Brody shared his teammate’s frustration, but reminded the other man, “That’s the downside of still working with the government. You know as well as I do the BS that comes with that.”
“I know. Just sucks because we’ve been holding off on taking certain jobs because we keep getting told we’re going to be heading to Africa, and then…nothing.”
It was true, they’d first been made aware of a situation near Libya that, supposedly, was going to require their assistance four months earlier. Back when Brody was out of the country on a solo bodyguard assignment.
Back when that asshole lawyer tried to have Megan killed because he was afraid she’d be able to connect him to a murder-for-hire scheme.
He shook the unsettling memory away, refusing to think about how terrified he’d been the day he’d gotten home earlier than expected.
Meg had been working at her shop, and Christian had headed there after a meeting at the office. When Brody had shown up days earlier than planned, they’d decided he’d go with Christian to Cup of Joe to surprise Meg.
But when they’d walked in, they’d been greeted by the sound of a gunshot. Thanks to his sister’s quick thinking—and Brody’s and Christian’s infallible aims—the prick who’d been terrorizing her while he was away had been the one to wind up dead.
“Don’t worry.” Brody finished bagging his pistols. “From what Christian said, Ryker’s confident we’ll be on the move before Thanksgiving.” Sliding two rifles and a backpack over one shoulder, he bent and picked up the black duffle near his feet with his other hand.
“Sure hope so. It’s been a hot minute since we’ve seen some real action.”
Having collected their things, Brody and Rocky headed up the gravel pathway toward the small parking area Christian had put in just for the team.
He still couldn’t believe his best friend and his little sister owned this place. Used as a massive—and brilliant—business expense, the ninety acres of secured, fenced land held a gorgeous, modern-farmhouse-style home with a four-car garage, separate workshop, and three stocked ponds he and the guys had been given fishing access to anytime they wanted.
But the best part, in Brody’s opinion, was the spot he was standing in now.
Delta Team’s very own private outdoor shooting range included the nine-hundred-yard sniper range he’d just used, as well as two rifle ranges—one that was a hundred yards, the other fifty—a fifty-yard rifle shotgun and rifle range, and a twenty-five-foot pistol range.
Hunt had even put in earthen backstops, side beams, and overhead baffles in shooting sheds for safety.
And if that wasn’t enough, the brilliant team leader had also built an indoor training facility located on the back end of the property that rivaled any Brody and his former SEAL brothers had used for practice back in the day.
But today hadn’t just been about practice. Not for him. No, today had been all about venting by way of spent casings and an impatient trigger finger.
“Gotta admit,” Rocky spoke up beside him as the two men made their way to their vehicles. “The way you were taking out your targets today, I thought maybe you were still pissed at that Yorke guy.”
Brody’s fist tightened around his rifle case’s thick nylon strap as he kept it steady on his shoulder. He’d been so busy fighting his own demons where Ro was concerned he hadn’t given Yorke much thought aside from his and Ro’s brief mention of the cocky SOB this morning.
“Dickhead probably thinks he can do whatever he wants just because he’s got a billion-dollar trust fund.”
“A billion?” Rocky’s narrow blue eyes grew wide. “No shit?”
Brody shot his friend a look, then shook his head with a grunt. “I sometimes forget Hunt and I are the only ones on the team who are from here.”
“So this Yorke guy’s local?”
“Oh, yeah. His parents own the Yorkshire Luxury Suites and Spa high-end hotel chain. And he’s an only child.”
“Damn. So the dude’s like…loaded.”
“A few billion times over, yeah.” Brody nodded. “And entitled assholes like that…young, good-looking, grew up with more money than God… They don’t always handle rejection well.”
Rocky’s typically relaxed and easy-going expression hardened. That blue, knowing stare of his locked with Brody’s as he gave a curt shake of his head. “No.” The other man swallowed hard. “They don’t.”
He sensed a story there, but before he could ask his friend about it, his phone began to ring from his pocket. Recognizing the tone as Megan’s, he picked up the pace to close the final distance between himself and his truck.
“Well if I don’t talk to you before then, I’ll see you in the office on Monday,” Rocky offered as he lowered the tailgate to his metallic black Ford F150 Raptor.
Closer to the cab of his pickup than the bed, Brody opened the back driver’s side door. Sliding the rifles and backpack from his shoulder, he set those in the seat and his duffle bag on the floorboard.
He shut the door and pulled his phone from his pocket just as the ringing stopped. “See you then. And hey!”