It was late afternoon, and he sat next to her at the conference table of the Renegade’s War Room. Cassandra and Houston, who’d once been an FBI sketch artist, were present, and Houston was working on composites of the various members of Serenity, to be searched in the various government databases. “Amazing,” Lara said, as Houston slid the picture of Opal across the wooden surface for her review, and then turned the University of Texas baseball cap he’d had on backward, forward again. Lara studied the drawing. “Yes. That’s Opal for sure.” There were five other drawings already on the table, and she added Opal’s to the mix. “Amazing. I don’t know her full name. Looking back I can’t imagine never asking, but I didn’t. We were like machines as members of Serenity, all driven by some façade of a personal agenda and purpose.” She shoved a lock of hair behind her ear. “I guess I should be glad I remember what they look like at this point.” Damion squeezed her leg beneath the table, the pastel floral dress she wore a contrast to the soldier he’d first met—a delicate part of her that he hungered to discover, that she’d told him she wanted to discover with him.
