I cupped my hand over the end of the cigarette to light it then tossed the lighter back to Kitsch. “Martinez, I don’t recall giving you shit when you made us late for a mission because you were too busy getting crabs from that prostitute in Sudan. Or that you slowed us down even more because you couldn’t walk without scratching? Did I say, ‘I didn’t realize how often you make stupid decisions with your dick?’ No, I didn’t.”

“That’s different,” Martinez said.

I narrowed my eyes. “I should have let Kitsch shank you.”

“All right. That’s enough,” Harbinger said. “I’m going back into the Complex to take a shower so my wife doesn’t think I went camping. And put out that cigarette, Naomi. We don’t need another goddamn fire out here.”

I looked down, seeing the ash grow longer, the dry grass beneath coming into view. I spit in my hand and dabbed it out until it was sopping wet before sticking it my pocket. Harbinger was right. Smoking outside and flicking my ashes everywhere was stupid when something like that could be the cause of the fire Zeke was fighting.

“Get some lemon from one of the kitchens. It gets the smoke out,” I said to Harbinger.

Sloan smiled. “Tip from your boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I said, walking to the FJ past a pouting Martinez.

“Sorry,” he grumbled.

“Whatever,” I said, slapping his ass—hard—when I went by.

He grabbed his backside, trying to hold in a yelp. “I deserved that.”

“Yes, you did.”

The moment I reached my SUV, the sun breached the mountaintops. I yawned, pulling the gearshift into Reverse. Zeke texted me before I reached the exit, so I pulled over to answer.

Just leaving, I typed.

I’m back in the room. I know it’s a lot to ask since you’ve been up all night, but would you mind stopping by?

I’ll be there in fifteen.

I hadn’t planned on going anywhere else, but it was nice that Zeke had asked—to know he wanted to be with me as much as I wanted him. The drive seemed to take longer than usual, even though I pulled into the Colorado Springs Hotel exactly fourteen minutes later.

The lobby was cleared out, a female front desk clerk that wasn’t Darby smiled at me as I passed. Zeke knew I’d take the stairs, waiting for me at the top. He wasted no time pulling me against him, his hair still damp from a shower.

I pushed him back gently. “You’re clean, and I’m filthy. Is Maddox trying to sleep?”

Zeke shook his head. “He went to the Bucksaw Cafe.”

“Oh yeah,” I said, clasping my hands around the back of his neck.

“His girlfriend was here all night and left this morning. She probably thought he was a goner.”