They reached the shore in a messy, muddy scramble. Patch shoved the first man down on his knees. McGuire guided the second beside him, the gun never leaving his hands.
Savvy stepped closer, face unreadable. Her weapon hovered, steady.
The man on the left—wounded, soaking wet—lifted his head.
“Mendoza?” Savvy questioned with wide questioning eyes.
Mendoza blinked, dazed. “Hey, Savvy.”
She stepped back like she’d been hit, and in two strides, Patch was at her side.
“You’re supposed to be dead,” she said. “Instead, you’re gunnin’ for me? You turned on… me?”
“I didn’t have much of a choice,” Mendoza mumbled.
“We always have choices.” Savvy tightened her ponytail and let out a big puff of air.
The other man said nothing. Just watched. Cold. Silent.
Patch turned to him, eyes narrowing. “Do you know this man as well?” he asked Savvy.
She shook her head. “No. He wasn’t part of my team, but if I have a name, I might be able to place him.”
McGuire moved in, rifle raised. “Then it’s time we find out who he is—and why the hell he’s running with ghosts.”
The man met his stare with eerie calm. “Call me Locke.”
Patch didn’t like the way he said it—like he expected to be remembered. “Is that a first name?”
“Does it matter?” Locke asked.
“It fucking matters,” McGuire said. “Now answer the man.”
“Marshall Locke.” The man sighed.
“Jesus,” Savvy muttered. “You ran an op for the 73 with Gunner Watson about seven years ago… and one before that…” Her voice trailed off, eyes wide.
“Yeah, so?” Locke said.
Patch rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t like how things kept coming back to Gunner. “How well did you know Gunner?”
“Better than you, Patch.” Locke tilted his chin. “Yeah. I know your name and I sure as hell remember your fucking ugly face too.”
Patch lowered himself, fisting Locke’s shirt. “What the hell does that mean?”
“Operation Yellowjacket.” Locke smiled as if he’d won the damn lottery.
Patch shifted his gaze between Savvy and McGuire. “I don’t remember you.”
“I was blown to bits.” He waved his hand over his face. He had two massive scars. One on his left cheek that looped from his temple all the way down to his neck. On the other side of his face were burn marks. “You weren’t sure I’d make it. I suppose I owe you my life.” He laughed. Hard. “Thing is, you weren’t supposed to make it back.”
“Bring these assholes into the cabin and tie them up,” Patch ordered. “I need to get the SATphone. I want to call Darius. I need all the information on Operation Yellowjacket and Savvy’s last mission. They’re linked somehow. I want to read them before we continue the interrogation.”
“They're not connected like you think,” Mendoza said.
“Shut up, man.” Locke glared.
“What difference does it make now?” Mendoza’s shoulders slumped. “If they don’t kill us, they’re gonna turn us over. That’ll be worse than dead.”
