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He woke from dreams of making love with her, hard as stone. The longer he remained in Montana, the more frustrated he became. He was ready to chuck everything and return to Bayou Mambaloa on the next plane out of Bozeman.
He hadn’t realized he’d been pacing again until he looked up and caught Hank’s gaze.
Hank grinned. “What’s her name?”
Remy’s cheeks heated. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he hedged, looking away.
Hank chuckled. “Right.” He pushed to his feet. “Okay, then. You’ll conduct the reconnaissance mission to find our building location. We’ll also need lodging for your guys as they come on board. Is Bayou Mambaloa big enough to house eight to ten guys at any one time?”
“There’s the Bayou Hotel, several bed and breakfasts and, if I remember correctly, there was an old boarding house close to the boat factory where the workers used to live,” Remy’s eyes narrowed as he tried to recall its exact location. He hadn’t passed it when he’d been in town. “I’m not sure what shape it’s in.”
“We’ve had good luck basing our Colorado and Yellowstone field offices in lodge basements or barns, setting aside several rooms for our people. It’s worked out well for the guys, giving them time to decide where they want to live. Like Bayou Mambaloa, Eagle Rock has a lodge and bed and breakfasts. Sadie and I have had some of our Montana team stay with us here at the White Oak Ranch on a temporary basis. We also have a hunting cabin and a fishing cabin we’ve housed guys in.”
Remy nodded. “We’ll need alternative office space and living quarters until we can secure our own buildings. I’ll check into what’s available and let you know.”
Hank nodded. “Are you comfortable taking the lead with the new location?”
Remy nodded. “I am, especially if it’s in my old stomping grounds. I know a lot of the people who still live there.”
“I’d go with you, but I promised Sadie I’d escort the kids out to LA, where she’s on location for her latest movie.”
Remy couldn’t get over the fact Hank had married the mega-star, Sadie McClain. How lucky could a guy get?
Hank continued, “The rest of the team are gainfully employed at the moment. Joseph Kuntz—his call sign is Kujo—might free up in the next week. He helped set up the Colorado location with Jacob Cogburn.”
Remy grinned. “Kujo and Cog. They were practically legends in my old team.”
Hank frowned. “Watch it. You’re making me feel old.”
Remy laughed. “No older than I am. I’m fucking retired.” His smile faded. “I never thought much about what I’d do after separating from the Navy until about six months from my official retirement date.”
Swede snorted. “At least you knew ahead of time so you could prepare. Some of us were kicked to the curb by medical boards for injuries sustained in the line of duty.”
“You’re right,” Remy nodded. He knew a lot of guys who’d never made it to retirement, and some had never made it home, except in a body bag. “I was lucky to live to retirement with few lasting reminders of war wounds sustained defending our country.” At least physical wounds. PTSD was real and haunted him on occasion.
Remy glanced at his watch, surprised at what time it was. “We should go through the dossiers of the guys who’ll be here shortly at least one more time. I mean, I know the Navy guys and a couple of the Delta Force men, but not everyone. Where did you get the names of the guys coming off active duty and those who’ve been out for a while?”
Hank settled back in his seat and turned toward the large computer screen hanging on the wall. “I have sources,” he answered.
“Word gets around,” Swede said. “Guys who’ve recently separated stay in touch with their old teams.”
Hank nodded. “Their former teammates like to know there’s a place for them on the ‘outside.’ They can choose to continue to use their training, protecting or rescuing individuals from natural disasters or dangerous, man-made situations. I get calls from them or their commanding officers when they’re about to leave the only job they’ve ever known.”
“I know I was glad to connect,” Remy said. “Twenty years in the Navy leaves its mark on a person. I barely remember how to be a civilian. When someone complains that their air conditioner doesn’t blow cool enough, I fight the urge to tell them to join the Army, Navy, Marines or Air Force. Stand outside in one-hundred and twenty degrees with your feet baking in your boots, and then tell me your AC isn’t cool enough.”
“Only seven percent of the US population have ever served in the military,” Hank said. “So many of them don’t understand or realize just how insulated they are against the horrors of war.”
“The dichotomy of everyday life from military to civilian never ceases to amaze me.” Remy shook his head. “While they’re standing in line for a movie, our soldiers and sailors are dodging bullets or mortar rounds. While they’re struggling with what fast-food restaurant to grab food for the family on the way home from work, our guys might be up to their elbows in sand or stuck on a ship or in a submarine for months, away from their families, missing their kids’ birthdays and ball games.”
“It’s an adjustment coming back,” Swede said. He tapped his fingers on the keyboard in front of him, and a face popped up on the large screen. “Your future team should be arriving soon. Let’s get familiar with who they are and what skills they bring to the table.” He nodded toward the first image. “Gerard Guidry, Marine Force Recon, medical boarded out for injury sustained in a firefight.”
Remy studied the man’s intense face. He looked like he could chew nails for fun. “Gerard is a two-time purple heart and bronze star recipient. Deployed eleven times in his thirteen years on active duty, he served as a team medic. He grew up in Lafayette, Louisiana. Almost didn’t get him when I told him we’d base out of Louisiana.”
“Did you ask him why?” Hank asked.
“Yeah. He didn’t say.”
Swede brought up the next image. “Lucas LaBlanc.”
