No Time for Caution

by K. T. Samois

  Someone else underestimating me. Oh well. Shows what she knows. She’s never had to make Moira sit through a Good Friday mass without making a zombie Jesus joke.

  “Oh, no,” Ree says graciously. “Just good in a crisis.”

  Martinez snorts. “Evidently. What d’you do?”

  Do I lie? Can I tell the truth? Has Hardin — how much has Hardin revealed to this woman? Ree just hopes she doesn’t have first-hand experience. Cheeks stinging, she mutters the truth.

  “I told her I was his top.”

  There’s a moment of awful, sticky silence.

  “I—you—and she believed it?!”

  “Hey!”, Ree snaps. “That’s rude! I could be a top!”

  The look Martinez shoots her could curdle ketamine.

  “Cariño, you couldn’t top a blender if you tried. But... if she believed you, you can lie like a rug. That’s useful in the field.”

  “Martinez, the closest I intend on getting to the field is a pot of basil on my balcony. That’s — that’s Hardin’s thing. I’d just be collateral.”

  “Huh.” Whatever reserve had been there has dissipated. She almost sounds approving. “Well. At least you’re pragmatic. Most owners aren’t.”

  Sensible, pragmatic Ree. Sure. They’ll engrave that on my tombstone.

  She’s surprised by how much that thought has bothered her recently. Ever since meeting Hardin, she’s been chafing at her reins.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” Ree echoes. “But look — all things aside. I am really glad you could join us! It’ll be nice to have a woman on the team.”

  Martinez’ eyes narrow again. “And why’s that?”

  Ree can’t help it; she grins. “Bathroom buddies?”

  The woman snorts.

  “Pfft. You’re all right, Ms. A.”

  “Oh god. It’s Ree. Please.”

  “Yeah, all right. Ree.”

  “So...,” Ree says after a moment’s squirming silence.

  “Ummm... how long have you and Hardin... um...” Ree feels her stomach squelch uneasily. “Known each other?”

  Martinez’s expression is inscrutable.

  “About ten years, give or take.”

  Another silence that stretches on for a small eternity.

  “And never Biblically, if that’s what you’re asking,” she adds with a wry grin, finally putting Ree out of her misery.

  “I—” she starts, and then remembers she can’t lie for shit. “I might have been, yes, sorry.”

  Martinez snorts and meets her gaze frankly.

  “Don’t apologize. The Captain’s had his admirers.”

  Ree scowls down at the tube of lipstick in her hand; Chanel red — a hopeful little splurge. Now she wants to smear it all over Hardin like a tattoo and mark her territory.

  “Yeah, jeez. You’re telling me.”

  “I am telling you, Ree,” Martinez says, voice tombstone-hard. “You keep an eye out. Captain’s made lots of friends, but that means he’s made enemies, too. You don’t want to meet them.”

  Ree is sick and tired of being underestimated and dismissed. She snaps her spine straight, reminds herself she’s Hardin’s business partner, and the love of his life, even if he still seems to choke on that particular four-letter word.

  “Yeah?” Ree says, and her voice is as resolute as a granite wall and as implacable. “Well. They haven’t met me yet, either.”

  If her own mouth hadn’t moved, Ree wouldn’t have believed her own audacity. But the words hang in the air, and Ree doesn’t regret a single one.

  “Ha! Shit, all right, Ree. Naw; you don’t have to worry about me and the Captain. He’s not my type.” Her tone’s much more conversational now; Ree responds in kind with a slight thaw.

  “No? What is?”

  “Women.” Martinez says with a wry grin, and Ree can’t help it. She chuckles. Point to the sniper, and Ree inclines her head in the mirror. Martinez grins back.

  “Oh! Okay, yeah, fair! Sorry — I was a bit intense there...”

  “Don’t worry about it. Gotta respect a fighter. I wouldn’t let someone hit on my lady either. But you don’t have to worry about that with me. I’m just one of the crew, you know? And anyway, once you’ve seen someone shit in a sandbank, the romance is over.”

  Ree supposes it would be, but she really hopes to never find out.

  “Ew, Martinez!”

  “See? Must be love.”

  “Oh, shit, is it that obvious?” Ree blurts it out before she can snap her mouth shut.

  “You should see the way you look at each other. Shit’s so sweet, I got diabetes just from sitting across the table. What’s your blood sugar level?”

  “Probably maple syrup.”

  “My kid loves that shit. She’d drink it by the gallon if she could.”

  “I bet she was just the sweetest baby,” Ree says, earning herself a wry chuckle from her mercenary.

  “Sure. And the stickiest, too.” She’s got one hand on the door handle now, business clearly completed. “Ms A.?”

  Ree looks up, and Martinez nods.

  “Don’t get jaded too fast, ey? It’d be a shame.”

  And then she’s gone, and the marble-lined room is deafeningly quiet.

  ***

  “So when’s launch date?” Shard asks as soon as Ree’s settled back into her seat. Hardin’s arm draped over her shoulder is a comforting weight, and she leans against it.

  “Next Saturday,” she tells her demolitions expert. “I’ll be emailing you instructions and a meeting point. Get ready for an early flight.”

  Someone whines. It might be Hardin. Ree keeps her voice brisk. “No complaints; I’ll provide coffee and breakfast.”

  “Appealing to gluttony.” Rozier murmurs appreciatively. “You are a natural.”

  “That’s me!” Ree says. “An actual glutton. And like, not to be a cliche, but… Hardin, may I try one?”

  One is a dessert of fine chocolate eggs filled with ganache, served in a spun brown-sugar floss nest. It’s visually stunning, but there’s only three eggs in the nest. Hardin looks down and then scoops one up with the little silver spoon provided. When he offers it to her, she steadies his wrist with her hand while she takes the little chocolate egg, so she doesn’t end up dropping the thing and ruining his generosity and the chef’s creativity. It only takes a second, and it’s nothing she hasn’t done with Hardin a million times before.

  There’s a dead quiet at the table. She feels like she’s just done something absolutely shocking, but doesn’t know what.

  “So,” Shard says, clearing his throat. “Martinez. About that local sports team-”

  “Oh fuck you, Shard,” says the die-hard Mets fan, and Ree can feel herself breathe again.

  ***

  She locks the door and relishes the snap of it closing behind her. After an evening of new friends, she’s happy to have Hardin to herself again.

  “I think they’re great, Hardin,” Riona says, as she steps out of her stilettos in the entryway and tucks them neatly away in the closet with military precision. It would appear Hardin’s rubbing off on her.

  Ooh! There’s a thought...

  She’s so distracted by the thought of Hardin, muscles taut as he works himself to finish at the thought of her, that she nearly smacks her nose off his back when he abruptly pauses.

  “You think so?” Hardin asks, and she can’t believe how hesitant he sounds.

  “I do,” Ree says. “I think they’re lovely.”

  Hardin stares.

  “That is not the word I’d use, Riona,” he says, and Ree purses her lips to hide her grin. She loves the way dry amusement sounds in his voice.

  “... okay,” she concedes, “that might have been overselling it a bit. Roz is quirky; I like him.”

  “Now that is the word I would use for him. But for whatever it’s worth, he does like you a great deal.”

  “I’m glad! I like him. And Martinez is...”

  Ree chews on that f
or a moment. She’s clearly trying to encompass the exceptionally intense OpSpec.

  “She’s a very good mom.” Ree settles on that because it’s what’s what she remembers most. That, and that she looks like she could kill Ree four or five different ways without breaking a sweat.

  “You two disappeared for a while.”

  “We had some HR requirements to settle. Next of kin, you know.”

  She regrets the words the second they’re out of her mouth, because as he told her in their single ugly fight in an ugly single-room apartment, no — he wouldn’t know, but something miraculous happens.

  “I do,” he says, as though he can barely believe it himself. Ree’s heart trips over itself.

  Him, Ree’s decides, with all the finality of a cosmic collision. I won’t have anyone but him.

  Chapter Eleven

  There’s an astringency to the air in an airport. It’s an awful mix of stale air and industrial-strength cleaner, but it’s less noticeable in the storeroom. At least in here, everything smells like coffee-beans.

  Her phone buzzes.

  Hardin 04:30

  Here.

  She grabs her leather folio from her backpack and heads out to face the real world. She’s glad that the first person she sees is Hardin.

  “Hi Captain!” She chirps, thrilled to see him with the team already seated. “Miss you already.”

  It’s only been a few hours, but it’s true, and she can see his jaw grit on a smile.

  “And hi to the rest of you all! Good morning!”

  They’re all dressed in street clothes, and as they blink at her blearily, she wouldn’t be able to pick them out of the crowd. They’re professionals.

  “Speak for yourself,” Martinez says in a grim voice. She has her sunglasses on and looks grey with pallor. “It’s still my last night.”

  “Not a morning person?”

  “Not if I can help it. I haven’t slept in since before I was a parent.” For a moment, she sounds wistful, like she’s reminiscing about an old friend. “And for the record? There’s ‘an early flight,’ and then there’s this bullshit. Tell me you have coffee.”

  Ree looks down at her green apron, and then at the coffee machines polished to a high sheen. “Uh, I think we can figure something out. Do you have a poison of choice I could get started for you-”

  “Riona.”

  Hardin cuts through her nervous babble like a knife. She can feel her cheeks itch with embarrassment. Really, Ree? You take her order first?

  “Oh! Black coffee, scalding hot. I’ll be right on it, sir.”

  Hardin’s gloved hand rests on her wrist before she can whirl into motion. It anchors her in place like gravity. “No. Sit down for a moment, Riona.”

  “But-”

  “Wrong hat,” he whispers, and Ree stops. Right. They work for you, Ree.

  “Thank you, Hardin,” she says in an undertone, and his thumb strokes along her wrist once.

  “My pleasure.”

  Ree wishes they were alone so she could show him just what she thinks of his pleasure. Later, she promises herself. When he comes home. We’ll have all the time in the world then.

  “Right,” Ree says, pulling herself into a business state of mind, because it’s loads better than having to explain just why she’s gone bright red.

  “So a few points of note-”

  “These smell like coffee-” Martinez interrupts. Ree stares.

  “Is that going to be a problem?”

  “I prefer decaf,” Shard says, speaking for the first time all morning. He’s also behind his sunglasses.

  “I’ll remember that for next time, Shard,” Ree promises, voice dry. “As I was saying, we’re babysitting a few shipping containers full of medical supplies, and its bureaucratic attaché.”

  “Anything chemical?” Roz asks, fingers steepled. Ree knows he’s listening to every word and taking mental notes. She nods.

  “Oodles of pharmaceuticals, yeah. Everybody’s favourites, so expect curious neighbours asking to borrow sugar. This is a non-lethal mission. I repeat: non-lethal.”

  Shard looks a bit mutinous, so Ree blisters his commanding officer with a glare to reiterate her point.

  “Captain, I’m serious. Kindly don’t jack our insurance prices up. Gentlemen, Martinez, note that we are going to have eyes everywhere, and nobody there will have your best interests at heart. I know you’re all old hat at this, but the guy handling this file is a creep of the worst calibre. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t give him a reason to fly up here from DC and drool down my cleavage again.”

  Remembering how that suit had leered at Riona, Hardin’s eyes go cold as a guillotine. “Consider that an order. If anyone draws eyes, I will leave you on-island.”

  Shard grins, all teeth. “That’s fair, sir.”

  Ree smiles up at the bigger guy and gets a bull shark grin back. “Okay. Does anyone have questions?”

  “Yes — what are we looking at in terms of expenses or per diem? And do we expect competition?”

  “Nobody’s advised me of rival teams in the area — but that only makes it more likely that they’re out there. I’d keep my head on a swivel. Per diem are in the envelopes here. Anything discretionary is out of pocket; items for the team go through Theo if sub-500USD. Anything greater than that, or mission critical, goes through the Captain.”

  My Captain, the possessive chunk of her brain gloats.

  “Right. Your flight out is at… shit, soon. I wish I was going with you guys.” Ree says, confessional quiet. Hardin takes her breath away by pressing the knuckles of her hand to his lips in full view of his colleagues.

  “One day, we’ll travel.” He promises, and she nods.

  “Holding you to that.”

  “ATTENTION ALL PASSENGERS. NOW BOARDING FOR VOLTUR AIR FLIGHT 996 TO PORT-AU-PRINCE AT GATE C9.”

  “All right”, Hardin murmurs, and Ree gives his hand a little squeeze.

  “We’d better get to the gate. We don’t want to miss the flight.”

  There’s a moment where Hardin almost goes to walk away without giving her a kiss farewell. Muscle memory has already sunk in, but Ree’s mischievous enough to have a bit of fun. She reaches out, snagging his fingers with hers and reeling him back in.

  Her hands cup his cheeks for a kiss, and she can feel his hands come around her waist and grip.

  “Come home soon. Be safe.” Ree orders him.

  “I will,” he says, and then he and his squad melt into the blur of travellers.

  ***

  Ree crawls into Hardin’s car at the end of a long shift, dog-tired and aching. The mission has been a time-sink; it’s taken up the entire week, and sleep feels like a distant memory. It doesn’t matter. She’ll keep going.

  Tough and competent, she reminds herself, gritting her teeth. She’s careful not to jam the key into the ignition, no matter how frustrated she might be. This car is Hardin’s pride and joy, and he treats it like a pet. She’s not about to do otherwise.

  Ree’s a city girl, born and bred, but she’s always loved driving. There’s something about the freedom of it, and the thrill of the engine revving. Evie had taught her to drive stick, and while Ree doesn’t like to lean on her elder sister’s generosity, she will occasionally ask to borrow a roadster. She’s always wanted one of her own.

  If this goes well, maybe I will.

  Until then, she’ll just be careful with Hardin’s. She swaddles Hardin’s Jaguar into its dust-cover for the evening and gives the car a fond pat on the hood as she goes. There’s a clatter up by the elevator, and as Ree makes her way over, she can see a few workmen pissing and moaning about some delivery or other.

  “I’ve got it,” Ree tells the movers as they shove into the freight elevator. The door dings against her outstretched palm and retracts a few times. She steps in last and hits her floor. “What floor?”

  “Penthouse,” one man says, and there’s a little leer in his voice.

  You don’t live the
re; she wants to remind him, but bites her tongue. After all, neither does she. Her building isn’t opulent, the way Evelyn’s is, but it’s nice enough that the penthouse levels are luxurious. The white-glove service isn’t surprising, even if she can’t afford it herself.

  “Must be nice,” she says, more for want of conversation than anything. She’d called her sisters to help her move in, and Ro had been insufferable about it for days.

  “Good luck,” she says, when her floor dings. The men try to catch one last peek, but she sidles around the corner like a skittish bodega cat faster than they can follow. She’s glad to be rid of Flotsam and Jetsam over there, with their too-wide smiles and too-interested eyes.

  And Hardin, half a world away, doing something useful. She wishes she was there helping. Ree knows that what she’s contributed has helped, but it feels so academic. Her team is in the field, and she —

  She wishes Hardin were back already, and her eyes prickle with frustrated tears.

  ***

  It’s a pleasant street in Port-au-Prince, but it’s still evening, and he isn’t a man to take risks. He doesn’t make a habit of doing house-calls, but Emmanuel is an old acquaintance with a useful skill.

  “Come in, my friend, allez, come in.” the raw-boned man says when he greets Hardin at the door. His teeth are white and straight as military tombstones, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

  He’s afraid of Hardin. He should be.

  Emmanuel owes Hardin any number of unspecified future favours, and Hardin’s here to collect on at least a few. The man tries not to quake, and to his credit, he is a passable host. A gracious guest, Hardin brings a case of duty-free cigarettes and gets cane rum in return; the shit’s alcoholic enough to disinfect surgery tools, but he’ll never turn down bathtub liquor. Pleasantries conducted and nerves slightly fortified, the two men settle down to business.

  “I’m here for the diamonds, Emmanuel. As I mentioned, I am pressed for time.”

  His companion swallows. “They are ready, Captain. To specification. She is a lucky woman, and you, a fortunate man.”