Chapter 2

Two days later

Mason Ortiz powered through another set of shoulder presses, gritting his teeth as he pushed the heavy weights skyward. The strain burned through his muscles, a welcome distraction from his dark mood.

November winds whistled through the canyon outside the open doors of the headquarters’ gym, the biting chill foretelling the winter on its way. Winter came early in the Eastern Sierra, especially to the small towns like Redemption Creek that butted up against the soaring granite mountains. But inside, Mason built up a hard-earned sweat.

Anything to outrun his melancholy. It wasn’t like him to mope, but ever since Bridger and Jane’s wedding last month, he’d been kinda down. Strange, because he was stoked for his teammate. There was no doubt Bridger had found his soulmate. Everyone on the team, Mason included, was thrilled for the couple.

And yet their happiness seemed to add to the empty ache in his own heart. Seeing Tai with his arm around his new love, Tenaya, didn’t help. Again, Mason was stoked for the guy, but seeing his bros start coupling up was … weird.

The fact that he was even thinking about this kind of stuff was weirder still. He didn’t do feelings. Didn’t do romance or flowers or any of that mushy stuff. No Ortiz man did.

Mostly because they were so bad at it.

He was still in his twenties when he’d decided he’d stick to things he excelled at: soldiering and fighting and firearms. Stuff that required hard work, mental toughness, and a penchant for ignoring any kind of feeling, physical or otherwise.

He gripped the dumbbells harder, lifting faster, trying to burn away the feels, and prayed to the Lord to send them a new mission. Too much downtime made him crazy.

His watch buzzed on his wrist. Again. And again, he ignored it.

It was his brother’s new number. He’d just talked to Paul a couple weeks ago, when his estranged brother called with news of his new diesel mechanic job. Mason was relieved the guy had finally landed an actual grown-up job for once, but that didn’t mean Mason was ready to be best buds.

Paul had a lot of growing up left to do before he’d let him back into his life. Plus, talking to his brother wasn’t going to help his lousy mood. Only time and prayer and a whole lot more sweating would do that.

His watch buzzed again. Mason gritted his teeth. When Paul wanted something, it had to be now.

Tai Kaholo, his teammate, and the only man in the gym who could outlift him, eyed him over a hefty barbell. “You gonna get that?”

Mason tensed his abs, hefting his own weights higher. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Tai shot him an odd look but stayed silent. Good man. Mason didn’t want to talk about his failure of a brother right now. Or ever.

Paul was the one sore spot in his life, a constant disappointment. This new job could be the start of a new life for Paul, but only time would tell.

Mason finished his workout, pointedly ignoring the phone. Four calls. Then five. He toweled off sweat at the back of the open gym when Graham, their mentor and latest teammate, strode over and shoved the phone into his hands.

“Call your brother,” the older man insisted, expression brooking no argument. Before Mason could respond, Graham walked away, pausing at the door to mime “call now” before disappearing.

Mason stared down at the phone, anger simmering. He was a trained operative, a battle-tested SEAL. So why did the thought of calling his loser brother tie his guts in knots?

Whatever the reason, Paul was not going to go away. Not the guy’s style.

He lifted a quick prayer, asking his Savior for patience, and jabbed at the voicemail icon, steeling himself.

His brother’s confident drawl came over the line. “Yo, my man. You’re one hard hombre to get ahold of. Listen, I need your help. Wait. Don’t hang up. It’s not what you think. I mean yeah, I’m in trouble, but it’s not my fault. Really. I’m …” The confident voice faded, returning as a frightened whisper. “It’s my new job. There’s something really wrong going down here. I need your expertise, bro. I feel like this could get dangerous. Call me. Please?”

It was the please that did it. Paul lied and cheated and blustered. He never begged.

Mason hit redial.

His brother answered on the first ring. “Can’t talk now, Mason,” he whispered, his voice barely audible above the sound of air wrenches and clanging metal. Then Paul continued louder in hearty dude-speak, clearly intending to be overheard. “Bro! It’s been a minute. Can you make it tonight?” He paused, as if listening to Mason’s reply. “Great. We’re hanging at the Triple T. Probably around seven. Come hungry. They’ve got the best steaks in Seattle.”

Mason clenched and unclenched his fist, eyes on the jagged peaks piercing the hard blue sky. Whatever Paul was in the middle of, it was bad.

“Triple T, Seattle. Seven p.m.” Mason repeated the instructions, studying his watch. Kate or Tai would be available to fly him out. They kept the Pilatus ready to roll down the runway at a moment’s notice, and they had no current missions. A three-hour flight time, max, in their private jet. “I’ll be there,” he added. Paul was showing his tell—the empty boasting. Mr. Confidence was running scared.

“You won’t be sorry,” Paul insisted, his voice rich with fake heartiness. “Bring your A game. The way I’m running the pool table lately, you’re gonna need it.”

Alarm bells clanging in his head, Mason stared at the blank screen. The sweat dripping down his sides cooled fast in the autumn chill. He’d never heard his brother so frantic. And his final warning was exactly that: a warning. Code from when they were kids.

“Bring your A game,” meant prepare for trouble.

Back in the day, trouble meant a showdown with angry football players Paul had conned out of money. Or as Paul got older and into deeper trouble, helping him escape a confrontation with the local cops.

Whatever the issue, his brother needed help.

Mason glanced outside at the bright fall sky, resigned. Rescuing his trainwreck of a baby brother was his specialty. Even when it killed him.

He sank down on the bench in the locker area and called out to their virtual Wi-Fi assistant, asking for a Seattle weather report.

“Rain, Pilgrim,” came the reply in the deep John Wayne drawl their cyber expert, Paige, thought was so hilarious. “Then drizzle and more rain.”

Mason glanced at the blue sky visible through the open gym doors. Rain. It figured. With Paul nothing went right.