Justine Davis - Operation Unleashed

“Does each one have its own helipad?” Drew asked; he’d noticed the windsock next to the square of concrete outside the warehouse beside the green, three story building they were in now.

“Not all, not yet,” Quinn said. “We’re working on that.”

“And is every Foxworth building unmarked?”

Quinn’s gaze sharpened once more. He leaned back in his chair, and again gave Drew a nod of approval. “You noticed that.”

“Hard to miss.”

“Not for some,” Quinn said. “Let’s just say some of the people we help have enemies who aren’t too happy about it.”

“Why do I get the feeling your help isn’t limited to just avoiding domestic situations and tracking down released ex-cons?”

“Because you’re a smart guy?” Quinn suggested. He studied Drew for a moment. “You ex-military? Law enforcement?”

“No,” Drew said, then added with a crooked grin, “I was a Boy Scout once.”

“You still are,” Alyssa said.

Drew’s head snapped around. There hadn’t been a hint of a dig in her tone, although he knew there was a time when there would have been. Back when Doug had used it as an insult. My brother the Boy Scout, he’d said constantly.

I’ve got no chance of matching you in the good little boy department, so maybe I’ll just have to go for the bad instead.

The laughing statement that had haunted him for years now echoed in his head. Nothing else Doug had said or done had hit him quite the way that had. For a long time he’d felt almost responsible for his little brother’s twisted mindset. As if he’d set an impossible standard to live up to. He’d never felt he was anything special, he’d just tried to do his best, make their parents proud, but apparently in the process he’d somehow made Doug feel inferior.

But Alyssa was smiling at him.

He felt the strongest urge to call this all off. To go back, to try and hang on to the mood of the last week. It had been, on the surface, the life he’d dreamed of with her. And if they could hold on to that, maybe he could work on the rest, maybe someday she might actually look at him the way she’d once looked at Doug.

He tried to scoff himself out of that silly idea, but it clung stubbornly to the edges of his consciousness. But now he knew he had to decide, and decide now. For so long he’d wanted her to see the truth, wanted her to see the real man—or rather, boy—his brother had been. And on that day he’d realized he loved her, he knew he’d wanted her to see Doug differently in the hope that she would then be free to see him differently.

But now he wondered if it would be worth it. How would she react if he destroyed that rose-colored image she had?

If he let this go on, and Foxworth somehow found the answers and proved him right, what would he be left with?

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