“Just stay clear. Once we get this second round of barbecue out to them, they’ll hold awhile.”

“You were right.” Lynn bustled back in with a near-empty pan. Together, she and Marg filled it.

“This tops everything off but the dessert buffet. Shelley and I can get that.”

“Good girl.” Marg flipped out two plates, tossed the open rolls on them, dumped barbecue on the bottom, scooped the pasta medley beside it, added a serving of summer squash. Then pointed at Gull. “Get three beers and bring ’em out to my table. Take this.” She shoved one of the plates at Rowan before grabbing up flatware setups.

She sailed outside and, after setting the plate and setups down, pressed her hands to her lower back. “God.”

“Sit down, Marg.”

“I need to stretch this out some first. Go on and eat.”

“Aren’t you going to?”

Marg just waved a hand in the negative. “That’s what I’m after,” she said, taking the beer Gull held out to her. “I’ve got the AC set to arctic blast, but by the time we’re into the middle of the lunch shift, it’s like Nairobi. Eat. And don’t bolt it down.”

Gull lifted the sloppy sandwich, got in the first bite. Warm, tangy, with the pork melting into sauce and the combination melding into something like spiced bliss.

“Marg, what’ll it take for you to come and live with me?”

“A lot of sex.”

“I’m good for that,” he said over another bite, pointing to Rowan for verification. “I’m good for that.”

“Everybody’s got to be good for something,” Rowan commented. “What’s the word, Marg?”

“L.B.’s on a tear, that’s for certain. You don’t see that man get up a head of steam often. It’s why he’s good at the job. But he’s been puffing it out the last couple days. He had every chute, every pack, every jumpsuit gone over. He’d have used microscopes on them if he could have. Every piece of equipment, every tool, every damn thing. He’s having the jeeps gone over, the Rolligons, the planes.”

She took a long, slow sip of beer, set it aside, then surprised Gull by lowering smoothly into a yoga down dog. “God, that feels better. He called Quinniock out here.”

“He wants a police investigation?” Rowan asked.

“He’s made up his mind Leo managed to do this. He may be right.” She walked her feet up to a forward fold, hung there a moment, then straightened. “Irene’s leaving him. She’s already packing up. The Brayners are taking the baby tomorrow, and I don’t think she plans to be far behind. She’s going to move into your daddy’s place for a couple weeks, until she clears up her business.”

“She’s moving in with Dad?”

“No, into the house. He offered it to her. He’ll be in Ella’s.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t give me that WTF look. Talk to your father about it. Meanwhile, I hear they have Leo on suicide watch and he’s clammed up tight. He wants to take a lie detector test. I think they’re going to do that today or tomorrow.

“That’s about it. I’ve got to get back.”

Gull waited a moment, then scooped up some pasta. “All that, and I bet the only thing you’re thinking is your father’s going to be living with the hot redhead.”

“Shut up. Besides, he’s just doing a favor for Mrs. Brakeman.”

“Yeah, I bet it’s a real sacrifice. You know what I’m thinking?”

Deliberately she stared up at the sky. “I don’t care.”

“Yes, you do. I’m thinking, the way this is working out, I’ll move in with you. You’re going to have the room, then I can be closer to Marg and get this barbecue on a regular basis.”

“I don’t think this is something to joke about.”

“Babe, I never joke about barbecue.” He licked some off his thumb. “I wonder how a Fun World would go over in Missoula.”

Rowan tried to squeeze out some stress by pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’m losing my appetite.”

“Too bad. Can I have the rest of your sandwich?”

The snort of laughter snuck up on her. “Damn it. Every time I should be annoyed with you, you manage to slide around it. And no.” With a smirk, she stuffed the rest of her sandwich into her mouth.

“Just for that I’m going to get some pie. And I’m not bringing you any.”

“You don’t have time.” She tapped her watch. “Briefing.”

“I’ll take it to go.”

He didn’t get her any pie, but he did bring her a slab of chocolate cake. They ate dessert out of their palms on the way to Ops.

Jumpers poured out of the woodwork, heading in from the training field and track, striding out of the barracks, filing in from the loft. A grim-faced Cards, shoulders hunched, hands deep in his pockets, turned out of the ready room.

Rowan nudged Gull’s arm with her elbow and shifted direction to intersect.

“You look like somebody stole your last deck,” she commented.

“Do you think I didn’t do my job? Didn’t pay attention to what I load?”

“I know you did. You do.”

“That equipment was inspected and checked. I’ve got the goddamn paperwork. I checked the goddamn manifest.”

“Are you taking heat on this?” Rowan demanded.

“It’s got to go up the chain, something like this, and when shit goes up the chain, the hook drops on somebody. What’re we supposed to do, check every valve, nozzle, cord and strap before we load it, when every damn thing’s been checked before it goes into rotation? Are we supposed to start everything up before we put it on the damn plane?

“Fuck it. Just f**k it. I don’t know why I do this damn job anyway.”

He stalked off, leaving Rowan looking after him with a handful of cake crumbs and smeared icing. “He shouldn’t take a knock for this. This is nobody’s fault except whoever messed up the equipment.”

“He’s right about the way things drop back down the chain. Even if they pin it on Brakeman, on anybody, Cards could take a hit.”

“It’s not right. L.B. will go to bat for him. It’s bad enough, what we’ve been dealing with, without one of us getting dinged for it.” She stared down at her chocolate-smeared hand. “Hell.”