Power (Special Tactical Units Division 1)

Pakistan. Iraq. Syria. He’d put in time closer to home, too, on the doorstep of the U.S. of A in the jungles of small but vicious banana republics in Central America where drug-smuggling, kidnappings and human trafficking were a way of life.

His guys would be as glad to have him back as he would be to ship out with them.

“Kowalski can’t hit the side of a barn, dude,” one of them had said during a Skype call, while Kowalski grinned in the background. “We need you.”

Yeah, he was a damned fine shot. But so was Kowalski. So were all of them. The one certainty was that he sure as hell needed them. They were his brothers, his family, and the fucking truth was that the thought of being unable to be part of that family again had scared the crap out of him.

He paused outside the open door to Blake’s suite of offices. Damn. He was a sweaty, sandy mess; he’d been so eager to get here that he hadn’t thought to stop for a shower and a change of clothes. He looked like something that had been washed up with the tide, and probably smelled like it, too.

“Lieutenant Akecheta?”

Too late. The captain’s aide, a pleasant-faced young ensign, had spotted him.

“Please go right in, sir. They’re waiting for you.”

Tanner stepped through the outer door and hesitated. “I’m, ah, I’m kind of ripe, Ensign. I’ve been out running. Maybe I should take five minutes to shower and—”

“They said to send you right in, sir.”

They? Who were ‘they?’ Tanner knew better than to ask. Instead, he nodded, ran his hands through his hair in what he figured was probably a useless attempt to tame it and followed the aide to the closed door of Blake’s private office. The aide knocked once and opened the door.

The office was large.

Vast might have been a better word. The size of it always awed him.

Tanner figured that it had probably been the former owner’s study. Lots of glass, a couple of big ceiling fans, a long stretch of pale hardwood flooring. The sofa, loveseat and club chairs at one end of the room were the kind that were expensive, but the desk at the other end was a big chunk of wood, pretty beaten up a

nd scarred.

It had probably traveled with Blake from his last posting.

Normally, the room was filled with light.

Today, all the white vertical blinds had been drawn against the sun, creating an artificial darkness. The captain leaned, hipshot, against one corner of his desk. Another man stood lost in the shadows several feet away. Was he military? Tanner couldn’t see what he was wearing. He couldn’t see his face, either, only that he was tall and trim, with military bearing and posture.

“Lieutenant.” Blake stood straight, gestured to his aide to leave the room. The door snicked shut and Blake walked toward Tanner, hand outstretched. “I see you’ve been on the beach, working on your tan. Am I right?”

A joke, like he and Chay had shared, except this time, for no discernible reason, it fell flat. Still, Tanner gave the expected smile and response as he shook the captain’s hand.

“I was, yes sir.”

Blake chuckled, but the chuckle seemed no more real than the joke. Tanner was getting a bad feeling. Maybe this wasn’t about redeployment with his unit. Maybe, Jesus, maybe he was about to be dismissed from service.

“Listen,” he said quickly, “listen, Captain Blake…”

“You’re probably wondering why you’re here, Lieutenant.”

Yes. He sure as hell was. Who was the stranger standing in the shadows? And how come Blake had twice referred to him as Lieutenant when at any other time, he’d have simply have called him Akecheta or even Tanner?

“Lieutenant?”

Tanner cleared his throat. “Yes sir. I am.”

Blake gave him a long, unreadable look. Then he turned to the stranger and nodded. The stranger stepped out of the shadows and started towards them.

The guy was Army.

More than Army. Four gold stars glittered on his shoulders.