Something he’d mentioned to Irving.
“We need to set up a Beta site. Even a Charlie Site. Someplace with a cache of supplies we can retreat to, if needed.”
Gabriel nodded. “I can set Alvarez’s team on that. Beaumont has a nose for scavenging, and Smith knows the area.”
Irving leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers on the zip ties they’d used to fasten the cushion to the support. Originally, he’d had a fancy electric wheelchair. They’d stored it in one ofthe unused rooms, hoping to eventually rig up a solar battery to it. For now, he had to use an old chair they’d pulled out of a busted hospital lobby.
“Judd is our best shot,” Gabriel said, stepping to Irving’s desk so he could lean on it. Irving said there was no room in his office for a second chair, but Gabriel thought it had more to do with a perverse sense of justice—Irving couldn’t stand, so he wouldn’t let anyone sit. “He can bag more than one deer at a time if we can find a way to preserve them.”
They went back and forth on logistics for a while, but as it always did, it led them right back to where they began.
“We can’t keep this up,” Gabriel admitted.
“It seems not.” Irving straightened a page Gabriel knocked askew. “Perhaps if you would allow us to use Mr. Lewis to his full advantage?—”
“No.” Gabriel snapped before he even processed the question.
Irving sighed. “For the sake of our working relationship, I have allowed your protectiveness of Mr. Lewis to go unchecked. But, as much as I didn’t want to believe you when you told me, his hyper-observance is a rare skill. One we could be using.”
“He’s not anassetfor you to utilize.” Gabriel knew exactly how that went. As much as he liked Irving, he didn’t trust him. Not when it came to decisions about his team, and especially not about Blake. Despite his intelligence—or hell, maybe because of it—Irving looked at people as a list of parts. If the parts added up, they were useful to him. If not, discarded.
With a cool look in his dark brown eyes, Irving sized Gabriel up.Listing his parts.“We wouldn’t send him alone, of course. He could go as part of your team. Or even Alvarez, if you didn’t think you could maintain professionalism.”
Gabriel flinched at the insinuation. Of course, he couldn’t be professional. Not when every time he closed his eyes, he sawhalf-melted bodies sparkling in frost. Or flinched at every clap of thunder, so sure it was the sound of a Monkey Cat slamming into an Off Former.
He knew what they were. He’d had flashbacks since his first deployment. But these were different, fresher. Rawer, somehow. Maybe because they were more recent or because it felt more personal when it was a war against theentirehuman race versus some geopolitical conflict that seemed so far removed from boots on the ground.
It was the thing he tried so hard to keep from Blake. The shit he tried to wipe off like mud on the front mat. He made sure Blake fell asleep first so he wouldn’t notice the way he twitched, the panic that gripped him so tight sometimes he woke up with his sweat icy on his skin where he’d kicked off the covers.
…Judd found a caved-in building to rest in for the night. They’d only been in DC for a week, still riding high on adrenaline and the desire to do something. Gabriel kicked aside some boxes, clearing the room, when he came across a dead body. Then another. And another. It was a family, huddled in the corner of the commercial building. A woman was cradling a child, pressing them to her chest. A man stood over them, a hole in his head, and the gun still in his hand.
They’d slept outside that night.
Swallowing back the memory, Gabriel tried to ignore the rising fury. The desire to demand why. To beg those husks of dead bodies to hold on. To wait for his team. They would have saved them. Scrapped the mission and done everything to get them to safety. He would have done anything to?—
Physically shaking himself, Gabriel forced himself to look at Irving. To take in the creases around his eyes and the smooth skin around his lips—evidence of a lifetime of watching, not reacting.
It wasn’t as grounding as he would have liked, but he could hear his rough breathing instead of blood rushing in his ears. Good enough.
Gabriel vowed to be better for Blake, and he would. But he didn’t apologize for keeping him safe. For not letting him into the field, because he wasn’t sorry.
His voice was cold when he spoke again. “You ask Blake to leave this camp, and I won’t waste a bullet on you. Do you understand? He is not yourasset. He ismine.”
A thrill of satisfaction raced down his spine when he saw Irving swallow. “And the rest of your team?”
Gabriel crossed his arms. “Team Oh Shit is mine, too,” he said, knowing just how much Irving hated that name. “We’re a mess, but we get it done.”
Irving rolled his eyes. “That’s not something to be proud of.”
He reached down to flick one of the Polaroids at Irving’s head. It was a perfect shot of the dead Monkey Cat, a splash of hot pink, a perfect shot.
“Maybe to you.”
CHAPTER
SIX
The can of fruit cocktail was covered in dust. One edge of the can was dented, and it reminded Blake of the time his dad told him that sometimes stores sold dented cans at a discount.