Page 9 of Cold Ignition

Good work.

He tightened the final connector, then sat back on his heels and let out a slow breath. There wasn’t much left to do on the bus. Looking around, he realized it was pretty much move in ready, just a couple of aesthetics he had planned, like the stylized surfboards he had painted to put on the wall that sat behind the kitchen and separated the master bath and bedroom from the space.

One said Hale for house, and the other said Aloha. House of love in his native language. He had no idea why he had spent hours designing them at night in his current van conversion, but he had. His team had never seen them, but they were the best work he had ever done. He would put them up eventually.

The quiet in the massive commercial garage didn’t last long.

It never did.

Somewhere outside, someone revved an engine hard enough to rattle the walls. A second later came the unmistakable shout of Niko swearing at whatever he was working on, not going the way he wanted, and blaming the poor bastard he was working with.

Keanu’s mouth twitched slightly.

That was probably Tane.

Or maybe Victor. Since he had joined them, he had proved to be a very good mechanic.

Or both of them egging each other on like idiots.

He pushed himself to his feet and rolled his shoulders, muscles protesting after hours crouched in tight spaces. The bus settled around him, and he realized that this was something special.

A home.

Not just transport.

He rested a hand against the live-edge wooden counter of the kitchen, fingers tapping absently.

His mind hadn’t really been on the wiring. It had been wandering for most of the afternoon. He kept circling back to their last mission, saving Ethan’s younger brother Marcus from their abusive and power hungry father.

Not the fight. Not the gunfire.

Those were normal.

What stuck in his head was the moment afterward. In the parking lot at the airport, as they were preparing to leave. The way the desert air had cooled once the sun dropped and the adrenaline bled out of the team like water through cracked stone.

And the two men standing across the pavement.

Rangi Te Aho.

Alexios Petrakis.

Familiar in a way that had nothing to do with introductions and everything to do with his past. Keanu had known who they were as soon as he set eyes on them at the airport.

And he knew what they were to each other.

They were two parts of the same system, running in perfect sync without needing to communicate. The kind of connection you didn’t interrupt. The kind you didn’t step into.

Keanu frowned slightly as he reached for tools he had left on the bench, the metal cool against his palm.

It hadn’t been attraction. Not exactly. It had been recognition.

The same feeling he got watching someone handle a vehicle the way it should be. Rangi had that skill.

The way he moved—balanced, grounded, every shift of the gears deliberate. Like velocity worked with him instead of against him. Keanu had clocked it instantly.

A man who knew where he stood. Who didn’t need to prove it. There was something in that kind of certainty that pulled at him. Not sharp. Not overwhelming. Just steady.

Dangerous in its own quiet way. Even before the conversation. Even before the brief exchange beside the SUV.