Bacon had napped in many bizarre locations over the years, so sleeping next to Bryant—Spencer—on the flight hardly counted. And he only dreamed about surreal shit like getting a new tattoo with Jamie there, egging him on, nothing dirty about Spencer. So he had no reason to be embarrassed as he blinked his eyes open, and yet he totally was.
You’re a fucking SEAL. Get a grip, he lectured himself as he sought out the head. He went to the one at the front of the plane, not wanting to get into it with Curly and the guys in back again. The seatbelt sign was turned off, which was good. As he exited the restroom, one of the flight crew, a slim man with jet-black hair, was making coffee in an alcove.
“That for the flight deck?” Bacon asked, giving his best smile.
“Yeah. This pilot always asks for some mid-flight if we can,” the man replied. He appeared to be a fellow petty officer with a last name of Chen according to the name tag on his chest. Bacon had seen him on a few other flights over the years.
“Any chance I could get even half a cup? I’ve got a buddy in a bad way. Wanted to get him some before we went wheels up, but I couldn’t risk the LT going all ballistic if we were even fifteen seconds late.”
“Oh, I know your LT.” Chen smiled sagely. “He’s an...interesting one.”
“Yup.” Bacon wasn’t going to make the mistake of trash talking the LT with a near-stranger, so he didn’t add anything further. “So, how about it? I’d owe you a huge large, man.”
Why he was so intent on getting Spencer coffee, he didn’t really want to examine.
“Technically, it’s supposed to be just for the flight deck, but I suppose I can spare a cup.” Chen sighed as he pulled a white paper cup out of a compartment.
“You’re a lifesaver.” Bacon beamed at him as he accepted the steaming cup and two sugar packets. He hurried back to Spencer, who was still typing away.
“Hey, brought you something,” he said as he settled back down in his seat and passed Spencer the coffee and sugar packets.
“Coffee? You’re the best.” Spencer’s smile was worth having to sweet-talk Chen—it was wide and welcoming, with that dirty-secret tilt that did things to Bacon.
“No guarantees on the quality, and if it’s like other navy coffee it could probably double as shoe polish, but it should help you stave off any caffeine withdrawal.”
“Much appreciated. I owe you.”
“Enough to ask the LT for a different handler?” Bacon teased. “Man, no offense at all, but hanging back on this mission is going to suck.”
“I know.” Spencer gave him a sympathetic look. “Any word yet about what sort of mission this will be?”
“The LT and the XO will have to be the ones to brief you, and honestly, we never know much ourselves at this stage either. We’ll get to the base, run as much training as it takes to satisfy the higher-ups, then we find out more when it’s closer to go time. However, my gut says that this has a lot to with the embassy bombing two months ago that terrorists holed up in the South Pacific claimed responsibility for. We’ve been ramping up our presence in the region as a result.”
“Yeah. That’s what I was thinking too.” Spencer’s head tilted thoughtfully. “So what is it that you usually do on missions when you’re not stuck ‘on babysitting duty?’” He dropped his voice at the end to imitate Bullets’s low, gravelly tone.
Bacon had to laugh at the spot-on impression. “I do whatever the mission requires, but I’m trained as both a recon guy and a sniper.”
“That’s neat. How’d they pick you for that role?”
“I shot the lights out in basic training and again in BUD/S.” Yeah, Bacon had a little ego. “Got some brass to notice. They asked if I wanted sniper training, and I said yes, because target shooting was a lot more fun than I’d expected.”
“I’ve shot before. I can see that. It certainly gets the adrenaline pumping.”
“Yeah, there’s a certain rush to it. And I’m damn good at staying hidden. Had enough practice.” Hell. He hadn’t meant to share that last bit.
“Oh?” Spencer sounded curious, not judgy, but Bacon was still reluctant to tell him the whole story.
“Like I said, my old man was a piece of work. Less said the better.” For all that Spencer was remarkably easy to talk to, Bacon wasn’t prepared to have some sort of talk-show moment of relieving all his childhood hurts.
“He’s dead now?” Spencer prodded gently.
“Yeah. Heart attack shortly after I got my trident. At least he knew that I did it, that he didn’t keep me down.”
Spencer’s face turned pensive, and his hand moved restlessly. For a brief second, Bacon was convinced that he was about to touch him, but finally he just nodded.
“I’d say not. You seem to have done pretty well for yourself.” Spencer drained the last of his coffee, and then seeming to sense that Bacon wanted a topic change, asked, “So what happens after we land?”
“We’ll be bused to the barracks and then fed after that. You’re lucky—they have new barracks there that the Special Forces use when we’re here for extended missions and training. The old ones were pretty limited and crowded, but the new ones aren’t bad. We’ll be two to a room, but I bet they’ve put you on your own.”
Bacon hadn’t ever been the praying type—if the universe hadn’t answered his childhood pleas, it sure as heck wasn’t likely to give a fuck about his adult issues—but nevertheless, he really hoped the LT hadn’t been stupid enough to put him with Spencer. Alone, in a room with a door...
Nope. That’s a whole load of nope and not happening right there. He wasn’t sure why his body was insisting on reacting so strongly to Spencer—he was funny and cultured and a good conversationalist, but none of those were reasons why Bacon’s dick should suddenly be going haywire. He needed to rein it in, not go getting any sort of crush.
But it was hard, especially when he and Spencer moved on to talking movies and TV and discovered that they both streamed a lot of the same series—they were both fans of imported police procedurals and of course various news shows and Spencer even got him to admit to liking some period dramas.
“Fucker. If that goes into your article—”
“It won’t. I have to blur the details. I’ll give someone else a love of all things BBC.” Spencer winked at him.
“You better.”
The loudspeaker crackled again. “Folks, we’re beginning our descent. Buckle up. And if you’re setting your watches, local time is eleven a.m. and remember we gained a day.”
Whoa. Somehow he and Spencer had talked most of the second half of the flight. That coffee must be magic juice or something. Spencer hadn’t seemed bored, though, hadn’t tried to go back to his writing.
Once they landed, they boarded a bus that took them to the barracks, which were conveniently located near the chow hall. He’d been to this base before, and the food was usually better than some places, but really, after twelve-plus hours in the air with only snacks, any sort of lunch would be awesome. He had to work to not audibly sigh with relief when the senior chief assigned him to room with Curly, as usual on these sorts of things. The LT had put Spencer next door. They’d share a bathroom, but at least his hormones could calm the fuck down because the temptation meter was much lower with Curly around as a chaperon. And it wasn’t like they’d be hanging out much in the rooms anyway. Chances were good that a lot of the coming days would be spent on a boat or just not sleeping period, so he needed to savor whatever rack time he got.
Curly blew by him as they exited the bus, leaving him to show Spencer to his room. Spencer, miraculously, didn’t look a bit rumpled from the long flight, and if he noticed Curly giving them attitude, he didn’t say anything, instead lingering in his doorway as he surveyed the narrow space. Bacon stood next to him, and the inches separating them felt both far too little and far too much.
“So...uh... I’ll just be next door.” His lips suddenly felt drier than the Arizona desert, and he couldn’t help licking at the dry patches. The moment felt weird after all that time on the plane talking. He guessed they were on friendly terms now. Yeah, that was it. They were friendly now. No need to focus on the weird crackling energy between them.
“Thanks. For everything. The coffee was nice.” Spencer smiled at him, and suddenly, Bacon was hyperaware of the bed right there behind him. It would be so damn easy to—
“Bacon. Do you want to shower first or what?” Curly stuck his head out of the bathroom door.
Heart pounding, his attention snapped to his friend. They hadn’t been doing anything, hadn’t even been flirting, and still guilt surged through him. “Yeah, I’m coming.”
Nothing. It would be so damn easy to do nothing.
* * *
“You’re going to like this.” Bacon returned to Spencer’s side outside the cafeteria with a huge grin. He had been talking to the team leadership after they had eaten lunch, and Spencer let himself have a moment of appreciating his wide grin and loping strides.
“Oh?” The afternoon tropical sun was bright and the humidity was even worse than Hawaii, cloying almost in its heaviness. He tucked his small notebook and pen away—he’d been making notes about the flight during lunch since no one seemed too inclined to speak with him.
“We’re taking a Mark V out for training. That’s a SEAL boat—it’ll hold all sixteen of us, plus the boat crew and you. You’re damn lucky. I don’t think a reporter has ever been on one before except maybe when they unveiled the prototype.”
“That sounds awesome.”
“LT says to take some anti-nausea meds. Even if you’re not prone to seasickness, things tend to get choppy on the Mark V. Be ready to move fast and be tossed around.” Bacon looked positively giddy at the prospect.
“I’ve been on boats plenty. My parents loved doing holidays in Hawaii. It’s where they retired to.”
“I’d still take the meds.” Bacon fished around in one of his pockets and came up with a packet of motion sickness pills. “This is way different than a fishing boat or pleasure yacht. We’re gonna pull some serious Gs. Last thing you want is turning green where the LT can see—he’ll take any excuse to keep you on shore.”
“Good point.” Spencer accepted two pills and took them dry.
“Hell. I would have found you some water.” Bacon sounded impressed. “But that’s a nifty trick.”
Spencer bit back an easy joke about how swallowing wasn’t an issue for him. “Thanks.”
“No way would my gag reflex let me do that.” Hell. Bacon was not making it easy on Spencer with openings like that.
“Practice makes perfect.” Spencer didn’t add the flirty wink that desperately wanted to come out, but he still knew they were on thin ice.
“Who says I haven’t had practice?” Bacon seemed shocked at his own words, neck flushing and looking away as soon as he spoke. So, even though he was curious as hell, Spencer let it drop.
“Lead me to the boat,” he commanded instead. Flirting with Bacon—even if Bacon were more open to that than he’d previously suspected—could only lead to trouble. And he did not need the mental image of Bacon on his knees, working hard to defeat his gag reflex...
Nope. Better off focusing on the coming boat ride. The boat crew was already waiting for them, a group of energetic men who seemed every bit as fit and capable as the SEALs. The Mark V looked not unlike a heavily armored small yacht—it was probably under one hundred feet, but it easily held the SEAL team with padded seats for everyone. It had a low, angular profile, every square millimeter of space allocated for tactical functionality. Bacon showed him how the boat held four small rubber boats known as CRRCs and how the smaller boats could be driven right up the stern, making insertion and extraction fast.
He also pointed out the weapons capabilities, and even though this was a training mission, a gunner from the boat crew stood at the ready, underscoring the seriousness of the operation.
“Did Petty Officer Bacon give you the anti-nausea medication?” The LT strode over, interrupting Bacon’s tour and making Spencer stand a little straighter.
“Yes, sir. I’m ready. What can you tell me about the plan for today?”
“Not much.” The LT was clipped, as per his usual. “When we get close to our target island, Team Alpha—our best eight men—will take out the CRRCs and slip closer before performing a combat swim to shore and practicing reaching their mission objective. Team Bravo and you will stay on the Mark V, ready to provide support. Assuming the comm system works, you’ll be able to listen in on the proceedings.”
“Awesome.” Next to him, Bacon bristled, and Spencer knew how badly he wanted to be one of the guys heading out in the smaller boats, in the thick of the action.
“Then we’ll all convene on the island for some training before we head back. You two will stay at a distance during the training, but again you should be able to listen in.”
“Understood.”
“This is training, but these aren’t always the most peaceful waters. Listen to Petty Officer Bacon if anything starts going off plan.” And with that, the LT left with a flourish, heading over to the XO and senior chief.
Bacon handed him a helmet that had built-in communications capabilities like those worn by both the SEALs and the crew. “Our channels are flipped off. We can listen in, but they won’t be able to hear us back.”
“Got it.”
“Strap in,” Bacon ordered him as the boat engines started. “They’ll start slow, but once they get into open water, the crew’s gonna let loose.”
And he wasn’t kidding. The boat picked up speed until it was busting over waves, rattling Spencer’s teeth and bones. He could tell when they were getting close to the objective because there was a flurry of well-organized activity as the crew got one of the smaller boats ready to launch. Every person seemed to know their role, working in concert without much talking—not that much conversation was possible over the roar of the engines. The SEALs were in wetsuits, prepared for a long swim.
The XO would be leading this phase of the mission, and he yelled, “Go, go, go,” as the men loaded into the small craft, and it launched into the inky sea.
Listening in was riveting—the XO had his men well-trained and they were ready to start their swim, taking orders well. The LT and senior chief watched the proceedings on a large flat-screen monitor that showed radar locations among other data.
“And we’re away,” the XO’s voice crackled over the comm system. There was the barest sound of a splash as the team left the smaller craft. And then in what felt like barely a chance to breathe, the boat was back with only its pilot on board. The SEALs in the water had on tracking devices, so the command was able to follow their every movement.
The progress of the team was slow and painstaking, but Spencer couldn’t look away from the screens. The Mark V continued on its course, albeit at less of a breakneck pace now, and eventually the shore of a small island came into view. It was sort of miraculous how the ocean could be endlessly blue, no breaks, and then suddenly an island seemed to appear as if by magic.
“Now it’s our turn to load up,” Bacon yelled at him. “We’re ready for the rendezvous.”
“Already?”
“Dude, it’s been four hours since they launched from here. You’ve been so absorbed I could have sworn you were binge-watching NCIS or something.” Bacon laughed as he led the way to one of the smaller boats, which would deliver them to shore. The boat was a no-frills rubber affair with an outboard motor, piloted by a boat crew member. And for the first time Spencer was glad for his anti-nausea meds as the smaller boat got bounced around a lot in the waves and they seemed to feel every swell and dip.
On shore, they met up with the first team members who had completed their swim, and the LT briefed everyone on the next phase of the training while they hydrated and ate some MREs. The island was tiny—maybe a few miles radius—but it was lush with greenery, like something out of a pirate novel. Colorful birds swooping overhead added to the effect. A brisk breeze kept the humidity from being stifling—if this were a vacation destination, he’d say they got the deluxe upgrade, but all the beauty was balanced by the seriousness of their purpose. Spencer tried to take some unobtrusive notes while rations were handed out.
“Here.” Bacon gave him one of the foil packs. “This flavor’s not too terrible. But even if you can’t make yourself eat it, at least drink some fluids. You and I have a hike, apparently.”
Spencer liked Bacon’s caretaking far more than he should, and he accepted the food and water with a smile. He liked this Bacon a lot more than the combative guy he’d first met. He wasn’t sure what had changed in the hours they’d spent talking on the plane, but Bacon was decidedly less grumpy now, friendlier. Spencer always managed to keep his distance, of course, but he did really like moments like this when he started working with a source and not having to butt heads at every turn.
“So where are we hiking?” he asked.
“LT says he wants you and I hidden in the bluffs up there—” Bacon pointed at the far end of the beach at a rocky outcropping “—so we can listen in on the rest of them but be safe too. We’ll reconvene here for the boats back to the Mark V in three hours.”
Spencer should be bone tired after the flight and the long time in the boat, but instead his adrenaline surged. He’d seldom felt so alive. “Lead the way.”