Sage instantly decided that the webs wouldn’t do. She’d declared a family barbecue was in order, and it was happening tonight. Garrett, still giddy, had grinned and agreed—until his fiancée hooked arms with Aunt Josie and started making lists for their food-shopping trip. That was when the ten years slammed back in again, along with the shit that made those one hundred twenty months feel like twice that much. The memory of King’s shrewd leer at Sea-Tac. The regular updates from Zeke, confirming that the girls remained a hot ticket on every bounty hunter’s list, despite King’s solitary confinement status at FDC. And damn it, that too-close-for-comfort house call made at the base this morning by King’s minions.

Garrett snatched the list from Sage inside of five seconds. When she gave him a glare poured of solid sass, he’d been ready with arched brows, along with the command that he and Wyatt would do the shopping. She’d nicked the list back, declaring that her house arrest didn’t have jurisdiction over a food run chaperoned by his own aunt—and further, how their dinner had to be something more than cold cereal, frozen pizza, and peanut butter sandwiches. He’d been busy trying not to be an overprotective asshole to formulate a decent zinger.

So here he was, faking his way through the guy-bonding commercial, trying to numb his anxiety with the beer in his hand while pondering Wyatt’s purpose here. He didn’t buy the excuse Josie had spouted—that they’d seen the news coverage about Sage’s miracle rescue and couldn’t sit still about it—but the conversation wasn’t exactly lending itself to the Wyatt and Garrett Open ‘n’ Honest Hour. So far, they’d talked sports, smartphones, and the newest Michael Bay movie, executing a perfect waltz around their emotional bear trap. Now, the safe subjects were thinning out, and the silences stretching longer.

And the man who sat four feet from him seemed a more distant stranger than ever before.

Maybe, he mused, it was time to kick their conversation inside. The numbing savior of ESPN was just a dozen steps away.

His cell danced across the redwood table with an incoming call. The peppy dance song blaring from the device told him it was Sage. As he reached for the phone, Wyatt flashed him a sympathetic smirk. Seemed Josie programmed her own ring tone into his cell too.

“Hey, sugar.”

She stopped herself in the middle of a laugh. A smile tugged at his lips despite the status of his nerves. Letting her out of his sight might be playing havoc with his stress levels, but it was damn good to hear real joy in her voice again.

“Hi there, Sir Hero!”

He chuckled. “Right.”

“It’s true. You are my hero.” She let out a long sigh. “You always will be.”

His laughter slipped. The second sense he’d been honing on Wyatt launched a redirect at her—more specifically, her mushy words and slurred pronunciation. “Sage, are you a little juiced?”

A spluttering giggle came through the line. “Maybe. Just a little.”

“At the base commissary?”

“Ummm…maybe we’re not at the commissary anymore.”

“What?” It shot out of him like a twenty-five-millimeter bullet. “Sage, I told you this trip was fine as long as you and Josie went to the commissary.” After the incident with King’s goons this morning, both Ethan and Zeke had confirmed the base was beefing up security patrols, credential checks, and license plate scans. Adding all that up, he’d finally relented to Sage’s enthusiasm, figuring an hour’s trip to the commissary would be the safest solo trip she could make. Now, she’d just tossed safe to the roadside. Damn it!

“Don’t yell at me,” she blurted back.

“I’m not—” He lurched to his feet, trying to get in a deep breath. “I’m not yelling. So where are you?”

“The seafood at the commissary sucked,” she babbled on. “I should’ve known. They never have good prawns. God, I can’t wait to have these prawns tonight, baby. They’re huge! Really amazing! Wait’ll you see—”

“Sage. Where. Are. You?”

“The Market, silly. Where else would we get great prawns?”

“The Market.” He muttered it as his chilly unease turned into the ice of dread. “Pike Place Market?”

“Now you’re yelling.”

“Damn straight! I told you to go to the base, only the base, and now you’re downtown, shopping with half the goddamn world?”

Her answering laugh dug into him like razor blades. “Yeah. I’ve been naughty. You’ll probably have to spank me.”

“Not. Funny.”

“Well, Josie thought it was. So did Rayna.” There was scraping on the line, as if she turned her head. “Didn’t you, Ray?”

He sank back into his chair, frowning in confusion. “Rayna? She’s there too?”

“Yeah! Isn’t that great? We just bumped into them! They’re gonna come for dinner too, okay?”

“Them?” The air slowly returned to his lungs. That didn’t mean it still wasn’t painful to breathe, but the extra oxygen to his head helped with clarity. “Who’s with her?”

He prayed for one specific word in answer. At last, God heard him.

“Zeke.”

“Thank fuck.” He pinched his nose. “Baby, let me talk to him.”

More rasps grated in his ear. Then the throb of heavy wind. At last, a heavy grunt he’d never been happier to hear. “Yo, Hawk.”

“Christ,” he muttered. “I ordered her to hit the commissary and then get her ass straight home.”

“I see how that worked out.”

The implication in Z’s voice was plain as a fly on a trap strip. “Look, after this morning, she started calling me the prison warden. There isn’t a Broadway cast of brothers around to help me with this shit, either.”

“I feel you,” Z replied. “But it’s all good, okay? Fortune owed us one and decided to pay up. There’s a Seattle PD officer nearby, and I’ve filled him in on King’s witch hunt for the girls. He’s adding his eyeballs to the cause. It’s handled.”

Garrett snorted, his shorthand version of a thank-you. “So why are you two there?”

His friend let out a low grouse. “Rayna started calling me the warden too.”

He couldn’t help a sharp laugh. No wonder Z was being Mr. Understanding about his frustration. “And the story on the tipsy status?” Another jolt of alarm hit him. “Hell. If Sage drove there from the base in that condition—”

“Relax, man. There’s a bunch of Yakima Valley wineries here having a tasting thing in the restaurants. Your Aunt Josie has grabbed Sage’s keys already. She can follow me back to your place. It seems we’ve been invited to dinner.”

“Seems so.”

“We’ll be buggin’ soon, Hawk. I promise.”

“Thanks, Z.”

“Peace out.”

He settled the phone back on the table and released a weighted whoosh. Though he’d been aware of Wyatt’s watchful silence through the whole conversation, Garrett’s brain officially jumped back into the symbolic petri dish. He had a couple of choices now. Try to hide the relief on his face, or simply wait for the question he was certain Master Sergeant Wyatt Hawkins was about to lob his way.

“The troops aren’t cooperating today, eh?”

There was enough of Wyatt’s old bravado in that to make Garrett smile. “You could say that.”

His uncle stared over the water again, rubbing a finger across his lip. Added to his beard and the sunglasses he wore, the motion made it impossible for Garrett to read what he was thinking. It was likely by design.

“And how’s Zeke? Still getting you into some crazy-ass Charlie-Foxtrot missions?”

“Well, he’s still crazy.” Garrett tossed back some more beer. “And he’s still an ass sometimes. But as you know, I get hard for the clusterfucks.”

“Yeah.” Wyatt’s murmur was low and tight. “So did I.”

Garrett didn’t say anything. Words would have diluted what his silence said louder and better. That he understood. That his addiction for the tough missions, the batshit bullet fights, and the tore-up-from-the-floor-up adventures had been prewritten into his blood from the first battle story Wyatt had ever told him—and that he wouldn’t have changed a damn thing about it, either. Like he could have.

As if Wyatt read that exact thought, he cocked his head toward Garrett. “Guess everyone in Adel was right when they called us two of a kind.”

The reaction for that didn’t come so easy. There was a time when the words would’ve had Garrett beaming. That time was long ago—and seemed even more distant after this last year. After this last month.

“I guess so.” He hated himself for sounding as thrilled as a grounded teenager. But faking the happy-happy-joy-joy with Wyatt was like trying the effort with Zeke. That was what sucked about hanging out with guys who’d been trained to spot a lie on your face more clear than a wart.

“Yeah,” Wyatt muttered. “Just as I thought.”

Garrett glowered. “Just as you thought what?”

“You really are my goddamn Mini-Me.”

“All right,” Garrett snapped. “Now that we’ve established the obvious, what’s your point?” He grabbed his empty beer bottle by its neck and flung it into the trash can next to the barbecue. Glass shattered in the can with satisfying violence as he uncapped his second brew. “For that matter, why have you two even come here, Wyatt? I’m not buying the excuse that you and Josie volunteered to be Sage’s welcome wagon back to life on behalf of the family.”

His uncle leaned back again. Every inch of the move was a slide of smooth, careful assessment, acting like a Bowie knife to Garrett’s gut. I’m not some interrogation subject. I’m the guy who grew up worshipping you, damn it, and now you won’t even take off your sunglasses to meet my eyes.

Still, like an imbecile himself, he waited and hoped that this time would be different. That maybe—