The Woman Left Behind Read online

  “I need coffee,” she mumbled. “Before anything else, I need coffee.” There had been coffee served on the plane, but the pick-me-up had already let her down.

  Seven masculine grins came her way. Then Levi slung his bag over his shoulder and said, “I’m heading over to check on things before I go home,” meaning he was going to headquarters to see if the analysts had come up with anything interesting on Graeme Burger, and strode away.

  Looking around for a coffee shop was more important than watching him walk away. Besides, Jina figured she’d see him walking away a lot in the future, so there was no point in letting herself yearn.

  “Yeah, let’s find some coffee,” Trapper said. She hadn’t meant for it to be a group thing, but somehow she found herself borne along anyway and that was okay because now she was a real part of the team. However they kicked back and rehashed things, she wanted to be included—though she wouldn’t have chosen a coffee shop in a busy airport, but what did she know? They were the experienced ones. She’d stay a short while, get enough caffeine in her to get safely home, then she’d take a much-needed nap before getting up, showering, and packing for her flight home that night. After two trans-Atlantic flights in about forty-eight hours, getting on a plane again so soon didn’t appeal at all, but going home did.

  They found a place and kind of took it over, dragging tables and chairs to their corner and ordering not just coffee but food, too. “Eat,” Boom advised, when she said she just wanted coffee. “You need the energy. Food will get you through.”

  So she ate, and he was right, she did feel better afterward. To her surprise they didn’t rehash; instead they unwound, talking sports and Thanksgiving. They did take a few shots at her for packing like an amateur, but she was one, so she shrugged it off.

  Then Jelly smiled the innocent smile that always meant he was up to something and said, “Hey, Babe, this is a landmark day for you.”

  Instantly wary, she drew back and scowled. “No, it isn’t.” She didn’t know what he was up to, but considering this was Jelly it couldn’t be anything good.

  “Sure it is,” Crutch put in. “You’ve finished your inaugural mission. Only happens once in a lifetime.”

  Uh-oh. Jelly and Crutch together was a disaster in the making. Whatever they’d concocted, Boom wasn’t in on it, because he was giving them a questioning look. Snake, Voodoo, and Trapper were harder to read, though she thought Voodoo had a slight smirk on his face. “The whole thing was boring,” she said, trying to head off whatever they had in mind. “Nothing worth celebrating.”

  “Boring is good,” Jelly said. “We all like boring. Go in, do the job, come home in time for Thanksgiving. Doesn’t get any better than that.”

  “Yeah, speaking of Thanksgiving, I need to go home so I can pack—”

  Crutch shook his head. “That isn’t what you need.”

  “Is to. I haven’t seen my mom in—”

  “What you need,” Jelly interrupted, “is a tattoo.” The last three words had a dramatic flourish.

  “As a commemoration,” Crutch added.

  Her mouth fell open and her eyes got huge. “No. I do not need a tattoo. Strictly speaking, no one needs a tattoo. I don’t like pain. I’m afraid of needles. A tattoo isn’t happening.” She’d have been less dismayed if they’d wanted to shave her head—she needed a haircut, and anyway hair grew back. A tattoo was permanent. A tattoo hurt. “Let’s just get me drunk again instead.”

  An unholy light had entered Trapper’s eyes, and he slowly wagged his head back and forth. “Getting drunk is nothing. Drunk goes away. You can’t look at it and remember the occasion.”

  “I don’t want to remember the occasion. I was bored. Who commemorates boredom?”

  “Your first mission,” Boom said in a wondering tone. “It’s something special.”

  Boom, too? Feeling betrayed, she glared at him. “I’m telling on you.”

  He tilted his head as though considering what Terisa might have to say, then shrugged. “There’s home, and then there’s team. You need a tattoo.”

  “Do you have a commemorative tattoo?” she shot back.

  They blew right past that; they all had various tattoos, which they began describing to her, but when she tried to pin them down on which ones had been “commemorative,” they ignored her. They were relentless. Before she knew it they were exiting the airport and she was being herded to Jelly’s truck despite her protestations that she had to get her car—“We’ll bring you back,” Snake promised, grinning. She was so telling on him, too.

  The only way to get out of being tattooed was to get nasty with them, and she wasn’t prepared to do that because they weren’t being malicious. This was being part of a rough-and-tumble team, and the way to handle it was to go along then get back at them later. “Three conditions!” she yelled. Some people making their way to their own cars stopped and looked her way, maybe thinking she was in trouble. Her guys stopped and waited, their expressions laughing and expectant.

  “One!” she said emphatically, holding up one finger.

  “One,” they echoed.

  “The tattoo artist has to be a woman.”

  They all looked at one another, shrugged.

  “Okay.”

  “No problem.”

  “Two!” She held up a second finger.

  “Two!” They bellowed the number.

  “I get to pick the design, with no input from any of you.”

  “Aw, Babe.”

  “Don’t you trust us?”

  “We want to be involved.”

  “You can be involved by listening to me scream,” she retorted. “This goes my way or it doesn’t go at all, and I’ll start screaming and fighting right here and your butts will all end up in jail, because who do you think the cops will listen to?”

  Voodoo scratched his jaw. “We could take the cops,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah, but the publicity would suck.” She had to stand her ground on this point in particular, or she could end up with something like a giant purple octopus inked across her back, with tentacles wrapping around her arms and legs. Trust them, she didn’t.

  “All right,” Snake said, looking disappointed. “You get to pick the design.”

  She moved on immediately after that concession, not giving them time to argue about it. “Three!” She held up three fingers.

  “Three!”

  “None of you get to watch.”

  “What!”

  “That takes all the fun out of it!”

  “How will we know you actually get one, then?” That was Voodoo, trying to throw a monkey wrench into the situation.

  “Trust, gentlemen. Trust.” She folded her arms. “Those are my conditions. Take ’em or leave ’em.”

  “Ah, hell.” Trapper looked aggrieved. “She called us gentlemen.”

  “And she used the T word.” Jelly heaved a disappointed sigh.

  “Y’all ate my tacos and my cake,” she pointed out.

  “All right, all right.” Amid much grumbling, they dispersed to their vehicles, though Jelly still insisted she ride with him. Evidently they didn’t trust her enough to let her drive on her own, and she couldn’t say they were wrong because she could see herself bolting.

  Evidently she was getting a tattoo.

  Fourteen

  Levi’s phone signaled an incoming text and he glanced at the screen. What he read had him swearing and turning the truck around, never mind that he was almost at team headquarters. What the fuck were they up to? “Taking Babe to get a tattoo” wasn’t something he wanted to read. For one, he was sure that if she wanted a tattoo, she’d already have gotten one. Two, she had looked completely wiped out, and in no shape to resist being swept along on a crazy idea. This had Jelly and Crutch written all over it, but it seemed as if all the others had joined in, even Boom, though Boom at least had the sense to let him know what was going on.

  If she wanted one, fine, that was her business. But knowing what he knew about th