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“Same,” Drake said. “It’s been a few years.”
Hank stepped back. “I believe you know everyone here.”
Drake nodded, his lips spreading into a grin.
A man with dark blond hair, blue eyes and a naturally somber expression stepped past Hank and pulled Drake into another powerful hug. “Dude, it’s been too long.”
“Grimm,” Drake clapped his hand on the man’s back. “I thought you were still on active duty.”
Mike Reaper, or Grimm as he’d been aptly nicknamed, patted his leg. “Took shrapnel to my left leg. It bought me early retirement.”
Drake shook his head. “Sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not. I was getting too old to play with the young kids. It was time for me to move on.” He nodded. “I’m looking forward to getting my hands dirty with something besides gun cleaning oil.”
“Move over, Grimm. My turn.” A man shoved Grimm to the side. “Bring it in, Morgan.”
A black-haired man with shocking blue eyes grabbed Drake by the shoulders and crushed him in a hug. “’Bout time we worked together again,” he said. “When did we last?”
“Afghanistan,” Drake said when he could breathe again. He grinned at his old teammate from his last tour of duty before leaving the Navy. “We took out that Taliban terrorist who was cutting off heads for fun. How’re you doing, Murdock?”
Sean Murdock stood back, smiling. “Better, now that you’re here. Thought we were going to be Army puke heavy. We needed some bone frogs to level the playing field.” He turned and dragged another man forward. “Remember this guy?”
Drake’s brow furrowed. “Utah?”
The handsome man with the auburn hair and blue eyes smirked. “I prefer to go by Pierce. I like to think I’ve outgrown the Utah moniker.”
Murdock laughed and pounded Utah on the back. “You’ll never live down Utah. Once an uptight asshole, always an uptight asshole.”
Pierce “Utah” Turner’s lips pressed together. “Thanks.” He held out his hand to Drake. “Good to see you under better circumstances than the last time we worked together.”
Drake gripped the man’s hand, truly glad to see him. “Taking mortar fire while trying to extract that Marine platoon was not one of our cleanest joint operations. You saved my life that day.”
“And you returned the favor five minutes later,” Utah said. “I’d call it even.”
Drake glanced toward the last man he knew in the group and smiled. “Hey, Judge. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Didn’t think you’d remember me, it’s been so long.” Joe “Judge” Smith, former Delta Force Operative, was the old man of the group of men Drake would work with at the lodge. Like Hank, he’d influenced Drake when he was a young Navy SEAL fresh out of training. He’d been an integral part of the first joint operation of which Drake had been a part.
He'd hung back to provide cover fire for the team as they’d exited a hot zone. Judge had taken a bullet to his right forearm and had to use his left arm and hand to fire his rifle. The man hadn’t missed a beat. He’d held on long enough for the entire team to reach the Black Hawk helicopters waiting at the extraction point.
When Judge hadn’t been right behind them loading the aircraft, Drake had jumped out, determined to go back. He’d gone less than twenty yards when Judge had come running, dozens of Taliban soldiers on his heels.
Drake and the rest of his team had provided him cover until he’d dove aboard the helicopter. They’d lifted off under heavy fire and made it back to the Forward Operating Base without losing a single man. He’d made an impression on Drake he would never forget.
“What brings you to Montana?” Drake asked.
“Got tired of wiping the noses of baby Deltas,” Judge said. “When I reached my twenty, I figured it was time to leave.”
“I always wondered why they called you Judge,” Drake admitted.
Judge shrugged.
Grimm laughed. “It came out of a barroom fight. Patterson didn’t like the way a man was treating one of the ladies. When he told him to back off, the man asked him what he was going to do if he didn’t.” Grimm’s lips curled. “He became the Judge, jury and executioner.”
“You killed the guy?” the woman at the drafting table asked.
Judge shook his head. “No.”
