Chapter Seven
Blade
A lpha’s statement hung in the stale rental like the fucking stench of death you couldn’t get out of your nostrils on a hot day downrange.
But he was right.
I didn’t think Church was dead.
Except if I said that shit out loud, I’d either be endangering my brother if he was still breathing, or I’d be hanging a giant sign around my neck that said I’d fucking lost it.
So I didn’t say shit.
I waited.
In a custom suit, slick shoes, and a haircut way past regulation, Alpha rested his trigger arm on the passenger door. “I could run this two ways.”
We weren’t on a mission, this wasn’t an Op, and my brother had nothing to do with his company. I wasn’t holding my breath, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have to refrain from visibly focusing up because he had my attention.
Alpha was here to recruit me. I knew it. He knew I knew it.
It was fucking obvious the second he’d opened the car door of an armed Tier One without warning.
He didn’t see me as a threat.
He saw me as an asset, and he wanted that asset in his profit margins.
But that wasn’t what had my attention.
“The first is the obvious play,” he continued. “Offer you the position and throw in perks. Work for me, and you can track down what happened to your brother. My resources will be your resources. Additionally, I provide a company vehicle, housing allowance, flight training, and better technology than you ever had on the Teams. You’ll also have profit sharing, full benefits, and a competitive salary.” He stated an obscene amount of money.
I didn’t fucking blink.
“Or?” He glanced at me. “I can tell you what was in the AAR.”
I already knew what was in the After Action Review. Two things—Jack and shit—because there was no AAR. Not for Church’s death.
My brother hadn’t been deployed when he died. He wasn’t on an Op. He wasn’t in the Sandbox. He wasn’t downrange, period. He’d been on his way to get fucking hitched. Or so he’d said.
Which was why I was here, in fucking Florida, in front of the bar where Church had said he’d met his wife—a woman I’d never laid eyes on, who I’d been trying to contact since the day I’d gotten the call. Ten fucking seconds after I’d been notified, I was on the line with a buddy in Naval Intelligence. Bypassing protocol and legal measures, I asked for all the intel off Church’s cell. Once I had Church’s woman’s number, I called. And called. For fucking days.
She hadn’t answered once.
Now her cell went to a generic voicemail and had no geo location. She was off the grid.
Or missing.
Fucking tired, I glanced at Trefor. “What kind of firepower do you have?” If I was going to take his offer, I wasn’t going to operate outside the wire with bullshit civilian weapons. I was a SEAL. Or I had been, until seventeen hours ago. Didn’t change the fact there was one thing I was good at. Eliminating problems. Which I’d do for Trefor and whatever bullshit assignments his company took on, but I wasn’t doing it with toy fucking guns or the modified shit they passed off on civilians.
“Anything you want.”
I looked back at the bar. Then I laid out my parameters. “No client bullshit. Field work only. Trigger and backup. Full access to your network. My face stays off the radar, and my digital footprint gets wiped.” I knew the hacker he had working for him. I knew the shit he was capable of. Until I got up to speed on Alpha’s network and could cover my own shit, I wanted my movements off the grid.
“Done.” Alpha held out his hand.
We shook.
Then he pulled a cell out of his pocket and set it in the center console as if my coming to work for him was a foregone conclusion. “It’s encrypted. November will onboard you. When you’re ready, I have assignments waiting. My number’s programmed.”
I scanned the front of the bar again. No one had gone in or out since I’d pulled up over an hour ago. “When will your hacker read me in?”
“Once I’m back on the Falcon and we’re in the air.”
I knew Alpha had his own personal jet. He also had a fleet of Gulfstreams and put every one of his operatives through flight training. It’s what made his company the best in the private military sector. Five global locations, every operative a former Tier One, and a critical response time that was faster than US brass because of his parade of jets. What I didn’t know was that his former Air Force Cyber Security Officer hacker was also a pilot. “November flew down with you?”
“Yes. Second chair.”
An idea gelled. “What kind of equipment do you have on the Falcon?”
“What do you need?”
I couldn’t tell if he was hedging or had tricked out his jets with too much shit to list.
Forever the Team leader, always ten steps ahead, Alpha read my mind. “Every one of my fleet is equipped and stocked. What are you specifically looking for?”
“Surveillance equipment. Shit your hacker can set up.” Not that I couldn’t do it, but I didn’t know what equipment Alpha was using.
“Affirmative. What are you thinking?”
That I wanted eyes on Church’s fiancée place. But as soon as I thought it through—really fucking thought it through without the half-cocked anger-driven adrenaline I’d been riding since I’d gotten the call—I knew Church wouldn’t go back to her place. Or any other location he’d been before shit went FUBAR. If he was dead, he wasn’t stepping foot anywhere. If he was still alive and not being held captive, then he’d intentionally mask his movements to stay off the radar. Either way, he wasn’t coming back here.
“On second thought, never mind.” Glancing at the clock on the dash, I made a few calculations, including how long it’d been since I’d last slept. “I need thirty-six hours.” That’d be enough time to run down the few leads I had, grab some sleep, and get my ass back to New York to AES Headquarters.
“Good copy.” Alpha reached for the door handle, then paused. “You need a drop-off in Virginia Beach?”
I was done with VA Beach. Growing up as a military brat, spending the last nineteen years in the Navy, I knew to travel light. Everything I needed was in my go bag behind my seat. “I’m good.”
Alpha glanced at the bar one last time as a tinted-out black Escalade pulled up beside us. “Rumor has it Church met his wife there.” He pushed his door open. “Your suspicions aren’t unwarranted. I’m already looking into this.”
The front window of the Escalade went down, and a familiar face appeared.
André Luna, former Force Recon Marine sniper, now owner of a security outfit based here in Miami, looked from Trefor to me. “Alpha, Blade. Been a long time, Blade. Kandahar? Seven years ago?”
I didn’t know if he was fucking with me or testing my memory. “Eight.” Either way, the Marine was lethal behind a scope.
“Right.” Then Luna’s expression went dark—the same darkness every Tier One had when they wanted revenge for a fallen operator. “Sorry to hear about your brother. I hope they already got the fuckers.”
I didn’t comment as Alpha got in the front passenger seat of Luna’s ride.
The Marine scanned the bar and the street. “Not a great neighborhood. You need backup?”
I didn’t bother telling him to fuck off. I did one better. “I’m a SEAL.”
Luna chuckled. “Copy that, hermano .” He looked at Alpha. “Executive Airport?”
“Affirmative.” Trefor glanced at me. “You want Zulu to pick you up?”
Zane “Zulu” Silas had been on the Teams with us and had been a pilot long before that. Now he was Alpha’s right hand. Same as all of us, he was ruthless and lethal. He’d also ask questions about Church. “No.”
“Good copy,” Alpha replied.
Luna threw me a chin lift. “ Adios .” His window went up, and they took off.
I looked at the bar, and it hit me.
Every fucking second since I’d gotten the call.
Being pulled in from an op. The flights. Carrying the casket off the transport. Being intercepted afterwards. My CO, his CO, the letter, the fucking looks. Signing my discharge papers.
Arlington.
The funeral.
Sole survivor .
“Fuck you, Mom.”
I threw the rented SUV into Drive, then scanned the street before glancing in the rearview mirror.
A blonde and a brunette stumbled out of the bar.
Dismissing the tall blonde, I fucking stared at the tits and ass on the brunette.
Then I pulled into traffic.