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Bridger slid down in his chair until his butt was on the very edge. Is this what it had come to? They used to be soldiers. The best of the best.
Tai slumped down in his own seat, mirroring Bridger’s body language. His movements sparked alarm in the wealthy patrons.
Bridger could see why. Between the height and hair, Tai looked more like an angry pirate than a highly-trained operative.
Not that Bridger would be mistaken for a typical millionaire, either. Not to brag, but he was too fit, and too alert. In his business—his former business—a guy had to know his assets. And his flaws.
Tai rubbed the jagged scar that ran from elbow to wrist and eyed the over-decorated dining room. “We’re pathetic.”
“At least we’re rich.”
Tai tipped his bottle in Bridger’s direction. “That’s way better than being plain pathetic.”
Bridger picked at the label on his soda. Was it really? Last time he’d checked—first thing in the morning—the balance in his Swiss account still had seven zeros behind it.
Tai’s dark eyes bored into his. “We earned that money,” he said, reading Bridger’s mind, like always.
Of course, they had. And then some. The whole team had. Working Special Ops for an offshoot of an offshoot of the CIA had been dirty, disheartening work.
The ops had been sketchy, but the cause was noble. Or so they thought, until they realized they were being used. Instead of making the world safer, they’d been making a cabal of billionaires richer.
No amount of zeros in a bank account could change that.
The shadowy figures pulling the strings had used Bridger’s elite team for their own political ends. And there wasn’’t a thing he could do about it but accept the buy-off and fade away.
Well, there was one other choice. He could have refused the money and gone to prison.
Almost did, but he figured it would put the rest of the team at risk. Either all seven of them signed the nondisclosure agreement and took the payments, or the offer would be withdrawn.
So they were rich. And bored.
Tai stared him down. “We need to figure out what to do with this loot.”
Bridger ripped a strip off the bottom edge of the label. “I’m all ears, brother.”
Tai grunted. “We’ve been praying on this for three years. I’m ready for action.”
“You have a plan there, Einstein?”
“Nope. You?”
“I got nothing.” He literally had no idea what to do with his money.
At least he’d gotten right with his Savior. One out of two goals licked.
Goal two was to figure out how best to disseminate twenty million dollars. Forty, if he counted Tai’s portion. There were so many worthy charities. So many needy people. The choices paralyzed him.
The waiter hovered, eyes wide, as if afraid to approach. Bridger was about to wave him over when his phone chimed in his pocket.
Tai sat back up. “You better check that. Might be your tailor.”
“I don’t have one.”
Tai tipped his chin at Bridger’s threadbare tee. “You should.”
Rather than respond, he dug out his phone.
His heart knocked against his ribs.“It’s a text from Jason.”
