Of the five sets of eyes that greet Melissa and I when we come out of my bedroom the next morning, four of them are filled with questions, while BA just looks like she's happy to see us.

“Uh, hi,” I greet them, running my right hand through my hair. “Thanks for letting me sleep.”

“I'm glad you're rested,” Andrea says, smiling softly. “But we've got a lot of questions about the past few days.”

“And not just about New Orleans,” I reply, causing everyone to nod. “Okay, so which do you want, the news about what happened in New Orleans or what happened last night?”

“Bad news first,” Jackson says, shaking his head. “I want to end this all on a high note. And I heard enough to know the news between you two is good.”

I glance at Melissa, who nods. Our little decision can wait a little bit. “Okay guys. But if you don't mind, can we do it outside? I could use some fresh air.”

“Why not?” Carson says, standing up. “Hey Katrina, you mind if I hold my niece for a bit?”

BA is happy with the arrangement, nestling against Carson in her little sling as we head out behind the main house, where I see the truck I bought, parked in a different spot than where I stopped when I pulled up. “So I guess you and Jackson drove it down to town?”

“Yep. Nice ride, man,” Carson says, running his hand over the front fender of the five year old GMC Super Duty. It's not a Duramax diesel, but the engine's got plenty of power, and it's still a crew cab. “You certainly upgrade when you get my stuff crushed up.”

“Well, that and I have to ask you to lend me a pistol out of your collection,” I tell him, sighing. “I liked that Colt, too. Had it totally tweaked to my needs.”

Carson shrugs and pats the hood of the truck. “No problem, I brought another 1911 with me. So what happened down there, anyway?”

I tell them everything about what happened, not wanting to give the gory details but forcing myself to, even though I can see from the look on her face that Melissa's happy she hasn't had breakfast yet. Jackson and Andrea take it hardest, they both knew Margaret better than I did. Even if she was a terrible excuse for a mother, she was the woman that Jackson called Mom for most of his life.

“Jesus...” Jackson finally says after I finish the New Orleans part of my story, lowering his head and leaning against the truck. “Jesus. And she did it just to fuck with your head?”

“I doubt it was just that,” I tell Jackson, hoping to move on quickly. “If she just wanted to divert my attention, Isis would have left Margaret alive long enough to distract me, killing Margaret cleanly afterward. No, I thought about it on the drive back, she did it under orders.”

“You mean... Peter wanted that done to her?” Andrea asks, pale with disgust. “Why would... I'm sorry, I need a minute to settle down.”

She walks away, heading into the trees where we hear the sound of retching for a minute, then she comes back, wiping her lips with the back of her sleeve. “Sorry. Pregnancy, you know?”

“It's not just that,” I reassure her, pushing on. “I suspect Peter is going over the deep end. Isis is a crazy bitch, but she does draw a line. At least, she used to. She is more like what happened later.”

“So what's this about you getting shot in the ass, anyway?” Katrina asks, forcing a chuckle. Anything to change the subject from Margaret getting a Colombian necktie. “Did she really put one in your butt?”

“Yep. When she tried to collect the contract on my head the last time, I was nearly as lucky as this time, but she grooved me a good one,” I say, turning to the side and unbuttoning my pants. I'm not trying to show off my ass, but the forced humor is needed, and I understand what Katrina's trying to do. The scar is pretty impressive, starting about two-thirds of the way to the outside of my butt and halfway down, just where the muscle is at its biggest before arcing up to end right at where the waistband of my pants lies, and is about two fingers wide for most of it. “Ironically, I was jumping out a window last time when she shot me, that time with my own pistol. I was lucky, I'd mistimed my jump and caught some of the ledge of the window on my thighs which flipped me down, or else you guys wouldn't be talking with me right now.”

I pull my jeans up, snapping up and buckling my belt quickly. “So after that, I dumped Carson's truck. Sorry Carson, I tried to get anything personal out of it.”

“When did you start getting a fever?” Jackson asks, his eyes hardening as the news of his mother's death starts to sink past the initial shock. “In Memphis?”

“About,” I agree. “I had to drive super calm all the way out of Louisiana, and I didn't get that shirt until I stopped for gas in Brookhaven, Mississippi.”

“Let's cut to the chase. What now?” Andrea asks.

“What do you mean?” Melissa asks nervously. “Taking the fight to them?”

“I think Andrea means yes and no,” I answer her, taking her hand. “We need some sort of advantage. Peter has the advantage in New Orleans, with the people who still owe him favors, and Isis. She is too good for us to take her and Peter down without one of us getting hurt or even killed.”

“So what do we do? Spend the rest of our lives here?” Melissa asks, and I shake my head. “What?”

“We can’t stay here the rest of our lives, no matter how wonderful a retreat this is,” I tell her gently. “I'm sure people in town are already wondering about us, and with Andrea's baby coming, we can’t just stay up here the whole time. MCS needs us, and more. So we take the fight to Peter, but with help.”

“Who do you know?” Jackson asks, seeing where I'm going.

“I know some men, good men I used to work with in the Special Forces and some less than good men during my time afterward that might be willing to take a contract on Peter. But to go against him or Isis is going to be expensive,” I say, thinking. “I’ll be honest, I don't know if I have the money immediately available to guarantee loyalty. I mean, I have it, but it's tied up offshore.”

“How much are we talking?” Carson asks, and I tap the hood of the truck, calculating in my head.

“At a minimum? Even my closest contacts would not take on Isis for less than a million. For Peter, too? Two million in cash possibly, plus expenses. Whoever takes a contract on Peter knows they will be pissing off a lot of very heavy hitters in the Gulf Coast area. A group like the people I am thinking of has to know they are getting enough to pay for the futures of their widows and children.”

Everyone looks around, knowing the full gravity of what I'm saying. The men and women I want to hire aren't criminal scum, I can't trust that sort of operator. That sort of person would turn on us as soon as the going got tough, or Peter offered them a better cut to turn on us. The people I need to hire are professionals, as professional as Isis, as unfortunate as it sounds to call that psycho a professional.

“Can someone do it without dying?” Katrina asks, and I shrug.

“If they get lucky, and they have time, maybe. I'll need to make some phone calls to see what Major Munchak can assemble for me. He works with some of the best in the country.”

I look around at everyone, and can see it in everyone's face. Once we cross this line, there's no going back. Ironically it's Melissa who nods first, followed by Jackson, then the others. “Okay. I'll make the phone calls this afternoon.”

“Good,” Andrea says, then forces a smile. “So, now that we've gotten that nasty bit out of the way, the good news?”

I look at Melissa, who blushes and takes my hand. “Do you want to tell them or should I?” I ask, and Melissa looks up, smiling. “Okay, you do it.”

“Well, I asked Nathan something,” Melissa continues, moving close enough that I wrap her in a hug. “I asked Nathan to marry me. Uh, Andrea, Carson, do you guys mind if maybe your little ceremony becomes a double wedding?”

“Mind?” Carson asks with a smile and a laugh after the shock of Melissa asking me to marry her wears off. “Of course not. In fact, that sounds like the best idea ever.”

“Well y’all don’t waste any time, do you?” Andrea asks smiling. “But seriously, of course we don’t mind. At this pace we're going to have to rename ourselves to the Brady Bunch by spring.”

* * *

I'm watching the sunset while the girls are all inside preparing dinner. I don't really think it’s needed, but Katrina insisted. “Besides,” she told me as she shooed me out the door, “we already bought the steaks. So if not tonight, when?”

Her logic was pretty much inarguable, so I'm out here now, watching the sun go down in the west over the last of the hills. I'm thinking of the bloody road ahead of us, and how much I wish it didn't have to happen. Jackson and Carson are in the chapel getting some exercise in, and I think I'd rather take a day to just finish healing up. Besides, I got engaged today, doesn't that grant a man a day off from exercise?

Just as the sun dips below the horizon, Carson comes out, tugging his sweatshirt straight as he comes over while Jackson goes inside. “Hey Nathan, how's the sunset?”

“Dramatic. How was your workout?” I ask, and he chuckles. “What?”

“I thought I could fight before getting to know you people,” he says with a discouraged shake of his head. “I mean, I scrapped all the time when I was younger, usually starting shit with guys who'd harass Melissa until the word got around, but you guys hand me my ass every time I try to do anything.”

I hum, and watch the sky some more. Carson stays totally still, patient in the way that I can appreciate, waiting for me to reply. “You know, the thing that makes American Special Forces so damn good isn't that each person in the team is a superman?”

“Really? Then what does?”

“Teamwork,” I reply, choosing my words carefully. “We all acknowledged and coordinated with each other. In that team, I knew the strengths and weaknesses of each of my brothers, and I trusted my leaders to put us in the right places at the right time. Carson, each person in this family has their strengths and weaknesses. Jackson's our heavy hitter, Katrina's our hacker, and if I go down I expect her to be the leader. Andrea's smart, even if she isn't a fighter, although she could be. You... you're our patience, and our sniper. If Isis ever comes here, you're the one I'd want to counter her with a rifle.”

“I've never fired a rifle in my life though,” Carson says, squatting down. “And playing with pistols doesn't exactly make me a great sniper.”

“Being a good sniper has nothing to do with what toys you play with,” I tell him, smirking. “Sure, you have to become one with your weapon, but you do that already with your pistols. But the important thing is something that either you have, or you don't. I've got it a little bit, Katrina less than me. Jackson doesn't have it at all. Andrea has it to a degree. It's a deep well of stillness, of patience and control that you can apply when you need to. That, more than anything, is what your biggest strength is.”

“I notice you didn't mention Melissa,” Carson says quietly, and I shrug. “Because she can't fight?”

I stand up, watching the first stars come out. “She’s not a fighter. She's something even more important, at least to me.”

“What's that?” Carson asks, and I turn to him, clapping him on the shoulder.

“The thing that every warrior needs, even more than the bonds of brotherhood within the team. Every warrior needs a reason to fight. That's 'Lissa for me. She’s my heart, my soul, and the reason I’m willing to continue to wade through hell if needed in order to finish this. BA is the reason for Katrina and Jackson, and was my reason before. Now... it’s her.”

Carson stops, then claps me on the back. “Thank you, Nathan. You’re the man good enough for my Melissa.”

Before I can reply, the back door opens, and Melissa sticks her head out. “Hey guys! Dinner's ready!”

“Let's celebrate.”