Prologue
Four Years Ago
Wyatt
The desert winds whip over the desolate landscape as we make our way towards a cluster of buildings surrounded by a low stone wall. Four of us, moving as a single unit, stick to the shadows. The moon is nothing but a sliver in the darkened sky, and it’s quiet except for the skittering of the scorpions along the hard-packed sand.
Giving the signal to breach, I adjust the grip on my M4. Intel says the group we’re looking for is hiding in an underground tunnel accessible by a trap door in the corner of the main room.
Clearing the darkened space takes less than five seconds. It’s empty save for a few discarded rags and a broken chair. Marklin draws down on the west wall, and my NVGs reveal the faint outline of a wooden panel set into the floor. We move together until Berlios drops to one knee.
A loud roar fills my ears. The blast of heat and flame overwhelms my senses, the light blinding me through the night-vision. Pain, sharp in some places, dull and aching in others, is the only way I can tell I’m still alive.
“Marklin!” I can’t hear shit. Only a high-pitched whine. On my back, I rip off the NVGs and blink hard, waiting for the ceiling to come into focus. When it does…fuck. Half the roof is gone. So’s the west wall.
Gritting my teeth, I roll to one side. A wave of agony races down my chest to my hip. Shit. There’s a jagged piece of shrapnel poking out of my shoulder. Right where my radio should be.
Not good, Wyatt. Not good.
A rough grip to my wrist sends me scrambling for my rifle until I hear a familiar voice. “Gotta move. Now!” Berlios snaps. At least the ringing in my ears has faded. He crouches next to me, pulls my arm around his shoulders, and stands.
Jesus Fucking Christ, the pain is too much. My vision darkens and Berlios drags me from the house through a hole in the east wall. The door is completely gone.
Marklin and Hernandez stumble after us, and I try to turn my head. I have to make sure they’re okay. Hernandez cradles his right arm, and his hand…his thick glove is gone, as is his thumb. Marklin’s face is bloody, a dazed look in his eyes, but they’re both moving under their own power. Thank God.
Someone knew we were coming. Knew the perfect time to blow the wall.
The world starts to spin, slowly at first, then faster, and the last thing I hear is Berlios calling my name. And then everything goes black.
Three Years Ago
The truck coasts to a stop over a carpet of moss and spring crocuses. From the back seat, Murphy, the dog who served by my side for most of my last two years in the SEALs, makes an inquisitive noise.
“You sure about this, Wyatt?” The man behind the wheel, West Sampson, shuts off the engine and peers at the cabin in front of us. “This place is in the middle of fucking nowhere.”
“That’s the point.” The fresh air holds the promise of warmth, though it’s still brisk enough I’ll need to fire up the wood stove in the main room before dark. “I tried, West. For six months, I tried to find a way to deal with the noise. The traffic. The sirens. I can’t do it anymore. I’ll be better…out here.”
Murphy stays close as West and I unload his truck. Everything I own in the world fits in three rucksacks and half a dozen boxes. “I’d ask if you wanted to come in, but…”
West huffs out a laugh. “You don’t want company. I get it. I won’t stay. You need me to run through the security system one more time before I head back to Seattle?”
“No. I read the manual. Cam knows her shit.” West fell in love with a woman who runs the premiere business security company in the country, and she designed a custom system for me. This place is so far from civilization, there’s no cell service, so the alarms won’t contact any emergency services. But at least I’ll know if anyone tries to break in. West had another member of the K&R team he works with—a hacker—zap all evidence this cabin even exists from every map on the internet.
“You want help moving shit inside?” West shoves his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket as Murphy pads through the front door and starts exploring our new home.
“Nah. Get out of here. I’ll check in next week.” The scent of fresh construction fills my nose as I inhale deeply. The inside is largely unfinished, which’ll give me enough projects to get me through the summer. “Monday morning, 0900.”
“Don’t be late. Or I’ll have a bird in the air in under an hour.”
“I’m a goddamn SEAL, West. I don’t need you checking on me once a month to make sure I’m still breathin’.”
“I’m not checking on you. I’m checking on Murph.” Dropping to one knee, West pats his other leg until my dog—a Belgian Malinois—trots over to him and sits. “Take care of this asshole. He’s gonna need someone looking after him.”
Murphy noses West’s shoulder once, then dips his head so West can scratch him behind the ears. His tail thumps on the wood porch until I snap my fingers.
At the signal, he returns to my side immediately, though he knows there’s no danger here. His tongue is lolling half out of his mouth.
“I mean it, Wyatt. You miss a check-in—even once—and I’ll be up here so fast it’ll make your head spin.”
