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“On it,” Spencer said. “I’ll start with the facial recognition software.”

“I’ll start with the hotel records,” Harris said. “In case he’s registered in this or any nearby hotels.”

“We’re off to do more recon on the dive bar across town,” Gunner said. “We’ll report in later.”

With plans in place and another long night of work ahead, Harris watched Woodley workin the background at the rental. The man represented everything Harris swore he’d never allow himself to crave, let alone possess.

As if sensing Harris’s eyes on him, Woodley turned to look at the monitor, and though they were miles apart, the heat of his gaze had the same effecton Harris as if they were mere inches apart. His pulse sped up, his mouth went dry, and he wanted nothing more than to hold the man down and kiss the hell out of him.

He wasn’t sure how long they stared at one another, but it wasn’t until Fletcher dropped his bottle of water, spraying water down the front of himself and swearing loudly, that their connection was broken and Harris forced himself to concentrate on his laptop. He didn’t have time to be sitting around making fuck-me eyes at Woodley. Whatwas he thinking? Days away from one of his most dangerous missions, and he couldn’t keep his head on straight.

Hestoodwith his laptop and went to his bedroom, as far away as possible from the monitor. This wasn’t getting any easier; he hadn’t expected it would, but this obsession surpassed what he’dprepared for. Woodley’s words vibrated through his memory; they were well and truly screwed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Woodley

“Why don’t you come along with us on this stakeout?” Conor asked Woodley as he and Gunner headed for the back door of the rental. “We could use an extra pair of eyes.”

“Sure,” Woodley agreed. He needed to get out and clear his head. Things were changing too fast, and he needed a moment to step back and breathe.

He grabbed his jacket and followed Gunner and Conor to their heavily tinted older SUV parked out of sight out back of their rental. The drive to Mid-City from the Gentilly area took them close to the French Quarter through the Esplanade Ridge area. There wasn’t much to see so late in the evening, but the crowds were still out on the town enjoying the city. Woodley couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone out for drinks without a care in the world or the need to drown out the memory of a particularly brutal case.

Had he ever not had something to worry about? |Were fears of discovery, past suffering, pain, or anger driving him to work harder? Of course, they affected every aspect of his messed-up life. Peace had always been hard for Woodley to come by.

Anything remotely close to contentment would be a luxury he couldn’t afford. His and Stryker’s boyfriend, John’s, life stories took the same course. Their fathers were test subjects in the Noah Project.Check.Spent their later years working together on a specialized task force attempting to shut down the Noah Group.Check.Both fathers killed by that group. Triple fucking check.

Now, that mission fell to him and this unconventional team from Fire Lake. A mission that would likely end with more than one ally paying the ultimate price to protect the world. It was unlikely many people would ever know what they’d gone through to protect them; it was much the same in many aspects of the military. The general population expected law, order, and safety but didn’t think too hard about how it was attained.

Woodley rolled his neck, trying to loosen the tight muscles, and began noticing the slight changes in the neighborhood as they got further away from the rental. There were fewer trees and more concrete buildings. Rougher roads, overflowing garbage bins, and flickering streetlights rounded out the growing picture of neglect.

“We’re getting close to the bar,” Gunner announced from the driver’s seat. Woodley remembered them referring to the place as a dive bar, and that description fit in with the looks of their new surroundings.

Several older vehicles were parked on both sides of the streets leading to the bar. Their strategically borrowed older SUV, with its rust and darkened windows, wouldn’t stand out. Gunner pulled over and parked between a rusted-out Ford without plates on cinder blocks and a later-model Buick sedan with a missing headlight and dented passenger’s door.

Woodley had been on many stakeouts as a cop and detective, so he settled in the backseat for what would likely be a long night.

He’d never doubted his decision to stick around after John was rescued from the Noah Group’s clutches, and no one had ever called him out on it. Woodley admitted he was beginning to enjoy the camaraderie of this team—however long it might be, because no doubt once the mission was done, this partnership would end. Much like his relationship with Harris.

For now, he’d enjoy the luxury of allowing his real self out, mutations and all. Here, there was no need to hide. They all knew the truth and lived with their scars openly. He’d never have thought it was possible, but Fire Lake had proven to be a haven for those desperate for shelter from the coming storms and the endless fear. How a retired team of Navy SEALs accomplished what seemed more like a miracle in a matter of a few short years would remain a mystery for which many survivors would be thankful.

“Looks the same as it always does,” Conor said. “Dark, dingy, and dangerous.”

The bar was little more than a gloomy, worn, nondescript door with boarded over windows on either side. There’d be no peering through these windows, as was surely intended by the owners. They might as well put a sign on the door that stated, “Go Away.”

“How positive are we about this place?” Woodley had to ask. It didn’t look like much, but looks could be deceiving. They knew that better than most.

“Spencer’s information is typically spot-on,” Gunner said. “He’s not in the habit of making mistakes. He confirmed it was a recently relocated division of the Noah Group originally from California.”

“Got it. Have we been able to get a look inside?” Woodley asked. It would help to get a lay of the land.

Conor pulled a small monitor from the glove box and held it between the front bucket seats. He adjusted a few knobs and flicked a switch on the side.

“We had an associate stumble in for a drink with a group of partiers weeks ago,” Conor explained. “He left a few items behind.”

The screen came to life. It was a bit grainy at first, but it soon cleared to provide a black-and-white picture of the insideof what he assumed was the bar. It appeared as if the transmitter was located in the corner of the room facing the bar top, along with two pool tables and a few sets of tables and chairs. A handful of people mingled around the pool tables, shooting a game; three men sat at the bar, and a couple sat at one of the tables.

Woodley could see what he believed was the front door in the distance and a swinging door he thought might lead to a kitchen or backroom.What I’d give to have a look back there.By the size of the front bar area, a large portion of the remaining building appeared to be hidden from view. That was where Harris would come in, getting a look behind the scenes when he was captured, something which still rankled Woodley.

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