Afghanistan, Nangarhar Province.
“Hey, jackass, you ready?”
First Lieutenant Samuel “Midnight” Montgomery grunted as his buddy punched him in the shoulder, nearly knocking his compass out of his hand. He fumbled with it, shoving the guy back once he’d clipped the unit onto his vest. “You are such a mother-fucking pain in my ass, you know that, Gray?”
Gray laughed. “Fuck off. We both know you love me.”
“Yeah, like a freaking STD.”
Sam turned but grinned. First Lieutenant Rick Lawson—or “Gray” as everyone called him—was a thorn in Sam’s side. And the closest thing to a brother he’d ever had. They’d been together since their initial Ranger training, and he couldn’t imagine a mission without the other jerk having his back.
“They’re called STIs now, you ass. Speaking of which…” He kicked at Sam’s rucksack. “Did you pack your spare pair of boxers? We both know you’re gonna shit your pants on this one.”
“Got’em right beside your special cream.” He motioned to his buddy’s crotch. “Doesn’t look like it’s making anything bigger, though, bro.”
“Good.” Gray grabbed his junk. “Because if this gets any bigger, I’ll be splitting the ladies in half.”
Sam chuckled, checking his straps then closing his sack and tossing it over one shoulder. “I swear this shit gets heavier with every jump.”
“Just wait until you get the rest clipped on.” Gray’s smile faded as he pressed his lips together. “So…thirty big ones tonight.”
“Is there even air up that high?”
“Even with the oxygen tanks, it’s kind of crazy. Can’t the plane avoid detection enough at twenty-five? Do you know how fucking cold it is at thirty-thousand feet?”
“Minus forty.”
Gray rolled his eyes. “I know how cold it is. It was a rhetorical question.”
“I just hope the intel’s worth it. The last couple of missions have been a bust.”
“Who cares? After this, we’ve got two weeks off before we train with Regimental.” Gray inhaled. “Dude. We need to hit Vegas.”
A flutter of anticipation clenched Sam’s gut. They’d been waiting for months to get a shot at the Regimental Reconnaissance Company. A chance to take their training to the extreme—if they made the cut.
He snorted. No way they’d fail. Gray wouldn’t let them, and his buddy was solid grit.
Sam arched a brow. “Vegas? Really? Aren’t you banned from, like, half the casinos?”
“That still leaves the other half. And I bet we can find a couple of college babes lookin’ for a man in uniform.”
“Do you ever stop thinking with either your stomach or your dick?”
“I have a fast metabolism, and not all of us are stuck pinning away for some high school sweetheart. Which reminds me. It’s way past time you fucked that girl right out of your mind, bro. It’s been what? Ten years?”
“Twelve.”
Gray snorted. “And the fact you corrected me without hesitating… You need help, Midnight.”
Sam flipped Gray the bird. But it wasn’t the ribbing that pissed Sam off. It was the fact Gray was right. Not that Sam hadn’t done his best to move on. To let his heart wither and die in the desert sun. But, somehow, she’d invaded his head. Hidden pieces of herself like a scattering of landmines just waiting to explode when he thought he was safe. Free.
Not that it mattered. He’d burned that bridge—obliterated it. And the sooner he let those memories fade—let her fade—the better.
Sam gave the guy another shove. “Let’s just get through this mission, then we can chat about Vegas.”
“You know, haters are just gonna hate…”
“Jerk.”
Gray just kept on talking, teasing the other guys once they’d taken their seats. The easy banter helped pass the time until they were standing in front of the open door—wind eddying through the space, nothing but inky darkness beyond the doorway. Gray looked back at him, giving him a guarded nod before moving ahead. Just another couple of minutes, and they’d be out the door.
Sam steadied his breathing in the mask, frowning when Gray stumbled on his next step forward. He nudged his buddy, motioning to him as he activated his mike. “You okay?”
Gray arched his brow. “Is there something other than oxygen in your mask? Of course, I’m okay. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“It’s not like you to stumble.”
“These packs don’t exactly make walking easy.”
“Still…” He grabbed Gray, this time. “Is your hand shaking?”
Gray tugged his arm free, shoving his hand in his pocket. “I’m fine, Sam. Done this a hundred times before.”
“Doesn’t matter. You know it’s different every time. Any one of us could have adverse effects to the altitude on any given mission.” He held up his hand. “How many fingers.”
“Would you stop it? I’m fine. Better than fine, actually. I feel invincible. Now, let’s do this.”
Sam looked over to the PT tech going down the line, nodding at Gray. The man focused on his friend, checking his gear then rattling off some questions. He gave Gray a nod then shifted over to Sam.
“First Lieutenant Lawson seems fine.”
Sam narrowed his gaze, watching Gray take another unsteady step. “Are you sure?”
“As sure as I can be. If you think…”
His words died beneath a series of shouts as the light flashed above the door, and their commander motioned for them to go. Gray shuffled forward when the men in front stepped out, disappearing into the clouds as Sam moved to the door. He clenched his jaw, hoping he’d only been imaging things, then jumped, inhaling at the rush of adrenaline through his body. He fell, weightless, surrounded by darkness before getting jerked upwards by the chute. The damn things packed a punch. It didn’t matter how many times he jumped, he’d still be sore for days after.
Sam gathered his bearings. His team appeared in his night vision googles, or NVGs—ghostly green images amidst the black. He adjusted his trajectory, heading toward them as they sounded off, nothing but silence when Gray’s turn came. Sam scanned the area, catching a glimpse of movement below him. A chute billowed upwards, the tangled strings keeping it from properly deploying.
He hit the button on his headset. “Gray! You’re tangled. Release the main chute and deploy your reserve. We’ll adjust our descent rate to meet up with you.” He waited, but Gray didn’t answer him. “Gray!”
A beep sounded in his ear. “I don’t see any movement, Midnight. I think he’s out.”
Shit. “I’ll intercept. Stay on target. We’ll reevaluate once I’ve got him.”
“Roger.”
Sam cursed then released his chute, dropping into free fall. He fanned out his body then drew his arms together, increasing his speed as he angled toward his friend. The cold burned through his layers of clothing, numbing any exposed skin and slowing his reactions. If he waited much longer, he wouldn’t have enough dexterity to manipulate Gray’s chute.
Gray’s limp form rushed toward Sam as he closed the distance. He needed to slow his approach, so he wouldn’t injure either of them. Sam waited until he was close then spread his limbs, using the fiction as a brake.
He aimed for Gray’s waist, propelling them both forward as he locked his arms around his friend. The impact tumbled them over until Sam was able to get them stabilized. His vision blurred for a bit before he managed to shake it off. He released his friend’s chute, clipping them together before pulling his reserve. The material fluttered out behind him, once again jerking him up. Gray moaned, squirming against Sam’s hold.
“Easy. You’re suffering from hypoxia. Just…hold still.”
Gray mumbled something Sam couldn’t make out before his body went limp, again. Sam talked to the others, doing his best to follow behind them. But the added weight coupled with the extreme loss in altitude altered their path enough he knew they wouldn’t make it to the landing zone. Hell, he was happy the chute was working at all, aware they were pushing the upward limits of the damn thing’s useful load.
The land raced past, every minute drawing them closer to the ground. Sam cursed under his breath, constantly recalculating their new arrival zone, when lights flashed from the ground.
His radio buzzed a second before one of his teammates sounded in his headset. “Ground fire. Defensive maneuvers.”
Sam angled them to the right, hoping to get clear, when bullets ripped through the canopy above him, dropping them toward the ground. He pulled on the controls, slowing them as best he could. Jagged rocks rushed up toward him, the unforgiving landscape stretching out beneath him. He made one last attempt to veer clear before parts of the chute caught on a sharp out jut, halting their descent and slamming them against the cliff.
A rush of pain stole his next breath, dulling the voices shouting in his headset before he managed to blink away the fuzzy feeling in his head. Gray had slipped farther down Sam’s chest, the dead weight making it hard to breathe. That, or he’d crushed a few ribs.
“Gray! Shit, buddy, talk to me.”
He reached to check for a pulse, clenching his jaw at the stab of pain in his shoulder when his right arm wouldn’t move. He used his left, cursing the slick glide of fluid against his fingertips. He didn’t need to see the red color to know it was blood.
Fuck.
He looked up, hoping there was a way to untangle the cords, when a gust of wind slammed them against the rock, again. His knee connected with the stone, the dull crack echoing inside his head.
Sam clawed at the rocks, searching for an anchor point. “Hold on, brother. We’ll find a way out of this, just…”
His words trailed into a shout as the material ripped gave way above him, dropping them into the darkness below. There was a frenzied moment of free fall…then nothing.
“Sir?”
Sam jolted back, blinking against the wash of scenery until it cleared. A young woman stood beside the booth, coffee pot in one hand, a slice of pie in the other. Lines creased her forehead as she stared at him, her fingers white-knuckled around the plate.
He scanned the diner, the few people still in there looking over at him before turning away. Sam swallowed hard, nodding at the woman. “Sorry. I guess I dozed off. It’s been a long day.”
Fuck the day. It had been a long six months.
She gave him a timid smile. “You were talking. Calling for someone named Gray. I wasn’t sure—”
“It’s fine. I could use some more coffee, though. And a slice of that pie.”
“Sure. You can have this one.” She placed the plate in front of him as she refilled his mug. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Fine, just…tired.”
She nodded, but it was obvious she didn’t quite believe him, as she wandered off, moving to another table.
Sam stared down at his hands, hating the way they shook as he took a swig of his drink. His hands had always been rock steady. Had to be to make it through training. Yet, there was no denying the tremor. The slight slosh of the coffee inside the mug.
The damn dream.
Six months and it still haunted him—used every opportunity to chip away at what little sanity he had left. And god knew, he didn’t have any to spare.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, catching a hint of movement in the window beside him. He looked out, inhaling at the figure wavering by the lamppost next to his truck. A familiar set of eyes stared back at him, the ghosted echo of his name curling around him.
Sam closed his eyes. It wasn’t real. Just a figment of his imagination. A by-product of guilt, fatigue, and pain that manifested as the image of his dead teammate. His dead brother. He’d been told it would go away—fade like Gray’s voice inside Sam’s head. He just needed to be patient.
Sam stood, tossing some money on table before heading out into the snowy night. Another six hours and he’d be in Montana. The one place he swore he’d never return, and the only place that might save what was left of his soul.
A new job. A new beginning. He only hoped there was enough of him left to save.
* * * *
“Midnight?”
Sam looked up, nodding at the two men standing off to his left. He’d made it to the small town of Eagle Rock, Montana in good time, considering the poor road conditions, and had stopped at the local diner, sitting in a booth similar to the one he had the previous night—the one where he’d questioned his sanity to the point he’d thought about turning around. Or maybe just continue driving until he ran out of land.
He stood, extending his hand. “Sam Montgomery.”
The larger of the two men smiled, shaking Sam’s hand firmly. “Hank Patterson. Some of the guys call me Montana. It’s great to finally meet you in person.” He thumbed at the other guy. “Taz, here, has been driving me nuts since he heard via the grapevine you were going civilian. Told me I’d be crazy not to hire you.”
Sam nodded at the other man, shaking his hand next. “Thanks, though, I don’t recall us ever meeting.”
Taz chuckled. “We haven’t. Not officially. The name’s Alex Davila, but as Hank said, most folks call me Taz. As for knowing you… The 75th Ranger Regiment is a small community, and I’ve heard you mentioned a lot from some mutual buddies overseas. Seems you made quite the name for yourself over the past twelve years. It’s great to have you joining the team.”
Sam nodded, again, not quite sure how to respond. He hadn’t actually accepted the job—hadn’t really been offered it, if he were honest—though, it seemed as if this was far more than just an interview. “Um—”
Hank cursed, giving Taz a shove. “Nice, Davila. You’re gonna scare off our new recruit before he even signs up. Let’s have some coffee. Chat.”
Sam took his seat, eyeing both men from across the table. While Taz seemed like more of an open book where Sam was concerned, Hank definitely kept a tight fist on his emotions. Nothing registered beyond the firm press of the man’s lips or his steady gaze as he relaxed against the seat cushion.
Hank waited until the waitress had brought them all coffee before leaning forward, his hands folded together on top of the table. “So, I gotta ask. Why do they call you Midnight?”
Some of the tension eased from Sam’s muscles as he took a gulp of coffee, cradling the mug between his hands. “While I consider Montana home, I was born and raised in Barrow, Alaska. My father was a bush pilot, and he set up shop there for about fifteen years. Unfortunately, he died when I was ten. My mom tried to make a go of it on her own but decided to move back to her hometown of Livingston when I was twelve. But once the guys learned where I was originally from…”
Hank laughed. “Land of the midnight sun.”
“Shortened to Midnight.”
“I’m sure all those night maneuvers you did only made it stick more.” He glanced at Taz. “If I may… Why the move to civilian life? From what Taz had heard, you’d planned on making the Rangers your life’s work. And my contacts at Walter Reed said you’d returned to your regiment—something about RRC training. It sounded as if things were okay.”
Sam steeled himself against the rush of images that flashed in his mind—against the ghosted feel of rock beneath his palms, and the lingering sound of him and Gray hitting the ground, Gray’s body crushed beneath his.
The air thickened, aggravating the side of his ribs that hadn’t quite healed. He forced in a few quick breaths, breaking eye contact when the other men frowned, looking as if they were going to reach for him.
Hank sighed. “Look, Midnight. I didn’t mean to pry.”
Sam made a conscious effort of raising his gaze to theirs. “I got hurt on my last mission. The jump went sideways, and I ended up with four broken ribs, and a punctured lung, amongst other issues. Despite making a full recovery, the doctors felt the residual damage from the pneumothorax made future HAHO and HALO jumps too risky. To be honest, they thought any jump was probably too risky. I argued—spent the past four months trying to get some kind of waiver, prove to them it hadn’t slowed me down—anything to change their minds, but…”
He didn’t mention that he’d screwed his knee and shoulder, or the part where he was seeing his dead friend. He already thought he was crazy. He didn’t need strangers to confirm it.
Taz muttered something under his breath. “But what you got was a one-way ticket stateside.”
Sam snorted. “Hard to be a Ranger when you can’t jump out of a damn plane. And changing specialties now… It didn’t appeal to me—not when I was exactly where I’d wanted to be. That’s if they even would have allowed it. You’d heard right. I was supposed to head off to RRC after the mission, but…” He shook his head. “Of course, I hadn’t really considered how hard it would be to integrate back into civilian life. The Army Rangers was supposed to see me through to my golden years, if I lived that long. Who knew there weren’t many job prospects for guys like us?”
Hank nodded. “Which is exactly why I created Brotherhood Protectors. There are far too many veterans who have the same issues. They want to continue to fight the good fight, but they don’t know how to go about it.”
“So, what, exactly, do you and the other men do?”
“In a nutshell? We provide protective services for clients who have problems beyond the scope of the police. Everything from stalkers to covert assignments where we’ve been hired by someone close to the client to see they aren’t put in harm’s way. Taz, here, started off posing as a patient for the Brighter Days rehab ranch.” Hank cleared his throat. “Not only did he stop the perpetrator, he and Hannah have been together ever since.”
Taz laughed. “I was luckier than most. But, the point is, the work we do has a way of making us feel worthy. It definitely helped me with the transition.”
Sam crossed his arms over his chest, focusing on Hank. “And you think I’ll be a good fit?”
Hank shrugged. “Wouldn’t have asked you to come here if I didn’t. But the real question is…do you?”
Sam stared at his coffee for a few moments, ignoring the memories that hovered at the edge of his consciousness, before giving Hank a nod. “I’d like to accept your offer.”
“Perfect.” Hank reached into his pocket and removed a folded up manila envelope. “Then, let’s get you started. I have a client right up your alley.” He smiled. “Welcome to the Brotherhood Protectors, Midnight.”