Page 40 of Nixon’s Promise

“I was hopin’ you’d say that.”

Nix leaned back into the corner of his couch and studied Alec. He had a feeling he was being played and he was now right where Alec wanted him.

“Christ. Just spit it out.”

“There’s a new contract coming up. I’ve been given the go ahead to hand pick a team. I want you to run logistics and be the point on this operation.”

“What’s the op?”

It was Alec’s turn to stare at Nix. After a few beats of studying him, he continued. “We have intel on a target in Philly.”

“Domestic?”

“Yeah. They call themselves, We the People. Not very original but…” he trailed off.

“But what? And why’d the DHS give you carte blanche?” Nix queried.

“The but is, they can’t be ignored. The why is, because they know I’ll put together the best team.”

“Why isn’t Homeland working this internally?”

“Red tape and politics.” Alec knew Nixon wasn’t convinced. “We need a five-man team. It’ll be up to you to put the guys together. Whoever you want, I’ll back you. The contract pays a whack and if this goes smoothly there’ll be more. Our intel confirms Center City is the target, we’re still trying to pinpoint time and exact location. Although we have a general idea.”

“What are the parameters?”

“Are you asking about rules of engagement?”

Jesus Christ, had Alec always been this evasive?

“Yes, asshole, that’s what I’m asking. We’re on American soil. It’s a little different than playing in the sandbox and the last thing I want is to be left holding my dick. Especially if you’re asking me to bring in a team. I want a clear understanding of what the objective is, beyond stopping whatever they’re planning.”

“They’re anything you need them to be.”

“Not good enough. That sounds like jailtime to me.”

“I’m not fucking with you, Nixon. The shitheads may’ve come up with an idiotic name for their cause, but they’re no joke. We need them stopped, and the DHS is willing to give you a whole lotta latitude to get the job done. Everything will be in your contract. I wouldn’t be asking you if I didn’t think this was a good opportunity for you.”

“How long do I have to think about it?”

“Twenty-four hours.”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“Intel says WTP are ready to strike. There’s a marathon in a week. If they want media coverage for the carnage that would be a perfect time.”

Nixon let out a string of colorful expletives but he was already planning. He didn’t need twenty-four hours—he knew his answer, but he was going to make Alec wait. He had a few phone calls to make before he committed.

A car pulled up and Nix watched as Alec tensed, his hand automatically going to his hip.

“I’m expecting company,” he told his friend.

The other man’s hand moved away from his holster but he remained on alert. The action left Nixon to wonder if the feeling ever went away. Alec left the teams two full years before he had, yet he was still edgy and uptight. Nixon was grateful he didn’t have nightmares like some of the guys, but he was still anxious and jumpy when something took him off guard. By Alec’s reaction, it didn’t seem to fade even years later.

He took a slug of his beer and set it down, next to Alec’s untouched one, and got up to get the door.

McKenna was out of her car, eyeing the black Suburban in his drive and fuck him if she didn’t look sexy as all get-out with her long, thick brown mane flowing over her shoulder. A hank of it curled up right under her breast, drawing his attention to how full they were.

Fuck him.