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“LeBlanc was Delta Force, a Medal of Honor recipient and is highly skilled on numerous weapons and hand-to-hand combat,” Remy said.
“Reason for leaving the military?” Hank asked.
“His mother, and only living relative, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer,” Remy said. “He got out to be with her the last few months of her life and didn’t go back into the Army after she died.”
Hank’s lips pressed together. “That’s hard.”
Remy was lucky both his parents were still alive and loving retirement in Florida. He nodded to Swede.
Swede loaded the next image of a blond-haired, green-eyed man with a boy-next-door look.
“Beau Boyette, former Army Airborne Ranger. Only survivor in a Black Hawk helicopter crash. Lost his entire squad. Though he broke a few bones and suffered a concussion, he lived. He was treated for survivor’s guilt and PTSD but ended up leaving the military anyway.”
“Losing your entire team is hard to work past,” Hank said. “Our guys find camaraderie in the Brotherhood. Hopefully, Boyette will as well.”
“He needs the work and has skills we can use,” Remy said. “He grew up in Metairie, a suburb of New Orleans, so he’ll be close to home.”
“Is his family still there?” Hank asked.
Remy nodded. “His mother and sister.”
“Good. More of a support system nearby.” He nodded to Swede.
The next image appeared of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with a smoldering frown denting his smooth forehead.
“This is one I added to the list you gave me. Rafael Romero, aka Romeo,” Remy said with a smile that quickly slipped as he continued. “Navy SEAL. We served on the same team for a few years. Excellent marksman and demolitions guy. He left the military a couple of years ago to get married and settle down with his wife and start a family.”
“Nice. A married man,” Hank said.
Remy shook his head. “The wedding never happened. The bride ran off with the maid of honor the night before the wedding. Romeo didn’t take it well. We all wanted him to come back to the unit. Instead, he signed on with a black ops security firm and shipped out to Afghanistan. He’s been a lot of places since, but I talked him into coming back to the States.”
“I bet he has some stories to tell,” Swede murmured as he brought up the next image of a man with dark hair, dark eyes and an angular face.
Remy tipped his head toward the photo. “Valentine Vachon. Navy SEAL. Goes by Val. Trained in Mississippi water warfare. Because of his skills with watercraft, he deployed to Africa, the Amazon and Central America, primarily working extraction operations. Left the Navy when they tried to get him to go back to San Diego to train Navy SEAL candidates at BUD/S. He told the powers-that-be he didn’t have the patience to babysit kids.”
Hank’s brow furrowed. “He does realize he’ll be working with clients of all ages, doesn’t he?”
Remy grinned. “He does. He said he really got out of the Navy because the training position was to keep him in line. The missions were getting too political for him. They tied his hands once too often, to the point it was putting his team and himself in more danger than was necessary. They cared more about politics than his team.” He glanced at his watch. “The guys should be here any moment.”
Swede popped up the next image of a man with sandy-blond hair and blue eyes.
“Landry Laurent,” Remy said quickly. “Navy SEAL. Only son of Tristan Laurent.”
Hank’s eyes narrowed. “Tristan Laurent of the Laurent Foundation. One of the richest men in the world.”
Remy nodded. “Landry rejected his father’s request to join the family’s multi-billion-dollar business. He joined the Navy to prove to his father and himself that he could make it on his own. And he has. Unlike the other guys, he’s not joining Brotherhood Protectors so much for gainful employment. He’s good at investments and has his own stash of cash, earning interest and dividends. He’s joining Brotherhood Protectors because he likes making a difference.”
“Admirable,” Hank said. “Is that also the reason he left the military?”
Remy nodded. “He didn’t feel he was making a difference anymore in the military. He did ask that he not be assigned to protect a child.”
Hank’s lips twisted. “Good to know. I take it he’s never had any of his own?”
“No,” Remy said. “His words were, ‘I don’t much care for them.’”
A speaker crackled overhead, and Sadie’s voice came through. “Remy and Hank, your guests just pulled through the front gate.”
“Thank you, dear,” Hank called out.
