Because he understood firsthand what happened when you mistook obligation for love. Once the shine wore off, Thane would see the damage and hate himself. Why? Because he’d let his dick instead of facts lead the way. No. He wouldn’t let him sacrifice himself. Reid curled his hands into fists. Evenly matched in muscle and fighting skill, neither one of them would go down easy.
Thane, cool under pressure, subtly shifted his stance. “We’ve always been on good terms. The last thing I want to remember about our friendship is me kicking your ass.”
“Fucking idiot.” Reid lunged.
Dalir appeared in solid form. His jeans, boots, and a dark T-shirt glowed with energy as he held them apart. “While you fight, Celine fades. You don’t have time for this.” He looked to Thane. “Go.”
Thane focused on Reid. “Someday, you’ll understand.” He disappeared.
Dust floated where his best friend once stood. Understand what? That he’d failed to stop Thane from ruining his life over one night. “Why did you tell Thane about Celine?”
Dalir frowned. “How could I not?”
“Are you serious? From day one, you told us not to let anyone get too close.”
“But he did.” Dalir snapped out. “And there’s nothing we can do to change the situation. As she disappeared in the future, she would have faded away here. Would you have wanted to put him through that? You know as well as I do that he would have carried that burden forever.”
“I would have made sure he got through it.” Reid shrugged Dalir’s hand off his shoulder. “We were looking out for each other long before we met you.”
“I get that you’re pissed, but he’s gone. You have to let him go. If you don’t, you’ll force the team to take sides. That happens, we all lose.” Dalir’s gaze glittered. “You had a hard mission. Because of that, I’ve been giving you the benefit of my understanding.” His eyes grew cold. His tone even colder. “It’s about to come to an end.”
Reid’s breastbone tingled where Dalir had given him a mere tap earlier. Before he took another risk, he wanted answers. Even if it meant having the ancient go medieval on his ass. “Can you even guarantee we’re not phasing into a shitstorm on the next mission?”
As Dalir’s gaze darkened, the florescent bulbs flickered. “You won’t be around to encounter any shitstorms.”
An electricity-like buzz danced uncomfortably up Reid’s spine. Nerve endings raised, ready to fire in pain. “So you’re going to light me up because I won’t keep my mouth shut and blindly follow?”
“No.”
The lights brightened. Tension trickled from Reid’s back.
“Because like I said, division only hurts us.” Dalir’s gaze faded to gray. “You’re angry and second-guessing what you shouldn’t. You need to remember that you answer to me. I decide what you will and will not do. I choose where you will and will not go. Not the other way around. The guys need you, but I won’t let you poison them with your attitude. You’re all grounded from missions for the next month. You need to go somewhere. Get drunk. Get laid. Do whatever the hell you need to do to come back and lead my team.” The ancient shimmered and disappeared.
Thane had let his personal life get in the way of the job. Dalir’s intel had suddenly become unreliable. Their last mission had gotten screwed and now he’s the asshole? How did that happen? Forced vacation. Fine. No problem. He was done. As Reid shoved open the door to the club, an unseasonably cold wind blew over him. Late afternoon Florida sun glimmered off the large glass picture frame holding their poster. He did a double take as the picture morphed into their new reality. The band minus Thane.
* * * *
Reid walked into the beach house. Silence. Relief flooded in. He went to the upstairs living room. West owned the place along with everything else, but no one had a permanent claim on it. They used it as needed. Two weeks of waiting to get off Dalir’s shit list and into the next mission was grating on his nerves. Time at the piano and hanging out on the beach would help.
He launched into one of his grandfather’s favorite pieces, by Rachmaninoff. Quiet chords moved back and forth, creating a melody similar to a lullaby. He could phase anywhere in the world. Do anything he wanted. Why was he still there? Back in the day, he and the team had gotten off on changing the scenery. Coffee in Paris. Surfing on the Gold Coast. Skiing in Argentina. Gambling in Monte Carlo. Finding a random hookup in Ibiza. All before sunset. When had it changed? That day in Switzerland or in New York…or was it London? He’d sat in the lobby of the hotel watching people at the checkout desk. They were returning to their normal, familiar lives while he faced starting from scratch.
Sure, West maintaining the essentials made the transition easier. Still, when they got back, having to constantly explain the same basic crap over and over again to people killed. This time around, he’d forgotten the barber no longer knew how he liked his hair faded. The friendly barista at the corner spot hadn’t automatically added the extra shot of expresso as she’d done before he’d left. His neighbor was back to hounding him about buying a garage full of shit he’d told them more times than he could count he wasn’t interested in. He couldn’t lose his cool over the inconvenience. The guy didn’t remember the conversations.
He transitioned into the next movement, lush, romantic. Lauren’s image floated in. The guys razzed him about not dating. He didn’t even hang onto a woman guaranteed to let him back in, no questions asked, for recreational sex. His fingers flew over the keys, building the concerto into a passionate melody. Thane rarely double-dipped with the same woman either, and if he did, it was for a quick visit. Nothing serious. Thane couldn’t believe he was in love, but that explained why he was so off at the start of the mission. They’d talked about Celine. Thane was going to drop her and move on. If Thane had a different take on it, why hadn’t he told him? Yeah, he would have tried to change his mind, but after all they’d gone through… Fuck. Now who wasn’t letting shit go? He sounded like a jilted girlfriend.
The front door opened. Heavy footfalls coming up the stairs ended with West stalking into the room. “We need to talk.”
“About?” Reid kept playing, reluctant to break from the music high.
West leaned against the back of the couch and crossed his arms. “When Colby phased into the future to recon intel for the last mission, he cultivated info from Speaks, one of my informants. He believes every conspiracy that pops up, but he’s a damn good hacker, now and in the future. What he gave Colby didn’t have anything to do with Xenia or Red Path Anarchy, so I shelved it.”
Reid ended the song. “But now you’ve taken a look.”
“I have.” As West exhaled, his frown deepened. “Back when we were in Regimental Recon, do you remember when all that chatter popped up about the Pentagon’s interest in technology that would increase our physical capabilities? Then later on all those rumors about command putting together a unit for a classified experiment?”
“You mean the cyborg unit?” A cross branch project of SEALs, Rangers, and other special ops areas. The assignment had sounded tempting at the time. Extra pay, a chance to spend a few months playing with newer and deadlier toys.
West slipped papers out his back pocket and handed them to Reid. “It went through a year ago. A company called Greenhill Technologies has the contract. The top sheet, that’s what they’ve created. Body armor with a mechanical skeleton integrated into the fabric. An onboard computer adjusts the skeletal frame to enhance strength and endurance. It even monitors metabolic function. The headgear has a threat identification system to increase situational awareness. That’s only a part of what it can do.”
Reid flipped to the second page of eight names. “What’s this?”
“Some