Girl From Above #4: Trust by Pippa DaCosta Page B

looked. To his credit, he schooled his expression and held out a deep blue long coat. The fleet parade coats held water like a bitch. In training, they made us run the fifteen-mile obstacle course wearing those fucking things. Then they gave us the same coats—cleaned—once we passed selection. The long coats never got any lighter.
    I needed a drink.
    I snatched the coat. Brendan Shepperd was stitched into the inseam of the collar. Tugging the deadweight on and over my shoulders, I headed down the hall, avoiding my brother’s eye. “Where’s One?”
    “She departed on a shuttle for Mimir with the doctor right after the meeting. The Chitec transport broke atmosphere several minutes ago.”
    She’d left without saying goodbye. Something brittle and sharp twisted in my chest. Rejection. Her leaving hurt a lot more than it should have. Shit, I was going soft. First Fran and now One. I redirected the pain into a snarl and flung accusations at Bren instead. “You’re one of the Nine, and you didn’t tell me?”
    “There wasn’t time.” He fell into step beside me as we headed for the hangars. My whites were attracting furtive glances, making the back of my neck prickle. I’d wear the uniform until we got off the Island and then I was stripping it off until fleet frisked our asses at the gate.
    “No time?” My sharp laugh wasn’t kind. “How long does it take to say, ‘Hey, little brother. I’m one of the Nine.’ Three seconds?”
    We paced a few more strides in silence until Bren found his voice. “It was after fleet hit Mimir. I stayed back to help with the cleanup operation. Creet approached me—”
    Creet recruited him.
    “Well, shit. You were Nine all the while you were on probation with fleet, and when we stole that freighter? And when I was trying to get in with them after Lyra?” We’d shared beers on Mimir before my meeting with the hooded-up Fenrir Nine to hand over One. That was before she’d gone nuts. “Wait, you weren’t one of those spooky fuckers in the hoods, were you?”
    “No.”
    He’d fallen back into stoic commander mode, wearing a mask much like my don’t-give-a-shit one, only his actually looked like he meant it.
    “I fed them fleet intelligence. I didn’t have much say in operations then. After fleet hit Mimir hard, you disappeared. I thought you were … I thought something had happened to you. So, I went looking for a way to get back at fleet. Creet helped.”
    “Something did happen. I was in Asgard. Again.” A few more strides and I plucked my collar buttons open. “Fuck, Bren, did you feed the Nine intel on me?”
    When he didn’t immediately answer, I stopped our march, forcing him to look at me. The truth was right there in his grimace.
    “And the hits just keep on coming.”
    He gritted his teeth but wouldn’t look away. He wouldn’t give me that victory. “They wanted to know if you could be trusted.”
    There were no fucking words to even come up with a reply. “I’m glad One broke your arm.”
    I didn’t even have it in me to get angry. Somewhere in that head of his, he probably thought he was doing the noble thing, looking out for me.
    “You and your new friends are sending me and Fran on a suicide mission, you know that, right?”
    “No, that’s not—”
    “Open your eyes, Brother. I’m a fixer; she’s a bent fleet officer.”
    “No,” he said with force. “You get in, dump the cargo, and get out. You don’t hang around, not for anyone.”
    Not for One, he’d meant. I wasn’t leaving her there. She hadn’t been through hell and back for the Fenrir Nine to write her off as collateral damage.
    “Sure,” I lied. “Keep it simple. Get away clean.”
    His frown said he knew I was bullshitting. I shrugged. It wasn’t like he hadn’t lied to me.
    “You don’t get to leave me,” he said, tucking a hand into his pants pockets and glancing about the hall. He looked smaller, his shoulders slouching. “You’re all I’ve got.”
    Well fuck