The men didn’t appear to have noticed. David took a seat on the couch at right angles to her, almost knee to knee. The coaster with his glass of iced tea — consumed here even in winter — sat in front of him as if to prove that he wasn’t sitting closer than necessary, but just returning to the place he’d left. Jake grabbed the rusty plush recliner and scarfed down another bite of his cookie.

“So, how the hell are you, girl? And when is your disreputable grandfather going to get his ass over here and help me get my men situated?” The words carried a hint of question as to whether the DAG Atlantic people brought underground were still “his” men.

Cally’s face fell. “You haven’t heard, then.”

“Heard what?” Mosovich’s face had instantly gone from relaxed to “oh, fuck.”

“It’s not that bad. It’s just that Granpa’s been… called away on clan business. This isn’t just a social call. He left me, along with Michelle, in charge of Clan O’Neal. Catching up with you guys is at the top of my list, but I’m mostly here to touch base and make sure you and the other guys are settling in okay for now.”

“So you’re in command?” Jake asked.

“It looks that way,” she said.

Mosovich’s face shifted subtly from surprise into a bland surface that was hard to read.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic, Jake. Most of DAG is here on the island but we can’t keep them. Right now, over the holidays, it sort of looks like a big family reunion.”

“Which, much to our surprise, seems to be the case,” Mueller said. “One of these days you’ve got to fill me in on how you packed one of the most top-secret and elite spec-ops groups on Earth with half your clan.”