Chapter 7
God’s Plan
Caleb
THE GRAY MORNING light does nothing for my dire mood.
I’m still undecided if I should leave in the middle of an op and need to work out my confusion. After tying my sneakers, I fly out the door and go for a one-mile run, do one hundred pull-ups, two hundred push-ups, three hundred sit-ups, and then go for another mile—this time with a weighted vest.
When I’m done, I still haven’t decided. My workout didn’t help relieve the stress. If I don’t hurry and decide, I’ll miss my flight anyway. Problem solved. Not really. I pace the sidewalk with my hands on my head trying to figure out if I should stay or go.
Ford comes running up behind me. Out of the six of us, Ford and I are probably the most alike, and therefore talk the most. But no matter the dynamics, we’re a team—there’s Drum, Gin, Rice, Ford, Bond, and me.
“Man, seriously, you need to take some time for yourself. Now, get out of here. If anything starts to go down, you can get back here in plenty of time,” Ford assures me.
“Fuck yeah, you’re right,” I relent.
“And make sure you get laid,” he smarts.
Ignoring him, I head to the house I share with the guys in Ocean Beach and pack my shit before taking an Uber to the airport to catch the next commuter flight to Laguna Beach.
My brother Jason will be shocked to see me. I haven’t gotten to see him since he remarried his ex-wife, Serena, or my nephew, Trent, either.
Jason, like me, is FBI, or he was. He and Serena split because of the deep cover job he had taken. He was deep into bad shit, the same bad shit I’m still deep into, and she couldn’t see past it.
Lucky for him, he finally pulled back, but only after his son got lured into the world we were buried in. I still can’t believe neither of us never knew one of those fucking kingpins had discovered who we were.
Although we could never pin my nephew’s addiction directly on the cartel, Jason and I know it was them that lured Trent in—because of us.
Fuck, I want to pull my hair out when I think about it. Those fuckers had him buying and selling for them and then got him addicted.
To save his son, Jason had to make all the evidence of Josh Hart’s involvement with the cartel disappear, and I had to help him. Fucking shame. Josh happened to be the sucker who was looking for money from both ends—working both sides. Screwing everyone and himself in the process.
I helped Jason with the cover up to protect my nephew. I don’t love myself for it, but I did what I had to do.
No one on my team knows what I did.
That I withheld the information my best friend, Ben Covington, had given me on Cruz to save my nephew. The information that he’d gained, and then been forced into witness protection because of. The information that almost cost him his life. The information that might have brought Cruz down.
Unfortunately, with no links to Cruz or the cartel, the Feds booked Josh Hart on a pony charge, and he got five years—he should have received life for what he did.
I zip my bag closed and try to suppress the memories that always surface when I have to go home.
They’re not joy or happiness, though.
They’re feelings of guilt and betrayal . . . my guilt and my betrayal for the things I was forced to do. The things I’m not proud of. The things that will haunt me every single day of the rest of my life.
Just like they do now.