Page 67 of The Barn: Frost and Q
Q tilted his head. “What do you mean? What are we gonna do?” That question didn’t make any sense.
“Are you trying to tell me with all of our money and all of our information and all of your hacking skills, we can’t figure out what the fuck is going on?” Carson stared at him like he was insane.
“Okay. Okay, sure.” He blew out a hard breath. “Well, to be honest, I don’t know.”
Carson didn’t seem impressed. “Well, figure it out. Let’s do this. I don’t want him just floating around without us knowing what’s going on, like we don’t give a shit. We both know that we give a shit.”
“Well, I’ve already made a phone call to his chain of command, and Cap’s not telling me anything, he hasn’t filed any paperwork, and I can’t get through on the SAT phone.”
“So who’s the one above the captain? Who do I call?”
He blinked at Carson. “You can’t just go above Cap’s head, officially.”
That would be a giant pain in the ass.
Carson arched one eyebrow. “Watch me. I’m not asking for them to give me special information. I’m asking whether or not your husband is okay. That’s all I want to know. Is he all right? And if he’s not all right, then what the fuck?”
Quentin shook his head, a little overwhelmed to be honest, but tickled at the same time. Carson was a good man and had his back, even if he was oversensitive to teasing. “I’ll get you a phone number. Do you think you can get me some information?”
That would be a win-win.
“I’ll get you the information.”
He nodded and managed his first deep breath in hours.
“See?” Carson looked him in the eye, pointing at his own eyes, then at Q’s. “You and I just have to work together. We can make this happen, all right?”
“Yes, Sir. We just have to work together. We can make it happen.” He rolled past Carson on the way to his computers and grabbed Carson’s hand, squeezed it. “Thank you. I can’t?—”
Carson held up one finger. “No, you won’t. We’re not going there. We’re going to be fine. Do you understand me? You. Me. Frost. Tug. Boone. We’re all going to be fine. I’m not going to put up with this shit.”
Q nodded and chuckled. He wasn’t going to argue with that. Not him, that was for sure. Not now.
Now he was going to believe.
“You’ve gotto get the fuck out of here.”
That was the last thing Chauncey had said to him before the big man had passed out.
They’d been trapped, those of them who had made it to the fire break, and Chauncey had stared at him, those bright green eyes focused and sure.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“You might not have a choice.” Chauncey coughed hard, chest convulsing. “I told you, your man knows things.”
“He always has. He has a knack.” But it didn’t matter right now. Men were dying, and the fire was too big to fight, at least right now. “He wants you to come up to the Barn, come and visit him. He wants to see you. He’s always been unnaturally fond of you.”
“Then you have got to get the fuck out of here.”
They had. They’d lost sixteen men out of twenty-three, and Chauncey was still on the touch-and-go list, part of this whole fucking situation.
“I gotta call my husband. I gotta call Quentin. I need him to know I’m okay.” He stumbled into headquarters, not sure what day it was, what time it was, not knowing anything but that he had to get the smell of burnt flesh out of his nose and he wanted to talk to his goddamn husband.
Right now.
“He’s been trying to get hold of you. I’ve had phone calls from fucking senators, okay? I am done with this bullshit—dealing with jumpers that have money,” Cap snarled. “Tell your son of a bitch husband to quit pulling strings.”
Frost just sort of stared. His brain kept trying to make all of the words that Cap was saying fit into something that sounded like English. “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and I don’t care. Quentin is a hacker. If he had strings to pull, he’d be on my phone right now, and I don’t even have a phone right now. It’s crispy fried! Now I need a phone to call my fucking husband!”
