Chapter 1
Cord Carter squintedinto the high noon sun, clenched his jaw and rounded the track at Ft. Benning’s Army rehab facility. Sweat dripped into his eyes and he swiped a hand across his brow, flicking the abundance of moisture from his vision. A small crowd of onlookers dumb enough to brave the Georgia heat lined the track, but he ignored them—just like he ignored the pain jack hammering up hisleg.
The sun kicked up blistering waves of shimmering heat off the black asphalt, lending reality a dreamlike quality. For a brief moment, Cord’s mind drifted from the track back to Camp Taji, where he’d seen the same wavering mirage hovering over the tan sand. Suddenly, he felt like he was there again, watching the dust swirl up in spirals as he stalked closer to his target with his baby Lenore, a semi-automatic 50 cal sniper rifle, clutched in his arms. Days’ worth of dirt and sweat caked his pores, his mouth drew tight with thirst and his gut crawled with hunger. Didn’t matter. His blood surged with the primal satisfaction of raw power. He was a stalker. A predator. A soldier with amission.
His toe caught on the track—a stumble that immediately tore the memory from his grasp. Cord jammed out his right leg and caught himself a second before eating gravel. Agony shot up his thigh, and a cold sweat broke across his skin. His physical therapist had said sudden impacts would hurt for up to ayear.
Nine months out from catching an RPG, a rocket propelled grenade, on a recon assignment, the pain still crippledhim.
Cripple.Fuckthat.
Cord ignored the nausea rolling in his stomach and pushed himself harder. Running faster. Glancing at the stained brick building to the right of the track. That was where the real cripples holed up, too scared and too weak to fight the elements and learn to live without a limb. He and the few friends he’d made in this place dubbed it the death ward. When a vet moved to that building, he never cameout.
“Show off!” Jason Swartz, a SEAL who’d dived over a grenade to save his unit, shouted from his wheelchair in the shade of the breezeway. He’d lost both his legs, one kidney and half his spleen in the explosion, but his ass was still out training nearly every day. He would never move to the deathward.
Cord waited till he passed closer and shouted back, “Pussy!”
“You’re insane, Carter. It’s 105 degrees out there.” Swartz grinned and lifted a cold bottle of water to hislips.
Cord flipped him the bird and kept onrunning.
If it hadn’t been for a few good guys like Swartz, he’d have gone insane in this place. He’d thought about quitting his in-patient treatment program more than once. Nine months was a long-ass time. But he wouldn’t have a shot at being accepted back into the team unless he got the supervising physician’s signoff.
Cord was so close to the end—less than a week left—he could taste his freedom from this military-imposed prison. Hell, he’d been shot three times, stabbed twice. He’d even taken a piece of rebar through the shoulder. But this tedious recovery regimen had to be the worst thing he’d eversurvived.
Worse than the physical rehab were the one-on-one biweekly therapy sessions with Ms. Tamera Reid. He couldn’t think of a more severe punishment than being stuck in a room too small for anyone over five feet tall, on a ripped leather World War II-era couch, staring at a woman who’d never once held a gun as she asked him questions about his feelings. Shit, she knew as much about battle stress as Cord knew about high-heeled shoes. Thank God his commanding officer had made no stipulation that he had to be nice or agreeable, only that he had to be deemed mentally and physically fit forduty.
As far as he was concerned, his ticket out of this place was as good as gold. He’d never missed a single one of the torturous counseling sessions, and the fact that he was running like this today all of days was surely proof enough that he was physicallyfit.
Swartz waved him off after five more laps, wheeling off toward the showers. On Cord’s next pass, another man had taken the vacated space, this one standing in polished leather loafers. “You’re going slow,Carter.”
Cord slowed to a walk as he locked eyes on a man he’d never thought he’d see again. “I don’t see your ass out here,Fury.”
Clint Fury tucked his hands into his pockets and grinned like an idiot, not the least bit concerned. “That sweet little nurse told me I’d find you out here. Now I see why she was frowning when she said your name. You look likeshit.”
Cord checked the urge to smile and glared instead. “And you look like one of those twinkle-toedGQwannabes. When did you start dressing like awoman?”
Clint barked out a laugh, not the least bit insulted by Cord’s words. “The girls like it. Besides, I can’t exactly go around dealing business in the civilian world dressed in myBDUs.”
Battle Dress Uniform. The tan and brown uniforms issued to all militarypersonnel.
Clint pulled his hand out of his pocket and held it out. Cord shook it without hesitation. “Damn, man, didn’t think I’d ever see your pretty face again. What’s it been, threeyears?”
“Five, but who’s counting.” Clint shrugged. “Care to get out of the heat and into some shade? This monkey suit isn’t exactlycool.”
“Yeah, guess I could take a break. Let me grab my bag and I’ll meet you in the locker room.” Cord pointed down the breezeway to show him the way to the lockerroom.
Clint held a casual stance, but his intense gaze didn’t miss a single detail. Out of reflex Cord lifted his chin and shoulders, slowing his stride. “Locker rooms backthere.”
“Yeah, why don’t you hit the head. I’ll wait out here for you tofinish.”
Cord slung a hand towel around his neck, using the end to dry his soaking wet face. “Need to finish my laps after you leave. I’ll wait on theshower.”
“I wanted to talk to you about something, thought maybe I could buy you lunch. If you want to finish your run first, I’m happy to wait,” Clintsaid.
His curiosity piqued, Cord took a step in the direction of the locker rooms. “I’ve got the perfect place. Give meten.”
“I’ll wait on you in the parking lot,” Clint nodded in the direction of the exit down thebreezeway.
