Page 46 of Flint's Battle

She took it, savoring the first tentative sip. “Does staring at you while I drink my coffee count as a break?”

A chorus of groans sounded around them followed by a low yip from Whiskey.

Bowie moved over to the table. “Even the dog thinks you two need to get a room.”

“I can work with that.” Flint stood, extending his hand to Emery. “Come on. Thirty minutes then we’ll go over everything, again.”

Emery begrudgingly nodded, using her left arm to help push to her feet. A few of the photos fluttered off the table, landing on the floor beside Blake. Blake reached down to grab them when she froze. Fingers pressed around one photo. Still half bent over.

“Blake?” Kian nudged her. “Isn’t it a bit early in the pregnancy for you to be getting stuck?”

Blake jumped when he placed his palm along the small of her back, jolting upright then striding over to Emery. “Is this one of the men from the hospital?”

Emery sighed. “Milligan is so going to tear me a new one for all this breach in confidentiality. But yeah. It was the asshole who posed as Dr. Fisher. Why?”

“The one that cleaner killed on the roof?”

Emery groaned inwardly, scanning everyone else in the room before landing on Flint. “Does everyone know about the cleaner crew?”

Blake waved her question away. “And you’re sure it was this exact tattoo? One of your colleagues couldn’t have swapped another photo out with this one? Maybe from an old case?”

“Even if they had, I saw that guy’s wrist the other night when I was chasing him along the beach. And it was that tattoo.” She looked around, again, but all she got were stoic faces. “Blake, what’s going on? Do you recognize the ink?”

Blake swallowed, retched then spun, darting out of the room as she palmed her phone.

Kian sighed. “Hold tight. I’ll be right back.”

He followed after Blake, leaving an odd void in the room. Emery stood there, unsure if she should go after them or sitdown. What Kian’s definition of “right back” meant. Flint moved in beside her, dropping his hand on her hip as if he wasn’t sure if she might fall when Kian reappeared.

He glanced at Flint, and Emery was sure they had a full conversation without saying a word. Some SEAL trick she wasn’t privy to. “We need to talk. Are you up to joining us in Hawk’s office?”

Emery snorted. “I’m not dead yet. Just tell me when.”

Kian nodded. “If Flint’s team is ready…”

Bowie huffed. “Right behind you.”

Another nod, then Kian was off, heading across the fields then into the Brotherhood Office. Flint insisted she wear the sling she’d been avoiding before stepping aside — allowing her to leave. He stayed beside her, head on a swivel, one arm around her waist. And while it looked romantic, she knew it allowed him to react quicker to a dynamic situation. That he could have her beneath him on the ground in under a second if he sensed a threat.

Though, being able to lean on him was a godsend. Probably the only reason she actually made it to Hawk’s office without having to stop and catch her breath or simply face-planting onto the ground. A stark reminder that they were right, and she wasn’t healed. Wasn’t even at fifty percent, yet.

Not that she’d let that stop her. But she appreciated saving face. Even if just for the meeting.

Flint headed straight for one of the chairs, easing her onto it before leaning in close. “Just so we’re clear. If it becomes obvious you’re starting to fade from the pain and fatigue, we’re out of here. And no, I don’t care how important this meeting turns out to be. I probably should have hiked you up on my shoulder and turned around on the way over. Because that short trip already drained all the color from your face. So don’t push me, sweetheart. I won’t gamble with your well-being.”

Then he was sliding in beside her, one arm across the back of her chair. As if he expected to have to grab her when she teetered off. And maybe he would because the scenery was tilting a bit. Some of those black dots from the other day teasing the edges.

Emery focused on breathing, getting most of the dots to scatter as everyone else shuffled in. But it wasn’t just Bowie, Quinn and Carter. Waylen, Raider and Lane trailed in followed by some guy she didn’t know. He walked directly to Blake, having a short conversation with her and Kian before spinning — zeroing in on Emery.

He was definitely some sort of government agent. The way he carried himself. How he stared at her as if he was sizing her up — determining whether to trust her by how she held his gaze — all indicators. And she’d worked with enough agencies to immediately narrow it down to only a few possibilities. None of which boded well.

Having her boss bustle through the door a few minutes later nearly knocked her off the chair. Had Flint grabbing her good shoulder — steadying her. He arched a brow, but she smiled, giving his thigh a light squeeze. He narrowed his gaze, clearly indicating he’d meant what he’d said before easing back. He didn’t fully let go, but it was more of a comforting weight than him trying to catch her.

Milligan went over to the new guy, shaking his hand as he leaned in — started talking. Emery couldn’t hear any of it, but neither of them seemed pleased when Milligan finally turned around. He met her gaze, frowned, then moved over to the side. There, but clearly in the background.

Hawk was the last one to arrive, looking less than pleased by the impromptu meeting. He took a moment to shake a few hands, then walked over to her. He gave Flint a quick sideways glance before bending down to her level. “You okay, Emery? Because you look like a freaking ghost.”

She did her best to draw herself up, but she knew it was far from convincing. “Aces.”

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