The Maverick

by Rhonda Nelson

  THE MAVERICK

  Rhonda Nelson

  TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON

  AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG

  STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID

  PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

  For my son, who is too young to read this,

  but already possesses the finer qualities

  of the heroes featured in this series.

  I love you, little buddy. This one is yours.

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Epilogue

  Coming Next Month

  Prologue

  LOSING HIS TOUCH, HELL, Colonel Carl Garrett thought, mortified by the vicious rumor. He scowled and watched the antique pocket watch—General Robert E. Lee’s no less—suspended from his index finger spin slowly in midair. He hadn’t spent the past thirty-three years in the military and received his most recent commendation for meritorious service only to be ushered out to pasture to make way for up-and-coming wannabes, dammit.

  Him? Retire?

  He was certainly old enough, of course, and his wife periodically asked when he planned to hang up his hat, so to speak, but Garrett simply couldn’t wrap his mind around being…useless. No longer being of value. His days were filled with purpose, a noble one he’d been proud of from the first moment he’d entered the service, as a wet-behind-the-ears punk with more attitude than sense. The military had thrashed some sense into him, had given him a goal and a dream and the idea of letting those go, of puttering around his greenhouse or trailing along behind his wife at the grocery store was simply…excruciating for him.

  The murmurs and rumors of his imminent retirement—a retirement he neither planned nor wanted—had started immediately following his commendation. In retrospect, Garrett realized now he should have seen it for what it was—a nice career ender, the cherry on top of the sundae.

  While he knew he commanded the respect of the majority of his peers, he also knew there were a few people around here who wished that he’d move on and make room for new blood. Naturally, one didn’t get to his level without making a few enemies. But the idea of doing that was as out of the question now as it had been the first time the issue of his retiring had come up.

  Garrett wasn’t finished yet. He still had work to do. And to prove that he was as every bit as sharp as he’d always been, he had something up his sleeve. And that something was sitting right outside his office—impatiently, of course, and most likely annoyed and bitter as hell—right this very minute. The thought drew a smile, one of few he’d managed over the past few weeks.

  Guy McCann—his maverick.

  In all of his years in service, Garrett had never met a man with better instincts and the balls to follow them, no matter how risky the move might be. And when it came to instilling confidence and leading a team, Guy McCann had been the best of the best. He’d led Project Chameleon, one of the most respected covert operation special forces units the army had ever known, on more than two dozen highly dangerous missions—and had been successful each and every time, an unparalled record.

  His days of service were over, of course, but if McCann could teach this new team Garrett had put together a fraction of the skill he possessed, then that would put an end to the rumors that he’d lost his touch.

  The proof was in the pudding, so to speak, and Garrett was counting on McCann to whip up something special.

  Given McCann’s present state of mind, it might not be the most prudent move for Garrett to put his faith in the troubled former Ranger. But like McCann, there were times when a man simply had to follow his instincts, and each and every one of Garrett’s told him that McCann needed to fulfill this favor just as much as Garrett needed him to be successful.

  Garrett scowled, thinking of the coming confrontation. It was a pity they were about to get off to such a bad start.

  1

  PECKER FILETED WITH a butter knife.

  Balls removed with flaming pinchers.

  Starving hyenas feasting upon his privates.

  And those were the least gruesome scenarios of what Guy McCann would rather be facing—or more accurately where he’d rather be at the moment, he thought with a smirk as he waited impatiently in Colonel Carl Garrett’s outer office.

  Fort Benning, Georgia—the last damned place on God’s green earth he’d ever wanted to be again.

  Though there was absolutely no true humor in the situation, he chuckled darkly anyway. A grenade of nausea sat in his gut, threatening to detonate and his entire body vibrated with the need to flee—to be anywhere but here. It was too much. Too hard. Regret, failure and grief twisted his insides until his fists involuntarily clenched and he squeezed his eyes tightly shut, forcing away the image of his fallen friend.

  Danny Levinson. Killed in action. His fault.

  Guy released a small breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. While other people gazed across the beautiful grounds of Fort Benning and saw a rolling landscape dotted with enormous old trees, Guy only saw…hell. His own personal variety, because being here was like being plugged directly into the worst part of himself.

  The last time he’d sat outside Garrett’s office it had been to barter for his freedom. He’d thought at the time that he’d be willing to pay any price, would grant Garrett any favor—the colonel’s fee for pushing their clearance papers through.

  He, Jamie Flanagan and Brian Payne—his friends and Project Chameleon comrades—had been involved in an off-base brawl that could have held them up indefinitely. And considering that the army had tried every way in the world to get the three of them to rethink leaving the military to start with, Guy had to admit that they’d handed the top brass the perfect opportunity to make that happen. Garrett had pulled a hat trick and for that he would be forever grateful.

  Grateful enough—grudgingly, of course—to even come back here for a week. As an instructor, no less.

  But it was only a week he reminded himself. Actually, less. Five days. He blew out a breath. Five miserable days, then the rest of his life would be his own and he could return to Ranger Security—his post-military career choice—a free man. Not free from the guilt, of course. He’d never get past that, wouldn’t allow himself the luxury. But free from Garrett and the military, at any rate.

  It was a start, however feeble.

  “The colonel will see you now,” Garrett’s secretary said, startling Guy out of his unpleasant reverie. He nodded briefly at her, then stood and strode into Garrett’s inner sanctum.

  An impression of power and the strangely comforting scent of cherry tobacco greeted him the instant he entered the room. Garrett sat behind a large gleaming desk, but found his feet and extended his hand as Guy approached.

  Despite Garrett’s choice in their favors—Jamie had been sent to Maine under the impression that he would be guarding the colonel’s granddaughter only to arrive and discover that he was supposed to seduce her away from another man, and Payne had been dispatched to Gettysburg, the object of a bet, to retrieve a pocket watch which had been rumored to have belonged to General Robert E. Lee—Guy had nevertheless always had the utmost respect for Garrett. He was a patriotic old warhorse whose piss-and-gravel voice had been honed on the battlefield, then later respected in the boardroom.

  Furthermore, only a hell-raiser could recognize another hell-raiser and Guy had caught that reckless fuck-you identifying spark in Gar
rett’s sharp blue eyes the instant he’d first looked into them more than four years ago.

  “So, how does it feel to be back?” Garrett asked, his face wreathed in a knowing smile.

  “It sucks.”

  Garrett chuckled. “Blunt as usual, I see.”

  “Blunt works.” He settled himself in one of the chairs positioned in front of Garrett’s desk. “It doesn’t leave much room for misunderstandings.”

  His expression remained bland. “It would serve you better if it were tempered with a little tact.”

  True, Guy conceded with a small shrug, but tact had never been his style. He’d walked on eggshells around his miserable old man until he’d gotten big enough to fight back. At that point he and tact had parted ways and Guy didn’t give a damn if they ever reunited. Wit, strength, luck and his ability to never mince words had served him well over the years. Being of the if-it-ain’t-broke-don’t-fix-it school of thought, Guy wasn’t interested in changing the status quo. The world could accept him for who he was or go to hell. It was as simple as that.

  “I’m not here to receive a lecture on tact,” Guy told him. “I’m ruining your Sunday—and Gladys’s—” he added, jerking his head toward Garrett’s secretary in the outer office “—because I’m here for instructions. I’m assuming you’ve got them?”

  Garrett leaned back in his chair and scowled, his brushy brows forming an intimidating line. “If it’s all the same to you, McCann, I’ll set the pace for this meeting. You’ll get your instructions in due time.” He paused. “As it happens, we’re waiting on someone and I’d just as soon not have to repeat myself.”

  A chill landed in Guy’s belly and all his senses went on alert. He arched a brow. “Waiting for someone?”

  Garrett picked up a small crystal paperweight and carefully polished it on his sleeve. “Yes.”

  When he failed to elaborate, Guy exhaled an irritated breath and asked the obvious question. “Who?”

  “Julia Beckam.”

  The name didn’t ring any bells of recognition, but for whatever reason, a warning sounded instead. And that was ridiculous, dammit. It was merely a name, that of the feminine variety, admittedly, but just a name all the same. Guy gritted his teeth, waiting for Garrett to supply further information.

  Naturally, he didn’t.

  “Who exactly is Julia Beckam?” Guy asked tightly.

  Garrett looked up. “She’s your co-instructor.”

  A premonition of dread sent a wash of cold chills over his suddenly hot skin and his first instinct was to leap from his chair, tell Garrett to go to hell and leave Fort Benning so fast it would make the world spin in the opposite direction. Images of his newly shackled and affianced friends loomed largely in his mind, no small wonder considering they’d been taunting him with predictions of falling in love on his mission for Garrett, as well.

  Ironically, both Jamie and Payne had found the love of their lives while repaying their favors. To make matters worse, he’d not only taken a ribbing from his smug friends, but had been forced to listen to their significant others—Audrey and Emma—gleefully ooh and goo over how fabulous it would be to see the wind knocked out of Guy’s sails.

  Or more to the point, find him anchored with a ring around his finger.

  Like hell.

  A tornado of rage swirled around his brain, making it difficult for him to speak without growling. “I wasn’t aware that I had a co-instructor.”

  Garrett actually smiled at him. “How would you know when I hadn’t told you yet?”

  Feeling every muscle in his body atrophy with anger, Guy shifted forward in his seat. “I think you’ve mistaken me for Payne,” Guy said, his voice lethally controlled. “Duty has never been my strong suit. I will not be misled like Jamie, nor lied to like Payne. In fact, you can safely assume that unless you level with me completely, right now, then favor or not, I will walk out of here and you’ll play hell ever getting me back. I owe you. I know that.” He shot Garrett a hard look. “But I will not be manipulated.”

  A beat slid to five while Garrett considered him. “The only manipulation I’m guilty of is leaving Ms. Beckam’s involvement in this training session a mystery to you,” he finally said, evidently opting to take Guy’s threat seriously. It was a good decision, Guy thought, since he’d been fully prepared to back it up.

  “And you did that because?” Guy prompted.

  Garrett shrugged. “Would you have come if I’d told you that a female relationship therapist would be teaching alongside you?”

  “Hell, no,” Guy replied quickly. A relationship therapist? He snorted. “You’ve paired me up with a shrink?”

  “She’s a therapist,” Garrett corrected. “The daughter of an old friend of mine and she’s at the top of her field. Recent studies suggest that the dynamic between teams and couples share many of the same facets. Trust, of course, being the most important in both. A spouse who doesn’t trust or respect a partner leads to trouble. It’s the same scenario with our special forces teams. You know that. If you don’t trust the guy who’s giving the order, if you don’t respect him, what happens?” Garrett pulled a face. “Everything goes to hell in a hand-basket. The chain of command is broken.”

  He knew all about that, Guy thought, jerked back into a memory he desperately didn’t want to explore. Gunfire, the spray of sand, then Jamie topping the hill, Danny hanging limply in his arms. The image was permanently etched into his brain, almost as though it had been tattooed there.

  It was the moment—no, the instant—that life as he’d known it had forever been changed.

  He’d gone from being a badass Ranger with a penchant for bending the rules just shy of the breaking point to a brokenhearted friend who no longer deserved the respect of his peers.

  And trust? Sweet God. It was laughable. Garrett wanted him to teach other men how to trust each other when he no longer trusted himself? When it was Danny’s misplaced trust that had landed him in Arlington? Hell, he was the last damned person who should be teaching this particular subject. How on earth Garrett had failed to grasp that concept was out of Guy’s immediate understanding. The colonel wasn’t ordinarily so thick.

  Did he see the similarities between couples and teams? Certainly. But that didn’t mean he wanted to share the floor with a bonafide romantic—and she’d have to be to be in her profession, right?—and listen to her lecture about getting in touch with “feelings” and “emotions” and all that other crap.

  He swallowed a roar and felt a tick develop near his right eye.

  Garrett paused, and seemed to be weighing his words. “The team which you will be instructing is Project Chameleon’s replacement, McCann. You are aware of the nature of the job, you know what’s at stake. It’s imperative that this team comes together well and is equipped with every necessary advantage I can give it. Presently, the benefit of your expertise and experience offers the best hope for its success. I realize that you don’t want to be here, but for the sake of the men I’m going to entrust into your care for the next few days, I’m counting on you to use some of that legendary skill for their benefit.”

  Bloody hell. Project Chameleon’s replacement team? That’s who he was working with? He stifled a helpless laugh. Mother of God—

  The door opened and Gladys peered into the room. “Ms. Beckam has arrived,” she said.

  “Good,” Garrett told her. “Send her in.”

  Because he didn’t appreciate the bomb Garrett had just dumped in his lap, or the colonel’s tactics and maybe just because he was an ass, he neither stood nor even turned around in his seat to acknowledge Julia Beckam’s presence. It was rude and unconscionable and completely against his very nature—not to mention his mother would pinch the living hell out of him for being so disrespectful, but Guy was annoyed past caring.

  Furthermore, now seemed like the perfect time to let Garrett and Ms. Beckam know that he was nobody’s lapdog. He was still here because he chose to be here and if at any time he changed his min
d, he’d bail.

  End of story.

  Evidently realizing that Guy wasn’t going to be a gentleman, Garrett shot him an irritated look, then stood and rounded his desk. “Ms. Beckam,” he greeted warmly.

  “I apologize for being late,” said a beautiful, almost smoky-sounding voice. “I was…unavoidably detained.”

  The slight irritation he heard in her voice immediately begged the question “By what?” but since he’d cast himself in the roll of insufferable ass, he could hardly turn around now and probe, could he?

  “No, problem,” Garrett assured her. “Former Lieutenant Colonel McCann and I were just catching up.”

  He felt her gaze, sensed her hesitation. Finally she said, “Well, shall we get started?”

  “Certainly.” Garrett found his place behind his desk once more and Guy felt Julia Beckam move into the seat next to him. A flash of static seemed to crackle around him, making him shift in his chair and a cloud of honeysuckle settled over him. It reminded him of hot, humid summers. Of home, on the very rare occasions it had been good. From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a long shapely leg peeking out from a navy skirt.

  Shit.

  Another glimpse revealed the outline of a very plump breast beneath a white silk button-up blouse. He mentally groaned and felt the room shrink.

  Double shit.

  Clearly a glutton for punishment, Guy finally turned to glance at her and, if the sight of her leg and breast had made the room shrink, then one look at her uncommonly beautiful face made it tilt. He experienced a violent hot flash immediately followed by a quaking chill and his stomach did an interesting dive the likes of which he’d never felt before. A shot of adrenaline burst into his bloodstream and instantly headed for his groin.