“Oh, my, will you look at that? I want to get a picture of everything.”

Logan heard the excitement from the hobby photographer taking his first trip over the Glacier National Park. The photographer had glanced Logan’s way, but with his headphones covering his ears, it was easy for Logan to pretend he did not hear him. Even an enthusiastic passenger gave him little pleasure these days.

He maneuvered his helicopter along his regular path, circling around the snow-capped mountains of the park before dipping near the crystal clear lake. Hovering occasionally so the passenger could aim his camera and shoot, he let out a sigh. My solitary existence used to be enough…but not now…not since Viv.

He tried not to think about her too often, but she was always on his mind. When he drank his unsullied morning coffee and wanted to fix another cup full of sweetener and cream. Even in his home, he would look for her to stumble into the kitchen…my zombie Viv. Late at night was the worst, when the loneliness of his life would threaten to choke him. The sunsets that painted the sky and the sunrises that shook off the night, all brought her right back to him—and the reminder that they were never meant to be.

As he began the flight back over the Blackfeet Indian Reservation, he heard the photographer say, “Man, you gotta love this job. Best job in the world.”

With a smile that resembled more of a grimace, he turned and headed back to the Cut Bank Airfield. Once he dropped off his passenger, he made his usual, daily detour on his way home and headed to Cutter’s Bar.

Stepping inside the dark interior, he nodded toward Sam, ordering his beer.

“You got a visitor,” Sam called out, jerking his head toward the back.

Logan’s gaze shot toward the direction Sam was indicating, the desire to see Viv overwhelming his senses. But instead, his heart fell as he saw who was waiting for him. Blanking his expression, he walked over and said, “Commander.”

Greg stood and shook Logan’s hand before the two settled into the booth. Sam brought the beers and they sat, silent, staring at each other for a long minute.

“You being here must mean you’ve kept tabs on me. Know my daily routine. Guess maybe I should mix that up a little.”

A smile tugged at Greg’s lips but he managed to rein it in. “I got your report about Rashad. You tracked him and eliminated the problem. Congratulations on a successful mission. The country owes you a debt.

Dipping his chin, Logan silently accepted the other man’s gratitude.

Greg dropped his gaze to his beer, seemingly fascinated by the sweat droplets running down the glass. “Any…uh…problems encountered that I need to know about? It’s been a couple of months since we last debriefed, but I wondered if there was anything else you remembered.”

“Three months, four days, and about twelve hours.”

Greg’s gaze jumped up to Logan’s, a slow nod of understanding passing through his eyes.

“Any particular reason you came all the way to Montana, Greg…other than to check to see if I’m functioning? You’ve got no worries. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL. You know that. What happened up there…how it ended…was fucked up.” Sighing, he added, “She should have never had to deal with that.”

“Bottom line, Preacher, you completed the mission. What Ms. Sanders went through was unfortunate, but she knew when she signed up for field work that things could get messy. Even getting sick, she still knew what could happen.”

Logan’s eyes widened and he stammered, “What...sick…what are you talking about?”

Greg grimaced, unhappy with his slip…an occurrence that rarely happened. Knowing he had no choice but to explain, he said, “Ms. Sanders became ill upon her return to California. She was exposed to the bacteria, but it appears she was not a carrier. She was the only one ill.”

His breath leaving him in a rush, Logan leaned forward, his gaze anguished. “Is she all right? Is she—”

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Greg assured, his gaze assessing. “She was treated in a hospital with antibiotics. I talked to her supervisor at the DHS, who was in constant contact with her and the hospital staff.” Staring at him intently, his eyes showing understanding. “So, as I said, her supervisor says she’s fine…got debriefed…got counseling. I’d say she knew what she was getting into and handled things very well.”

Logan’s jaw hardened as his eyes narrowed. “Seriously? You seriously think that? She had no fuckin’ clue—”

“If she had left when her part of the mission was over, she wouldn’t have ended up in the thick of things at the end—”

Slapping his hand down on the worn table, he growled, “I told you what happened. She just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Greg nodded, once more, slowly, as he said, “Or, perhaps she was in the right place at the right time.” Not giving him time to respond, he continued, “She did her part of the mission without fail and then, at the end, worked with you instead of against you when she realized what you had to do. From what you said, it seems she saved your life.”

Silence descended over the table, the sounds of the mid-afternoon bar activity in the background. Now, it was his turn to focus on his beer, his rough thumb sliding through the condensation, creating pools of water on the table. “Thin ice,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What was that?” Greg asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Nothin’,” he responded. “Just a saying I heard from someone.”

Finishing his beer, Greg looked back at Logan’s ragged expression, and said, “Preacher, any chance you’d want more work from me if it comes my way? There’s always another cell cropping up that needs to be eliminated.”

He held his gaze steady and shook his head. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, Commander, but no.”

Greg nodded slowly, his penetrating gaze as sharp as ever. “What about in planning? Using the skills you have, working from your home. You’ve got a sweet setup there and I know I could use your expertise.”

A slight smile curved his face as he nodded. “That, Greg…I can do.”

Meeting his grin, Greg stood and reached his hand out across the table. He shook it, standing as well. Walking out at the same time, the bright sun hit their faces as they slid sunglasses on in unison before turning back to each other.

“Goodbye, for now,” Greg said before he stalked over to his car.

Logan waved and watched the iconic man drive away. His heart heavy for the suffering Vivian had to suffer, as well as the loss of her in his life. He climbed into his truck and rumbled down the road. Alone. And destined to be alone.