1
August 27
Denver
Connor O’Neal tossed back his second shot of whiskey, liquor and loud music helping to bring him back to earth. Yesterday, he’d been taking down cartel assholes in El Salvador. Tonight, he was drinking with his Cobra buddies at the Pony Express, their favorite dive bar in Denver, and trying to keep them from getting arrested.
Re-entry was never easy. Before joining Cobra, Connor had served for a decade with 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta—what civilians called Delta Force and what he simply knew as the Unit. Even so, he still hadn’t figured out how to make the transition back to real life. One minute, he was pumped up on adrenaline, rounds flying, life and death hanging in the balance. The next, he was pushing a shopping cart through the grocery store buying toilet paper.
That’s when the nightmares started.
He glanced around, taking a quick headcount. Malik Jones, a former Army Ranger, and Dylan Cruz, who’d left the SEAL Teams at DEVGRU to join Cobra, were shooting the shit and playing pool. Lev Segal, who’d come to Cobra after a legendary career with Sayeret Matkal, was arguing politics with a hipster in skinny jeans. Meanwhile, Elizabeth Shields, an intel specialist who’d worked for the CIA, was trying to teach Quinn McManus, a former operator with the British Secret Air Service, how to line dance, the big Scot picking it up quickly.
Doc Sullivan, one of Cobra’s medics, sat beside Connor, beer in hand.
Connor pointed with a nod of his head. “Who would’ve thought he could dance?”
Doc looked out at the dance floor, grinned. “Do you think he remembers Shields is off-limits?”
“At the moment?” Connor saw the way McManus looked at her. “Hell, no.”
“He’d better watch his ass.” Doc took a sip of his beer.
“Yeah, he’s mostly watching hers.” Connor chuckled at his own joke.
Doc laughed, too. “Alcohol and hormones are a dangerous combination.”
“Isn’t that the truth?”
It was an open secret that McManus had a thing for Shields. So far, he hadn’t done anything to get himself fired, though his persistent use of the nicknameLilibetfor her hadn’t gone unnoticed. Cobra International Security, a private military company, owned and staffed by veterans, had strict rules against hookups among employees. Given the kind of work the company did—running security and carrying out a range of covert operations on behalf of the United States, its allies, and non-governmental organizations like the UN—the rules made sense.
When bullets flew, distractions could be fatal.
For all the rules and risk, working for Cobra was a vacation compared to life in the Unit. Connor hadn’t known what to do with himself after leaving the army until his buddy and fellow operator Nick Andris had emailed him a recruitment brochure.
Connor hadn’t regretted his decision to sign on—not even when he’d taken a round to the gut last November. The hours were better. The pay was better. The gear was state-of-the-art. His fellow operatives were experienced, top-notch fighters and intel specialists recruited from special forces around the world. They even had a new guy, Thor Isaksen, from Denmark’s Sirius Dog Sled Patrol.
“What about you, man?” Doc seemed to study him. “What happened to that blonde you were seeing?”
“I wasn’tseeingher.” Connor made it a rule not to get mixed up emotionally with women. It wasn’t good for them—or him. “It was just, you know …”
“Ah. Got it.” Doc took another swig. “You ever thought of settling down?”
“Sure, but that was a long time ago.”
He’d been new to the Unit and cocky as hell—proud to be an elite operator and drunk on testosterone. He’d met a fancy college girl at a bar, and they’d ended up fucking the sheets off her bed. Soon, they were living together at Mandy’s place, and he’d thought he had it made. He was working his dream job and head-over-heels in love with a smart, beautiful woman. It lasted through one deployment.
“What ended it?”
Connor didn’t feel like getting into this, so he gave Doc the short, sanitized version. “She didn’t like the way I earned my paycheck. How about you?”
“I—”
“Dinnae you touch her, you feckin’ piece of shite!” McManus’ shout cut Doc’s answer short.
Connor looked to see the Scotsman standing toe to toe with a guy in a cowboy hat, his face almost as red as his hair, Shields thrust protectively behind him.
“Hell.”Here we go.