s understandable you’d want to tie one on. I think you can take the time to recover properly. How about you call me tomorrow when you’re ready? I’ll come get you.”
Cody fumbled for the door handle. He just wanted to get inside and lie down. Forget things for a while. “Fine. I’ll call you.”
The door opened and he stepped onto the pavement. The ground wobbled a little, but it was mostly okay. He shut the door and started up the sidewalk, reaching
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