Chapter 1

1

Jason Reilly ran a polishing cloth over the gleaming silver fuselage of the P51 Mustang, his muscles flexing with each stroke. The late afternoon sun baked the historic hangar, turning it into a sweltering oven. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his thin t-shirt as he worked.

August had hit hard in the high desert. Not that he minded. He’d gladly take the heat, the bone-cracking winter cold, even the dust-storms whipping the find sand off the dried lakebeds to the south, over any time he spent on the run hunting his enemies.

Plus, High Sierra heat had nothing on the sweatbox that was a summer in Kandahar. Or Beirut. Nothing like being stuck in yet another blasted-out cement apartment complex, lying on his belly for hours, waiting for a chance to take the one shot his team counted on him to make.

He paused, surveying the restored fighter plane with a mix of pride and restlessness. The aircraft looked ready to take on the world. Unlike its owner. He scanned the horizon, searching for threats that existed only in his mind and ran a calloused hand along the Mustang’s wing, his eyes tracing the iconic silhouette. “Ready for action,” he muttered. “I just wish there was some.”

The faint rumble of an approaching vehicle caught his attention. He cocked his head, listening. The purr of a high-performance engine. Definitely not his sister Jane’s minivan. The vehicle pulled onto the refurbished taxiway, the bright red of the Jeep contrasting with the deep black asphalt.

Sunday dinner.

He had forgotten. Bridger and Jane confirmed the plans at church just a few hours ago. Man, he was losing it.

His friend, and now brother-in-law, Bridger North pulled his Jeep to a stop just inside the hangar and rolled down his window. “Yo, Reilly. You planning on broiling yourself in here all day?”

Jason tossed the cloth aside. “It’s a dry heat.”

Bridger laughed. “Whatever that means. Jane sent me to drag your sorry butt back to the house. Said if you don’t show up for dinner, she’ll come get you herself.”

Jason grimaced. “Not gonna happen.”

Bridger’s eyebrows shot up. “You really want to test that theory? Remember the ice bucket incident of ‘22?”

“Point taken.” He grabbed his water bottle, downing half of it in one long gulp. He and Bridger and their six special forces teammates might be tough, but his sister Jane was not one to be crossed. Even by men used to facing down enemy fire. “Give me five to close up shop.”

Bridger nodded. “I’ve got the AC blasting.” He rolled up the window and eased back in the driver’s seat.

Jason screwed the top back on the can of car polish and did a final walk-around of the hangar. Everything in its place. Neat. Orderly. Under control.

Just the way he rolled.

He joined Bridger in the Jeep, relishing the rush of cool air. “Nothing new, I’m guessing.”

They hadn’t heard so much as a word about the Consortium’s newest iteration since they stopped the international terrorist group from unleashing a global economy-killing software virus. That had been over six months ago.

Bridger shook his head. “Radio silence across the board. It’s like the entire Consortium network just ... vanished.”

But they knew differently. The enemy might have gone to ground temporarily, but there were already signs that the cabal of highly networked government officials and their billionaire funders known as the Consortium had splintered, leaving a new threat.

Jason swiped a forearm across his forehead, brushing away the cooling sweat. “You know those billionaire boys didn’t blow apart the Consortium just for kicks. They’ve got something big in the works.”

“For sure. World domination or annihilation of the human race. The usual.” Bridger’s attempt at levity fell flat.

Jason stared out the window, watching the parched landscape pass by. Waves of heat rolled up from the valley floor, distorting the horizon. Six months of inaction weighed on him like a physical burden. But with no active targets, there was no one to chase. “I hate this waiting game.”

Bridger shot him a sympathetic look. “You and me both. But for now, all we can do is stay ready. And try not to drive the fam insane in the meantime.”

“Speak for yourself. I’m a joy to be around.”

“Sure you are, sunshine. Just remember that when Jane threatens to sic Kellen on you.”

“Bring it on.” He loved his nine-year old nephew. His only regret was missing out on the past few years with the boy.

Jason eyed his buddy. He’d never seen his friend looking so tired. “I’m not the only one running hot. You look like you’ve gone ten rounds with a grizzly.”

Bridger ran a hand through his messy hair. “Thanks. I needed that ego boost.”

“The twins aren’t even here yet, dude. You should be getting some sleep.”

Bridger laughed as he navigated the baking highway. “Tell that to your nieces. Between their wrestling matches and the heartburn, they’re keeping Jane up at all hours.”

“Which means you’re up, too,” Jason realized.

“Copy that,” Bridger agreed, his knuckles whitening on the steering wheel. “Seriously. Those girls are training for the Olympics in there.”

The Jeep fell silent for a moment, broken only by the whine of the engine.

Bridger slid him a glance. “It’s good to have you home.”

“Roger that. Good to be back.” Jason slid down in his seat.

It was good to be home. Back with his team. His family. It would be better if they’d finished destroying whatever the Consortium had morphed into. Then he could really relax. They all could.

After he and his friends were “retired” against their will from the deeply-secret special ops team the military trained them for, Jason had gone out on his own, hoping to destroy the cabal of billionaires and high government officials who’d been ordering his team’s missions, basically using Jason and his team as their own private special ops force. It turned out, instead of carrying out missions for the good of their country, he and his team had been doing the dirty work for a group of international criminals.

Once the Consortium realized the squad had an inkling of their true bosses, he and the team were shoved straight into retirement. He and Jason and the others would have to find a way to live with the guilt.

They’d been on their own mission to destroy the cabal ever since. Once he and his friends busted up the Consortium’s last big mission, blowing it up before it could start, the international group had fractured, leaving a smaller, leaner, meaner group in charge. Seven-Five.

Stupid name for an evil organization. But no one asked him.

Whatever they called themselves, it was the same old snake oil in a new bottle. And just as dangerous. Maybe even more so. Once the billionaire heads got their acts together and secured their power, they’d be coming after Jason and the team again.

He planned to take them down first.

“I don’t like it,” Bridger muttered.

“Me, either.” A sniper and demolitions expert by both training and temperament, he needed a purpose. Action. A target.

Bridger’s gaze softened. “I remember how it felt when we got our discharge papers. Tai and I were climbing the walls, itching for new missions. Anywhere. Any time.”

Jason snorted. “Look how that turned out. You ended up married to my sister.”

“Best mission of my life.” Bridger grinned, then sobered. “We’ll get a break. And when we do, we’ll hit Seven-Five with everything we’ve got.”

Jason nodded, but inside, his resolve hardened. No way he’d let Bridger—his sister’s husband, Kellen’s dad, and the soon-to-be father of his nieces—anywhere near the front lines.

Whether Bridger liked it or not.

Bridger pulled the Jeep into the driveway now full of high-end 4X4s belonging to their teammates.

Jason cracked the door. Just imagining the thick, cheesy scent of Jane’s lasagna, making his stomach growl.

“Hungry much?” Bridger quipped.

Jason grinned. “All those nights stuck in those caves outside Kandahar? I used to dream about Jane’s lasagna, bro.”

“Copy that. I woulda dreamt about it, too, if I’d known about it back then.”

Jason picked up the pace. Judging from the vehicles choking the driveway, the rest of the team was already inside. They better not have started on that lasagna …

He hadn’t yet made it to the front steps when his phone vibrated against his thigh. He fished the device from his pocket, eyebrows shooting up in surprise at the text.

“Who is it?” Bridger asked, curiosity piqued.

Jason squinted at the screen. “Robbie ‘Gravy’ Munsinger.” A definite blast from the past.

Call me. The text said. 9-1-1.

Bridger’s brow furrowed. “Officer’s son, right? The recruit who?—”

“Yep, the one and only human gravy boat,” Jason confirmed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. The kid was so nervous his first day in Delta Force training he’d dumped his entire dinner tray, gravy included, right in Jason’s lap.

“Go on in,” he said, jerking his chin toward the house. “I need to take this. I’ll be there in a sec. Save me a piece of lasagna. Hold on. Better make that two.”

Gravy was a kind kid, but a huge bubblehead. Whatever Gravy considered an emergency would take a minute to sort out.

Bridger hesitated, his hand on the door handle. “You sure? What if it’s a case or something?”

The team might not be actively running down Seven-Five, but they were plenty busy helping regular folks with big problems.

Jason waved him off. “The kid had his struggles with drugs after he washed out of The Unit, but far as I know, he’s been on a straight path for the last couple years. He probably just wants to reminisce about the good old days when he was baptizing COs in brown sauce. I’ll fill you in later.”

Bridger raised an eyebrow but nodded, leaving Jason alone with the glowing screen. Jason braced himself for whatever drama Gravy was about to dump in his lap. With his luck, it would be less “reminiscing about the good old days” and more “help me hide a body.”

Either way, he had a sinking feeling his lasagna was going to get cold.