Epilogue
Mid-June
Nine months later
LEANING A HIP against Leonard Embray’s state-of-the-art barbecue station, Mac tossed his head back, savoring the icy slide of the Chuli Stout. “I sure as hell didn’t expect this little Podunk Alaskan town to brew some of the finest beer I’ve ever tasted.”
Embray punched the button to fire up the propane grill before looking up. “For a town of only eight hundred and seventy-some souls, Talkeetna has some damn fine restaurants and breweries.”
Damn straight. Hell, the Single Engine Red and the Twister Creek IPA brewed by the Denali Brewing Company made settling here worth it. Well, that plus the proximity to Denali and the wild, remote wilderness—and the chance to start a new life with the woman he loved.
It wasn’t often a man got a second chance at life.
At peace with his choices, he addressed Embray. “Appreciate you hosting the reception for us.”
Embray nodded. “Least I could do.”
Mac figured the guy had paid back any perceived debt he’d owed them last fall during the press conference. Not that he’d be able to convince Embray of that.
“How’s the ring fittin’?” Rawls asked, ambling up to settle beside him against the brick. “Starting to chafe yet?”
After two hours?
Asshole.
“Has yours?” Mac countered, eyeing the plain gold band circling Rawls’s ring finger.
“I should have saved that question for Amy. Bet she’d answer differently.” Rawls’s teeth flashed white.
Zane and Beth had married first—way back in November, three months before baby Ginny was born. Rawls and Faith had followed in the dead of winter, with Cosky and Kait tying the knot in the spring.
It had taken longer for him and Amy to reach that point, but then they had the kids to consider. Hell, if it had been up to him, he’d have hauled her to the altar after that first night in bed instead of waiting until June.
After a long pull on his can of Twister Creek, Rawls took a meandering look around them. His gaze lingered on the single-story, medium-size log cabin. “Have to say, dude”—he turned to Embray—“this wasn’t what I expected when you said you’d bought a place out here.”
“No?” Embray looked up, curiosity on his face. “What were you expecting?”
“I dunno.” Rawls scanned the place again. “Just somethin’ different.”
Mac knew exactly what Rawls had been expecting—the same thing he’d been expecting. Something huge, something grand, something expensive. Something full of special features, security enhancements, and security guards. Something that signaled that one of the richest men in the world lived there.
Instead they’d arrived to find a house that any one of them could have lived in.
Embray shrugged and turned up the gas on the grill. “It suits me.”
It did at that. Embray had filled out since leaving Shadow Mountain and returning to Hawaii to reclaim Dynamic Solutions. The hollows in his cheeks and eyes had smoothed out as well. He’d put some meat on his bones.
Back in October, when Embray had set up the press conference to tell the world what had happened to him along with everything he knew about the NRO, his face had still been stretched tight. His body taut with tension. His muscles weak and rigid thanks to all those months in bed.
Of course, getting up there on the world stage and admitting he’d been assaulted, held down, and drugged, or that he’d been betrayed by his best friend—none of that could have been easy. That alone must have added to the tension on his face and the exhausted look in his eyes.
Fuck, it must have been galling as hell.
Other than exonerating the men who’d rescued him, there had been no reason for him to go public with what had happened. It had been easy enough to step back into his role as Dynamic Solutions’ CEO and quietly rid himself of the ciphers the NRO had planted on his board. With the capture of Manheim and Coulson, followed by their executions, there had been no reason to expose the organization because there was no longer a threat to humanity.
Yet Embray had done it anyway.
He’d stood up there and exonerated Mac and his boys. Because of that sacrifice, the four of them could walk free again. All the charges against them had been dropped. They didn’t have to worry about the police or the FBI or the sheriff’s department sweeping down on them.
Too bad their careers in HQ1 hadn’t been as easy to save.
“At least we got the bastards who ordered the hit on McKay,” Mac said, thinking out loud.
Zane, who’d just joined them, raised his beer in a salute. “To McKay.”
“To McKay,” Mac and Rawls echoed.
A few seconds of silence fell, and then Rawls stirred, and a flicker of bitterness crossed his face. “Nothing like being left to twist in the wind by your own command, though.”
He had reason for his bitterness. They all did.
They’d been kicked off the teams by the brotherhood they’d spent their lives serving. Sure, they’d each been given a hero’s retirement and full pension, but they were still out on their asses.
“Admiral Townsend made the right call,” Cosky said, pulling up next to Zane. “You want to be pissed about it? Turn it on the press. We were too much of a liability with our faces plastered across every television screen and newspaper in existence. We’re damn lucky Shadow Command would have us.”
Though there was truth to his lieutenant’s view, Mac still nursed his grudge. Or tried to. It took more effort than it would have in the past. There was just too much to be thankful for these days.
“You getting used to the daddy thing?” Cosky asked, turning to Mac.
Mac’s gaze easily found Brendan, who was helping Marion set out the plates on the dozen or so tables on the lawn. Faith was distributing the glasses, while Beth, with baby Ginny strapped to her chest in an infant sling, was adding napkins and silverware to each of the place settings.
With Brendan located, his gaze went roving for Benji, who’d spent every moment since arrival chasing Embray’s dog. He relaxed upon finding the boy collapsed on the ground next to the black Lab. It was one of the few times he’d seen Benji not energized. The realization narrowed his eyes.
Hell, they should get the kid a dog.
“They’re good kids. But this whole dad thing—” He frowned and shook his head. “I’ve no fucking clue what I’m doing. Amy, thank Christ, is great with them. If it was just me . . . hell, they’d end up being serial killers or some shit.” He checked on Benji again. The kid and dog were both rolling around on the freshly mowed grass, their legs waving in the air. He shook his head. Christ, the kid’s new clothes were going to have grass stains everywhere. The washer and dryer that had come with their new digs were bound to get a workout. “Brendan’s doing great at his new school, already made some good friends, aces both grades and sports. As for Benji, the teacher says he has trouble focusing.” As though that were a surprise. He shook his head wryly and glanced toward the boy. Instantly he went on high alert. Both kid and dog were gone. Before he had a chance to get worried and start investigating, a shriek lit the air. At least you could usually track the boy by his lungs. “It’s hard to believe he was at death’s door nine months ago.”
Muttered agreement went around the group.
Rawls shot Zane an innocent look, but pure mischief glistened in his eyes. “When are you and Beth givin’ that little darlin’ of yours a little brother or sister?”
Dread darkened Zane’s eyes. “Never, if I have any say in it.”
Rawls threw back his head, howling with laughter. After wrestling his mirth under control, he reached out to smack Zane’s shoulder. “Never took you for a pussy, Skipper.”
With no discernable embarrassment, Zane shoved Rawls back. “Call me all the names you want, asshole. I’ve been shot. Stabbed. Broken a couple of bones. My face has been used as a Goddamn strike bag too many times to count. Hell, even had a bad case of road rash back in the day. But nothing—and Christ as my witness, I mean nothing—hurts as fucking bad as giving birth. How the fuck they do it once and then step up to do it again—” He shook his head, his expression dumbfounded.
This time the eruption of laughter was thunderous.
The account of Beth’s labor had already reached legendary status. Not because there had been anything unusual about the birth itself, but because Zane had gone through it with her. Not by way of holding her hand, or encouraging her to breathe, or any of the other ways husbands had supported their wives through the ages.
Oh no, he’d been right there beside her at the Shadow Mountain clinic, panting and groaning and screaming every time she did—pushing out a phantom baby next to her real, live squalling one.
The poor bastard had looked completely wrecked when the rest of them had been allowed to visit. Beth, on the other hand, had been glowing.
“Beth wants another one. Can you believe it?” Zane shook his head and took a long pull on his can of Twister, that earlier look of dread returning to his face.
“It’s all those bedrooms in that new place of yours,” Cosky told him dryly. “It’s a natural impulse to fill them.”
“You have one more than we have,” Zane countered.
Cosky offered a small, sly smile. “We turned the smallest into a massage room.”
After they’d agreed to join Shadow Command, they’d started looking for someplace to stash their families. Someplace close enough to Denali so they could commute—via chopper—when they weren’t out saving the world.
Talkeetna had been perfect.
It was close to Shadow Command—ninety-five klicks as the crow flies, which equaled a thirty-minute flight by chopper. It was big enough to have a school and local clinic but small enough that strangers stood out. And the place boasted some damn fine pubs and restaurants. The only downside had been the lack of rentals or property for sale. Shadow Command had stepped in to clear that obstacle out of the way. They’d bought a huge private swath of land several klicks out of town and started building houses. The last of the new homes had been finished the month before.
While they were waiting for the houses to go up, they’d remained in the Shadow Mountain personnel quarters—at least in between trips down to the States to visit family and friends.
“How’s your wife like working for Shadow Command?” Embray asked Rawls as he picked up his beer and took a long, slow swallow.
“Happy as a clam.” Rawls gave him a you-don’t-fool-me smile. “Ya ain’t gonna tempt her away.”
Mac listened idly as he took another long swallow of the stout. Faith and Kait were both working out of Shadow Mountain, taking the chopper in beside him and the boys and returning home with them each night.
Embray looked disappointed. “Has she found out how they keep the airstrip hidden? I’ve flown over it a few times, and I can’t find even a hint of it. What technology are they using? How in the hell do they keep it clear of snow?”
A very good question, and one he and the boys had been mulling over for months. Wolf and Shadow Command remained cagey as hell about some things—the airfield up there on the mountain just one of them.
The other thing they’d questioned since accepting Wolf’s offer of employment was why Shadow Command had reached out to them. The NRO was neutralized—well, except for Esme Manheim. Not long after Neniiseti’s hands-off order regarding Eric Manheim’s wife, they’d discovered the woman was pregnant. Killing a pregnant woman didn’t sit well with anyone.
For the time being she walked free, but they were keeping an eye on her.
When he’d asked Wolf why they were adding to their teams when they’d just defeated their enemy, Wolf had simply said, “Earth has many enemies.”
What the fuck that meant was open to interpretation.
Maybe they’d find out the answers to all these annoying questions when they officially joined the Shadow Command teams next week. Their long vacation was almost over.
Thank Christ. Nine months of free time had been enough to drive Mac crazy. But they’d wanted to make sure the media storm died so they didn’t inadvertently expose Shadow Mountain.
Things had gone completely fucking crazy after Embray’s press conference, followed by James Link’s arrest and the complete disappearance of the NRO Council. Just as things had finally died down, Link had been assassinated. Whoosh—the media had swarmed in again.
It still made Mac uneasy that someone had stepped in to terminate Link. Who? Why? There wasn’t anything that Link could say now that would make a difference to anyone. The NRO had ceased to exist.
Unless it had been a revenge hit, and someone had killed him as payback for betraying them . . . someone like Esme Manheim?
Maybe—but they hadn’t had any luck tracing the hit back to her. Still, it was the only thing that made sense.
The distant sound of rotors beating the air pulled him from his musings. Their Shadow Mountain guests were arriving.
When the patio door to Embray’s house opened, and Amy stepped out, balancing a platter piled high with steaks, Mac set his beer on the counter of the barbecue and headed over to intercept her. After relieving her of the heavy tray, he brushed a kiss across her lips. Side by side, his free arm around her shoulder, they converged on Embray.
“Doesn’t seem fair that the bride should be working at her own reception,” Embray said as he took the platter from Mac and started dropping steaks on the grill.
Amy smiled calmly. “We wanted to keep it private, which leaves out catering.”
More like secret.
The safety of their families relied on keeping their locations secret. A catering service could have exposed them all. So they’d furnished the event themselves, with Embray’s help. They hadn’t even invited Amy’s family and friends to the wedding, although they’d fly down to Bellingham for a second ceremony at some point the following month.
“We’re taking the kids fishing for the weekend. Leaving tomorrow. Won’t be back until late Sunday,” Mac said as Amy excused herself and disappeared inside the house. “We’re making a camping trip of it.”
“No shit? What river?” Zane asked.
“The Little Susitna. King salmon are biting.” One by one, Mac nailed his buddies with a dry look. “And no, none of you are invited.”
He, Amy, and the kids needed some time alone.
“The salmon won’t be the only things biting. The mosquitos will too.” Rawls grimaced.
Mac scowled back. The damn bloodsuckers were everywhere. He could only hope that the locals weren’t fucking with him when they claimed the mosquitos were light this year.
He twisted to check on Benji and found his new son—he still had trouble wrapping his head around that—dipping his finger in the potato salad and licking it clean.
“Hang on,” Mac said. He handed his beer to Zane for safekeeping and headed off to intercept the boy before a third or even fourth dipping and a lecture about common courtesy and hygiene from his mother.
“Mac,” the little guy said, dipping his finger into the bowl before Mac could stop him. He lifted his arm to Mac, a healthy dollop of potato salad on his index finger. “We’re supposed to test it. You know, to make sure it tastes good enough for our guests.”
Mac’s lips twitched. The diction and tone had been pure Amy.
Catching Benji’s wrist in case he decided to test the salad again, Mac grabbed a napkin and wiped the gooey mess from the kid’s hand.
“That’s right. Testing is imperative when you’re throwing a party.” He picked up a spoon and put it in Benji’s hand. “But only with spoons or forks. Never with fingers.”
Benji looked down at his hand and then up at Mac’s face. “But why?”
“Because that’s the polite thing to do. You wouldn’t want to eat someone else’s dirty finger cooties, would you?” Mac asked, instantly realizing his mistake. Benji’s eyes flared with curiosity and excitement.
“What are dirty finger cooties? Do you have them? Do I have them? Are we supposed to eat them?” Bouncing up, Benji craned his neck, trying to get a better look at Mac’s hand.
“Yes, Mac,” Amy asked from behind him, laughter throbbing in her voice. “Do you have the dreaded finger cooties?”
From the excited fascination on Benji’s face, he suspected they’d be hearing about finger cooties for a very long time. He needed to do a better job of censoring himself in front of the kid.
Not the first adjustment he’d made since moving here. Or the worst, for that matter. The dark, snowy months of winter, when the sun barely crested the sky—or the endless days during the summer, when the sun never left it—had taken much more of an adjustment . . . and then there were the mosquitos. He shook his head.
All in all, he wouldn’t trade this move for anything, and he knew Amy and the boys felt the same.
He walked back to the barbecue to retrieve his beer with Amy under his arm and Benji bouncing beside them. His men shifted aside, allowing them into the loose huddle of bodies. As Zane returned his beer, he tightened his arm around Amy’s shoulders, drawing her tight against his side. The move felt natural these days. Normal. As necessary as breathing or the beat of his heart.
Christ, she fit him just right.
As she leaned into him, not just accepting but reveling in the clasp of his arm, he inwardly smiled. The hold those monsters had had over her was gone. Terror didn’t follow the tightening of his arms. She came as hard and as long beneath him as on top of him.
She’d won herself back.
She was a strong one, this woman of his. A stubborn one too.
Benji’s shriek climbed the air, and Mac sighed. A deep sense of serenity claimed him. He hadn’t realized how explosively dissatisfied he’d become with Naval Special Warfare Command, and his life, until Amy had entered it and he’d been cut off from HQI. Until he’d been welcomed into a new life.
A better life.
One that he’d kill to keep safe.
“A toast.” Rawls lifted his glass of beer. “To Amy and Mac.”
“To all of us,” Mac corrected, his gaze drifting to Kait and Beth and Faith, who were laughing next to the table buried under mountains of potato salad, baked beans, and platters of corn. “To all the good things to come.”