Free Breaking Through by D. Nichole King Page A

on at those coordinates at that time?”
    “Not to my knowledge. But TM1 was just as classified as TM2. According the U.S. military, that mission never happened. Like this one isn’t happening.”
    “I understand, sir. One more question: who was the lead on TM1?”
    Admiral Melene sighs into the phone, and I realize he knows but doesn’t want to tell me. In the background, I hear papers shuffle. I’ve been in his office enough times to know it’s a nervous habit of his.
    “Sir, I’m flying blind. I need all possible information to get my team back home in one piece,” I say.
    Melene clears his throat, relenting. “That mission should never have happened the way it did. I don’t know how it came to be, but it was a goddamn mess before they ever left the dock. The lead was green—they must have thought having a non-Navy take the reins would work to the benefit of the Specials involved. But the whole thing ended in a fucking disaster that I’m still trying to clean up.”
    He pauses, so I prompt him again. “Who was the lead?”
    More paper rustling.
    Shit.
    “Cara Prior.”

“We’re partners, Olson, so deal with it,” Haskal says, both hands on the table as he leans forward.
    “Yeah, well, as soon as I see Riley, I’m petitioning for a new partner.”
    He smirks, his brows shooting up. “ Riley , huh? Those after-hours sessions over the last week have made the two of you quite snug, I see. You know, keeping the sheets warm.” He licks his lips with the tip of his tongue as his stare slithers up my body. “If I make captain someday, will you come wet my sheets?”
    God, he’s disgusting.
    I can’t let Haskal the Asskal get to me again. I almost sunk the ship last time. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and repeat Cara’s mantra. Calm down. Relax. Slow your heart rate.
    I open my eyes. “Let’s get this over with. I’ll talk with Captain Barton at our session tonight and see if we can change partners. For now, though, we should work.” My thought is if we’re both nose-deep in books, we won’t be speaking, which is preferable. Also, his snaky gaze won’t be sliding over property that doesn’t belong to him.
    I toss Haskal a book. On the cover is a trigonal bipyramidal molecular structure my brain doesn’t supply the name for. Odd that I instantly knew the structure, though.
    “Phosphorus pentachloride,” Haskal says, reading my expression. “We have to figure out how the metal and the coating work together, what the fucking hydroplexasma is made of, and how the hell it becomes invisible underwater.” Haskal flips another book across the table. “If you can think of a better partner for this little project, run along and talk to your boyfriend. But something tells me I’ll be seeing you here tomorrow.”
    I comb my fingers through my hair. Seems like our pairing was purposeful, and I’m stuck with Haskal the Asskal. Great.
    “Whatever. Let’s just get through this without ripping each other apart.”
    His gaze burns hot into my chest. “Oh I’d like to do some ripping, all right.”
    Ignoring him, I open the book he flung at me. Two hours fly by with formulas and equations assaulting me from every page. Very few look familiar, except for the ones containing water. Those I identify with ease. Both Kray and Riley seem to think all this chemical information is locked somewhere inside my head. Maybe they also think that by throwing it all at me what’s lost will surface. So far, though, all it’s done is give me a massive headache.
    Four more hours, two bathroom breaks, and less than ten words to Haskal later, I’m more than ready to get out of the box Barton put us in to study. I’m no closer to figuring anything out or remembering the junk in the textbooks.
    “I’m done,” I say, slumping low in my chair. “Everything’s blurring together.”
    Haskal doesn’t respond, so I figure he didn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. I’m cool with either. I push away from the table