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ChapterOne
Bryson Tripp didn’t re-up. When it came time to sign on again with his SEAL team, he took the out.
His teammates called it burnout. In truth, he had a new mission—and this one could only be done solo.
Did he miss the adrenaline rush from lethal missions that bordered on suicidal once he and his team dropped into hostile territory? Hell yes. But he was only out of work for a few weeks before Homeland Security offered him a position with a new team.
MT Ops might still be in its infancy stage, but Tripp and his new brothers-in-arms were far from inexperienced. The best part of making the switch was that if they tended to stray from the rules, nobody reprimanded them for being wild cards. Right now, he needed that.
It was also easier to conceal his darker tendencies from hisnewteammates who didn’t know him as well as the old. While he considered his commanding officer Rafe and the rest of the guys friends, he wasn’t quite ready to unzip the heavy emotional baggage he hauled around every single minute of every goddamn day.
He rubbed his knuckle along his jawline and winced. He’d forgotten about that bruise he’d gotten during their last fight, and since he hardly ever looked in a mirror, even when brushing his teeth, it was easy to ignore.
Not that Tripp minded pain. It was a reminder to him that he’d dealt with the problem and now that person was no longer a threat to him or anybody else.
Even a boot to the jaw from the criminal who’d fled into the Cascade Mountains gave him closure because he finished it.
Unlike the other issue he was still sorting out.
A rhythmicthunkingsound drifted through the MT Ops base. He followed the noise through the kitchen to the empty common room. When he rounded a corner and spotted the open door leading outside, he guessed at what the sound was.
Sure enough, when he poked his head out, he found his teammate with an ax raised overhead. As he looked on, Vaughn Mathers, nicknamed Vlad for his Russian features, brought the ax down in a mighty heave and cleaved the log in two. The chunks of firewood toppled to the snow-covered ground.
Tripp stood in the doorframe, watching his buddy bury his own ghosts. After hunting that dangerous prisoner who’d fled to the mountains for nearly a week—in freezing temps with little sleep and only military rations in their stomachs— they all had demons. Especially after the way it ended.
He shook himself to cast off the images playing through his head and watched Vlad position another thick chunk of wood. His friend took a few steps backward, raised the ax and brought it down with far more force than was necessary to split the wood.
The rush of cold air blasting off the mountain struck Tripp in the face and helped to wipe away the memory of that fight.
Not wishing to disturb Vlad, Tripp ducked back into the building and left the door open. While the wind carried a chill, the place could use some airing out. Living in close quarters with five other men didn’t make for the most refreshing place to stay. He was used to it after living with a bunch of sweaty SEALs, but that didn’t mean it was any easier on the senses.
He paced through the common room again, eyeing up the TV remote and a deck of cards on the table where they often played everything from five card stud to euchre. He wasn’t feeling up for games.
That old restlessness was burning through his bones, urging him to take to the mountains and use his short time between ops to take care of his own business.
More often than not, that involved a bottle of whiskey and too much fury, but at this point, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get answers about what happened nine months before.
The incident made himleavethe SEALs…but it was his deciding factor injoiningMT Ops.
Not only did the new special forces unit fight terrorism solely on US soil, but was based in the very same region where his niece lost her life.
The soft sound of footstep behind him made Tripp twist his head. “You’re getting lazy. I heard you coming all the way down the hall,” he said to his commanding officer.
Rafe Sheppard huffed out a laugh. “You only heard me because I wanted you to. Believe me, I could take you down before you ever knew what hit you.”
They shared a grin. “Asshole,” Tripp said with affection in his voice.
Early on, the team had a big bonding moment during mountain warfare training. Calling each other “asshole” became an inside joke that set their team apart from the rest in the division of Homeland Security known as Operation Freedom Flag.
Rafe cocked his head toward the open back door. “Vlad’s making sure we’ve got enough firewood for the bonfire.”
Tripp nodded. “He’s in the zone. I didn’t want to disrupt his flow.”
They exchanged a look. Both of them knew it was best to leave a special operator to his method of purging.
With a flick of his jaw, Rafe said, “Let’s talk.”
A worm of worry slid through Tripp’s stomach, but he didn’t let it show on his face. “Sure.”
