the thousandth time since they’d left. “There’s enough bad shit happening here at home. This past day is Exhibit A. I want to help clean up this kind of mess. So yeah, I got my eye on the FBI. It’s part of my seven-year plan.”
Seven years...? Jesus, Rio had no clue what he was doing next Tuesday. Other than go wherever the hell SEAL Team Ten was being sent.
“Don’t you have to be, like, a lawyer or an accountant or...?” Rio asked.
“It helps, but they like STEM degrees, too. Plus fluency in languages.” That was one of Dave’s superpowers. “The list is pretty long.” He sifted through his bag for his water bottle, took a long sip. “You thinking CIA?”
Rio shook his head. “Noooo.” He drew the word out.
“Private sector, then.”
“I’m not really thinking anything,” Rio admitted. “I guess I just figure I’ll be a SEAL until I die.”
“Drinking from which fountain of youth?” Dave asked. “Share your source, because I want some, too. Unless...” He gasped. “You’re gonna go full-career and become an admiral, like Francisco. Ooooh! You’re secretly planning to go to OCS, aren’t you? I knew it!”
Rio shot him a WTF look. “Jesus, God, no, I’m definitely not. In fact, that’s the dead last place I’d ever secretly plan to go, thanks so much.”
Officer Candidate School. God damn. He’d barely survived community college, only pushing through because he knew that without that basic undergrad degree, his chances of getting into the BUD/S program were slim-to-none.
OCS, his shiny ass. The big prize upon enduring that hellscape was to emerge as a newly minted officer, with endless paperwork and report-writing bullshittery clogging up his pathetically desk-driven day.
“You’ll be a great admiral,” Dave insisted.
Rio scoffed. “Yeah, right.”
“I’m serious. Why stop there? You stay in long enough, you could be the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Admiral Rio Rosetti is in the house!” He grinned at Rio. “The White House.”
Rio rolled his eyes and loudly changed the subject. “ETA to Queen Wila’s little ski lodge?”
“Thirty-nine hours, assuming that the roads remain clear, Admiral Rosetti, sir.”
Rio shook his head. “Dave, knock it off, you’re wearing me out.” But then he realized, as his teammate checked yet again for new messages, that having a conversation wouldn’t just help him stay awake while he was driving—it would help Dave out a little, too. “So, are you secretly planning to go to OCS? I wanna hear more about this seven-year plan...”
“Should we be worried?” Tasha broke the silence to ask.
They’d been hiking for hours. They’d long since crested the mountain, and were heading back down the other side, which was a different kind of hard from hiking up a trail. The muscles in the backs of her legs were screaming, and she had a ginormous blister on her foot.
She wouldn’t dare complain—Thomas was doing this without proper footwear—although, damn, she was hungry, thirsty, and a freakish mix of both sweaty and cold.
As he glanced over, she saw him weighing his words before answering her, and she braced herself for some attempt at humor or distraction. About climate change? Absolutely.
Instead, he said, “I am a little worried, yeah. I’d expected Uncle Navy’s rescue team to be here by now.”
“So... we’re heading to the ski lodge, then.” She guessed correctly, because he nodded. “Will we make it before nightfall?”
“If we can keep up this pace,” Thomas said, “we should arrive just in time for the Queen’s Tea.”
“You’ve done your homework on Ustanzia,” Tash said.
“Type Queen Wila into Google, and one of the first things that comes up is Queen Wila’s Tea. She’s unflinchingly consistent in her need for afternoon caffeine.”
“It’s not the caffeine,” Tasha told him. “Ted says she drinks chamomile. Or sometimes just hot water with lemon. You know, Tea is strictly immediate-family-only, no exceptions. I hope they don’t make us wait outside.”
“If they do, you may want to rethink this whole Ted thing,” he said.
Believe me, I already am. She didn’t say it aloud, but God, she was thinking it so hard it was echoing inside of her head. Of course, his idea of the Ted thing was vastly different from the reality.
She also didn’t say, So. Teenaged fantasy unlocked—we finally slept together. Although last night had been a thirteen-year-old’s-fantasy of sleeping together rather than the racier eighteen-year-old version. Thomas’s touch had been about as impersonal as he could manage. His goal had clearly been to keep her warm, period.
But oh, a woman could dream.
After he’d carefully arranged himself around her, then covered