“You already met Jess.” Shane shook her hand with a wink, and Becca swore the normally kick-ass woman went weak in the knees. The Shane Effect, she thought, twisting her lips to hide her smile. “And this is Becca Merritt,” Nick said.

Those gray eyes locked onto hers for a long moment, but apparently his secret swoon power didn’t work on her. Instead, she found herself looking away to wonder at the shadows that’d settled over Nick’s expression. “I’m sorry to hear about your brother,” Shane finally said, offering his hand.

She returned the shake. “Thanks. And thanks for coming.”

The man cut his steely gaze at Nick and jammed his hands in the pockets of his slacks. “Well, when a brother asks for something, it’s only right to step up.” The room went frosty as the two stared at each other.

The buzzer sounded out front again.

“I’ll get it,” Nick said.

He returned a few minutes later with a giant of a man who had a noticeable limp. A blue-eyed blond with a warrior’s face, serious and utterly masculine. Scars marred the skin all around his right eye, making her wonder if whatever had caused them had affected his sight. Taller than Nick or Shane, and broader, too. The guy might’ve been a linebacker from the size of his neck and shoulders under the dark sports coat.

Linebacker did the hand-clasp-one-shoulder-bump greeting with Shane like the old friends they were, and while he repeated the action with Nick, there was a hesitation there that niggled at her stomach. Nick introduced him as Beckett Murda, and, as the greetings went around again, a feeling of protectiveness for Nick crawled up Becca’s spine.

Beckett stepped forward and extended his bear mitt of a hand to her. “Miss Merritt,” he said as they shook. She gave her thanks once again and he nodded. While he didn’t go at Nick with the outward sarcasm Shane had exhibited, Becca watched for and saw the two of them throw icy sideways glances at each other.

Where was the camaraderie and brotherhood she’d expected from soldiers who’d been where they’d been and done all that they’d done? Not here, that was for damn sure. Tension pulsed off the three former teammates, but Becca kept her questions to herself. For now.

Thank God for Jeremy. The guy could ease anyone into a conversation, she was sure of it. Before long, she’d learned that Shane worked for a defense contractor in Northern Virginia and had grown up outside of Richmond. And, while Beckett proved a harder sell on conversational chitchat, he shared a little about his work doing private security. Becca mostly hung on the sidelines, preferring to listen and get the lay of the land about who these men were who’d be helping her and Charlie. Odder was that Nick stayed on the periphery, too. Even Jess participated more.

Becca wasn’t sure how much time had passed when the front buzzer went off.

“I’ll go see who it is,” Nick offered again, disappearing from the group. “Jeremy, it’s your client,” he called. Jer excused himself just as the front door set off the buzzer one more time. A few minutes later, Nick led another man down the hall—the last expected arrival for the night, according to what he’d told Becca earlier.

This guy was about Nick’s height, with skin so dark it was almost black. He had a killer smile and a bald head, and the form-fitting, long-sleeved shirt he wore didn’t make her guess at all about how cut he was underneath. But what Becca most appreciated was that he seemed more relaxed, less hostile around Nick.

“Everyone, this is Edward Cantrell,” Nick said, introducing Jeremy, Jess, and her in turn.

“Becca,” Edward said. Was she imagining it, or was his smile not quite as bright when he said hello to her?

Nick took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “Well, you all have come a long way, and it’s late. Let’s head upstairs.”

As the men made for the door, Nick avoided Becca’s gaze. At the back door to Hard Ink, he directed them up the stairs and gave them the code to the apartment. Then he came back to her.

Becca arched an eyebrow, already bracing for a fight. The you’re-not-invited vibe had been loud and clear, which was stirring up a hornet’s nest in her brain.

And he knew it, too. He gently took her by the shoulders. “Wait. Before you go off, hear me out. There’s no way you didn’t pick up on the tension. Let me hash some things out with them and catch them up on the basics. We won’t make any plans without you.”

She studied his eyes and could see only sincerity there. The urge to fight dialed back a notch. “Okay, but what’s with all the cold shoulders?”

He shook his head. “Just gimme a while with them, okay?”

When she nodded, he turned to go. From the stairwell, his boots echoed as he pounded up the steps.

“Damn,” Jess said, plopping onto one of the couches. “I think I should’ve joined the Army. Cause I would ride that convoy all day long.” Her face squinched up. “Not Nick, I mean. Just, you know, the other three.”

Becca laughed and crossed to sit with Jess. The puppy curled into a ball on the floor in between their feet. Jess launched into a running commentary on Nick’s teammates, and, outwardly, Becca laughed and smiled in all the right places. But on the inside all she could think about was the ringing of her internal alarm system that said the arrival of these men somehow made everything a lot more complicated.

Chapter 13

Rixey stepped into his apartment, and three sets of eyes swung toward him. Man, this was gonna suck before it got better.

Almost a year ago, they’d barely limped back to base when it had become clear someone had been spinning the ambush in a way that had buried the knives so deep in their backs they weren’t ever coming out. From that moment, they’d existed in a state of collective outraged pissed off—one in which Rixey still lived. As if their friends’ deaths and their own injuries hadn’t been bad enough, the realization that the commander they’d respected and admired had lied to them and betrayed them for a little green had poured salt on the wounds.

Worse, when the shit had hit the fan, Mother Army hadn’t had their backs. No one had believed their version of the ambush, that it had been the result of some sort of underhanded black op gone bad on Merritt’s part. No fucking sir. Instead, their fitness reports had suddenly included marks for “needs improvement” and low ratings that hadn’t been there before. Records of fighting and disorderly conduct and other disciplinary infractions had materialized out of thin air in the personnel files of the team’s survivors, discrediting them piece by piece until blame for the ambush had stuck to them like white on rice. It had been like falling down a fucking rabbit hole. The only way to stop the free fall had been to choose between a dishonorable discharge, which had included an all-expenses-paid vacation to Leavenworth, or an other than honorable discharge, where they might live to fight another day.

They’d packed up their corroded reputations—because that shit wasn’t just tarnished—and chosen the latter. Not because they’d feared a trial but because some brass inside the Army—or possibly higher—had to have been pulling strings, making prison all but a done deal. The who and why of it was a complete mystery. And the NDA the Army had required as part of the deal had made it so they couldn’t talk to anyone outside the team without risking their freedom. But maybe, just maybe, Charlie had found a string they could pull to unravel that motherfucker once and for all.

It could be the chance he’d been yearning for all these long months to restore his name, his reputation, his honor. He just hoped the team saw it that way, too.

As Rixey approached the group, a part of himself flickered back online. He’d missed the company of these guys the way an amputee missed an appendage. Being with them again both eased the phantom ache and worsened it, because they could never really be whole again. Not with six of them cold in the ground. Seven, if you included their commander. Nick didn’t.

Beckett and Easy—Edward’s nickname after his initials, E.C.—sat on stools at the breakfast bar making small talk. Shane stood at the far end, arms crossed, his expression a stone wall.

“Thanks for coming,” Nick said, mirroring Shane’s position at the opposite end of the bar. The metaphor was a kick in the ass—them facing off instead of standing together as they had for so many years.

“What happened to Merritt’s daughter’s face?” Beckett asked, being his usual hard-ass self. He knew her first name, and Rixey had no doubt he’d phrased it that way to keep their CO front and center in everyone’s minds. Like they could ever forget. And like Beckett wasn’t convinced he wanted to help her.

Then again, hadn’t his own first reaction been the same? “Attempted abduction today. She fought the guy off. Got the goose egg on her forehead and four stitches from a stab wound to the ribs for her troubles. The scratches by her eye were an accident.”

Beckett stared at him a long moment, surprise and appreciation flickering through his gaze. Second to appealing to their bone-deep desire to redeem their honor, Becca was probably his strongest asset in getting through to these guys. They were pissed and wary—and rightly so. But the urge to help, serve, and do the right thing was also stamped into their DNA.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning,” Shane said.

Nick gave a tight nod and resisted the memories of how many other times he’d given briefings and orders to these men. This wasn’t the Army. He wasn’t their second in command. And he wasn’t the same man he’d been then. Goddamnit. “Becca came to me two days ago. Her brother was missing, and the last communication she’d received from him told her to find me. I turned her away.” That got their attention. Shane uncrossed his arms and braced himself against the counter. Easy sat up straighter on his stool. “I didn’t want anything to do with the Merritts or whatever trouble they had. But I couldn’t shake wondering why her brother Charlie, who I’d never met, would tell her to seek my help. Why he’d specifically tell her in a note that I was a member of their father’s Special Forces team.”