When my fellow team member Grisham Abbot strolls into the Night Eagle Security conference room a few minutes after I do, I lean back in my big, leather chair.

The seriousness and tension of the undercover mission I just led siphons off me, being replaced by the relaxed comfort of being home.

It’s like I’m two different Jeremy Teagues: the one who kicks ass during a security or black ops mission or the laid-back jokester I tend to be when I’m not working. Sometimes they get in each other’s way.

Sometimes they fight for supremacy.

Grisham eyes me, one hand shoving through his short blond hair as he comes to a stop across the table beside his usual seat. “You recover from whatever it is you think you saw at the airport this morning?”

Inhaling, I try not to flip back to that moment in the airport. But the memory creeps in anyway, regardless of how hard I try to fight it…

We’re just passing under the decorative model of a single-engine plane hanging overhead into the baggage claim area when a mane of long, raven hair catches my eye. My stomach flips, my muscles tighten, and my back teeth grind together.

Fucking hell. That hair.

She turns, her profile facing me, and everything inside me stills.

My steps stutter to a stop, and I’m pretty sure the air in my lungs does, too. Everything around me, the airport crowd, the noise, fades away, and it’s like I’m staring through a tunnel of mist and fog and the only thing I can see at the end of it is her.

Because, swear on my dog, it’s her.

I’d scoured the airport after that, my head swiveling left and right, my eyes roving. Searching.

There’d been rows of taxis lined up in front of the terminal, and that ghost could have disappeared into any one of them.

Or I could have just been losing my fucking mind. More likely.

Because I exorcised that ghost a long time ago. I don’t need it to start haunting me again.

I snap back to the here and now as Grisham begins to lower himself into his chair. I ignore his question and lean forward. “Let’s grab a beer after we debrief.” I lift my brows, hoping he’ll accept the invitation. I’m still feeling the need to unwind, let loose a little after our op.

He stares at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Man, I’ve been away from my fiancée for almost a week. There’s no way in hell I’m going anywhere but home after we give Jacob the rundown.”

I feign a heavy sigh, but I knew his answer before he’d said it.

“Whipped,” I mutter.

“Damn right.” Grisham’s statement comes with a proud smile.

Jacob Owen strides into the room. “Let’s debrief, gentlemen.” His tone is wry as he sends me a pointed stare.

He leans over the low, rectangular table where, as a team, we use painstaking research to plan our missions. Clasping his hands together, he looks at Grisham and me in turn, holding our gazes as he assesses our reaction. His blue eyes, webbed with lines that are the only indicator of his middle age, stop on me.

“First black ops government contract. First time leading a Night Eagle mission. A lot of firsts for you in the last few weeks, and for the firm. Right, Brains?”

I nod my head and hold steady under his scrutiny. I’d give my left nut for Jacob Owen, pretty sure the whole team would. Adjusting to normal life again after Special Forces is difficult. For some of us, it’s impossible. But Jacob gets it. And when he brings one of us into the fold at Night Eagle Security, we thrive.

Finally, he speaks again, this time addressing both Grisham and me. “You did good, boys.”

Letting out a breath, I lean back in my seat and listen while Jacob fires questions at us about the intel we received that will bring down not just the Miami part of the arms ring, but the South American branch as well. He informs us that in a few months’ time, we’ll be leaving for Costa Rica on a second mission to first infiltrate, and then help the CIA eliminate, this nasty operation for good.

When our debriefing comes to an end, Jacob shakes both of our hands and glances at Grisham.

“Ghost,” he barks.

Grisham “Ghost” Abbot leans forward, his elbows connecting with his knees as he locks eyes with his future father-in-law. The ex-SEAL earned his nickname with his uncanny ability to sneak up on enemy forces in the field. Grisham Abbot is the strategist of our group. He’s a planner, an analyzer by nature, and that skill works to our advantage when it comes to nailing down the nitty-gritty details of a potential operation.

“Sir.”

“Get home to my daughter. She’s missed you.” Jacob’s lips twitch.

As we leave Jacob’s office, I want to pump my fist in the air. I want to shout “Hell Yeah” now that I know for a fact that we’re going black ops again.

I’ve been with NES for a little over a year. In that time, we’ve specialized in personal security for clients who can afford to pay the price for the best protection out there. In the past six months or so, Jacob has been in talks with some government agencies. His connections there have asked us multiple times to protect foreign dignitaries, their families, and other important international people who are working or vacationing close by, and we’ve excelled at every single one of those assignments.

This last mission, sending us to infiltrate the illegal arms organization in Miami, was not only the first time I’ve taken the lead on an op, but also the first time we’ve had an official “black ops” contract with Uncle Sam as a private contractor.

Deep cover, secret mission…everything that comes with it is my element. I fucking love it. The reason they call me Brains is because I have an obsession with techy gadgets for the field. I have a whole room dedicated to storing all of the tools and equipment we may need for a mission or an assignment, and I love stocking it up and keeping it up-to-date with everything current in the world of tech and gear. This job is in my blood, and I could never imagine doing anything different.

My adrenaline is still pumping from everything we accomplished, and I know when I get back to my house, the first thing I’ll need to do is run.

Grisham and I file out the metal sliding door into the lobby.

Ronin “Swagger” Shaw claps me on the back as soon as the office door is closed. “Nice, guys. Heard you kicked some ass.” I accept congratulations from the man who’s been my teammate and best friend for years. First the army, then the police academy, then NES after we met Jacob while working on a kidnapping case.

Dare “Wheels” Conners, our other teammate and the man who can drive anything out there like a goddamn stuntman, follows suit with a fist bump.

When I’m in this office, in my city, with my people, I’m home. There’re no surprises, no unexpected bullshit the way there is when I’m on a mission. It’s how I like it.

And it feels good to be home again.

But as I’m back in North Carolina, weaving through the Wilmington streets on my drive home, my brain drifts back to long, black hair, flawless, olive skin, and the endless sea of blue eyes I once almost drowned in.

It couldn’t have been her.