Chapter Eight
Marsh crossed the gravel, the wind tugging at his jacket as he made his way toward the therapy building site.
From a distance, the buzz of activity felt almost comforting—organized, purposeful.
He paused a moment, just shy of the perimeter, watching Eli animatedly talking to two men in hard hats.
One was tall and rangy with sharp features and sun-darkened skin.
The other had broader shoulders, slightly shorter, with a show of dark stubble across his jaw and sharp, calculating eyes.
Eli was practically bouncing as he pointed to something on a set of blueprints spread out on the hood of a truck. The way he lit up when talking about his work—it was magnetic.
Marsh took a few more steps, quietly, letting himself enjoy the moment. This was the man he’d fallen for—alive with passion, in his element, with sawdust on his jeans and sunlight glinting off his hair.
He didn’t miss how the two men—clearly professionals used to managing big projects—kept sneaking looks at each other and were now flicking their eyes toward Dale, who was striding across the site with that easy confidence of his.
His dark hair curled just at his collar, and he wore his signature aviators and a grin that could disarm the most cynical bastard in uniform.
As Dale neared, the men straightened instinctively. Ty and Oren. Marsh remembered now. The architect and the engineer. Dale offered a lopsided grin and a wink. “Well, well, if it isn’t the brains of the operation. You two gonna be around for a while? Or do we only get the pleasure for a few days?”
Ty chuckled. “We’re here for the entire build. Hands-on kind of guys.”
Dale looked between them, clearly amused. “Lucky us.” He offered them a little mock salute and turned, walking over toward Marsh. “You’re needed in the conference room. Bateman’s assembling the team.”
Marsh nodded but didn’t move yet. He glanced at Ty and Oren, who both had their eyes on Dale as he walked away, looking more than a little intrigued—and confused.
Eli jogged over to him, clearly riding the high of good progress. “You heading in?”
“Yeah. Dale said Bateman wants a word.”
“Come meet the guys first.”
Marsh let Eli tug him over, leaning in to whisper in his ear. “You mean the guys watching Dale like he’s steak and they’re starving?”
Eli snorted. “You noticed that too, huh? Yeah. Them.” He turned a little awkward. “So, uh—this is Marsh Clarkson. And Marsh ... this is Ty Monroe, our architect, and Oren Callahan, our engineer.”
Ty offered a hand. “Heard a lot about you. Mostly from a very enthusiastic therapist.”
“All lies,” Marsh said, shaking his hand.
Oren gave a respectful nod. “He talks about you a lot.”
Eli flushed. “I don’t talk that much.”
“You do,” Marsh said flatly. “Especially when you’re nervous.”
Eli opened his mouth, then faltered. “He’s my ... uh, boyfrie—um, no. Not quite. I mean, more than that. My—”
Marsh stepped in, slid an arm around Eli’s waist. “I’m his. He’s mine. We don’t need titles.”
Eli leaned into him, smiling softly.
Ty grinned. “That is the first time I’ve seen Eli flustered. You’ve got skills, man.”
“Superpower,” Marsh said dryly. “Drives him crazy.”
They chuckled and drifted back to the plans, talking a little more shop. Eli was glowing again, in his element.
Eli leaned in, speaking softly in what he now knew to be Māori. “He ātaahua koe i tēnei rā. Kei te titiro whakamua au ki te noho tahi anō i a koe i muri mai.”
Marsh blinked as the comms device behind his ear translated automatically. You look beautiful today. I’m looking forward to being alone with you later.
He smirked. “Thanks for the compliment. I’m looking forward to it, too.”
Eli blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously? It got that right?”
Marsh chuckled. “Right down to the sentiment.”
Eli crossed his arms and pouted. “Great. So, now I don’t even get to have my little secret language anymore.”
Marsh stepped in, brushing his lips to Eli’s ear. “Much better now that we can share it. And trust me—we’re going to share a lot more things in our future.”
Eli shivered and smiled, the pout fading entirely from his lips.
When he walked in, the conference room was quiet, save for Bateman, who stood at the front, arms crossed.
“Just got off a call with Admiral Flannagan,” he said, voice grim. “White’s gone AWOL. Walked off his base in Virginia two weeks ago. No word to anyone. No orders. Just vanished.”
Marsh’s gut tightened.
“He’s spiraling,” Bateman continued. “And that makes him ten times more dangerous. We need eyes everywhere, and we need to be ready.”
Dale leaned forward from his spot against the wall, arms folded. “You think he’ll come here?”
Bateman nodded. “He’s got nowhere else to go. Every contact he had in the system’s gone silent. Which means he’s gone rogue. He’ll come for Eli because Eli is the last piece he thinks he can still control.”
Marsh clenched his jaw. “Then we don’t wait. We set up watch rotations. Double the perimeter sweeps. Pull in extra security.”
“And if he brings others?” Dale asked.
Marsh smiled, one that had nothing to do with humor. “Then we remind all of them why no one fucks with the Pathfinders.”
****
Eli stood beside the others, his hand gesturing toward the detailed plans of the therapy wing they were constructing at the Ridge.
“This whole wing,” he explained, “is designed for recovery—both physical and mental. It’s for guys like Marsh who’ve seen too much, lost more than anyone should have to. ”
Ty frowned. “What do you mean, ‘guys like Marsh’?”
Ezra took up the story when Eli paused, the memory clearly weighing on him.
“Ricky was taken a while back by some Albanian assholes who cared more about trafficking children and guns than anything else. Marsh saw them as they drove out of the Ridge, and before he could stop or pursue them, they threw a grenade that blew up beside his truck, causing significant injury to him, including the fact that it took his left leg from mid-thigh down.”
Oren let out a low whistle. “Jesus. I didn’t know that.”
Ty blinked. “I’ve seen him around. I couldn’t even tell ... he walks fine.”
“Exactly,” Eli nodded. “That’s the point. The prosthetic’s good. But it’s not just about walking. It’s about healing up here.” He tapped his temple.
Before the others could respond, the sharp crack of an explosion split the air, followed by distant shouts, cries for help—panicked, raw.
“What the hell, was that?” Ty asked incredulously.
“Gate,” Oren snapped. “That was up by the main gate.”
The four of them were already running. Ty and Oren leaped into one of their trucks, and Eli jumped in behind them with Ezra. The Ridge disappeared behind them in a blur of dust and adrenaline.
As they skidded to a stop at the outer perimeter, the screaming had stopped.
But it was too quiet. Eli’s heart thudded painfully as he stepped out, staying close behind Ty and Oren—Oren somehow had a weapon raised—while Ezra, flanked to the right, also had a weapon drawn.
Shit. He was going to have to talk to Marsh about getting a gun.
And some lessons on how to use one would probably be a good idea, too.
Four men emerged from the tree line, guns drawn. Black tactical gear, the kind that didn’t belong to any branch Eli recognized. They looked like they’d walked straight out of a war zone. They approached with stealth and purpose.
The one in the center locked eyes with Eli. “You need to come home, son. The Colonel wants you back.”
Eli stiffened. “I’m not your son. And I don’t take orders from assholes who draw weapons on my friends.”
“You should rethink that,” the same man said. “Because things will get worse. People you care about could get caught in the crossfire.”
Ezra’s grip on his weapon tightened visibly. “Is that a threat, or a promise?”
The man didn’t blink. “It’s a truth. One you’d be smart to start respecting.”
The guy to the left moved slightly, Oren growled low under his breath. “Back off, asshole.”
Eli’s fingers curled into fists at his sides. He felt the tension in the air shift—just a fraction—and saw the man on the left tilt his head. Then came the smile. Too calm. Too knowing.
Time fractured.
“Ty!” Eli shouted, lunging forward just as the man fired his rifle. Eli shoved Tyler hard, sending them both sprawling. The gunshot cracked the air. White-hot pain lanced across Eli’s upper arm.
He hit the dirt, clutching his bicep, blood sliding through his fingers. Almost immediately, Ty—his expression filled with fury—rolled to one knee in front of Eli, keeping him behind him, and sirens wailed from the Ridge.
Then came the sharp report of another single shot.
Oren, standing just to their right, dropped one of the gunmen with a clean hit center mass. The man crumpled with a grunt, cursing as he rolled onto his side.
“Shit—fuck—” the man gasped, struggling to sit up, hand moving to release the straps of his bullet proof vest. “I didn’t shoot to kill the guy! Just a warning! Just a fucking flesh wound!”
Oren shrugged. “And I got you in your vest. Guess we’re both just real considerate like that.”
Ezra hadn’t moved. Didn’t fire. His handgun stayed aimed, rock steady, finger near the trigger, but he held.
Eli hissed breath through his teeth. The pain was sharper than he expected.
It burned down his arm like fire and made his stomach roll.
He gritted his teeth and pressed harder against the wound, trying to keep his breathing even.
It was just a graze. Had to be. Still, every heartbeat sent a new wave of agony through his bicep.
But even through the haze of pain, Eli heard it—the roar of an engine that was all too familiar. Marsh. That sound was like thunder and salvation. Marsh was coming, and he was no doubt bringing hell with him in the form of some pissed off Pathfinders.
The armed men began to back away, rifles still trained on them.