21. Call Signs
21
CALL SIGNS
Ronan shifted his weight, trying to quell the restless energy coursing through him as Admiral Knight’s face reappeared on screen. The yacht’s steering station was visible in front of him, crystal waters stretching to the horizon.
“Sentinel was hired to protect Captain Chen. Extract him to a secure location,” Knight said without preamble.
“Then why’d they chase us?” The words were out before Ronan could stop them. He felt Christian’s disapproving glare but kept his eyes on the screen.
“Fair question, son.” The admiral adjusted his course slightly. “Richardson says his team followed because they assumed you were hostiles who’d grabbed the captain before they could extract him.”
Ronan caught Axel’s subtle head tilt—his friend was thinking the same thing. It made a weird kind of sense, but ...
“They won’t disclose the client,” Admiral Knight continued. “But between us? Smells like Navy brass trying to contain?—”
“John Knight!” An elegant woman in resort wear appeared behind him. “Oh, hello everyone!” She waved, then smacked her husband’s shoulder. “I love seeing you all, but my husband is supposed to be resting. Doctor’s orders after that heart incident.”
“Minerva, I’m fine?—”
“That’s what you said right before you collapsed at the Kennedy Center.”
The team’s gentle ribbing was respectful but swift, and they signed off leaving Ronan with a knot in his gut. Something wasn’t adding up. The pieces were there—Marcus’s death, Tom Benson, the frame job, Sentinel’s involvement—but the picture they formed made his skin crawl.
“We need to figure out what Tank died for.” His voice came out harder than intended, but he couldn’t soften it. Not when his friend’s killer was still out there. Not when Maya’s partner was dead because of whatever Marcus had stumbled into.
Christian nodded slowly. “Star’s been analyzing your friend’s movements. He spent significant time at VA clinics across Southern California.”
“His medical records show nothing,” Star added. “No personal appointments, no treatment. Man was healthy as a horse.”
“So why the medical visits?” Maya asked.
“A great question.” Ronan met Axel’s eyes. Finally, a place to begin their investigation.
“I’ll dig deeper into those VA visits,” Ethan said, already typing. “Cross-reference with staff schedules, security footage, anything that shows who Tank was meeting.”
“I’ll reach out to some contacts at the DOD,” Jack added. “See if anyone’s heard whispers about brass trying to contain something.”
Christian outlined the rest of the assignments. “Patrick and Austin, start mapping Sentinel’s recent operations. Look for patterns. Star, keep mining those traffic cams around Sullivan’s usual routes.”
Axel caught Ronan’s eye, tilting his head toward the door. Ronan followed him to a quiet corner, already tensing at his friend’s expression.
“We need to call them in,” Axel said without preamble.
The mere thought made Ronan’s chest tight. “No. I can’t ... not now.” Not when he had no idea if they’d even welcome his presence after three years of silence.
“Listen.” Axel’s voice dropped lower. “First off, Tank was their friend too. They deserve to know what’s going on.” When Ronan started to protest, he pressed on. “Second, what if whoever’s behind this starts digging? They’ll be in danger too, whether they know it or not.”
Ronan ran a hand through his hair. “And?”
“And these Knight Tactical guys?” Axel gestured at the room. “They’re ridiculously competent. But more brains in the room can’t hurt. Tank deserves the best. From all of us.”
The logic was rock-solid, unfortunately.
Ronan drew a deep breath, then turned back to the group. “Axel and I have one other task,” he announced, the words coming fast. “We’re bringing in the rest of our team.” He braced himself for arguments, questions, resistance. Not that any of them would matter.
Instead, Jack just shrugged like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Christian’s expression was almost comical. “About time, dude.”
The team dispersed, leaving Ronan, Axel, Maya, and her father in the conference room. Chen’s measured pacing reminded Ronan of a tiger he’d once seen in a Mumbai zoo—all contained power and frustration.
“We’ll help you contact your team,” the man offered, pausing mid-stride.
Maya nodded eagerly. “I can?—”
“No.” Axel’s voice was gentle but firm. “These folks ... they’re particular about contact. Especially now.”
“They’re family,” Ronan added, seeing Maya’s expression darken. “But they’re also special ops. Paranoid is their default setting.”
“He’s right, baby girl.” Chen’s tone made Maya’s eyes narrow. “Why don’t you come down to the range with your old man? Work on that stance of yours.”
“Dad, my stance is fine?—”
“Is that what you call that paper target I saw yesterday? Looking like it was hit by a drunk marksman in an earthquake?”
“That was ... I was distracted!”
“Exactly.” Chen steered her toward the door with practiced ease. “Range time. Now. Show me you can still shoot like I taught you.”
Maya’s expression suggested she’d rather have dental surgery without anesthesia, but she allowed herself to be guided out, throwing one last frustrated look over her shoulder. She paused at the door. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore.”
Ronan met her eyes, caught between gratitude and that familiar urge to protect her from his mess. “I know.”
Ronan waited until they were gone before turning to Axel. “Where do we start?”
Ronan’s stomach churned as he stared at the list of names on his phone. Three years of silence stretched between him and each one like a chasm. He wouldn’t blame them if they told him to go to hell. Or worse, just didn’t answer.
“Maybe you should make the calls.” He glanced at Axel. “I should be ... checking the VA security protocols. Or?—”
“Hiding?” Axel’s voice was sharp but kind. “That’s over, brother. Time to put the past behind you.”
The fear hit harder than anger now. What could he possibly say to them? Sorry I ghosted you all when things got rough? Sorry I couldn’t handle being around anyone who reminded me of ...
“This is for Tank,” Axel said quietly, reading him like always. “They’ll help. They loved him too.”
Ronan exhaled slowly, nodding. “Okay. How do we split this?”
“I’ll take Deke and Kenji. You handle Zara and Izzy.”
“What about Ghost?”
Axel’s expression tightened. “Last known number’s disconnected. But I’ve got a few back channels we can try. Let’s start with the others.”
Ronan looked down at his phone again. Zara would be awake—she kept vampire hours. And Izzy’s shop would be open. His finger hovered over Zara’s number, stomach twisting again.
“Stop overthinking it,” Axel said. “Just dial.”
Ronan’s thumb trembled slightly over Zara’s number. He forced himself to hit dial before he could chicken out, half-hoping it would go to voicemail.
It rang once. Twice.
“This is a secured line.” Zara’s voice, crisp and professional, hit him like a physical blow. “State your business.”
“Z ... it’s Ronan.”
The silence stretched so long he thought she’d hung up. Then, “Well. King Ronan Quinn himself. Must be the apocalypse.”
He deserved that. “Z, I?—”
“Save it. What do you need?” Her tone wasn’t angry, exactly. Just flat. Controlled.
“Tank’s dead.” The words felt like ground glass in his throat. “Murdered. And we need ... I need ...”
Another pause, shorter this time. “Give me a sec to secure this call properly.”
Ronan caught Axel watching him, nodded slightly to show he was okay. While they waited, he could hear Zara’s rapid typing, imagined her in her dark office, screens glowing around her like always.
“Okay,” she said finally. “Tell me everything.”
As Ronan laid out the situation, he heard the subtle changes in her breathing, the tiny sounds she made when pieces clicked together in her mind. Same old Zara, building a puzzle in her head.
“I’ll start digging,” she said when he finished. “And Ro? Next time you disappear for three years, I will hack every electronic device you own and make them play nothing but ABBA. On repeat.”
He actually smiled. “Copy that.”
After disconnecting, he looked at Izzy’s number. One down, one to go. Across the room, he could hear Axel talking quietly to Deke.
“Your turn,” Axel mouthed, pointing at the phone.
Ronan nodded, dialing before he could lose his nerve. The shop’s phone rang three times before a familiar voice barked, “Reyes Custom. Make it quick.”
“Iz.” His voice cracked slightly. “It’s Ronan.”
The clang of a dropped wrench echoed through the line. “As in Lieutenant Commander Ronan Quinn? You kidding me?” Her tone could have stripped paint. “What, you drunk? Lost? Dying?”
“Tank’s dead.”
Another clang, softer this time. Like she’d sat down hard. “?Qué? What are you talking about?”
“Someone murdered him. Made it look like a robbery.” His free hand clenched into a fist. “Iz, we need?—”
“Address. Now.” The sound of keys jingling. “I’ll close the shop?—”
“No, wait. We need intel first. Tank was investigating something. Something big enough to get him killed.”
A stream of creative Spanish filled his ear. Then, “Talk.”
He outlined the situation, hearing her pace, the rhythmic sound of her boots on concrete. When he finished, the silence stretched.
“You know,” she said finally, “my kid asks about her Uncle Ro sometimes.”
The words hit him like a punch to the gut. “Iz?—”
“Don’t. Just ... don’t.” She took a breath. “I’ll make some calls. Got a few clients who might know something about private security operations in SoCal. And Ro?”
“Yeah?”
“You ever go dark on us again, I’m tracking you down and replacing your brake fluid with maple syrup.”
Despite everything, he felt his lips twitch. “Understood.”
He ended the call, looking up to find Axel watching him. His friend raised an eyebrow.
“They’re in?” Axel asked.
Ronan nodded. “They’re in. And apparently going to torture me with ABBA and maple syrup if I disappear again.”
“Sounds fair.” Axel checked his phone. “Deke’s already praying and making calls. Kenji’s pulling hospital records.” He paused. “Still no luck with Ghost’s back channels.”
“He’ll surface,” Ronan said, hoping he was right. “He always does.”
Hearing Deke was already praying brought a familiar twist of ... something. Envy? These people, his old team, had held onto their faith through everything. Even Tank had never lost that quiet certainty. While Ronan ... well, he’d lost more than just his team that day.
“Yeah.” Axel didn’t sound convinced. “Team meeting at eighteen hundred. Want to hit the range? Work off some of that tension?”
He shot his friend a weak smile. “Nah. I’m good. Thanks.”
Axel headed for the stairs. “You’re smarter than I am. I’m sure I’m gonna regret sharing range space with a legend like Lawrence Chen.” He stilled, gaze far away. “I think I’ll opt for plan B.”
“Which is?”
The man grinned hard. “The range is in the far hangar, right? Looks like I’ve got to head straight past the airport terminal to get there.”
Understanding dawned. “DreamBurger.”
“Exactamundo. You want me to bring you something back?”
A tempting offer, under other circumstances. Right now, Ronan knew he wouldn’t be able to choke down a thing. He waved his friend off.
Once alone, he stared at his phone, the echoes of those conversations still ringing in his head. The anger he’d expected—deserved—had been there, but underneath it was something else. Something that felt like family. Like the fine group he’d walked away from three years ago.
He thought of everything he’d missed, everything he’d hidden from. And now Tank was gone. Tank, who’d tried to reach out so many times, who’d never given up on him even when he’d given up on himself.
The weight of his failure pressed against his chest, but this time, instead of crushing him, it strengthened his resolve. Tank had died trying to expose something. Something big enough, dangerous enough, that someone had decided to silence him permanently. But they hadn’t counted on this—on a team coming back together, on bonds that ran deeper than time or distance or silence.
Maybe there was something to be said for faith in something bigger than yourself—whether it was God, or family, or justice. Tank had believed that. Maybe it was time Ronan started believing in something too.
He pictured his friend’s easy smile, his solid presence, his unfailing loyalty. Whatever his friend had discovered, whatever had gotten him killed—they would find it. All of them. Together.
For Tank.
Re-energized, and ready to flee the ghost of his dead friend, Ronan headed for the stairs. Thrashing himself in the gym might be just the thing he needed to sharpen his brain for the upcoming fight.