The Last Odyssey (Sigma Force #15) - James Rollins Page 0,31

duty next month, after Jack’s six-month birthday party, which apparently was something that needed to be done.

Gray slid to the floor until his knees pressed against hers. He took little Jack, sniffed his Pampers, and from the odiferous emanation, decided this walking lesson was over. But a diaper change could wait a few moments. He scooped Jack under one arm and shifted next to Seichan. They settled together against the chair behind them. Jack fussed in his arms, but he kissed that mop of dark hair, which got the boy to settle—at least for the moment.

Seichan stretched her legs and leaned against him. He pulled her closer with his free arm, where she snuggled against him. She wore a pair of black yoga pants and a matching bikini-strap top. Her long mane was tied in a ponytail that draped to her midback. He smelled the musky scent of her skin. She and Kat had gone to an early yoga class. Not that Seichan needed the stretching and breathing exercises. The determined woman had shed her baby fat in six weeks, returning to her sculpted fighting form.

Gray looked down at his own belly, which had filled out a little.

I should’ve followed her example.

Still, considering their months of sleep deprivation and Jack’s unpredictable schedule, Gray cut himself some slack. Kat’s husband, Monk, had been inviting him to play basketball or to spot him at the gym, but Gray had mostly declined, enjoying this period of domesticity. Plus, he always felt a twinge of guilt leaving Seichan alone with Jack. He wanted to pull his weight as best he could.

Maybe I’m trying to prove something as much as Seichan.

Over the past six months, Kat and Monk had come over often with their rambunctious girls, Harriet and Penny. While they never stated it openly, Gray suspected the visits were to make sure Gray and Seichan did not become too isolated, as could often happen with first-time parents, whose lives end up revolving around the baby, leaving time for little else. Perhaps Monk and Kat were also demonstrating by example how to balance married life, parenthood, and a demanding job. The pair certainly kept them abreast of events at Sigma command, almost as if to entice them to return early.

The satellite phone Gray had left on the end table chimed.

He groaned, not wanting to get it. But Jack, half-drowsing, heard it too and began to sniffle his way toward a full wail. He passed the baby to Seichan.

“Needs a diaper change,” he said.

“Not so fast. When you start breastfeeding, we’ll talk about excusing you from diaper duty.”

He grinned and rolled to the phone. “Fine. It’s probably Monk seeing if I want to join him for a game of pickup at the park.”

“You should go.” She eyed his midsection. “Really.”

He rolled his eyes and picked up the satellite phone. He answered it and was surprised to hear Captain Kathryn Bryant’s voice.

“Kat, do you want to speak to Seichan?”

“No, I’m calling you on behalf of the director. I know you’re still on leave, but we’re monitoring a situation over here. And someone involved has asked specifically for you.”

He felt a familiar fire stoke in his blood. “Who?”

“It’s a long story. We’ll fill you in when you get here.”

He covered the phone and turned to Seichan. “Something’s up over at Sigma. They want me over there.”

“Really?” The gold flecks shone brighter in her green eyes, plainly intrigued, maybe envious. Still, she waved him off. “Go. Get out of here.”

He lifted the phone, but Seichan raised a hand.

“After you change Jack’s diaper.”

He smiled.

Definitely a tiger mom . . .

10:02 A.M.

Washington, D.C.

“Welcome back to the lion’s den,” Painter Crowe said.

Gray stepped into the director’s office. Nothing had changed over the past five months. The windowless room was spartan. The only pieces of furniture were a couple of chairs and a wide mahogany desk in the center of the room; the only decoration was a Remington bronze seated on a pedestal in the corner. It featured an exhausted Native American warrior slumped atop a horse, a reminder of the director’s heritage and a testament to the cost of battle for any soldier.

Painter stood before a trio of flat-screen monitors that glowed on three of the walls. The director had shed a navy suit jacket, which now hung over the back of his chair. The sleeves of his starched white shirt were rolled to his elbows, a sign that he’d likely been up for hours if not all night. The entire command