Crap—forgot to shave again. I scratched my stubbled jaw and blinked at the rest of my team as I took my seat at the table for our weekly catch-up meeting in the war room. Those fuckers all seemed way too alert for a Monday morning, if you asked me.

"Here, you look like you need this more than I do." Ezra pushed the coffee carafe at me. "You need to get some caffeine in, so you can tell us about your wild weekend. There's got to be a good story to match those bags under your eyes," he teased.

"Sure, man. I'll tell you all about it. But first, remind me how you pronounce your mom's name? I'm not sure I got it right last night," I retorted as I filled my cup before pushing the carafe back to Ezra.

Zeke glowered at me from across the table, while Ezra merely flipped me off. Noah came walking in just then and set a plate of coffee cake in the center of the table next to the fresh batch of almond biscotti that Boomer had already brought in. Noah clapped a hand on my shoulder and shook his head.

"Dude. Seriously? You're gonna start with that kind of shit before the boys have even had their coffee? You're a braver man than I am." He grinned as he took his seat. “I mean, you know how much these guys like to tease their prey.”

Ezra groaned. "Noah, come on. Coffee cake? Are you kidding me right now? The rest of us are gonna get as fat as you if we don't get a new mission soon. Especially if you don't quit bringing in your mother-in-law's baked goods every time we turn around." He’d already forgotten my slur about his mom as he began whining about the delicious food that had been showing up more often lately. "Boomer already brought in his mom's biscotti. I swear, these meetings are turning into fucking pastry parties."

Zeke had already helped himself to a piece of coffee cake and had a big bite halfway to his mouth as he shot his brother a look. "Speak for yourself, asshat. I'll take mom-made pastries any day of the week–especially if they were made by someone's mom who can actually bake. Besides, if you're worried about getting fat, you should just get into the gym more."

I ignored the cake and discreetly took a couple of pieces of biscotti. I wrapped one in a napkin and shoved it into my pocket for later, then started dunking the other one in my coffee. The coffee was going down nicely, and I was finally starting to wake up. I hadn't been out at all, to be honest. I just hadn't been sleeping well lately. I'd been having this strange foreboding feeling in the pit of my stomach, like something was about to change in my life, but I had no idea what the hell it was. I looked over at the twins and winked.

"It's all about self-control, boys. But if you want to watch your girlish figures, maybe go for the biscotti," I suggested with a smirk while I was lifting my coffee-soaked biscotti up to my lips for a bite. Crunch.

"Fuck, there ain't nothing better than one of Mama Chiarelli's biscotti, anyway. No offense to Cindy, of course," I amended quickly, nodding to Noah.

Boomer grinned. "Don't worry about Noah’s precious little feelings; we all know that my mama makes the best food—she's been feeding us all for years, hasn't she? Speaking of which, I'm supposed to invite you all over for spaghetti night one of these weekends."

Jonah looked up from his tablet with interest; he'd been ignoring us up until that point. "Now see, I can resist all of the pastries. But if you're gonna start talking pasta night at Mama C's house? I'm gonna be doubling up my gym hours ASAP," the little geek said quite seriously.

Bossman and Papa P came bustling in just then. While the bossman was getting settled, Papa set yet another plate of goodies in the center of the table. This time it appeared to be peanut butter brownies.

Noah quirked a brow at his dad. "Seriously? Please don't tell me that you're feeling threatened by the moms’ baked goods and you’ve decided to contribute to the size of our asses too? I’m all for competition, but come on..."

Papa waved a hand. "Don't be ridiculous, son. I was simply in a baking mood last night, and I thought I'd bring my boys some treats. If that's a crime, then I plead guilty." He ended by singing, “of love in the first degree…”

The bossman smiled affectionately at his omega husband, then shot a glare at their son, Noah. "I know I didn't hear you being disrespectful to your dad. Just like I know I'm not gonna have to kick your ass later, right?"

Noah rolled his eyes while Papa sat down next to the bossman and leaned over to kiss his husband's cheek. "There's my caveman. But don't worry, I'm not offended. Our boy is just learning to adjust to pleasing his new in-law while balancing that with respecting his own dad's feelings. I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

I chuckled at Papa's passive-aggressive burn. "Noah, I'm pretty sure we all know whose ass you need to be kissing right now. Cindy might be a sweetheart, but your papa knows how to get you where it hurts."

"Yeah, yeah," Noah said. He shook his head and looked at his father. "What's with the file in your hand, Dad? Do we have a new case? I didn't see anything come over my desk this morning, and I've been here for the past couple hours."

The bossman nodded. "Sorry, this call came into the emergency hotline yesterday afternoon, and Jonah just got the information from the answering service a few minutes ago. Your dad printed out the files for you boys while I was double-checking a few things Jonah gave me. I would've called you in, but you’re already in here arguing about pastries and shit." He smirked at his son, as though daring him to argue.

When Noah didn't respond, his father winked at him before turning his attention to Jonah. "The floor is yours, Jonah. Why don't you fill us all in?"

Papa P passed printouts around the table to all of us while Jonah tapped on his tablet screen for a moment before looking up. He nodded at the bossman, then turned his attention back to us.

"Like the bossman said, we got information about the call on the emergency line this morning. The caller identified himself as one Cody Evans, but here's where that gets tricky. There’s a file on a Cody Evans who is a missing omega from Brooklyn, New York. He disappeared almost six years ago, at the age of fifteen. According to the files, he was a good kid who wouldn’t have been flagged as a possible runaway. He was a great student who played the flute in his high school band, for cripes’ sake. It seems like he was just taken on his way home from school, unless he really did run away. There is no way of knowing, at this point."

Zeke shook his head sadly while his twin, Ezra, spoke. "Even if he was a good student and a band geek, that doesn't mean that things weren't hairy at home. Was he maybe running away from a bad situation? If so, anything could've happened to him once he got out on the streets. What did he say on the hotline call?"

Jonah’s lips pursed as he frowned. "That's just it, he didn't say much at all. He just gave the name of some fleabag, rent-by-the-hour type motel in the Bronx and stated his name. But what was most troubling was his voice. He sounded nervous as hell, and barely spoke above a whisper. We were able to track the call to a McDonald's in Jersey, but that's it. The call came from a phone that had been stolen from some idiot who’d left it lying on the table while he went to refill his soda."

"He was either an idiot or an angel," I said thoughtfully. "I suppose it's all in how you look at it. If this Cody person was in need of rescue, that phone may have just saved his life—provided this motel information pays out."

Jonas nodded. "Yeah, that's all we have. I was able to access the motel through satellite images, but I didn't see anything unusual for that type of place. I mean, the place is crawling with any number of hookers, drug dealers, and your basic people who are trying to live off the grid or stay out of jail."

The bossman looked around the table with a concerned look on his face. "That's why I'm sending you guys out there this morning. If he was on his way to that motel when he called, he may not have a lot of time. We have no way of knowing how long he'll be there—or if he's there of his own volition. Pack your shit, plan for hostiles, and do whatever needs to be done to help bring this kid home. After six years of being gone, it's past time for somebody to give a shit about him."

I looked over at the bossman while everyone stood and began gathering their shit. "What about his family? Why was his case allowed to go cold in the first place? Most of those parents of missing kids are out reminding the six-o’clock news every year on the anniversary of their kid’s disappearance—what the hell is wrong with his parents?"

The bossman shook his head. "They did do that the first few years that he was gone. But then they were both found dead after a carbon monoxide leak from a faulty space heater a few winters ago."

Papa P sucked in a breath. His eyes were watering as he put a trembling hand to his mouth. "That poor boy. If you guys find him—you bring him to me. He's going to need some TLC. I'll see what I can do about finding a more permanent solution for him if he's on the up and up like we think he is, but in the meantime... you just bring him to me if he's been hurt. I'll tell him about his parents once I know that he's safe."

Noah slapped a hand on the wall next to the door as he looked back over his shoulder at the rest of us. "Shag ass, team. I have a feeling that this guy needs saving. Dad, can you call the pilot? Tell them we’ll be ready to go wheels up in twenty. We just need to grab a few toys for the mission from the supply room."