Page 27

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Connor

The late afternoon air was crisp and chilly, the light breeze rife with the perfume of damp earth and autumn leaves just beginning to fall. Everything was tinged gold, the National Mall stretching wide before them as it bathed in the low angle of the sun. It should have felt peaceful—did feel peaceful, in a way—but the undercurrent of tension in Connor's chest refused to loosen. He rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck, and jogged in place to warm up as the others slowly gathered at the starting point. This weekly veterans' running club, something he still refused to call a support group, was one of the few places where things still felt normal. A sacred space where men and women who had lived through the ravages of war could come together, run away from their demons, and talk. If they wanted to talk, at least. If they could talk.

Luke appeared with a curt nod and began his own warm up, Brody breaking free from his grip to rush forward and greet Gary, Connor’s happy go lucky golden retriever puppy. The dogs were fast friends, a mirror of the relationships they had forged together. Their open earnestness and unwavering loyalty was a balm to Connor’s beleaguered heart. Bella, forever running late, followed shortly after, her short frame blending seamlessly into the crowd of veterans in their athletic gear. With her usual commanding presence, she exchanged effusive greetings with some of the regulars as Luke drifted closer to Connor’s side, his gaze scanning the group with reserved interest. Connor's attention drifted with Luke’s, quickly finding the newest face in the crowd. James. The disillusioned young man had reached out to them after meeting Elias at a community center. Connor was surprised to see him there, standing slightly apart from the others, arms crossed over his chest as he radiated irritation and reluctance. The young man looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there, his jaw tight, his posture stiff, his eyes wary. But, he was there. That meant something to Connor. He had a soft spot for the guy because he knew that stance all too well. The similarity to Theo hit him square in the chest, the ache settling deep in that thumping muscle that burned with the intensity of missing his fiancé.

Theo always carried his emotions in the same way that James currently was. Prickly protection, defensive and sharp-edged, wielded against a world that had given them too many reasons not to trust easily. Anger quickly tempered the ache of separation. Theo was still intentionally MIA. Theo was hiding, running, staying under the radar with the help of a couple unknowns and their buddy Hank. And just like Theo, the kids and his ma were bouncing around with the help of the Secret Service so that they, too, could avoid all the questioning and suspicion levied against the rest of their friend group.

Connor forced himself to focus, working his jaw side to side to ease the tension before he needed to add dental work to the laundry list of things to do. Mack, the club’s gruff, no-nonsense leader, called out over the assembled people to bring them to order. Just in time, Connor thought to himself. He needed the distraction, the direction, the semblance of order in an otherwise chaotic world.

“Alright, soldiers! You know the drill! We run. We talk. We breathe. No one is alone, got it? No man or woman left behind.” The bellowing voice was like a switch flipping in Connor’s brain. The familiar cadences began as they fell into formation and started at a steady rhythm. The footfalls on the pavement filled the silence as each and every one of them took up the call and answer cries. This was the part he loved as he ran alongside Bella and Luke, a piece of the whole, a cog in the machine, a distilled purpose that helped calm the uncertainty and fear he'd carried for so very long. Despite the familiarity, though, his gaze kept drifting toward James, still lingering just out of reach with a dark and unreadable expression.

Minutes melted away as the sun sank lower along the horizon. Minutes became moments and moments added up until an hour later, they eased into the cool-down phase. Sweat-soaked and sated, weary faces wearing soft smiles gathered around the edge of the reflecting pool. This was where people could talk if they wanted to. Struggles, victories, worries, and reflections bounced between them all, with everyone cheering on their brothers and sisters. Everyone except James, surly and silent on the periphery. Again, Connor wasn't surprised.

Sore from the exercise, but not at all unhappy about it, Connor lingered as Luke and Bella said their goodbyes to various members of the group. Like every week before, they had plans to grab dinner together. The routine was vital. Especially when every other aspect of his life was in turmoil. Before they could depart, though, Mack approached and Connor knew in an instant that routine was not going to be the theme of the evening. The bulky man’s stance screamed discomfort as he closed the distance between them, rubbing at his beard with a hand that had seen its fair share of war and loss.

“Yo, got a minute?” The rough rumble of his voice was low, nearly lost to the ambient chatter surrounding them.

“Reckon so, Mack. What can we do ye for?” Connor tipped his invisible hat and guided them farther from the group. It didn't escape his notice that James inched along with them. He wasn't ready to talk, but he also wasn't ready to say goodbye. Connor ignored it as he turned toward the hunched form of the typically indomitable leader of their haphazard unit.

“I haven't been able to get in touch with an old friend of mine. Someone I think y’all might be familiar with.” Concern and worry etched hard lines into the man’s face. His gaze, sharp as a combat knife, landed on Luke’s impassive expression. “The general.”

Bella froze in place. Luke’s jaw visibly tensed. Connor felt cold dread settle in the pit of his stomach.

“He mentioned talking to someone. An agent. Said he was being careful, but I could tell he was scared.” Mack kept his voice low, sighing as he swept a palm over the scraggly beard covering his face.

The cold in Connor’s stomach crept icy fingers up his spine.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” Luke's eyes took on a sharp edge as he jumped into action, pulling his phone from the band on his arm.

“Three days ago.” Mack’s voice cracked on the last syllable. The stone fortress of a man was crumbling in real time, and Connor didn't even bother resisting the urge to clasp him around the nape of the neck and reel him in closer. Glancing over Mack’s shoulder, he caught the moment James averted his eyes and crossed his arms tighter over his chest, still just as reluctant to leave as before. Again, Connor let the guy linger. Something in his gut told him he needed to let the man linger.

They tightened the ranks, easing closer together in the fading light of the autumnal sunset as Luke whispered into his phone. “T, I need you to do a deep dive. I don't care what laws you have to bend. Sooner rather than later.”

Connor squeezed Mack’s nape harder as Luke whispered the name, last known location, and all the aliases they'd unearthed. The tension was so thick in the air, it became suffocating. Like trying to breathe hot soup. The hair stood on end along Connor’s arms, and the goosebumps visible on Bella’s offered only a small confirmation that she was feeling the same. The minutes stretched to the point of breaking, time melting and morphing like something out of a Dali painting. When Luke hissed a cuss, Connor’s blood became ice.

“No, T. Run it again. Check something—”

The faint murmuring of Taz on the other end of the line was indecipherable to Connor's ear, but the slow draining of color from Luke’s face was all the confirmation they needed. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

Luke didn't say a word as his hand lowered and he disconnected the call. The phone buzzed in his hand, but he didn't look at the screen. Instead, he slowly closed his eyes and let his head fall backward, the last vestiges of sunlight casting a wash of gold over his pallid features. Mack moved quick as lightning, and just as dangerously, snatching the device from Luke’s limp fingers. The now empty hand fell to his side as he choked out a whispered apology.

“No. No.” Mack’s head shook vehemently from side to side as his massive mitt began to quake. Connor knew that defiance. That staunch denial that marked the first step on the painful path of grieving a loss too large to comprehend. Despite his reservations, he leaned forward to read whatever it was on the screen that had reduced their surrogate drill sergeant to a quivering mass of muscle. A pit opened in his stomach and the free fall of realization left him nauseated as he scanned the news article. Their source, the defected General who’d been labeled AWOL for months, had been found. Found dead by apparent suicide twenty-four hours earlier.

“Fuck… Mack, I'm so sorry—”

“No!” Mack shoved the phone at Luke’s chest and took a step back, his head still shaking as if trapped in autopilot. As if he could change the facts through sheer force of will. The soft whimpers of the dogs at their feet sent a chill racing through Connor’s nerves as his hand fell away from Mack’s neck to land atop Gary’s furry little head.

“It's bullshit.” Bella broke the prickly quiet with a sharp bark.

“It is.” Luke swallowed, his words thick with emotion. “It’s bullshit.”

A throat cleared nearby, snapping Connor out of his stupor as his pulse pounded in his ears. James crept forward, wary eyes narrowed as his gaze bounced between the four of them. Mistrust had Connor on edge, but the raw pain in the younger man’s expression gave him pause.

“What?” He didn't intend to sound so gruff, but he was two seconds away from spiraling into a rage at the injustice of it all to worry about softening his voice.

“Call it an assumption or a hunch,” James croaked, his voice rough with disuse and distrust. “Intentional OD. Typed note. Doors locked. No signs of breaking and entering. No foul play.”

Luke turned his phone over and unlocked the screen. Connor leaned into his space and they both read the eerie similarities between James’ words and the press release on the screen. The pit in his stomach became a black hole that threatened to swallow everything in proximity to it.

“You gotta be shittin’ me.”

“I want in. Whatever this is, I want in. For my guys, and your guy.” James tipped his head toward Mack, but the man wasn't seeing anything at all, the thousand yard stare of devastation leaving him to stand there like an empty shell of a man.

Whatever this is. Connor’s jaw clenched. He would never confirm it out loud, not where they could be overheard, but he knew deep down exactly what it was. This was the CIA cleaning house. This was an enemy larger than anything they’d ever faced before, and that enemy was systematically tying up loose ends. The most chilling realization of all was that they, too, were a bunch of very loose ends. He startled as the dusk grew dark enough to trigger the artificial lighting to flip on. But even with the artful illumination of the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial gleaming in the distance, he felt swallowed by the shadows. With a brusque exhalation, Connor swept a palm over his mouth and lifted his eyes heavenward. Not a single star could be seen through the light pollution around them, and that was somehow even more unsettling.

“Reckon we better rally the troops.” Connor expelled a ragged sigh as he dropped his gaze back toward the haunted faces around him. “No one left behind, eh?”

Murmurs of assent, quiet and fearful, floated between them all. Despite the fact that they weren't alone, he felt very, very small. Small and lost and alone.