Both were career spec ops types, both had led their own squads, both were consummate professionals. After Griffin Caldwell had left to instruct out at BUD/S while Sherry Tate attended official SEAL training, Trevor had more or less stepped into the role of Cal’s second-in-command...even though the Reapers were pretty casual about command structure in general.

With a definite note of desperation in his voice he pleaded, “Leave it alone. Please.”

She snorted. “Have you met me?”

“Unfortunately, yes. I have.”

“Ouch.” She said it playfully, but his blunt retort hurt more than she wanted to let on.

“It’s nothing personal, Anna. But you don’t want to know what Cal and I talked about, today.”

“You call what you two did talking? I could hear you from the barracks across the street.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but a voice boomed behind her, making her jump.

“Yo, Trev!” their huge teammate, Axel “Axe” Adams, bellowed from a range of approximately two feet. Axel sported his usual biker garb—a sleeveless leather vest over a sweat-stained, heavy metal T-shirt, a thick, chrome chain hooked to his belt and disappearing into his front jeans pocket. He continued, bellowing, “Why aren’t you out there dancing and scoping out chicks? It’s a target rich environment, bro.”

From behind Axel, Joaquin “Jojo” Romero piped up. “Cal told us specifically to blow off some steam, tonight. Have some fun. Loosen up a little. Does Trev look loose to you, Axe?”

“Naw, man. He looks some-kind-a tight to me.”

“How tight would that be?” Jojo asked drolly.

The big man tilted his head, considering Trevor. “He’s so tight I’d need a sledgehammer to drive a toothpick up his ass.”

Trevor rolled his eyes as Jojo laughed and waved the bartender over. Leaning across the bar, Jojo shouted over the noise, “Have you got a half-decent single malt scotch back there?”

The bartender nodded.

“We’ll need the bottle and a half-dozen shot glasses, then,” Jojo shouted back.

A half-dozen? Anna’s heart dropped. The whole team must be here. There went her intimate conversation with Trevor to convince him to open up to her. Dammit.

Trevor might be a natural extrovert, but he preferred to have serious conversations one-on-one. If the Reapers started drinking together, she would never get him to tell her what had gone down between him and Cal.

“C’mon, you two,” Jojo shouted in her direction. “We’ve got a booth.”

“You all go have fun!” Trevor shouted back. “I’m good here.”

Well, hell. Now she would have to choose between hanging out with the team or staying here with Trevor, which would be a blatant invitation for the entire Scooby gang to harass them both about hooking up. And that would be a sure recipe for Trevor never to speak to her alone again.