The Professional

by Rhonda Nelson

He breathed an audible sigh of relief, much to the merriment of their guests.

  “I love you,” she whispered, because she hadn’t said it yet. “You’re the winner of my Perfect Man contest.”

  * * * * *

  The Player

  This book is humbly dedicated to all men and women past and present who have served and are currently serving in our Armed Forces, and to their families, who keep the home fires burning.

  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

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Excerpt

  Prologue

  Fort Benning, GA

  “WITH ALL DUE RESPECT, sir, that’s bullshit.”

  Colonel Carl Garrett lifted his gaze from the report he’d been pretending to study and determinedly squashed the smile that tried to curl the disapproving line of his lips.

  Best not to tip his hand.

  Instead, he leveled a cool stare at the three men seated on the wrong side of his desk, most particularly at Guy McCann, who’d issued the comment. The other two, Majors Brian Payne and Jamie Flanagan, sat stony-faced but, predictably, had a better grasp on their tempers.

  “Bullshit or not, Lt. Colonel, brawling off-base is an Article 15 and, as I’m sure you’re aware, puts a flag on your clearance papers.” He paused, purposely injected a little more piss and gravel into his voice. “I’m not sure you’re seeing the gravity of the situation.”

  Not a threat, per se, but a reminder. Hell, he knew perfectly well they understood what was going on. They hadn’t been handpicked for Project Chameleon—a special forces unit so secretive that there was absolutely no evidence of its existence in any military file, computer-generated or otherwise—because they were stupid. Garrett suppressed a grimace. In fact, they were too damned smart, which had made trying to get them to rethink leaving the Army with the usual methods—re-upping bonuses, flattery, better posts, etc.—useless.

  Unfortunately guilt had a better grasp on them than any form of greed—feeling responsible for the death of a close friend would do that. Through no wrongdoing on their own part, Project Chameleon had lost one of its own during its last mission, and so far, no amount of lecturing and reviewing what had happened could ease their sense of guilt. They’d gone in as four and come out as three.

  They’d failed.

  Major Payne—a name he’d understandably taken considerable grief for over the years—released a weary breath. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

  “Granted.”

  “Rutland’s an asshole,” he said, his voice a barely controlled mixture of irritation and hope. “You know that.” He snorted. “Hell, everyone knows that.”

  “The bastard needed his ass kicked a long time ago,” Flanagan chimed in, leaning forward in

  his seat.

  All true, he knew. And he secretly applauded them. Still… “If Rutland needed an attitude adjustment, it was not up to the three of you to give it to him.”

  “He mouthed off about Danny,” Flanagan said, as though that should explain everything.

  And it did.

  McCann swallowed and the other two grew quiet at the mention of their late friend’s name. Silence thick with the weight of grief and regret suddenly expanded in the room, causing a twinge of remorse to prick Garrett’s resolve.

  Major Daniel Levinson had been a good man, a better soldier, and an original member of this unit’s college crew. Each of them had come out of the ROTC program at the University of Alabama. “Roll Tide” was a frequent cheer amid their set and Bear Bryant was revered with the sort of exaggerated regard worthy of a fallen saint. It wasn’t merely football—it was a religion.

  Though their military careers had taken them on different paths over the years, they’d remained close. Closer than any band or so-called brotherhood of buddies Garrett had ever known. He’d always admired them for that. Truth be told, he’d envied them as well. The military was a boys’ club, its very nature a breeding ground for camaraderie and lasting friendships. But these ’Bama boys were different, had shared a special connection that made them more like family than friends.

  When Project Chameleon had come along, it had been a no-brainer to reunite the four. They’d all been at the top of their field, each one of them successful in their own right. Each one of them different enough to offer unique qualities to the unit, making it one of the most balanced and effective special forces teams the Army had ever known.

  Though he had a reputation for being a bit of a ladies’ man—a player in today’s slang, if Garrett remembered correctly—at a little over six and a half feet, Flanagan not only had the brawn but also sported a genius-level IQ which made him the brain of the unit. Honestly, it had surprised him to learn that Flanagan had thrown the first punch in this recent scuffle. Ordinarily he wasn’t quite so rash. Though they’d all taken Levinson’s death hard, Garrett suspected that Flanagan was having a harder time dealing with the loss than the other two at the moment.

  Understandable, of course, given how Danny had died. Still…

  With nerves of steel and an attention-to-detail that had landed him the nickname “The Specialist,” Major Brian Payne—who only went by his last name—didn’t do anything in half-baked, half-assed measures. He was a man you could count on to not only get the job done, but get it done right.

  Guy McCann was a bit of a smart-ass with an endearing penchant for being able to bend a rule just shy of the breaking point, but with good enough instincts that he always landed on his feet. And Levinson… Well, Levinson had been the best of all three, and what he’d lacked he’d made up for in heart.

  On their own they’d been formidable defenders of Uncle Sam—together they’d been lethal.

  Naturally when the powers-that-be had heard rumors of their intent to leave, he’d been given strict instruction to prevent it. Garrett ran a finger over the flag attached to the topmost file. They’d inadvertently given him the power to do it, and yet, when it had come down to the nut-cutting, he’d been unable to follow through. Better to have them in his debt than have an unwilling unit too bent on leaving to be effective. Better a grateful man than a bitter soldier. If they were bound and determined to leave—and they were—then if he could wring one more mission, be it personal or professional, out of them, then he’d still be better off. Fortunately the brass above him had thought so as well.

  “So what’s going to happen?” Guy asked. “How long is this going to hold us up?”

  “That depends,” Garrett told them, leaning back in his chair.

  Guy’s green gaze sharpened. “On what?”

  “On whether or not you agree to my terms.”

  The three of them stiffened and shared a guarded look. “Your terms?” Guy asked warily. A muscle ticked in his tense jaw.

  At last…the heart of the matter, Garrett thought. “That’s right. You want out. We can do this one of two ways. The hard way… Or my way.”

  Flanagan muttered a hot oath, leaned back and shoved a hand through his dark brown hair. “I knew this was going to happen,” he said, shooting Guy a dark look. “We’re so screwed.”

  “Sonofabitch,” Guy muttered angrily.

  Payne swallowed what was most likely a similar statement, but managed to hold his temper. Just barely, judging by the vein throbbing in his forehead. “And what, exactly, would your way entail?” he asked.

  “Nothing complicated,” Garrett told them smoothly. “You’ll just owe me.”

  “Owe you?” Guy repeated, with equal amounts of surprise and trepidation.

  Jamie frowned, his hazel eyes wary. “Owe you what?”

  Garrett shrugg
ed, but his tone belied the casual gesture. “A favor.” He cast them all a steely look in turn. “From each of you. When I call it in, I want no questions asked, no excuses. Just do it.”

  Guy considered him with a measuring, probing look. “That calls for a lot of trust.”

  “I’ve worked with you for the past four years, McCann. It’s either there or it isn’t. The choice is yours.”

  A beat slid into five while the three of them shared another one of those unspoken looks of communication. Garrett watched closely, but didn’t detect a single indication of yea or nay from any one of them. Yet Payne evidently got the message because it was he who ultimately spoke for the group. “One favor from each of us? That’s it?”

  Garrett nodded, anticipation spiking.

  Payne released an even breath. “Then we accept your terms, sir. We want out. If you can make that happen quickly, then a favor won’t be a problem.”

  “Excellent,” Garrett told them, his lips curling into a belated smile. “Consider it done.”

  The three stood, preparing to leave. Garrett found his feet as well and extended his hand to each of them, sealing their bargain with a handshake. An old-fashioned gesture, but one that was better than a contract with men like these. They were men of courage, dignity and honor. A rare breed in this day and age.

  He let go a sigh, fully absorbing the fact that they would no longer be under his command and found himself quite startled to realize that he’d…miss them. He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”

  “Likewise, sir,” Flanagan told him.

  “An honor,” McCann added.

  A man of few words, Payne merely shot him a look which aptly conveyed the same sentiment, then added, “Until later, sir.”

  Garrett felt a grin tug at his lips. “Oh, don’t worry,” he told them. “I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  “WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT all about?” Guy asked as they made their way down the hall away from Garrett’s office.

  “Leverage,” Jamie said grimly, feeling an immeasurable amount of relief regardless of the bargain he’d just made. It was over. Finished. Ranger Security—their postmilitary plan—was, at most, a mere month away, and it couldn’t come a day sooner. In fact, he would have just about promised Garrett anything—a firstborn, his left nut, hell anything—to have pushed those clearance papers through.

  He wanted out. End of story.

  Jamie shot Payne a look. “What’s your take on this favor bargain?”

  Payne cocked a brow and shoved open the front doors, revealing the beautiful natural landscape of Fort Benning proper. Georgia, he thought. God’s country. “I think Garrett’s a crafty bastard who just secured three freebies for Uncle Sam.”

  “Or for himself,” Guy drawled. “He wasn’t very specific. Hell, for all we know we could end up being his personal errand boys.”

  “What? And waste all our special training?” Jamie chewed the inside of his cheek and shook his head. “He might have something personal in mind, but you can bet your sweet ass it’s going to be something which requires our particular set of skills.”

  Guy inclined his head at the point, then blew out a breath. “Well, frankly I don’t give a damn what he wants—I’m just glad it’s over.”

  Now that was a sentiment they all shared. Jamie felt a crooked smile slide across his lips, looked over and caught the vaguest hint of a grin transform Payne’s usually impassive countenance.

  “Boys,” Guy said meaningfully, “I say it’s time to celebrate.”

  Payne nodded once in agreement. “I wouldn’t say no to a cold one.”

  Jamie hesitated, wincing. He was about to severely tick off his friends and he knew it.

  Guy glanced at him and frowned. “Let me guess,” he said, his lips twisted with sarcastic humor. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark here and say that you’ve got a date.”

  “With Michelle,” Jamie admitted.

  “Date three, right?” Payne asked.

  Jamie chewed the corner of his lip and nodded.

  “Ah,” Guy sighed knowingly. “Then she’ll be getting the Sayonara Serenade?”

  “Of course.” Rather than linger and feel their censure—Payne, in particular had become annoyingly vocal on the amount of time he chose to spend with the opposite sex of late—Jamie turned and started walking backward toward his jeep. “Cold beer or a warm woman?” He chuckled, lightening the moment. “It’s an easy choice, guys.”

  Or at least it was for him.

  * * *

  GUY MCCANN WATCHED AS Jamie cranked his jeep and, wearing a cocky I’m-getting-laid grin, drove off.

  How Jamie got a woman to sleep with him after he’d officially cut her loose was a phenomenon that both Guy and Payne had marveled over for years. Especially since it had been Jamie’s love life that had necessitated setting up some rules. After a particularly bad breakup, Guy, Payne and Jamie had sat down over beers and decided on three hard and fast mandates for preserving their bachelor status.

  Frankly, he and Payne had personal reasons for wanting to remain single, but Jamie had always been the romantic of the three. At least until he’d caught Shelly Edwards, the so-called love of his life, balling their landlord in lieu of rent.

  In their bed, no less.

  At any rate, after that particularly humiliating episode Jamie had changed. Instead of looking for the love of his life, he’d merely started looking for the love of his night. Following their rules—never spend the entire night with a woman, never let her eat off your plate, and after the third date, cut her loose—he’d pretty much perfected what they’d dubbed “kamikaze romance.” After all, every relationship was destined to crash and burn.

  Payne watched him drive away as well, then glanced at Guy. “Is it just me, or is he getting worse?”

  “Getting worse?”

  “More women, more often.”

  Guy mulled it over, rubbed the back of his neck. Actually, he hadn’t noticed, but now that Payne had pointed it out, it did seem like Jamie hadn’t been around as much lately. Aside from making plans for Ranger Security, Jamie hadn’t had much time for their usual pursuits—beer, poker, target practice, etc… In fact, now that he really thought about it, Jamie’s dating schedule had taken a dramatic upswing in the months since Danny’s death.

  He looked up and caught Payne’s knowing gaze. “I see you’ve come to the same conclusion that I did,” Payne told him.

  Guy nodded, his mood suddenly somber. “Getting out will help,” he said. It had to. And God knows that was the truth for him. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t think about Danny, about the part he played in his friend’s death. If he’d only… Aw, hell, Guy thought, abruptly shutting down that line of thinking.

  He could “if-only” until hell froze over and the outcome would still be the same—Danny Levinson, best friend, beloved son, brother, uncle and cousin to a family which still grieved his loss, would still be six feet under in Arlington National Cemetery.

  He’d still be gone.

  And no matter what Garrett, Payne or Jamie ever said, Guy knew he’d never stop believing that it was his fault. As the senior officer, he’d been in charge. He couldn’t take credit for the success of the mission without also taking blame for the loss. And no one would ever convince him otherwise.

  It was that simple…and that complicated.

  For the time being, they were each three days and three favors away from freedom—a brand-new life devoid of mistakes and if-onlys—and God knows they all needed it. Especially Jamie, who seemed to be taking it the hardest. An image of Danny’s crooked grin suddenly rose in his mind, causing a barbed-wire of tension to tighten around his chest.

  They all needed it, all right. They needed it badly.

  1

  Atlanta

  Three months later…

  “IT’S HAPPENED,” Jamie Flanagan announced grimly. He snagged a chair from a nearby table, whirled it around and strad
dled it with a dejected whoosh of air that effectively caught his best friends’ combined attention.

  In the process of licking the hot wing sauce from his fingertips, Guy looked up. “Dammit, we both warned you about this. Which one is pregnant? Christy? Liz? Monica?”

  “My money’s on Monica,” Payne said easily. “She was clingy.”

  “Had to change the security code to the building because of her, remember?”

  Payne nodded, absently taking a pull from his beer. “She was a pain in the ass, I remember that.”

  Guy shot Jamie a pleading look. “It isn’t her, is it, Flanagan? Say it isn’t her. She’s, er… She’s not mother material.”

  Equally annoyed and horrified, Jamie swore hotly. He should have known they’d leap to the wrong damned conclusion. Considering they’d both been riding his ass about his “serial” dating, it only stood to reason that they’d immediately suspect a woman problem.

  “Nobody’s pregnant, dammit,” he snapped. “How many times do I have to tell you bastards that I’m careful?” He exhaled loudly. “I know how to apply a friggin’ rubber, for chrissakes. It’s Garrett. He’s calling in my favor.”

  Guy blinked. “Oh.”

  Payne stilled and his ice-blue gaze sharpened. “What does he want?”

  Jamie let out another long breath, uttered a short disbelieving laugh and shook his head. “He wants me to go to Maine for a week to guard his granddaughter.”

  “Guard his granddaughter?” Payne repeated. “Guard her from what?”

  That had been the first question he’d asked as well, and the answer he’d gotten had been irritatingly ambiguous. Not that he hadn’t taken and followed orders on less information. He’d been trained to obey, to trust in the authority of his superiors, and yet something about this felt…off. He’d tried to chalk it up to his new civilian mentality, but he suspected that this gut hunch had more to do with intuition than new programming.

  “Garrett says there’s evidence that a personal enemy of his might be targeting her.”

  Guy frowned. “Personal enemy?”

  “What sort of personal enemy?” Payne asked. “I mean, I don’t doubt that he’s got one—a man doesn’t get to his level without pissing people off. Still…” he added skeptically.