Chapter 1
Walker
The best part about rural Utah, the desolate southern region outside of a place called Delta, was that no one would be looking for him there. Walker Star took his time walking down the long, dusty road. He sucked in a deep pull of his cigarette. The funny thing was, at the age of thirty-five, he'd given up cigarettes when he became a Navy SEAL. They cut your wind. They were bad for you. Now, he took another pull, enjoying it, holding it in, letting his body absorb all of the nicotine it could get. That was the best part about being retired. Well, retired or forced out, depending on how someone looked at it. He hesitated, feeling out of sorts. No. No. No. He wouldn’t feel out of sorts. He took another pull of the cigarette. Nothing mattered anymore. He didn't have to care if he was dropped in a foreign country. Didn't have to run for miles at a time, into oblivion. He could smoke. He could do anything.
He took another pull, held it in, and let it out slowly. Right now, he was doing the one thing he'd longed to do for years; he was heading out to the desert, a place he'd been when he was young, a place his father had always taken him and his brothers.It was a sanctuary where a man could disappear for a couple of days. He had gear on his back, most of it water, but he knew the parts where he could get more. He knew where springs were hidden beneath the rust-colored earth. He loved it. He loved being by himself. He loved letting everything go.
Though his brain wouldn't comply with this whole relaxation process. His mind immediately went to that night, to the yelling, to the gunfire, to the screaming, to the smoke and the dust, to the confusion of war—the memories he tried to suppress.
Walker, come this way!He ran. He ran harder. He sprayed down gunfire into the rubble. At this point, he wasn't sure whose side he was on or if it was friendly fire. No way to tell. And then he felt the impact hit the left part of his shoulder, knocking him to the ground, taking the breath out of him. He heard his pal Ray yell, "Walker!" Then Ray was at his side, putting pressure on the wound. "Do not die on me, dude. You cannot die on me."
The sound of gunfire in the real world brought him back. He looked around. He took another drag of his cigarette. His mind was tuned in, but his body had been trained to remain calm. Had it been a gunshot? It sure sounded that way. Another round went off in the air to his left. He looked toward a mountain formation called the Great Stone Face. The massive rock jutted against the azure sky, its jagged edges cutting into the horizon. He threw the cigarette to the ground and kept walking.
He thought he'd be without people, but that wasn't his luck. Figured. He kept walking, keeping his mind alert. He was on a path, a dirt road. He stared at the tire tracks in the orange-red dust. They didn't seem fresh, but then he heard it—the sound of a Jeep or a Humvee coming around the corner.
Taking action, he bolted to the left. Luckily, there were some bushes. He dove into them. Of course, it hurt—sagebrush, thorny as all get out. The car blasted past, and he watched. It was an old Jeep. Rumbling loudly. He memorized the license plate.He waited. Nothing else, no one else. He got to his feet, and of course, he couldn't stop himself.
He wished he could just turn away, go the other way, walk the other direction, go off the road. He could do that. He wasn't committed to anything. He could just forget this happened. He cursed and started down the path before picking up into a jog. Someone was shot. Were they still alive? They might still have a chance.
He pulled out a cell phone. He did have service. He knew he wouldn't have service at some point out here, but he still had it now. He kept jogging. Came around the corner—nothing. He could see where the Jeep had been. There were crinkles in the sand. He ran over and looked around. Then he spotted it, blood caked over another patch of sagebrush. He got closer, and then saw it—the dead man. Too bad they hadn't shot him somewhere else. The bullet was right in his head, so he wasn't alive.
The man's hands were zip-tied behind his back. His face was halfway in the sand. Walker inspected him: military-type pants and boots, black windbreaker, black hair. He sized him up. The man looked like he could handle himself. Maybe an ex-military type.
Walker didn't want to get involved in this investigation, so he just kicked him over. There was a scar on the dead man's right cheek going from his cheekbone down to his chin. On impulse, Walker bent down and patted his pockets. Nothing. Nothing on the other side.
Walker didn't know what had happened. Apparently, these thugs thought they could get rid of a body out here. Made him laugh—not a happy laugh, but a sardonic, dark laugh. The kind of laugh that said God always knew where everyone was. The kind of laugh that said he had found himself mixed up in something, even when he'd been trying to avoid being mixed up in anything.
He was about to call nine-one-one. He didn't have a chance to make the full decision because then he heard the blades of a chopper. He looked up, startled at first, then understanding fell through him. It was a black chopper with a little red star on it. He laughed. Guess there really was no way to hide from someone he really didn’t want to see.
He probably could have run, gotten some distance, but it was pointless. The chopper landed fifteen feet away, and out came his brother, his oldest brother. Reed was dressed in a business suit, far from the Navy SEAL he had once been. There had always been five of them, even after their father had passed away ten years ago. Not that any of them kept in touch that well, but his oldest brother Reed had taken over the family business.
Reed pulled his sunglasses up, nodding at Walker, and then looking at the body. "Well, wouldn't you know it?"
Walker crossed his arms. "Wouldn't I know what, Reed?" he asked, feeling semi-angry. He would have been volatile if he hadn't been trained for so long to keep himself in check.
Reed looked him up and down. "Guess your plan to disappear didn't work that well."
Walker shook his head slowly. "Were you tracking my phone?"
Reed scoffed out a laugh. "Actually, no." Two guys emerged from the helicopter.
Walker hadn't realized they were there. They were clearly armed, wearing jeans and black shirts. They had little Bluetooths in their ears.
He grunted. “C’mon, this feels … orchestrated.”
“What? No.” Reed nodded at the guys. "Let's clean this up, fellas." He turned to Walker. "Guess you're involved in this now though."
Walker laughed. He laughed, then wiped his hands and started walking away from him. "Oh, no, I'm not."
Reed called out, "Walker, get back here."
Walker kept walking and raised his hand in a salute. "No, brother. Not doing that."
Reed called out again. "This case might be interesting to you."
Walker laughed even harder. "No way Dad's business could be interesting to me."
"I think it would involve you. I think you would like to be in this."
