She smiled, a sheen of tears in her eyes. “Thank you, Dylan, for everything. You risked so much to keep me safe.”
“I’d do it all again in a heartbeat.” He kissed her again, then walked with her down the stairs to where Tower stood, waiting.
“I’ll escort you to your gate,” Tower said.
Dylan watched her walk away, so much he’d wanted to say left unsaid.
She glanced back over her shoulder, her gaze meeting his for just a moment before she and Tower entered the special security entrance.
He’d known he’d miss her, but he hadn’t expected saying goodbye to hurt.
You’ve forgotten how much love sucks.
Yeah, there was that.
Dylan walked to the bar, grabbed a beer, tried to get a grip on his emotions.
By the time the plane had refueled, Tower was back.
He sat, buckled in, pinned Dylan with his gaze. “It’s against company policy for operatives to become sexually or romantically involved with our clients.”
“Who was the first person to break that rule?” Dylan took a drink, waited.
“I’m one of the owners of this company—and your supervisor.”
Dylan raised his bottle in a mock toast. “I’m just following your example.”
Tower’s eyes narrowed. He picked up his tablet and went back to reading.
And that was the end of that conversation.
It was evening by the time they reached Denver, an autumn chill in the air, the mountains white with the first snowfall of the season.
A car was waiting to drive Dylan and Tower to Cobra HQ, where Dylan turned in his weapons and stowed his gear.
Tower met him in the elevator down to the parking garage. “Thank you, Cruz. This clusterfuck could have ruined the company. If that bastard had gotten away with Ms. Marquez, if you’d ended up on the Venezuelan news, if the two of you had been killed, we’d be out of business.”
Coming from Tower, this almost constituted a public display of affection.
“Yeah, it was touch and go there for a while.”
“You worked the problems one at a time. You trusted your instincts as a warfighter. You powered through it—and so did Ms. Marquez.”
“Hell, yeah, she did.”
The elevator doors opened.
“See you tomorrow at oh-nine-hundred for an official debriefing.” Tower stepped out and walked toward his vehicle.
Dylan drove to his condo in Five Points, grabbed his mail, and let himself in. Rather than going through his usual post-mission routine—laundry, a shopping list, a quick trip to the store—he poured himself a drink and sat in the dark, an ache in his chest.
22
Gabriela scanned her ID to enter the elevator and punched the button for the third floor, doing her best to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. Today was her official mission evaluation. She’d worn a conservative gray pantsuit, armor for today’s battle. She shouldn’t be nervous, but she was.
The past week had been rough. She’d spent most of her time in debriefings that felt more like interrogations, answering the same questions again and again. She knew they were unhappy with aspects of her performance. She couldn’t blame them.
She had effectively ended her mission the moment she’d stepped between Pitón and the journalists. Even so, she wasn’t sure what she could have done differently. She had reacted on instinct, her mission objectives forgotten the moment she heard the gunshots and screams.