2. Zach

TWO

Zach

The next time I saw Kai, a year had passed, and we were working with the 427 for only the second time in my career as backup to a situation that was more emergency retrieval and less planned extraction. I hoped Kai would be around, but dealing with a 427 crew didn't mean Kai would be there.

So, a big part of me was elated to see him in the hangar. With his dark tousled hair and piercing blue eyes, Kai was a study in contrasts. A head shorter than me, he was all quiet strength that belied his compact frame, every muscle defined beneath his flight gear. Although we were at opposite ends of the hangar, I stared and waited for him to notice me, but why would he? He'd been unconscious most of the journey to base, apart from waxing lyrical about my hair and eyes .

Oz elbowed me. "Hey, isn't that the 427 flyer we… y'know?"

"Yeah."

"Brave kid," he muttered, although Henderson wasn't a kid. Yeah, he had to be at least ten years younger than me, but that was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"Yeah," I said, just for something to say.

"Didn't he hold your hand the whole way back to base?" Oz deadpanned and elbowed me again. "All doe-eyed and thankful."

"I don't remember," I lied.

"Liar. Anyway, I'd tap that," Oz whispered.

"No, you wouldn't."

"If he had boobs then," Oz joked.

I rolled my eyes at him. He was always trying to get me to hook up with someone, but I didn't shit where I ate, and a hookup was off-limits.

"Oz, Red? Something to add?" McKenzie asked.

I schooled my expression. "No, sir," I said, at the same time as Oz.

We were working with 427 on this extraction because we'd been on active training maneuvers nearby. A family was lost in the frigid North Atlantic off the coast of Newfoundland. Kidnapped. We were the extraction/rescue team, with 427 helicopter guys acting as transport and overwatch. As SEALs, we rarely worked that closely with the Canadian Air Force, but this mission involved rescuing a Canadian family.

We were in the wrong place at the right time.

Story of our lives.

And there was Henderson, all sexy and focused. I wondered if he still thought I had pretty eyes.

"… get over there to lock mission parameters in," McKenzie ended his briefing, and I reacted on instinct with a, "yes, sir," along with the rest of the team. Across the hangar from us, the flyboys from 427 were on the receiving end of a speech being delivered with loud, barked commands from some LT who'd decided they needed reprimanding over something. I had to wonder what Henderson had done now.

Of course, I knew he'd survived, and I even knew he was back on active duty, but my brief foray into collecting intel didn't tell me anything more. I hadn't gotten close enough to him yet, wondered if he was nursing residual pain from the bullet that tore into his shoulder, whether his blue eyes would be clear of exhaustion, but I could hear his voice, becoming strident as the minutes ticked on.

The guy in charge of the 427 side of this rescue, a blustering, self-important flight lieutenant, had his arms crossed over his chest. He was flexing his muscles and getting off on being in control of his team, barking at Kai and two others ranged in front of him.

Mostly at Kai, who wasn't backing down .

Rank and respect are everything to a good warrior—McKenzie was a hardass boss of our SEAL team, but he deserved the respect he received. This LT with his snarl and the way he stared down at his pilots, was some way into abuse of power territory, all shouting and disparaging.

"Grandstanding fucker," Oz muttered next to me.

He had a point—this could all be a show. The 427 LT might posture and act the big I-am in front of the visiting SEAL team, but in doing so, he was making himself look like a fucking idiot.

The three-person crew—two men, one woman—stood before him. Kai I recognized, but the other two weren't the personnel we'd rescued. As we moved closer, the LT shot us a glance, but gave no sign he would be stopping. At least this close I could see Henderson clean-shaven, tidy, without the grime and torture that had marked his skin, and I was stunned at how beautiful he was.

Pretty.

Masculine, sexy, aggressive.

His dark hair was short but wavy, bordering on messy. He was slim, filling out his flight gear in all the right ways, and right now this snarling man was in front of the other two, was the target for the abuse his LT was dishing out and confronting it head-on. When the LT stepped forward, Henderson shifted to shield the rest of the team, the same as he'd done in a war zone, his shoulders back, hands clenched into fists. Protective. Defensive. Alert.

Interesting.

Hell of a lot of sexy intrigue in that small package.

"Heads up," McKenzie warned under his breath as we drew close enough to find out what was going on.

Henderson, still getting his ass handed to him, was shouting at his superior. "Lieutenant, please?—"

"That's enough," the LT ordered, and glanced at our boss with a roll of his eyes. Yep, this was proper alpha shit. What the LT didn't know was that our Lieutenant Commander had more alpha in his little finger than this LT had in his entire body.

But no, Henderson wasn't being cut off. "With respect, sir," he began with no respect at all. "Your flight plan will compromise getting the extraction team on target." Oh, wait, this shit going down was about us and this mission? "Lower altitudes enable us to react to?—"

"You've said your piece," the LT snapped, "and you have your orders."

There was silence, but I knew it wouldn't last—Henderson was fighting for his crew, as he'd done when he'd faced down a group of insurgents with limited ammo.

Was it wrong I was turned-on?