Page 21 of The 9th Man

He and his three brothers had been there for every moment of those final days. His mother took the loss hard. They’d been married a long time. Her husband was everything to her, and then, suddenly, he was gone.

That’s why he called her every Sunday.

Never missed.

Even when on assignment.

It might be late at night her time when he had the chance, but he called. His father always said that the smartest thing he ever did was marry her, proclaiming thateven the blind-eyed biscuit thrower occasionally hits the target.

He’d never forget his last conversation with his father.

“I’m going to die later today or tomorrow. I’m done. I can feel it. But I have to say this to you. I want you make something of your life. Okay? Something good. You choose what works. Doesn’t matter. But whatever it is, make the most of it.”

He could still feel the gentle grip of his father’s sweaty palm as they shook hands for the last time. And he’d known exactly what his dad had meant. School had never interested Luke, his grades barely passing. College was not in his future. So he’d enlisted right out of high school and enrolled for Ranger training. Sixty-one of the hardest days of his life. Not for the weak or fainthearted—that’s what it said right in the handbook. Kind of an understatement, considering the failure rate was way over 50 percent. But he’d passed. Eventually, he’d been deployed to some of the hottest spots on the planet and received multiple commendations. Then he was chosen to work for the Magellan Billet where he’d been involved in more high-stakes action.

He was thirty-one years old and the loss of his dad still hurt. What was the saying?Real men don’t cry.Bullshit. Real men bawled their eyes out, as he and his brothers had when they watched the man they idolized take his last breath.

Perhaps that was why he’d grown fond of Cotton Malone.

The two men were a lot alike. No bullshit. To the point. And 99 percent of the time they were right. Luke was lucky to have met Malone, though he’d never let Pappy know that. No need really. That was another thing about Malone and his father. Both knew the obvious. No need to say it too.

Fifteen minutes later Jillian came trotting back.

In between breaths she said, “It’s parked at the diner. We’re having a late supper.”

He liked it.

“Okay, let’s go ruin their surprise.”

9

LUKE KEPT PACE WITH JILLIAN ACROSS THE BACKYARD TO A PADLOCKEDcellar door. She’d led the way since her firsthand knowledge was invaluable. She groped around in the dark and finally grabbed a nearby rock, giving it a sharp twist and revealing a hidden key compartment. Ten seconds later they were through the cellar door and down the steps without a sound. The air was damp and cool and smelled of mothballs. They stood in silence a few moments so their eyes could adjust.

He held the 9mm.

“Take point,” he whispered in her ear.

She knew the house and had cleared her fair share of buildings overseas.

He’d watch her back.

“If we get a chance to take a prisoner, do it,” he said. “We need an info dump. Bad.”

He knew that instruction wasn’t going to go over well. She’d watched the man who’d raised her be murdered. And while the men who’d actually killed Benji were dead, those who’d ordered the attack weren’t. She wanted her pound of flesh.

“We need some answers,” he whispered.

She gritted her teeth. “I can’t promise anything.”

He did not like the sound of that.

She took the lead as they crossed the darkened basement to a set of stairs leading up into the house. Using hand signals she told him,They’re noisy. Step where I step.

They climbed without making a sound, staying, he noticed, to the risers’ outer edges. At the top she signaled to stop.

A creak of wood past the closed door broke the silence.

Then a faint scuff of a shoe.