

Soldiering On

(Soldiering On #0.5)

By Aislinn Kearns

Soldiering On: (Soldering On #0.5)

Distributed by Smashwords

Copyright © 2016 by Aislinn Kearns  
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Fanfiction is encouraged.

ISBN 9781310615054

www.aislinnkearns.com

Cover by Vila Design

For my wonderful mother.

Without your love and encouragement, I wouldn't be where I am today. I hope I've made you proud.

Table of Contents

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

Excerpt

Soldiering On Series

About the Author

#  Chapter 1

A muffled sound came from Duncan's right, barely audible through the music pounding in his headphones.

He carefully eased the plate of the leg press back down as he turned his head toward the noise, conscious of the twinge in his leg. Perhaps he'd pushed it too far today. Again.

His friend Paul sat in his chair beside him; patient, but still with a focused energy. His icy blue eyes always seemed more intense than most people's, staring out from his pale face. He'd once been quite tanned from months outside in the desert sun, but seven months recovering indoors and avoiding the outside world had dulled the colour. The former marine—and current patient of the VA they were in—had developed a reputation for avoiding social situations, which made Duncan all the more curious as to why his friend was there.

Duncan tugged out his earbuds. "'Sup, man."

"It's your last day today," Paul stated.

"Sure is," Duncan replied. A grin spread across his face at the thought.

"Great," said Paul. He glanced down at his restless hands, clasped together in his lap.

A swell of sympathy stirred in Duncan. Paul had been there longer than a majority of their friends, ever since he'd become a paraplegic when a bullet had hit his thoracic spine on a mission less than a year ago. It was his turn soon, they both knew it. Still, Duncan was sure that it must suck to see your friends come and go, while you were rooted to a single location.

"We should grab a coffee before I head out," he told Paul. Duncan swung his legs over the side of the exercise machine, facing Paul.

"You mean that tar in the cafeteria?"

"That's the stuff," Duncan said dryly. "I can't wait for a proper latte. First thing I'll do when I get out of here."

Paul eyed him. "You know, I would have taken you for a straight black kinda guy."

"Because I'm straight and black?" Duncan asked, teasing him a little.

Paul cracked a grin. "No, because you're a hardass."

Duncan rolled his eyes. "Well, some hardasses drink lattes."

"Apparently."

Duncan slowly eased himself into a standing position. He gripped the edge of the machine as the ache in his thigh intensified. Yup. Definitely pushed it too far.

"Let's go," he told Paul, staunchly ignoring the pain. It would go away. Eventually.

He limped towards the door, slowing his pace to give Paul time to manoeuvre around the machines. Not at all because of his leg.

The room was large and empty. Most of the one-on-one rehab sessions happened in private rooms, but they kept a well-stocked gym for when it was required. It suited Duncan just fine. Now that he was at the end of his time at the Portsboro VA Rehab Centre, his most pressing concern was to be able to manage the remainder of his recovery on his own. He needed to know his limits—clearly something that still required some work.

Duncan caught a flash of movement past the doorway. "Blake!" he called, hoping it really was their friend that had been discharged a few weeks before.

A head popped around the door frame. "Duncan? What are you still doing here?"

"Leaving tomorrow."

"Ah. And Paul, when will it be your turn?" The big former SEAL practically filled the doorway as he leaned his shoulder against the jamb. He hadn't lost his tan. But, then, he'd had a shorter recovery time than Paul, even with the serious life adjustments he'd had to make.

Paul shrugged his broad shoulders. "I'm closer than I was seven months ago, let's put it that way."

Blake's eyes grew warm with sympathy. He'd been there. They all had.

"We were about to get some coffee if you want to join us," Duncan offered.

Blake made a comically disgusted face. "That sludge?"

"Yeah, if you've got time."

"Sure, always for you two. I just finished my check-up. They made some adjustments." He held up his left hand, twisting it so they could admire the new prosthetic.

"It's nice, man," said Paul. Blake beamed.

The three of them began to move off down the hall when Blake turned to them. "Zack is around here somewhere, too."

Duncan instinctively glanced around, as if Zack was going to pop out of one of the many doorways lining the corridor. Of course, he was nowhere to be seen.

There were, however, two women behind them, towards the other end of the hall. One was Perlas, the middle-aged Filipina nurse that he saw around a lot. The other he didn't recognise.

She was wearing a suit, obviously expensive, even to his ignorant eyes. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a sharp bun. She was listening intently to something Perlas was saying, nodding along to the older woman's words.

Duncan was immediately struck by her presence. He didn't meet many classy women in his line of work—former line of work—but she was something else. There was a quiet confidence to her that drew his attention.

He turned a little more. A sharp pain in his leg caused him to stumble. The awkward angle had exacerbated his already overworked muscle.

Blake steadied him with a hand on the shoulder, a curious look on his face. Duncan sent him a tight smile and shrugged off his support.

"Duncan!" Perlas called from behind him. "Paul, Blake," she continued in a quieter tone.

Duncan's shoulders crept up towards his ears at the thought that the attractive woman with Perlas might have seen him stumble, making a fool of himself. The back of his neck was hot, and he'd never been so glad that his dark skin disguised his blush.

The three of them stopped and waited while Perlas and the woman caught up.

"Sirs, this is Mandy. She tours our facility to consider donating."

Mandy seemed more like the name of a high school girl in an 80s comedy than the woman in front of him. But the more he looked at her, the more it seemed to suit her.

"Hi," she said. "Perlas probably shouldn't have mentioned that. I usually prefer to be a silent donor."

"Madam, I am sorry," Perlas replied, her eyes wide.

"It's all right, I suppose it wouldn't be a secret for long," she reassured the nurse. Perlas stayed mute.

Mandy turned back to the three of them. Duncan didn't know if it was just his wishful thinking, but he thought that her eyes caught more often on his than on the other two.

"I wanted to meet some of the patients here, see what they thought of the facility." She looked expectantly between the three of them.

Blake shuffled forward. "I'm not a patient anymore—discharged a few weeks ago—but I'd be more than happy to talk to you." He grinned his usual charming grin, his white teeth gleaming. Duncan narrowed his eyes.

Paul cleared his throat. "I've been here the longest," he said, far more hesitant than Blake. Duncan stopped himself from rolling his eyes at how obvious the two of them were being.

"You could join us for coffee?" Duncan suggested. "We were just about to head down to the cafeteria."

"Oh, thank you, I have another appointment after this. But thanks for the offer."

"You're welcome," Duncan murmured.

"But your care here has been positive?" she persisted.

Duncan's gut sank. Care. As if he was an invalid. She didn't see him—or any of them—as men. Just potential charity cases.

"It's been good," he said shortly. "But we really should be going."

Her eyebrows raised slightly in surprise, and Duncan imagined he saw a flash of hurt in her eyes before it quickly disappeared behind a tight, professional smile.

With barely a goodbye, Duncan led Paul and Blake away down the corridor.

"Man, what the hell was that?" asked Blake once they were out of earshot.

"What?" Duncan asked, sourness coating his tongue.

"You totally just blew her off. She was into you, man."

"Nah, we'd just be projects to her. She seems like the type that needs them to deal with her rich-person's guilt." His face still felt hot from the encounter—some mixture of embarrassment and anger that he couldn't quite understand.

Blake side-eyed him, but wisely said nothing. Duncan wasn't entirely sure he could be reasonable right now.

"Do you...do you think that's all we'll ever be now?" Paul asked. "Projects and charity cases?"

They arrived at the cafeteria in all its functionally bland glory. It was empty enough—just a few others scattered around the large room—so, the three of them moved towards their usual table without any discussion.

Duncan could feel Blake's glare as they walked toward the coffee station.

"Of course not," Blake told Paul. "Duncan's just being his usual, self-sabotaging self."

"What the hell does that mean?" Duncan growled.

Blake rolled his eyes good-naturedly. "I'm going to let you figure that one out for yourself."

Duncan huffed as the three of them settled themselves around the table, cups in hand.

"Whatever," he muttered.

"So, you're leaving tomorrow, huh? Excited to get back out into the real world?" Blake asked Duncan.

"Sure," he replied. "I can't wait to do some useful work again. I hate being idle."

Something dark and resentful crossed Blake's face, so at odds with his usual charm and upbeat outlook.

"What?" Duncan asked.

"Nothing."

"Blake..."

"Look, I don't want to ruin your excitement, but from my experience, it might be harder than you think." Blake's jaw was tight. He stared down at the black muck in his cup.

"Working?" Duncan asked.

"Getting work."

The three of them were silent for a few moments.

"What's up, man?" Paul asked, sounding both curious and ready to go to bat for Blake if it was needed.

Blake sighed. "Look, the people at the employment services are trying, but they keep sending me out to, like, desk jobs. There's no way I could hack that for long."

"You've always been an outdoor guy," Duncan agreed.

"Right. So, I get that they don't think I can do the same physical stuff with only one hand. But I can. I have to, really. I can't be trapped in an office all day."

"So, what are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "I've been looking on my own. They want to do some vocational rehabilitation on me, but I don't see how that could help."

They lapsed into silence.

"This doesn't bode well for me," Paul said quietly. "If you can't get a job, then I certainly won't be able to."

"I didn't mean to worry you. I'm sure it'll just take time." Blake was trying for reassuring, but Duncan wasn't convinced.

"I wonder what kind of job they'll send me to," Duncan mused. "I can't imagine it would be something physical like construction. No doubt there are a whole heap of able-bodied men that would be first pick over me."

Blake sighed. "It's tough, man. All we need is people that will take a chance on us. We'll prove to them that we can do it all, no problem."

"Right. It sucks that we spent years learning all these skills in the service and now they might go unused with us behind a desk. Seems like a waste."

Blake nodded in resigned agreement.

Paul stirred. "We should check in on Sam. Didn't she take a desk job? She might like it."

Duncan agreed, pulling out his phone and thumbing through his contacts until he found her number. He put it on speakerphone as he waited for her to pick up.

"Duncan. You out yet?" she asked, as ever to the point.

"Nope. Early tomorrow is go time."

"Good luck with it."

"How's it going for you?" he asked. "Blake and Paul are here to say hi, too."

"Hey, guys. I can't really talk right now, as I'm in the office, but it's a bit of a Charlie Foxtrot, to be honest. They put me behind a desk."

All three of the men tensed, but Duncan kept his voice calm. "Copy that. We'll see each other soon to debrief more, yeah?"

"Will do."

They disconnected.

"What do you think she meant by it being a clusterfuck?" asked Paul.

Blake groaned. "Doesn't seem like she's had much more luck than me. I mean, I know one of her lungs isn't one hundred percent anymore, and her leg isn't much better. But she was an amazing sailor by all accounts."

The quick taps of Duncan's fingers against the table filled the silence. If Sam—who was actually capable of sitting still for five minutes, unlike Blake—couldn't hack a desk job for a month or so, Duncan had no idea how the rest of them would handle it.

"There has to be a way to fix this."

"I'm sure you'll come up with something." Blake's usual optimism appeared to have returned somewhat.

Duncan wasn't so sure.

#  Chapter 2

Spreadsheets and lists covered the beautiful wood of the oak dining table in front of her. Each sheet of paper was neatly in its place, setting off happy chimes in the organisational part of her brain.

Mandy liked lists and order and research. She liked people, too, but she preferred to be prepared for any encounter.

It's why her brain had seized on the faux pas she had made earlier that day. Thoughts about what went wrong, and how she could have done better, were currently niggling at her, refusing to be ignored.

Even all the data in front of her couldn't distract her. She was comparing all the various places she had contacted recently with a view to possibly donating to expand her personal philanthropic portfolio. It was impossible to decide even after seeing each of them in person, as she wanted to give them all more money than she had. The guilt of a decision gnawed at her.

Her phone rang, and Mandy snatched it up gratefully. She saw her friend's name flashing across the screen.

"Sierra," she answered with a smile.

"I'm sorry I had to cancel our dinner. I only just got out of the office," Sierra replied. By her breathing, Mandy could tell she was on the move, probably walking to her car.

Mandy pulled her phone away from her ear for a second to check the time. Just after 8pm. Not too late for Sierra.

"That's like leaving early in your world."

Sierra chuckled, a low, pleased sound. "I know. I almost feel guilty."

Mandy snorted. "The company—and your dad—will survive if you have a few hours to yourself every now and again."

Sierra sighed. "Maybe."

"So, is there any special occasion you are leaving for?"

"No. I just...don't like getting home too late. It's creepy."

Not a word that Mandy had ever heard Sierra use. Instinct prickled at the back of her neck. She wondered if Sierra had called her as a deterrent to any potential attackers. She'd read somewhere that having someone at the other end of the phone meant you were less likely to be targeted. Or was it that you shouldn't talk on the phone because it distracted you and dulled your hearing?

"Why do you say that? You've been going home at all hours for years. What changed?"

Sierra hummed, thinking. "I'm not sure. Lately I haven't felt entirely safe." She paused. "It's probably just an article I've read recently about crime statistics that sunk a little too far into my brain. I'll get over it eventually."

"You should call the police. Or get a bodyguard. You can afford one."

"It's probably nothing. I don't want to overreact."

"I think you should trust your instincts. Better to be safe than sorry."

"True," Sierra allowed. "So what's going on with you?"

Mandy permitted her the change of subject. "I visited a VA hospital today."

"And?"

"I think I might donate. Probably will."

"Well, that's cool," Sierra enthused. If there is anyone that could understand Mandy's desire to help worthy causes, it was Sierra. Both of them had been born into money and hadn't quite figured out what to do with it all yet.

"Yeah."

"You don't sound so sure."

Mandy sighed, dragging papers across the table with her index finger. "I was hoping it might make me feel less restless and useless for a bit, but giving away money is too easy."

"You need to use that fancy degree of yours. For real." The two of them had gone to college together, studying business and communications. They'd met freshman year and had become inseparable. Both were striving to do more with their lives than be rich trophy princesses.

In the last five years, Sierra had gone on to earn an upper management position at her father's company.

Mandy, however, had left college and continued to work in the small non-profit that she'd spent time in for the course credits. The salary had been abysmal, but with her trust fund it hadn't mattered. It had been a good cause.

Until her father had lured her away to run his new Corporate Social Responsibility division, which he had created specifically for her. Mandy had thought it would be the start of something brilliant and worthwhile, melding corporations with good deeds and making a difference in the world.

Instead, her father had lost interest in the CSR aspect of his company once the basics had been fulfilled and the boxes checked, leaving Mandy with little work to do. Any suggestions she made would inevitably be shot down, in lieu of focusing on 'more important' things.

At the office, Mandy hid her frustrations behind a long-since-perfected mask of indifference. Sierra, however, had been on the receiving end of a frustrated rant from Mandy many times over. Sierra knew how much it hurt her to be constantly sidelined. And she was the only one Mandy bothered to confide in about how she was investing or donating her trust fund and the exorbitant salary she made doing practically nothing.

"I'd love to," Mandy replied. "I'd like nothing more than to do some real work. Good work. But I'm stuck."

"Get a new job. No doubt you've had offers. Take one and get out of that place."

Mandy thought of the secret folder in her filing cabinet with requests for interviews and outright job offers. She couldn't bear to throw them away, not when they might be the only form of validation she'd ever get.

"I couldn't do that to my father."

"Yeah, you could. Think of yourself every now and again. It won't be the end of the world."

The panicked clenching in Mandy's gut told a different story. "Let's talk about something else."

"All right," Sierra said slowly. "Meet anyone lately?"

Mandy sighed, memories of that morning creeping up on her once again.

"I saw an attractive guy this morning. I even spoke to him."

"Oh yeah?" Sierra asked, perking up.

"Yeah. And then I apparently upset him because he couldn't get out of there fast enough."

Sierra was silent for a second. "That's not like you."

"I know! That's why it's haunting me. I think I was just so distracted by his face and shoulders and...whole deal that I just completely flaked on the whole words thing."

Sierra laughed, and Mandy felt her tension ease somewhat.

"He must have been really something."

Mandy sighed dreamily. "Yeah."

"What was his name?"

"I...don't know. Duncan? I think?"

"Shame you don't have more to go on. I could have Facebook stalked him for you, like a good bestie does."

Mandy laughed, her embarrassment and frustration from that morning easing at her friend's teasing. "I'd probably find out he still lives with his mother and collects My Little Pony dolls."

She could practically hear Sierra's nose scrunch up in disgust. "Just as well. No man should walk around being as hot as you say without some kind of metaphorical skeletons in the closet. It wouldn't be fair for us mere mortals."

"True enough," Mandy agreed.

The conversation ended soon after that, with Mandy feeling a whole lot better about life. She fell asleep dreaming of a drawer in a filing cabinet full of possible futures.

# Chapter 3

Duncan did what he usually did when he was trying to solve a problem: he called his mother.

"Duncan," Alice Pierce's soft Scottish burr murmured over the line. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"Do I need an excuse to call my mother?"

"If history is anything to judge by, yes." Her voice held an easy affection. She had always been known for her big heart.

He sighed. "I should call more often."

She chuckled. "In a way, it's good to know you don't need your mother at every turn. Means I raised you right."

"Doesn't mean I can't ask for your advice."

She hummed down the line. "Always. Though I know you'll do what you think is right, regardless."

Duncan ignored that. "I leave the facility tomorrow." Duncan stood and paced his room; partly to ease the ache in his leg, and partly to dispel his agitation after his conversation with Paul and Blake.

"Yes, I have it marked on my calendar. I'm taking time off to help you get settled." Alice was a kindergarten teacher, and a great favourite with her students. Duncan knew that she'd been considering retiring, but her job was so much a part of her that he couldn't imagine her without it.

"You don't have to do that."

"I'm your mother." And that was that.

"I'm worried that finding work will be more difficult than I anticipated."

She was silent for a moment. "What brings this on?"

"Blake came to see me today. You remember him?"

"Handsome? Lost a hand?"

"That's him. He's a little crazy, but he's always been an outstanding soldier. And yet, he can't find work. Particularly nothing he likes."

"And you are worried you'll go down the same path?"

"Who is going to hire guys like us for physical labour? We know we're good, but chances are we won't get a chance to prove it."

"Do you think even construction or the like will keep you interested for long?"

Duncan hesitated. "No. I want to be a soldier again. It's what I trained for."

"You always wanted to follow in your father's footsteps. Ever since you were a child." Fond nostalgia washed between them as the memories surfaced. Duncan had idolised his father. He had been a giant African-American man, larger than life. He'd risen through the ranks of the military, gaining respect and accolades.

Duncan had followed his career avidly, even when he had been stationed in far off lands. Though he'd rarely talked about his experiences with his son—or perhaps because of it—Duncan had learned all he could about his father's life through other sources. He read books and memoirs of people that had been in the same places as his father, he'd followed media reports, he'd talked to people that had served with him.

He'd even followed him into the military when he'd been 18.

Even though he hadn't said as much, Duncan knew the old man had been proud of him.

Until he'd passed away five years before, devastating his strong and independent mother. She'd recovered right enough. But it had been the first and only time his mother hadn't been able to be strong for him.

"Shame they won't take a man with a bum leg back into the Army," Duncan said eventually.

"Then maybe you have to bring the Army to you," she said.

Duncan tried to parse that out. "What?"

"If there are no opportunities to use the skills you've learned, then maybe you have to create those opportunities."

"Like, start my own business?"

"Why not?"

"I don't know how to run a business."

"So learn. Or get someone that can. I'm sure it wouldn't be that different to leading your team."

Duncan tried to suppress the excitement that was building in him. Surely this was a ridiculous pipe dream. Wasn't it?

"What kind of work would we do?"

"Whatever you want. That's something you'd have to decide. And you'd know better than me."

Possibilities buzzed at the edge of his thoughts. He tried to bat them away, but to no avail. The idea had stuck, and his subconscious was already forming plans.

"We could open up a kind of hybrid agency. Part temp agency for people with our skill-set, and part security company."

"That sounds just about right." Alice sounded genuinely enthused by the prospects.

"It would be a lot of work."

"That's never stopped you before."

His mind was working at a mile a minute. "We could give priority recruitment to permanently injured soldiers."

"That's a lovely idea. Your father would be proud of you all over again." He could hear the smile in her voice.

"It would be a great way to help people directly. I mean, that's why a lot of us went into the military in the first place, but we never saw the effects of what we did firsthand. Now we could work with people one on one."

"Perfect." Her voice was rich and warm with affection and encouragement. Inspiration and excitement flowed into him.

"Thanks, Mom. You've given me a lot to think about."

"You're welcome."

Duncan asked how she was before they said their goodbyes. She gave the same answers she usually did, more interested in her son's life than telling him about her own. As soon as he hung up, Duncan immediately grabbed paper and a pen, scribbling down the thoughts crowding his mind.

He made lists of the skills his friends had, of the kind of work they could do for civilians. He started on a list of the things they would need, but that quickly became too overwhelming when he came to the business side of things. He knew what he and his team would need to complete various missions, but beyond that he was at a loss.

He wrote one thing down the bottom of the list in a messy scrawl: business partner.

# Chapter 4

Duncan woke early, still excited by the idea of opening his own company. He knew there would be challenges, but he was prepared. He'd already begun to form a strategy. Like any mission, it required preparation and planning.

Paul found him over breakfast as he was scribbling down his latest ideas for his future company.

"Hey, man," Duncan greeted him.

"Aren't you meant to be leaving this morning?" Paul asked, eyeing the papers laid out across the table with some suspicion.

"Yeah, I just wanted to get all of this down on paper before it went out of my head."

Paul patiently sipped at the black tar in his mug while he waited for Duncan to finish.

"So, what is all this?" Paul asked as Duncan pushed away his notepad and pulled his plate of eggs towards him.

"I'm thinking of starting up a business."

"What kind of business?"

"I'm tossing up between an employment agency for returning soldiers, and a security firm that utilises the skills we've learned while we were in." Duncan considered the pages again as he shovelled scrambled eggs into his mouth without tasting them. He was too amped to pay much attention.

"That sounds pretty great." Paul sounded subdued, not as excited as Duncan would have anticipated.

"You don't like it?" He felt a bit deflated. Of everyone, he thought Paul would be the most likely to take part after Blake.

"No, I'm sure that whoever you get to work with you will love it."

Duncan frowned. "What do you mean, 'whoever'? I'm starting this for you guys."

Cautious interest lit Paul's eyes. "Not me, surely."

"Of course, you. I know I'll have to wait until you're out, but at least by then it should be mostly set up."

"What kind of work do you see me doing?" Paul was clearly invigorated by the prospect now.

"Uh..." Duncan hadn't thought that far ahead, not for any of the guys.

Paul deflated. "Oh, right. I'd be just another charity case on the payroll?" He tried for a joking tone, but it came out laced with bitterness.

"Paul..."

"No, it's cool. I get it. I appreciate the thought, man. You can't help that I'm useless now."

"Don't-"

"I'll leave you to it. Good luck out there." Paul spun his chair away from the table and left before Duncan could get another word in.

God damn.

His excitement about the future somewhat dimmed, Duncan gathered up his notes with a sigh and left rehab to start the next phase of his life.

His mother was waiting for him outside his new apartment, laden down with bags of groceries.

"Mother, you do realise I am a grown man, don't you?" he asked her as he leaned down to kiss her cheek. She was tiny compared to him. He took after his father in more than just his skin colour. No one would guess that she was his mother if they saw them standing there.

"No, you're not. You're my son."

Duncan rolled his eyes and picked up the groceries, hefting them in his arms. "The two aren't mutually exclusive, you know." He staggered a few steps, the added weight dragging on his knee. "Jesus, what did you buy? This stuff must weigh a ton."

Alice sniffed. "Don't be melodramatic, I just got you some staples." But she eyed his knee carefully, making sure that he was all right.

Duncan side-eyed her, but wisely declined to comment. He managed to manoeuvre the key out of his pocket and slip it into the lock.

It was only then that he got the first glimpse of his new apartment. His mother had searched for living spaces for him while he was in recovery, after he'd refused to move home with her once he was discharged. He loved his mother, but he was on the wrong side of thirty-five and had no intention of sharing a house with her again. Particularly not with her tendency to fuss.

The apartment was better than he'd feared. He hadn't been eligible for governmental HUD-VASH vouchers towards rent, as he wasn't technically homeless, despite having nowhere to live. He'd been out of the country far more than he'd been in it since he joined up, so he'd never seen much point in having a permanent home base stateside.

Considering that his income was fairly negligible until he decided whether he wanted to press the go button on this business idea—and whether it became a success—he was glad that his mother had managed to find somewhere nice but frugal. She'd told him that the rental agent had mentioned that the neighbourhood was loud, but Duncan wouldn't mind that. After years in the middle of war zones, he found it difficult to sleep in the quiet.

It was a one bedroom apartment. Worn, beige carpets spread across the floor. The walls were off-white, though he couldn't guess whether they were meant to be that colour, or if they were unfortunately discoloured.

The furniture looked a few decades old, but it was well-made, not IKEA stuff, and had clearly been well-tended. The kitchen was practically empty save for a few necessities, just how he liked it.

"It's perfect."

A sly smile kicked up the corners of Alice's mouth. She knew him well. "I'm glad."

The two of them began unpacking, going slower than Duncan would like because of his leg. The frequent breaks were as frustrating as they were necessary.

"Have you thought any more about the business idea?" Alice asked conversationally as she hung his clothes in the creaking wardrobe.

Duncan folded another t-shirt. Neatness was ingrained in him after so many years in the Army.

"Yeah. It'll be a steep learning curve, though. And we'll need investors. I've created a list of the bare minimum of equipment we'll need and it'll cost more than I can get with a business loan."

His mother nodded sagely. "An investor with experience in business would be useful. Someone to help get you started. Even a partner."

Duncan considered this. "You could be right. I'd loathe to turn over any control, though. The whole point is that I need to run it my way, otherwise the guys will be right back where they started."

"You don't think someone else can do it?"

"No one else will know what they need, or be invested in finding them the right place. That's the trouble they are in now—the people that are trying to help aren't taking their wants and needs into account. I don't want some upstart partner to come in and impose their will on my vision. It wouldn't work."

"You just need to find the right partner," she murmured.

Duncan pondered this as they moved to the kitchen to unpack the rest of the groceries. Alice was threatening to cook Duncan lunch when he finally managed to shoo her out. After fixing himself a sandwich—with the fancy bakery bread that she'd bought him—he explored the little apartment some more.

Soon enough, though, his eyes were drawn back to his notebook, and he couldn't resist the lure of his new business plan.

# Chapter 5

The crisp click of Mandy's heels against the faux-wood floors of her father's company gave her the confidence she needed for this meeting. She'd always loved the sound. It made her feel powerful in her femininity, like she could take over the world while striding through the wreckage she left behind in her expensive L.K. Bennett stilettos.

She needed that today.

It wasn't every day she was called into her father's office. In fact, they rarely saw each other despite working on the same floor. But Mandy had recently submitted a proposal to make the company more sustainable, and saving money in the process, as the first step in a master plan to reposition the company as an environmentally friendly business.

She hoped that he would approve it. There was no reason for him not to, considering the long-term savings it would engender. Her father was nothing if not money-conscious.

If he did sign off on the proposal, it would be Mandy's first coup since joining the company three years ago. Everything else she'd suggested had been knocked back or cut down.

This, though, she was sure would win his approval.

More than anything, Mandy wanted to make a positive difference. Environmentalism, humanitarianism, all of it. It was why, when her father asked her to join his company, she'd told him she wouldn't until he created a CSR division. He'd lured her away from her job at a small-time charity to do it, but she'd agreed, thinking she could make more positive changes with the influence of the company behind her. So far, she'd had no such luck.

Now, though, she knew it was her time. And he'd finally have to take her seriously.

She pushed open his heavy office door and stuck her head around. Her father was at his desk, frowning at his brand new desktop computer.

He glanced up as she pushed the door open wider.

"What's a cookie?" he grumbled. "It's telling me to clear them."

"It's a...never mind, I'll do it."

Morris Lennox was a greying man in his early sixties, with a once-solid build that had slowly softened into a paunch. He was born into money, would die in money, and had worked himself into a heart attack at sixty amassing more of it.

Mandy was his golden child, only having distinguished herself in that regard by not being as much of a screw up as her younger brother. He loved her, in his way. As far as Mandy knew, she was the only one that he would ever show a weakness to. Even if that weakness was an ignorance of browser cookies.

Mandy quickly fixed his computer and sat on the other side of his imposing cherry-wood desk. Though in many areas of the offices he had skimped on furnishings, his office was not one of those places. He liked his comfort, and knew the value of a potential client's first impression. The place was respectable, warm, and slightly intimidating. Just like the man sitting opposite her.

"How are you?"

He waved that away. "So, we have some things to talk about."

Straight to the point. All right.

"My proposal?"

"Yes. In part."

Mandy waited.

Morris looked down at the papers in front of them without really seeing them.

"I've decided to implement your proposal. You made a convincing argument for the cost-cutting measures."

Mandy managed not to throw herself to her feet with excitement. Energy buzzed through her, but she contented herself with a pleased grin.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'll put together a team to work on it right away."

"Hamilton will work on it. He's responsible for internal finances." The way her father said it was so offhand, so callous. Mandy's heart sank to her toes as the words registered beyond the dismissive tone.

The air was suddenly thin, but she managed to draw a breath. "I'm sorry? It's my proposal."

He wouldn't even look at her. Just stared down at the useless piece of paper. Did he even know what he was doing?

"Yes, but it's his department."

Her father finally looked up. Mandy wasn't sure what he saw in her face, but a frown flickered over his expression.

"Are you all right?"

Mandy tried twice before the words came out, still an octave too high. "Is this a punishment for something?"

"No, of course not!" He sounded shocked. Truly shocked. As if there was no way that his words just now could in any way be interpreted as a slight.

"Then why are you doing this?"

"It's become clear to me with the proposal that you are wasted in the CSR division. You are talented in ideas, communication, and proposals. You understand your audience. It's a rare and valuable skill."

"Okay," she said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She gripped the arm of the chair, trying to hold herself together while she felt like she was slowly shaking apart.

"I've decided to shut down the CSR division and move you into our corporate strategy team. I think you'd fit right in." He beamed.

Mandy swallowed, bile rising in her throat. She waited until she could assemble some coherent words. Her voice was low.

"But I enjoy corporate social responsibility. It's why I agreed to work for you."

"Yes, but don't you think it's time you found a real position? One that didn't waste your talents? You could be making us millions."

Blackness edged her vision. Her fingernails dug into the wood of the armchair.

"I don't feel that I am wasting anything. CSR can make you money. I've just proven that."

He waved that away. "Small fries compared to what you could be making. And isn't that what you want? To make a difference?"

Mandy was going to be sick. He didn't understand her. All these years. All those talks. And he knew nothing about her.

He thought he was doing the right thing. Pushing her to grow up. He didn't understand that she had been an adult for a long time. Just one that was very different to him.

"No thank you," she managed.

That frown came back. Confused. Kindly.

"I don't want to move into strategy." Her voice was stronger now.

"I don't understand."

"I know you don't. That's what hurts most of all."

"Amanda?"

"I quit." Strong. Definitive. She stood, and the soft click of her heels bolstered her. Striding through the wreckage she was creating.

His eyes bulged. "Amanda-"

She kept her voice even, despite the temptation to rage, or to cry. Only cool-headedness could save her dignity. "Father, I love you. But you should have learned long ago that I'm not like you. I thought you were starting to understand. I gave up a job I loved to be here to support this company and move it into the next stage. But it is quite clear that our visions for this company are incompatible. You haven't listened to a word I've said over the years about what I wanted to achieve. About who I am. So, before I say something I might regret, I'm going to quit."

She strode to the door. Click, click, click.

Just before leaving, she turned. "Goodbye, Father," she said with quiet devastation.

She shut the door behind herself and strode out of the office. She made it to the car before she let out a gasping sob and allowed the tears fall.

# Chapter 6

"So, what did you want to talk about?" Blake's voice interrupted Duncan's scribbling on yet another scrap of paper. He'd holed himself up in a corner booth at Macy's Café near the rehab centre, too distracted by the silence in his apartment to be able to concentrate.

It had been nearly a week since Duncan had moved into his apartment. In that time he'd been furiously researching what was needed to start a business in Boston, but he'd mired himself in a swamp of confusion.

Duncan glanced up. His friend was looking worn about the edges, like a shirt that had been laundered a little too roughly.

"Have a seat."

Blake sat with a thump.

"Are you okay?" Duncan couldn't help but ask.

Blake forced a smile. "I just want to be out there working."

"I get that," Duncan told him with not a little empathy. His mind was tugging him back to the plan in front of him. He was on the verge of pulling it together. He just knew it.

Blake sighed. "So, you're out now. How's your luck been?"

Duncan glanced up, distracted. "I haven't been looking." There had to be a way to figure out the finances. Maybe if he started small, only hired one of the guys, bought little equipment, he could make it work.

"What? Why not?"

Duncan blinked, focusing on his friend. "I'm trying to figure out a way to create jobs for all of us. It's been taking up all of my time."

Blake eyed him, confused and maybe a little suspicious. "What have you been doing?"

Duncan leaned forward, the excitement that thrummed through him every time he spoke of his plan sparking to life again. "I'm going to open a business. I'm still ironing out the details. But I think it will be like a temp or employment agency, only it will be exclusively for injured soldiers, and only for tasks that require their very specific skill-set. Like a security firm, I suppose."

Blake's eyes took on some of Duncan's excitement. "Man, that sounds like exactly what we need!" He already looked younger, more rejuvenated, even with just the thought of doing something more with his life than sitting behind a desk.

"I hope so. That's the plan, anyway." Gratified by Blake's enthusiasm, Duncan felt a renewed sense of purpose. They needed this.

"So, what'll I be in this new world order? Or do you want me to just stand around looking pretty?"

Duncan rolled his eyes at his friend. "I don't want to turn away my customers with your ugly mug."

Blake grinned, not at all deterred. "So, what do you think?"

"You'll be the primary infiltrator."

"That sounds dirty."

Duncan glared. "Anyway, basically everyone will be able to do any job that we get in, but you'll all have your specific skill-set. You will mostly be getting in and out of places unseen. You've always been good at that."

"It was all those beds I had to sneak out of in my wilder days." He was completely deadpan, but Duncan knew for a fact that Blake had never slept around. He might talk a flirty game, but he rarely acted on it and was a monogamous kind of guy.

"That's if I can pull this off, anyway." Duncan suddenly deflated, the overwhelming enormity of what he was trying to achieve hitting him.

Blake's eyes grew determined. "What do you need? Where are you stuck?"

"Money, mostly. I have my pay from my years of service squirrelled away, and it's a decent nest egg. But the amount of investment required to launch a company is insane, not including all the equipment and such I'll need to purchase up front."

"How about all of us chip in?"

"You have a few million bucks in your back pocket I don't know about?"

"Jesus, what kind of equipment are you getting?"

"The usual. Guns—lots of them. May as well exploit the fact that we live in America. Plus, we need fancy computers and software. Night Vision goggles, flak jackets, and flash bangs. Enough for everyone. Security systems. I have my eye on some heavy breaching kits. Scopes. Lights. You name it."

"Shit. You're going all out." Blake narrowed his eyes, then shrugged. "So get an investor. A real one, with lots of cash."

Duncan sighed. "Yeah, I was hoping I could do this myself. Run it the way it needs to be run so that we don't end up back where we started with people underestimating us all. But I don't think I can afford to be sole owner at this point. They'd never give enough capital to a first-time business owner."

"All you need is to find the right partner." Blake's steady faith bolstered him a little. "I'm sure there is someone out there with pots of money that just wants to give it away to the right people."

Duncan's mind flitted back to the classy blonde he'd seen on his last day in rehab. But as much as it seemed like she had a lot of money that she didn't know what to do with, there was no way he'd let someone that considered him and his friends as pitiable projects anywhere near this new business of his. The whole point of this venture was that he wanted to escape people just like that.

Blake continued, oblivious to Duncan's mind wandering.

"Besides, as far as I know, most investors just front up the cash and don't interfere with day-to-day operations."

Duncan shrugged. "That would be good. Though, honestly, having someone with some experience in business wouldn't hurt."

"A little out of your depth?" Blake teased.

"No," Duncan growled. "I just hate paperwork."

"Uh huh." Blake was unconvinced.

"The forms alone that I have to fill out are insane." He pointed to a giant stack on the edge of the table. Blake's eyes widened.

"What are all these?"

"I only understand about half of them," Duncan admitted with a grumble.

"Christ." Blake was eloquent as ever. Duncan couldn't help but agree.

# Chapter 7

Mandy was just walking out of the veterans' rehab centre, where she'd just signed away a large chunk of her cash, when her phone rang. Rather than going directly to her car, she walked further down the street in the fresh autumn air as she answered.

"What do you mean you quit?" Sierra asked her as soon as she picked up the phone. It had been a few days since Mandy had walked out of her father's office. She and Sierra had played phone tag ever since. In the end, Mandy had just texted her the news, needing to tell someone.

"I finally realised that I didn't belong there. My father was never going to take me seriously unless I morphed into a female version of him. And I don't want to be that person."

Sierra made a sympathetic noise. "I'm sorry, hun. That must have been really hard."

"I'm becoming okay with it. Turns out I'm not particularly upset about my job. It's far more devastating to come to the realisation that even after all these years, my father has never made an effort to understand me."

"Oh, God, that's the worst. So what are you going to do now?"

"I'm not sure. I have enough money that I can take my time finding a job that's really right for me. I want to use my business degree, but also do some good in this world, you know?"

"For sure. That sounds perfect for you."

They made some more general chitchat, but Sierra sounded distracted. She was quickly pulled away by some urgent task, and the two said their hurried goodbyes. As Mandy hung up, she noticed that she'd found herself across the road from a small café. Suddenly craving a latte, she crossed the road and slid inside the toasty warmth of the bustling coffee shop.

It wasn't until she'd ordered her coffee that she realised there was a familiar face at one of the tables.

The man she thought might be called Duncan sat amongst a pile of papers, frowning at a document that she thought might combust with the strength of his frown. She hesitated, wondering if she should interrupt him. She was still annoyed at herself for somehow pissing him off the other day—she'd been dwelling on it as one tended to do with their most embarrassing moments—and wanted to apologise.

But the chances of him even remembering her were slim. Surely she'd just embarrass herself further?

She admitted to herself that part of the reason she wanted to apologise was because she still found him incredibly handsome. His smooth black skin, his strong features, his broad shoulders. He was quite an impressive package.

Mandy stepped once in his direction, but she'd taken too long to deliberate. His friend that had been with him the other day, the charming one, slid into the chair across from him.

Disappointed after having psyched herself up for the encounter, Mandy slid into the only empty seat in the café, which happened to be two seats over from him.

She hadn't intended to eavesdrop. Not really. But as soon as he'd begun talking about his idea for his business and his struggles at getting it off the ground, her brain had perked up.

It sounded like a good idea. Both socially responsible, and profitable. If done right.

She wanted this, she realised. It was the perfect combination. Better yet, it sounded like he needed her help.

She listened for a good place to interrupt, sipping her coffee. Then, she slipped out of her chair and came up next to the two men.

"Hi there. I couldn't help but overhear. It sounds like you could do with some assistance," she said, and put on her most charming smile.

Duncan scowled at her, but the other man smiled disarmingly. "Hi. Blake," he reminded her.

"Hi. Mandy." Blake held out his hand and she shook it, still conscious of Duncan glaring at her.

"Sit," Blake offered, gesturing to the chair to his left. As she sat, she noticed that the arm closest to her was a prosthetic. That explained his stint in the rehab and Duncan's determination to offer him a position in his future company.

She glanced over at Duncan, going for a winning smile. "I really am sorry I was eavesdropping. But you were discussing my area of expertise, so my brain perked up. I'm hoping I can help you."

"Why?" The word was clipped as he asked her.

"Duncan..." Blake warned.

Mandy placed a placating hand on the table. "It's all right, it's a valid question."

Duncan grunted, his shoulders loosening just perceptibly. Good. She was getting somewhere.

She rolled her shoulders a little, preparing herself to give an off-the-cuff pitch. "It sounds like you have a good idea. One that's socially responsible and potentially profitable. Plus, you seem like you have the expertise and determination to do something special with this company. But you don't have the necessary knowledge to build and maintain a business, regardless of your familiarity with everything else. That's where I would come in. I would front up an appropriate sum of the initial investment and help you get the business up and running the right way."

She waited with bated breath for his response. His frosty eyes gave nothing away.

"And what would you get in return?"

"Half-ownership," she replied immediately.

Duncan scoffed. "Not a chance."

Mandy raised her brow in cool question. "Considering I'll put up, I'm guessing, ninety percent of the initial investment, financial acumen, and experience to make this a success, I think that's more than reasonable. I could walk away right now, no skin off my back. But you need someone. Maybe not me, but someone exactly like me. It's a good offer."

Duncan considered her. She glanced over at Blake. He was looking at her, clearly impressed. Mandy gave him a small smile and turned back to Duncan.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking."

"Would you like to see my résumé? I have a copy on my tablet. I've been working on it lately." She didn't mention exactly why.

Duncan gave a sharp nod. He rose in Mandy's estimation. It was smart to gather the facts, not let oneself be steamrolled. But Mandy knew she would win him over regardless.

She tugged her tablet out of her handbag and found the right file, handing it to him. His large hand cradled the device, dwarfing an object that looked perfectly normal in her hand. Blunt male fingers swiped at the screen, and he read all the information with deliberate care. Her mind briefly flickered to the idea of those masculine hands running over her body, and her face heated, no doubt displaying her blush for the world to see. But that was nothing compared to the fire scorching through her body at the thought.

Her tongue darted out to lick her lips. Mandy shifted, banishing the erotic images from her mind.

Just in time.

Duncan's gaze settled on hers. "Why did you leave your last job at—," he glanced down at the tablet, "Lennox Industries?"

She deliberated her words carefully. She never knew how people would react when they found out she worked for her father. Often, it resulted in them thinking less of her, like she was coasting. But since her father being her boss had been irrelevant to her work—she would have put forth the same effort and commitment regardless of who she worked for—she usually chose not to mention the fact at all.

"I realised that my skills and interests did not align with those of the company."

"But you think they'd align with my company?"

"I'd like to see your business plan first, but yes, it sounds like something I would be interested in being a part of."

"This won't be a charity," he said abruptly. He must have gathered her interest in charitable work from her resume. "The people that would work for me would be employees, like any other. They wouldn't be projects to be fixed, or objects of pity. They would do the work, like any other."

"Of course," she told him. From what he said, his aim for this business would be to give back injured veterans a purpose and employment that utilised their skills. It was an admirable cause, but not a charity.

He looked mightily tempted. He glanced down longingly at the stack of paperwork in front of him. Time to press her advantage.

"I love doing paperwork. I have a lot of money, and I know exactly what you need in order to open up a new business. Even beyond the initial startup, my name and reputation will likely create free publicity. I'd be perfect, admit it," she wheedled as sweetly as she could.

But Duncan was frowning again. "I want to build our reputation the right way. Not through some association we might have. I want to be known for our work."

Mandy sighed gently. "And that will come. But first you need to get the work. I can help with this."

Blake spoke up. "Who are you, that your name and reputation would generate publicity?"

It was the obvious question, she supposed. "My father has a lot of money. It's part of the reason I have so much money. Some people in the press consider me a socialite, and hence are interested in certain things that I do. A new business would be one of those things."

Both men were silent for a moment.

Then, Duncan let out his breath in a heavy gust. "All right, we'll go over my plans and ideas. See where it goes from there."

Mandy resisted the temptation to throw her hands up in triumph. Instead, she settled for a pleased smile and a nod.

Blake stood. "Sounds like that's my cue. For what it's worth, I think you'd be a great addition, Mandy."

Duncan glared at him as he waved goodbye. Mandy wanted to roll her eyes. The man was obviously contrary in nature. Despite how attractive he was, she told herself that she couldn't stay romantically interested in a man like that. It would drive her up the wall. But that didn't mean his business idea could be set aside as easily.

Besides, if they were going to work together, dating would be a terrible idea. It was just a shame he was so damn attractive.

He pulled out his notes, and their shoulders brushed as she leant over to look.

If she wasn't so determined to involve herself in this business, she might have taken the frisson of awareness that leapt through her at the contact as a sign of a very bad idea.

# Chapter 8

A few weeks after Duncan had been accosted by Mandy in the café, he had to admit to himself that she'd been invaluable. Only to himself, though.

She'd already done an analysis of all their competitors, the major one seeming to be a place called Beaton Security. She'd done a detailed budget plan, cost outlay estimates and potential income streams, marketing opportunities, the works. She'd filed all the paperwork, dealt with the IRS, and was generally an organisational machine.

Still, he hadn't quite forgiven her for the way that she'd inserted herself into his business. She must have heard him explain that this venture was something personal, something he'd needed to have control over in order to do it right. And still she'd tried to take over.

Blake was no better. The traitor had guilted him into accepting her partnership, claiming that if he went about this wrong, they'd all be out of jobs and back where they started.

So, he'd showed Mandy his business plan. She'd made some heavy adjustments, but even he could see that they were improvements. She'd been more concerned about making a profit, whereas he had focused on getting his people meaningful work.

A week after they'd both finally approved the business plan, Mandy had surprised him with a contract for the two of them to sign. Though he hadn't understood all of it, it hadn't seemed to be nefarious. In fact, he could have sworn it was mutually beneficial. He suspected that she'd had it drawn up to appease him.

Still, he didn't quite trust her. The way she occasionally looked at him, as if he disturbed her, was enough to put him on guard. He still didn't know exactly why she was there. It almost seemed as if he had become a new project for her. That, he couldn't abide.

But the plans were coming together. Much faster than he could have done on his own.

Now, it was time to gather the troops, see who he had, and actually get this thing moving.

After their last conversation, he owed Paul the first call.

"Hey buddy. How's it going?"

Paul grunted. "All right. They said I'll be out pretty soon."

"That's perfect," Duncan replied, delighted for his friend. It was about time the man got a break.

"Yeah," Paul said, but he didn't sound as thrilled.

"What's up? You've wanted this for ages."

"I thought it would be different by the time I'd get out. That I'd be different. Better." He sighed. "Stupid, really."

Duncan's chest squeezed. "You're still good, man. Just a little banged up."

"I've never been anything other than physically strong. It was the one thing I could be proud of. Like, I'm okay on computers and such, but few of my teammates could beat me at a run. But now...I have to start my life all over again. Which sucks, as an adult. It's not as if I was unhappy, and needed a change. I was exactly where I wanted to be, but now I need to change anyway."

Duncan heard the quiet devastation and longing in the man's voice. He knew some of what Paul was feeling. He'd been through a less extreme version of it himself, they all had. And he knew that Paul needed a chance to grieve his loss.

"We're here for you. Whatever you need. You know that, right?"

Paul cleared his throat, and when he spoke his voice was a little unsteady. "Yeah."

Duncan took a deep breath. "So, listen, when you get out, you'll have a job with me. If you want it of course."

"Duncan, we already talked about this."

"Yeah, but this time I've actually got a proper plan. I want to put you as our primary surveillance guy. Like you said, you're pretty good with computers. And we'll need eyes in the sky, and I want that to be you."

"So, you're relegating me to the office, 'cos I can't do anything out in the field?"

Duncan grit his teeth. He knew Paul was hurting, lashing out.

"I'm not relegating you anywhere. I'm giving you an important job. One I know you'd be good at."

"Look, I know you feel some weird responsibility to us all. But we're adults. We aren't your children, or even your team. We're your friends. We don't need you trying to fix our lives for us. I won't be your charity case, Duncan. I deserve more respect than that."

With a final resigned sigh, Paul hung up on Duncan, leaving him shell-shocked. He'd been so sure that Paul would come around.

Paul was wrong about him, wasn't he? Was he as bad as Mandy, finding new charity cases to help? Surely not. He wanted to help the team, yes, but it wasn't out of pity. It stemmed from frustration. The fact that the rest of society dismissed veterans. He wanted to prove the world wrong.

And he wanted to give them a chance that they might not get elsewhere. They deserved that, at least.

Shit, maybe a part of him was doing this for the wrong reasons.

He set his phone down on the tiny kitchen table in front of him and stared at it for a while. He could call this whole thing off. Forget about it and move on.

But then he thought of those he now considered his team. He hadn't served with many of them. Yet they'd formed a bond just as close.

He wanted to do this for them. Needed to. Not out of pity, but because someone had to. And if not him, then who?

# Chapter 9

After talking to Paul, Duncan called Sam. He knew she'd be as enthused about the idea as Blake was, and he suddenly needed the support.

"So, what do you think?" he asked after explaining the idea.

"I think it is exactly what we all need," she replied. Her response was warm and enthusiastic, the exact opposite of Paul's chilly bitterness.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Paul wasn't so keen on the idea."

"Paul isn't keen on much of anything these days. He'll get over it."

Duncan knew she was right. But he had the sneaking suspicion that Paul also wasn't entirely wrong. At least, about him.

"So, when do we start?" Sam asked him.

"I don't know. That's going to be up to Mandy, I think. She's doing some research into the market, trying to figure out where the best place to set up our new offices would be."

"Mandy?"

"Oh, yeah, you haven't met her yet. She's my business partner." He tried to stay cool, but the words still left a sour aftertaste in his mouth.

"You don't sound so thrilled about her."

"I'm...reserving my judgement," he replied diplomatically.

"Why?"

"I'm still just not sure she gets it. That she's doing it for the right reasons. She's not one of us, you know?"

Sam was silent for a moment. "What do you mean, 'one of us'?" she asked quietly.

"She's a civilian."

"That's not a bad thing."

"She's a do-gooder. Takes on charitable projects a lot. I don't want myself or my team to be one of them. We need to be treated like anyone else, or this isn't going to work."

Sam sighed. "Duncan, for as long as I've know you, you've been looking out for other people. It's almost a compulsion with you. It's why you were such a great leader. Maybe she's the same way."

There it was again, a comparison between the two of them. He wasn't entirely sure why it grated so much for him to be compared to a wealthy socialite, but he couldn't get the idea out of his head that for her this was just one of many projects. She was going to abandon this endeavour and move onto the next one. A large part of him would be thrilled by that arrangement, as he could then run the company the way he'd always intended. But a part of him was nervous about having to do this alone. She'd proven herself indispensable, and perhaps that was what frightened him the most.

"Just give her a chance," Sam continued.

"I am giving her a chance. We signed a contract and everything."

"Sounds like she's been really useful."

"I could have done it all myself, with enough time," Duncan replied defensively. "It was just easier to let someone else handle that side of things so I could focus on the important stuff."

Sam let out a thoughtful hum. "Is she pretty?" she asked slyly.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Is she pretty?" Sam reiterated with more force.

"She's okay, I guess," Duncan replied grudgingly, trying not to think of her silky blonde hair or long legs.

Sam laughed. "You're as bad as Paul."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Duncan asked, immediately outraged but not entirely sure why.

"You both get so defensive any time you think people might be perceiving you as being even the slightest bit inadequate. I'm imagining it is worse when there is a pretty woman involved."

In normal circumstances, Duncan liked Sam's perceptiveness, and her lack of qualms about expressing it to people. When it was directed at him, he found himself having a great deal more empathy for people who had been through this before.

He considered denying it. He would have, if the truth of her words hadn't sunk into him, revealing what he'd been denying to himself since the day he'd first encountered Mandy.

"You didn't see the way she looked at us when she first met us in the rehab centre. It was like she was wondering what was wrong with us. As if we were a problem she could solve. I'm a man, not an invalid, or a charity case. Worse, then she took over my entire business idea, as if I couldn't handle it myself. The whole reason I am doing this is to stop people thinking of us that way. But the person co-running the company is the worst of the lot. It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe you are underestimating her."

"This isn't the time for some woman-solidarity thing. You're my friend." The sour taste was in his mouth again. He knew his words were unfair the instant they came out of his mouth.

"Duncan?"

"What?"

"Get your head out of your ass." With that parting shot, the phone clicked dead.

He knew he was being a bit of a jerk. But he had to protect his friends and his business venture. And if that meant watching Mandy closely, then that's what he'd do.

# Chapter 10

Mandy wasn't stupid. She knew that despite Duncan's public politeness, he was still hostile towards her. Just enough to concern her. What she didn't know was why.

At first she'd thought that maybe he hated women in general. Except, on the brief occasions he talked of his mother, or his female teammates and friends, he spoke of them with nothing but respect.

She had to conclude that whatever it was had to do with her. Was he still bitter over her minor faux pas on the day they met? While she was normally the first one to dwell on her own errors, she thought that he was taking a relatively minor thing to the extreme if that's what was upsetting him.

She eventually realised that if they were going to do this, he was going to have to trust her. He didn't have to like her, but they needed to have each other's back for the company's sake if nothing else.

Her usual course of action would be to charm him into believing in her. Unfortunately, since Duncan refused to even tangentially discuss it, that was proving to be difficult.

So, she'd continued working, trying to prove herself, and had to hope he'd eventually come around.

In the meantime, she kept things formal between them. They still managed to work together well, despite the tension, and Mandy thought that was a good sign for the long run. But she couldn't help but think that Duncan was dragging his feet on his side of things, delaying things, trying to push her out.

They met in the office space she'd found downtown. It was a three-story building, light and airy, with big windows and high ceilings. It had all the requirements that Duncan had requested. Separate offices and storage rooms, with lots of room for equipment she didn't begin to understand. Direct access to the underground parking, which could only be accessed through the building, not from the street. A single entrance that would be easily monitored. The list went on.

It was slightly above Mandy's price range, but considering that it met all of Duncan's requirements, she figured it was worth it. Nothing else had been close.

"So, what do you think?" she asked as he surveyed the room that would became the entrance to the business. She held herself still, determined not to bounce on her feet to dispel her nervous energy. If he rejected this one, too, she'd have no other options.

"It's okay," he muttered.

"Only okay?" She blew out a breath. Still, it was a better reaction than the previous three locations she'd found.

"I don't like the carpet."

"We can change that. We can change anything we'd like."

His head snapped up. "The landlord won't cause a fuss?"

"Landlord? Oh, no, I'm buying it."

His stare was fierce. "What?"

"Well, we wouldn't be able to do all the changes you said were necessary if we rent a place. So, we'll have to buy the building."

"You'll have to buy the building." His voice was flat.

"Well, yes, I suppose." Her fingers tightened on the tablet she was holding in preparation for any notes she might make. Stay calm.

His voice grew very quiet. "How much are you prepared to invest in this?"

Mandy blinked in confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, no matter what you invest, you're still only going to end up owning the same percentage of the company. You know that, right?"

She nodded, wondering where he was going with this.

"So, how much are you willing to invest?" He stressed each word with a subtle emphasis.

"I said I'd bankroll this, Duncan. I'm not going to back out. If I think it's too much, I'll tell you."

Duncan stared her down, then gave a sharp nod. "Just so we're clear, then."

He wandered around the space a little more, not saying a word. His limp was more pronounced today. She wondered if he'd been pushing it too hard. Still, it did nothing to detract from the powerful legs, encased in jeans that hugged him a little more than he was probably comfortable with. Mandy, too, wasn't quite happy with it, but for a different reason. She really didn't want to find this man attractive.

"Have you thought of a name yet?" she asked, trying to lighten the mood.

"No. Nothing seems right." He turned to her. "Any ideas?"

It might have been the first time he directly asked her opinion on something. Unfortunately, she couldn't impress him with an amazing idea, because she'd been just as stumped as him. She shook her head in reply.

He turned away, apparently examining a speck of dust on an empty wall.

"And the recruiting? How's that coming along?" She didn't normally have to work this hard for a conversation.

Tension crept into his shoulders, but he didn't turn to look at her. "Fine," he muttered.

Okay then. "So, what do you think of the space?" Even she could hear the tinge of desperation in her voice.

He spun to face her finally, wincing as he did so. His hand automatically started towards his knee, no doubt to clutch at it, but he stopped himself. The pain she'd seen on his face disappeared, replaced by an emotionless wall.

"It'll do," he muttered shortly, then strode towards the exit. Mandy followed along behind at a happy clip.

She'd take it as a victory.

# Chapter 11

Frustrated by the lack of support he was experiencing from the people that mattered most—those he wanted to help—Duncan decided to pay a visit to Zack. He wanted to do this in person.

The morning sun shone relentlessly on the drive over, forcibly improving Duncan's mood. Only by a little.

Zack lived in a quiet suburban street, lined with one-story, three-bedroom homes. Each had just enough difference to avoid the label of 'cookie cutter', but they still looked depressingly domestic to Duncan. It was the kind of neighbourhood he associated with that picture-perfect advertisement life: white families with 2.5 kids.

He shuddered.

Zack's house had a perfectly manicured lawn like all the others on his block, but with an overgrown flowerbed along one side. Duncan smiled, not surprised that Zack wasn't much of a gardener. The exterior of the house was pristine, with fresh paint and even a neatly constructed porch swing near the front door. Duncan suspected Zack had built it himself.

He examined it as he waited for Zack to answer his knock. Nice craftsmanship. Maybe he'd get Zack to make some pieces for the office.

Footsteps sounded behind the door, then hesitated. Duncan realised that Zack must be looking through the peephole at him, so he made himself more visible in the line of sight and tried not to frown.

The lock clicked, and the door swung back, revealing Zack in jeans and a tank top, sweating as if he'd been interrupted during physical labour. He was dark haired, with grey eyes that almost no one noticed due to the visible scarring covering one side of Zack's face. They were burns from an incident in Afghanistan, when the Humvee he'd been in had driven over an IED buried in the sand. The explosion had ignited the fuel tank, killing a number of his teammates, and making Zack lucky to have survived.

By the time the incident had occurred, Paul—who had been on the same team—had already been injured and begun his recovery.

"I was wondering when you'd show up," Zack said with a quick smile. It tugged up more on the left side of his face than his right.

He stepped back to allow Duncan entry. As Duncan moved inside, he was immediately struck by the calm, solid presence the house emanated. Wooden floorboards and white walls combined to create an open, airy space.

He didn't know why he'd half-expected Zack's place to be a mess. The man was a former Marine and a homebody—of course he'd want his space to be tidy.

"Nice place."

"Thanks," Zack said. The quiet pride in his eyes told Duncan that Zack had been instrumental in shaping the place. He wondered if he'd built from scratch or renovated, and resolved to ask later.

"I'm about to make some coffee," Zack continued. "Not one of your lattes, but if you're willing to slum it..." He trailed off temptingly.

"You know very well I've had worse," Duncan replied with a grin.

They made their way to the kitchen, and Duncan again admired the clean lines surrounding him while Zack set about making coffee.

As soon as the cup was set in front of him, Duncan launched into his spiel.

"I'm starting up a business and I want to hire you," he said. He twisted the mug in his hand, and his leg jumped beneath the table. Restless energy coursed through him.

Zack was silent for a moment. "Blake already told me a bit about this. I was wondering when you'd get around to asking me."

"I was saving you for later, since I figured you'd say yes." Duncan forced himself to stop moving, pushing the mug further across the table, away from his immediate reach.

"Well, you'd be right. Who else is on board? Besides Blake, obviously."

Duncan grunted. "Maybe Sam." He scuffed his booted foot against the polished wooden floor beneath the table.

He could hear Zack's confusion. "Anyone else?"

Duncan sighed, his anger and annoyance finally abating. "Paul isn't into it, despite my attempts to convince him. I haven't called Destiny yet."

"Paul's just stubborn," he muttered dismissively. "Destiny might be a hard sell, but I thought Sam would be jumping at the chance." Zack took a sip of his coffee and watch Duncan over the rim with curious eyes.

"She was, until I pissed her off." Duncan rolled his eyes at himself. He seemed to be pissing people off left and right these days.

"Oh. Yeah. That'd do it." Zack didn't seem at all surprised.

"I have a few others in mind, but obviously you guys are my first choices."

"Sure. So, when do we start?"

Duncan breathed a sigh of relief. After his last two attempts, he hadn't expected Zack to be so easy to convince.

"I'll let you know, but it will probably be in a few more weeks."

"I'll be there," he replied.

With that weight off Duncan's chest, the two talked over other things until Duncan left an hour later.

Buoyed by the conversation, Duncan thumbed down his contacts list until he found Destiny's number.

"'Sup, Sarge?" Destiny greeted him as she answered the phone. Formally known as Corporal Destiny Jones, she had served under him in the enlisted ranks of the Army. As soon as they'd got out, she'd started calling him 'Sarge' as a joke and he hadn't yet managed to break her of the habit. If they'd still been in, he could have broken her metaphorical balls for that.

He'd always had a soft spot for Destiny, though. Even if they'd both still been in, he might have let it slide. He was glad that she'd never tested him.

"Soldier," he replied. He wasn't sure where pop culture had got the idea that those in the Army referred to each other like that, but it was as annoying as fuck. Still, he was willing to play along with Destiny and mock the civilians that used those terms just the same.

"How have you been?" she asked.

Duncan considered the question. "Do you have time to meet up for coffee?" he asked instead. Even after his conversation with Zack, he still had a need to see a friendly face.

"That bad, huh?" she asked, but she agreed to meet.

An hour later, Duncan found himself in a small, trendy café a block back from a major road. Destiny had told him she wanted to try their fair-trade, organic coffee, and had had to send him a location pin so that he could find it.

It was clean and relatively quiet, with only a few artsy-types dotted around single-person tables. Floaty dresses and paint-stained clothes seemed to be the norm. Most of the clientele and staff alike looked comfortably under thirty.

He shifted in his chair in the corner. This sort of place was not where career army, former Sergeant Majors generally found themselves. He was too old and boring, never having had a creative bone in his body.

Still, they made a damn good latte.

Thankfully, he didn't have to wait long for Destiny to show up. A few of the patrons looked up as she walked into the café, a spring in her step. Their eyes caught on her, unable to look away. Duncan had seen this reaction many times before. Destiny was a beautiful woman, with smooth black skin and her natural hair bouncing free. Her smile had a tendency to light up a room.

Now that she was no longer forced to wear her ACU—Army Combat Uniform—day in and day out, he saw that she'd begun to dress in feminine sundresses. It took him a moment to process the change.

By the time she'd sat across from him, Duncan had a ready smile for her.

"Jones. You're looking great."

"You're looking a little uncomfortable," she admonished.

Duncan shrugged. "I'm a soldier. This place is quite...artsy. I haven't managed to rid myself of all my military stiffness yet."

Destiny grinned. "You're such an old man."

"I'm not even forty yet," he grumbled in reply. Still, he was only a few years away from the big four-oh. Destiny, on the other hand, was yet to reach thirty. Some days she made him feel younger than his years. Today, he felt twice his age.

"We can go somewhere else." It was a challenge.

"No, it's fine. Really."

Her grin came back. "Good. I've heard they make good coffee here."

Duncan sipped his latte, nodding in agreement. He wouldn't have even considered leaving until he finished the cup.

"How are you?" Duncan asked in the silence between them. She seemed happy. After what she had been through, that was a minor miracle in itself. But he knew looks could be deceiving.

Her eyes darkened, and the ever-present light dimmed from her face. "I'm getting there," she replied sadly. "How are you?" she asked in return.

Duncan weighed various replies. "In the scheme of things, I'm doing pretty well."

A waitress came over, pretty and dark-haired, pencil poised to take their order. Destiny blinked at her sudden appearance, then turned her most potent smile on the woman. The waitress did a double-take, clearly blindsided. Destiny tended to inspire that reaction.

Duncan took pity on the woman and ordered two coffees. Destiny was no help, sneaking glances at the waitress instead of ordering her usual. The woman hurriedly noted down their order, then stepped back into the crowd and disappeared.

As Destiny watched her leave, Duncan gave her a reproving look. She caught sight of his face and snapped to attention with a not-at-all apologetic smile. "So, why are we here? Not that it wasn't time for us to catch up. But it sounded like you needed a friend."

Duncan sighed. He launched into an explanation of everything that had happened since he'd been discharged from rehab. Her face was unreadable. It was an uncanny ability that she'd developed in the Army, so different to her usual expressiveness that he used to find it quite alarming. Not that she hadn't had a need for a good poker face. Being gay and in the military—particularly as a woman and an African-American—in the days before 'Don't Ask, Don't Tell' had been repealed had been a special kind of challenge.

It had made him especially protective of her, as if she were his little sister. He'd tried not to show her any favouritism, but the fact of the matter was that they'd developed a special bond, and it hadn't lessened one bit since they'd been out.

As he finished his story, Destiny sighed.

"As usual, you're being a stubborn asshole about things. No surprises there."

Duncan opened his mouth to protest, but slammed it shut again. If he hadn't wanted an honest assessment, he shouldn't have come to Destiny.

"What am I being an asshole about in particular?"

She held up her hand and began ticking the items off on her fingers. "Your business partner, for starters. Sounds like she's been a godsend and you can't manage a civil word to her. Sam, for defending both Mandy and Paul. Paul, because you are expecting far more than he is ready for." She gave him a pointed look. "Do you want me to go on?"

Duncan shook his head. "So, what do I do?"

"First up, apologise to Sam. That's the easy part."

Duncan nodded in acceptance. "And then?"

"Then, tell Paul you need help with specific tasks. Something only he'd be good at. If he thinks he's just doing a favour for you, it won't feel like so much pressure. Then, he'll see how invaluable he can be to you, and hopefully accept your offer."

Duncan felt the tension he hadn't even known was in his chest begin to loosen at Destiny's advice. He should have come to her in the beginning. "I can do that."

"As for Mandy...is she pretty?"

"Why do people keep asking me that?" he grumbled. "Weren't you after that waitress a few minutes ago?"

Destiny waved that away. "Not for me. I don't know why, but you are always so much more sensitive around pretty ladies. You become that lion from the parable, with the thorn in its paw. Always lashing out at those trying to help."

"Why does no one believe me when I say-"

"You aren't being objective about this. You don't have to like the woman to work with her, though nothing you've said so far makes me think she's a bad person. But if you are going to go into business with her, you'll have to be able to work together. This whole idea will fall apart before it's begun if all you do is squabble with the woman meant to be by your side through all of it."

Duncan sighed. "I'm just not sure she's the right person for this."

"Then fine. Tell her you don't need her help. Tear up the contract. Just don't keep treating her this way. You either want her or you don't."

When she put it like that, the full force of Duncan's bad behaviour hit him. She was right. He didn't have to like her. He didn't think that would happen any time soon, regardless. But he had to commit or jump ship. Pretending he could half-ass this was just not going to work.

"Okay. Thank you."

Destiny grinned again. "You're welcome."

Duncan leaned back in his chair, relaxed. "So, what do you say? Want to join?"

Her eyes shuttered. Duncan frowned in surprise.

"Actually, I've decided I'm joining the Portsboro Police Force."

Coffee spilled over the rim of his cup as he set it down with more force than he'd intended. "You're what?"

"I know it might seem like a strange choice after what happened," she began.

"No kidding!"

She sucked in a deep breath. "Look, I can't deny that the police force is broken. Some days they do more harm than good. But I think the best place for me to fix that is from the inside. So that what happened to Michael doesn't happen to anyone else."

Sadness settled over him. He'd only met Michael once, but he'd been so much like his sister. He'd had an infectious vitality, and a constant desire to help other people. It was that that had gotten him shot by police for doing nothing more than trying to help the victim of a convenience store robbery.

He'd been in the store when two young men had held up a corner store. Later, witnesses would say that they'd seemed high, full of manic energy. The two men had fled before the police had arrived, with the store owner's profits tucked neatly into their pockets. Michael had had the misfortune to try to comfort the man behind the counter in the minutes before the cops showed up, responding to a call. The two officers had burst in, taken one look at the young black man standing close to the store owner, and shot him without a second thought.

The cops had never been charged. As far as he knew, they were still serving on the force today.

Duncan had attended Michael's funeral. He didn't think he'd seen so many heartbroken people at once, even at his own father's funeral. Michael had been just that well-loved by his friends and community.

It had even made the news. Though, enough of the outlets had attempted to paint the white cops as heroes. As expected, that hadn't gone over well in the black communities.

"That's a really brave thing," Duncan told her softly. "Michael would be so proud of you."

Tears shimmered in Destiny's eyes. "Do you think?"

Though Duncan hadn't known her brother well, Destiny was clearly seeking approval.

"He was the kind of guy to make the right choice, even if—especially if—it was the hard one. What you're doing won't be easy. But I have no doubt that you'll make a difference."

Destiny nodded fiercely. "Thanks, Duncan. And same to you. You're doing the right thing. You are taking a group of people that lost parts of their identities, and helping them soldier on." She paused. "And I'm not sorry about that pun."

Touched, Duncan took her hand. "Thank you." They smiled at each other, muted and heavy. After a moment, something occurred to Duncan. "Wait, that's a good name."

"What is?"

"For the company. We can call it Soldiering On."

Destiny laughed in reply, but agreed that it could work.

They parted ways soon after that, both feeling emotionally drained. Every time they talked about Michael, which wasn't often for obvious reasons, it filled him with an overwhelming sadness. Not just for the bright, young black man that lost his life. But for all the other young African-American men lost in the same way. It was a far too common occurrence. Hell, one day it might even be him in that casket, with news articles trying to twist his past to make it seem like he deserved it.

Duncan had to admire Destiny for taking a stand. She was far braver than he could ever be.

# Chapter 12

Duncan called Sam first to get it out of the way. It was going to be the easiest of his three tasks for the day.

"Hello," she greeted him cautiously.

"Sorry I was an ass." No point beating around the bush.

He heard her breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank you for apologising."

"So, I'm forgiven?"

She thought about that. "You're still learning. We all are. As long as we can admit our mistakes we can still grow. So yeah, you're forgiven."

"Thanks, Sam."

"And don't say shit like that again, obviously." Her voice was deadpan, and he knew she was serious.

Duncan grinned. "Obviously."

"You sound calmer than when we last spoke. What brought that on?"

"I had coffee with Destiny yesterday."

"Ah, yes, the mysterious Destiny. I still haven't met her yet. Is she going to be joining our team?"

"Sadly, no. She's got her own journey to go on. But I'm sure your paths will cross soon enough. You'd really like her."

"Cool. So when do we start work? Surely you've been dragging your feet long enough?"

Duncan took a deep breath. "I need to talk to Mandy, but soon. Really soon."

"Should I give my two weeks' notice at this hellhole?"

Duncan hesitated. "Yeah. Do it. Let's get this started."

After a few more minutes, the two hung up. Which meant that Duncan had to check off the next item on his list and call Paul.

Instead, he stood and walked over to his coffee machine. It was a new purchase, and a rather indulgent gift to himself. He was still getting used to the damn thing. The instructions, which no doubt would have been helpful, had ended up in the bin the instant the packaging was open. A decision based on arrogance that he now regretted.

Still, he managed to make some reasonably drinkable coffee. Just.

When he'd procrastinated enough, Duncan finally called Paul.

After a quick greeting, and some inane chitchat wherein they both avoided the elephant in the room, Duncan put his plan into action. Destiny's idea had been a good one.

"Hey, so, I know you don't want to officially join the company and everything. I don't want to put any pressure on you. But I need a good eye to help me decide on some purchases for the specialist equipment we are getting in, and I was hoping you could help. Just as a friend."

He held his breath, waiting for Paul's reply. The man deliberated for what seemed like an inordinately long time. Perhaps he sensed the trap?

"Yeah, sounds good. What kind of equipment?"

"Mostly computer software and hardware. But maybe also some of the more high-tech weaponry on the market. I'm not sure exactly what we'll need yet, but it's better to be prepared."

Paul mulled this over. Duncan held still, anticipating the answer.

"When do you want me?" he eventually asked.

Duncan could have cheered. Instead, he contented himself with grinning and trying to keeping his voice even. "How about tomorrow? I can show you the stuff I'm considering."

"Yeah. Yeah, that works." Paul sounded nearly as pleased as he felt.

Going for the hat-trick, Duncan called Mandy. She sounded so surprised to hear from him that he felt terrible all over again.

When he asked where she was, hoping to meet up, she replied that she was on her way to sign the papers for their new offices and he was welcome to join her.

He walked into the offices twenty minutes later. The space was bigger than he remembered. A deep calm settled over him. The place was perfect. It was amazing what a change in attitude could do.

"Hi," Mandy greeted him. "The realtor is on their way." She tucked her hair behind her ear as she looked at him. Perhaps she was as nervous as he was about this encounter?

Determined not to make her be the one to extend the olive branch, considering their rift was entirely of his own making, Duncan graced her with a smile. "This place is great. You did a terrific job finding it."

She blinked. Hesitated. "Thank you?" she said suspiciously.

"I mean it. You must have put a lot of effort into getting this up and running."

"I haven't minded it, actually. Though if you think I'm taking over too much, I'm happy to pass some of the items on my to-do list over to you, if you'd like. Maybe the interior decorating in the office?"

She was teasing him, he knew. But he still took a step back and shook his head vehemently at the mention.

"No, that's really not my area of expertise. You do what needs to be done, and I'll just show up and enjoy it."

She smiled at him, possibly her first wholly genuine one aimed in his direction. His heart kicked dramatically.

Duncan cleared his throat. "You'll probably be really glad when we finally open and it'll all be over."

"Over?"

Distracted by exploring the space, he didn't answer her. He was even more excited now that this was becoming a reality. He'd finally get his business back. While she'd been invaluable in getting everything set up, they'd both agreed that he would run day-to-day operations. He wasn't sure if she intended to be in the offices at all, but he suspected not. She'd done her good deed by setting him up, but now she was free to move on to her next project—while collecting a percentage of the profits from Soldiering On.

"Oh, hey, I thought of a name."

"Yeah?" Her eyes lit up. She really did have quite spectacular, whiskey-coloured eyes.

"What do you say to Soldiering On?"

Her whole body softened. "Oh, it's absolutely perfect, isn't it? I'll get started on registering it right away."

Their eyes caught in a moment of accord. Tension surged through him, like he hadn't felt since the moment he'd first caught sight of her. His breathing grew heavier, languid. Her eyes darkened in response. He almost took a step towards her, but caught himself.

What was he doing, making eyes at his business partner? Even if he liked her—which he didn't—that would be a recipe for disaster, no question.

He cleared his throat and turned away. Thankfully, the realtor chose that moment to stride in, her expensive heels making no sound on the hideous navy carpet.

Her gaze turned predatory the instant she laid eyes on him. "You must be Mr. Lennox."

Duncan reared back in horror. "What? No!" He turned his shocked gaze on Mandy, who looked equally horrified.

"Why on earth would you assume that? Do your clients generally bring their husbands along to do business deals wholly unrelated to them?" Her voice was smooth, but a muscle ticked in her jaw, betraying her anger.

The real estate agent looked flustered only for a moment. Then she gathered herself. "If you must know, it's not uncommon."

Mandy's eyes narrowed. "It's such a shame that women feel so preyed upon by real estate agents that they feel a need for back up." She paused delicately. "Yourself excluded, of course."

The realtor conceded the argument with a jerk of her head.

Duncan gave Mandy points for such a polite set down. She certainly had a gift. Though, he admitted to himself that it rankled slightly that she was so horrified by the idea of him being her husband. He hadn't been perfect, he knew, but did she have to be quite so adamant?

After the initial awkwardness, Mandy and the realtor completed the sale without any more hiccups. The other woman stepped out of the offices, leaving Duncan and Mandy alone in their new business space.

"So," Duncan began.

"So," Mandy replied.

"This is all real."

"It is," she confirmed. "This is your moment. It'll all change from here on out. But, we'll start slow and iron out the kinks as we go. Let's just get it all started before we get into all those details."

Elation soared in him, only slightly tamped by his terror.

# Chapter 13

Mandy tapped out an aimless rhythm on her kitchen table, staring at her phone. She'd been putting off this phone call for too long—weeks, really—and the tightness in her chest urged her to delay just a little bit more. But she knew it would only get worse if she procrastinated any more.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Mandy dialled.

"Mandy?" Her father's hesitant voice broke her heart. He'd never sounded so unsure of her, so uncertain of his welcome.

"Hi, Dad," she murmured. A tear slipped from her eye, even as a hesitant smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. A nauseating mixture of residual anger, guilt and happiness at again hearing her father's voice swirled in her stomach.

"How are you?" he asked. Again, that hesitation.

"I'm good," she replied. "I'm really good."

At that, he let out a breath. One that might have been relief. At least, she hoped it was.

"How's...things?" she asked. The awkwardness hovering between them flared. It had never been like this between them. For all his faults, Mandy had always been her father's favourite and had enjoyed that bond.

"They're fine. Your brother is coming to work for us now." Defiance had entered his tone. Mandy wasn't sure why. Was he expecting her to question that choice? Or did he want her to be jealous?

Her brother, Dean, had always been the wild one of the two of them. Even from a young age, he had been determined to rebel against their father's expectations. The fact that now her father had offered him a job and that Dean had taken it was baffling to her. But it really wasn't the most pressing matter on her mind.

"I'm glad." And she was. Her father would still get the dynasty he had always wanted. That was, if Dean could bring himself to stay under their father's strict expectations.

He cleared his throat. "So, you're not planning to come back, then?" The note of hope hovering in his words was almost too much for Mandy. Another tear spilled down her cheek.

"No, Dad. I'm actually starting up a new business with a friend." Well, friend was a stretch, but Mandy didn't know how else to explain Duncan to her father.

"Competition?" he asked. She could almost see his spine stiffen at the thought.

"No, not at all. It's a security agency."

There was an empty pause. "After all your talk of making a difference, I wouldn't think that would be something that would interest you," he said carefully, the question implied.

"It exclusively employs veterans—except me, of course—with a particular focus on those that were permanently injured. It's a real opportunity."

He must have heard the excitement in her voice, because he softened slightly. "That sounds like a good cause."

"It is. But it's also a business. We open tomorrow."

He made a noise of surprise. "So soon?"

"I've been working on it almost since I left."

He was silent for a long moment. "I didn't think you'd really go. I thought you'd come back."

Her heart cracked dangerously. "I need to find my own way, Dad. One that makes me happy. I love you, but I don't think we are suited to work together."

"I don't want this to be the end. You are destined for great things."

"Then don't let it be," she replied fiercely. "Believe in me."

"I won't give up on you. I want this company to be yours one day."

"Give it to Dean. It'll stay in the family, then."

He sighed. "We both know..." It didn't need to be said. Dean was many things, but she doubted even he could see himself running a company, let alone a multinational one like their father's.

He changed tack. "You belong here. Maybe I can change, and learn."

The fact that he hadn't already tried to do so after she'd quit told Mandy as much as she needed to know about her father's desire to have her return to the company. He wasn't committed to changing, he just wanted her back in the fold. She couldn't continue to do the emotional labour in their relationship without it damaging her permanently.

"I've found my calling, Dad. And it's here at Soldiering On."

"I'm going to keep trying," he told her. "You can do so much more than a failed startup." Mandy supposed she was meant to be flattered. Instead, she just found his insistence frustrating. If he couldn't believe that she knew her own mind in this and wasn't open to it being changed, then she knew the lack of trust and respect in their relationship was worse than she'd thought.

"Please don't. I deserve better than that."

"So do I," he told her. "I'll be here. If it fails, I'll be here." She knew what he really meant, though. When it fails, not if.

With that last parting shot, as if by mutual agreement, they hung up.

Mandy let the remainder of her tears fall. Not just for her father, but for her fears and frustrations about the business, and Duncan, and all the little worries that had plagued her.

Once the dam broke, it all poured out in a great, gulping mess.

Mandy allowed it, this once. It was cathartic, as with each gasping sob, the knot in her chest loosened. When the tears finally subsided, she felt stronger than before, less fragile. As if the eggshells she'd been stepping on had been cleared away.

She needed to make this business a success. Not just for herself, and the people that will work for them, but also to prove her father wrong. She needed to show him that she could go it alone and succeed on her own terms.

Mandy felt stronger now, more determined than ever. But firmer footing didn't mean that she didn't still need her friends. Once she was back under control, she called Sierra and arranged to meet at her apartment later under the guise of celebrating tomorrow's grand opening of Soldiering On.

Wine, of course, was a must. And if she added a few tubs of caramel ice cream to her cart, Sierra wouldn't be one to complain.

# Chapter 14

It was opening day.

He and Mandy had spent weeks working closely and in a panic to get everything in order for the big day. It had been a shock for Duncan to realise a week in that he and Mandy actually worked quite well together.

On the way into the office, he called Paul on the Bluetooth connected to his car's speakers. He still found technology amazing. He knew he was about five years behind everyone else on that one.

"It's the big day," Paul greeted him. He sounded like he was grinning, which made Duncan smile in return. It somewhat lessened the nausea he'd been feeling since he woke up at 4am and began worrying about the day ahead.

He was on his own, now. It was up to him.

"It is. I just wanted to thank you for your help. Your advice was invaluable." He was talking too loud, practically shouting, but he still hadn't figured out the sensitivity on this Bluetooth thing. Where were the microphones picking up his voice? In his phone?

"It was no problem. In fact, I enjoyed it."

"I was hoping you'd say that."

A suspicious silence radiated from the speakers. "Duncan..."

"You don't have to take me up on it now. But I just wanted to say that the offer will always be open if you want it."

"Thanks. I really mean it. Thanks for sticking with me."

"Of course," he replied. "Office hours start at 9am." Paul laughed, and Duncan took that as a good sign. He really hoped Paul showed up.

Duncan pulled into the underground parking at 8:35am. He would have been earlier, given his early morning start, but he forced himself not to leave the house until 8am. His leg was already aching like a motherfucker after the two-hour workout he'd forced himself to get through. He'd needed to pass the time somehow.

This was it, the first day of the rest of his life.

He stepped into the office and immediately felt a calming sense of home. It looked amazing. Mandy had hired an interior designer, and it had paid off big time. The hideous carpet had been ripped up, replaced with polished floorboards. The black furnishings might have made any other office look too dark, but with the high ceilings, huge windows, and pale walls, the look was masculine but elegant. Chrome and green accents were spotted around the office, adding another texture against the grainy woods. He couldn't fault her taste.

He had expected the place to be empty, given the fact he'd arrived early, so he'd have time to settle in. But Blake, Zack, and Sam filled one corner of the room. Blake stood, his arms folded across his broad chest as he leaned casually back against the receptionist's desk. His fitted shirt proclaimed that he was intending to put an effort into his work attire. Duncan shouldn't be surprised. Though Blake was the outdoorsy type, he was also enough of a show pony that it was natural he'd dress well for a more corporate environment.

Sam was sitting on the desk beside him, no doubt to take pressure off her injured calf. She wore her standard black tank top and cargo pants. Unlike Blake, she was clearly not intending to dress up for work. Again, Duncan should have expected it. He didn't think he'd ever seen her in anything resembling a dress or a skirt in all the time he'd known her. She gave him a smile in greeting as she caught sight of him.

Zack was a surprise. If anything, Duncan had expected him to adhere to a dress code, even if just for his own standards. Instead, he wore a hoodie that hung over his face, obscuring the scars.

Duncan chose not to comment at that moment, but resolved to talk to the man about it later.

"You guys are early. That's a good sign."

"I wanted to get first pick of a desk," Blake replied with a grin. "But I realise now there isn't enough for all of us."

There were three desks in the room. One, clearly designed for reception, was to Duncan's right. The other two were next to each other on the opposite side of the room.

"If all goes to plan, you guys won't be in the office much, you'll be on assignment. And I kind of thought you guys could be home if you didn't have jobs. You might not want to hang around here all day waiting."

The three of them shared a glance. "I'd like to stay," Sam declared.

Blake nodded. "Yeah. We're a team. I'm sure we can find something to do."

Zack seemed a little less enthusiastic, but he nodded just the same. Warmed by their support, Duncan felt some of the icy fear inside him splinter and melt. With a team behind him, he could do this. Just like any mission.

"Well, there's another desk in the equipment room. Someone could manage that for me until I hire someone to do it full time."

"I'll do that," Sam said quickly, practically jumping at the chance. She'd always loved her toys.

"That's cool. So, you guys can stay out here for now. We can figure most of this out as we go."

Blake hesitated. "What about Paul?"

"I hope he'll come." It was all Duncan could—would—say. All he had was hope.

"Who'll come?" asked a voice from behind him. Duncan turned to see Paul, hovering in the doorway. "Sorry I'm late, boss," Paul said. Duncan glanced at the clock. 9:05am. He laughed.

"You're forgiven. This time." He stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. The other man returned it. "It's good to have you on board."

Paul glanced down, a little bashful. "What can I say? You made a good pitch." He shrugged.

Duncan glanced around, and realised his team was together. He wished Destiny could be there, but he knew she had bigger things to pursue.

"Where's Mandy?" Blake asked, disrupting Duncan's thoughts.

As if by magic, the woman herself appeared. Duncan almost gaped.

"What are you doing here?"

Mandy blinked at him. "I work here." The 'obviously' was left unsaid.

"But we agreed that I was to take over the day-to-day operations." He was sure that's what they'd agreed. Had he dreamt that?

He'd completely forgotten about his team behind him. They stayed silent during the exchange, knowing better than to interrupt.

"Yes," she said slowly. "You'll be managing the troops, so to speak. I'll be running the business side of things and getting new clients in."

She gave him a smile that was no doubt meant to be winning. Duncan felt nothing but sourness. She had wanted to take over, after all. Just when he'd started to like her.

Still, she was within her right. She did own half the company. Much to his dismay.

They'd just have to learn to get along. And maybe, if he was lucky, she'd get bored and move on before making too much of an impact on how they ran the company.

"So, which one is my office?" he asked with a tight smile. Please let him still have an office.

She led him over to the spacious room in the corner. She cast a glance back at their team, and Duncan followed her gaze. The four of them were watching them carefully, still silent.

"All yours, partner."

He forced a smile, for the benefit of the team and his future working relationship with Mandy.

"Thanks. Partner."

# Excerpt

Turn over for an excerpt from

Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1)

A single phone call shatters her life...

Christine Ramirez's phone rings in the dead of night. A man's voice – unfamiliar and urgent – tells her to run.

She flees, but deadly, unknown assailants pursue her through the night. Her only saviour is the gruff stranger on the other end of the line.

Paul has a secret. He's been watching her – maybe a little more than the assignment strictly requires. He shouldn't reveal himself, but he can't let anything happen to Christine. Even if it costs him the job that means the world to him.

With the mysterious villains still pursuing Christine, Paul whisks her away to a Soldiering On safe house. There, passion flares between them, hot and undeniable. And they are powerless to resist its lure, even as the villains get ever closer to finding them...
Chapter 1

A harsh rattle shattered the peace of the night.

Christine shoved the enticing tendrils of dreamless sleep aside. Her phone had awoken her, buzzing on the wooden nightstand; the sound only loud because everything else was silent. She squinted against the unwelcome glare as the flashing screen lit up the room.

Christine hesitated for just a moment, then reached to pick it up with a resigned sigh. She caught sight of the time as she swiped the screen. 2:02 a.m.

This had better be good.

When Jimmy had interviewed Christine for her new job as personal assistant to his ageing father, he'd warned her that it might mean some all hours phone calls. But she'd thought it had been a polite 'maybe once every few months you'll get a call at 10 p.m.' warning, not a 'in your second week you'll be woken in the early hours of the morning' warning.

"Christine speaking," she answered, trying to sound less groggy than she felt.

"There is a team of men converging on your house right now," came the unexpected reply from a low male voice. Unfamiliar, urgent. "You need to run."

"What?" she asked, blinking in an effort to focus. A prank call? She checked the number and realised she didn't recognise it.

There was a grunt on the other end of the line, sounding a lot like frustration. "There are about...fifteen guys or so in black combat gear outside your house, ready to storm it. You need to get out while you still can."

"Listen here, buddy," Christine began, anger stirring within her. What kind of creep was this guy? She sat up in the bed. It was hard to deliver a set down with righteous fury when you were prone in a warm bed.

The cold air in the room chilled her arms and shoulders, bared in her tank top. A shiver played across her skin as she drew a deep breath to begin her tirade. The new angle gave her a perfect view out of the bedroom window. Christine froze with the breath still in her lungs.

There was a flash of movement outside.

She couldn't tell what it was, other than it was big. Human-sized. She lived on a large lot on the outskirts of the city. No person should be anywhere near her house. Not at this time of night.

And anyone that was there wouldn't be paying a neighbourly call.

"Please tell me right now if you are messing with me," she told the man on the line. Her throat was tight with dread; she could barely squeeze the words out.

"No," he said, and Christine realised that he sounded deadly sincere.

"What do I do?" she asked as she threw back the covers. She didn't waste time on fear, though her heart was hammering in her chest. She stuck to the practicalities – get safe.

Some instinctive part of her mind told her to stay low, keeping out of sight from whoever was outside. She crawled across the floor one-handed, gripping her phone to her ear like a lifeline. The worn carpet scraped against the exposed skin of her knees.

"They're at the front and back door now," the man on the phone told her. She stuck her feet into the running shoes she'd abandoned by the bedroom door the night before, not bothering to tie them. "They aren't covering the storm door to the basement. You'll have to get out that way."

She nodded, forgetting he couldn't see her.

The good news was that the storm door was right near where she'd parked her car. The bad news was that it was also near her front door – just metres away from where he'd said there were bad guys. At least, she had to assume they were bad guys. She couldn't imagine why the good guys would attack her house in the middle of the night.

"But they'll see me," she told him, whispering.

"Yes, but you'll have the element of surprise. You can probably get to your car before they start shooting." His voice was matter of fact.

"Probably?" she asked, the phone still to her ear as she snatched her keys off the hallway's sideboard, grabbing her bag while she was at it. "Wait, shooting?" she continued as her brain caught up with her mouth.

His reply was sardonic. "They have guns. I have to assume they will use them."

Christine reached the basement door. Of course they had guns. A thought occurred to her. How did her mystery saviour know that they had guns, or where they were standing?

"How do you know where they are and what they have?" she asked, wrenching open the rarely-used basement door. It creaked, loud in the silent house. Christine froze for just a moment, listening hard. She'd half-expected a door to burst open, spilling evil men into her home. But nothing moved.

She trod down into the darkness. After a few steps, the weak light from the house could no longer penetrate the gloom. She slowed, even though the adrenaline gushing through her body urged her to run, to move. She wouldn't do herself any favours by falling down the ancient stairs. The flaking wooden banister beneath her hand did little to steady her. A few pricks made Christine think it was giving her splinters, but she paid no attention. She had bigger things to worry about.

It would have helped if she could see, but she wasn't stupid enough to turn on the light.

She reached the bottom of the staircase, and her eyes began adjusting to the gloom. Weak moonlight streamed through the small, grimy window. Lumps were haphazardly arranged around the space. If memory served, it was all long-forgotten detritus from her childhood.

"Well?" she demanded, not forgetting her earlier question as she picked her way forward. If he could see the people outside, could he see her, too? Perhaps her entire house was rigged with cameras. She swallowed past a nervous lump.

"Later. Let's get you to safety first."

"How can I trust that you aren't leading me into danger?" she countered. The storm door was almost in reach. "You could be out there with these bad guys right now. Maybe you are leading me outside to my doom to save you the trouble of breaching my house. I could run straight into their arms."

"Fine. I'm watching via a live satellite uplink. Happy now?" he growled.

"It'll do," she told him. "For now." Christine had to believe he was on her side.

"Good. Be ready to make a run for it when I say go."

Christine took a deep breath, creeping up the steps to the door. "Wait a moment, I need to unlock it."

He made a sound of frustration – something that seemed to be a habit with him – but said nothing. Christine felt around in the dark until the rusty metal of the bolt grazed her palm. To her relief, it wasn't padlocked. She had no idea where she would have kept the key if she'd needed one. It wasn't good for her safety, but excellent news at this moment. She'd rectify that bad habit later.

She worked the bolt open, trying not to make too much noise. She was conscious of the men hovering on the other side, only a few steps away. After a steadying breath, she whispered the words, "All right."

There was silence on the other end of the phone. Christine focused on keeping the air coming in and out of her lungs steady. She was tense, ready, her ears straining for any sound in the quiet night. She couldn't hear the men out there, but it didn't mean they weren't waiting for her.

"Now!" the man yelled, and Christine threw open the doors and started running. She didn't look around, even as she reached her car and tugged open the driver's side door. Thank god for automatic keyless entry. The lights flashed, then flashed again. Her mind caught up as she slid into the driver's seat. The violent report of sound penetrated the roaring in her ears. She realised those second flashes were gunfire.

She ducked as she started the car with a press of a button and slammed it into gear. Bullets pinged off the body of the car, but none shattered the windows. Not taking the time to wonder why, Christine rammed her foot hard on the accelerator and sped off. She spun the wheel, angling the car down her long driveway. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds as she raced down her driveway.

She flicked on her headlights to see the turn, and they bounced off dark cars lining the road. Big SUVs, every one of them. There had to be at least ten, maybe more. She spared a glance at the rearview mirror. The armed men, weighed down by an obscene amount of weapons, raced down the drive toward those cars.

She turned onto the road that ran outside her house and lost sight of them for a moment. She focused her eyes on the road ahead, determination filling her.

"Are you all right?" The gruff question sounded through the car's speaker system and Christine jumped. She realised that her phone had automatically connected via Bluetooth. It had slipped out of her hand in the chaos, and she suspected it was somewhere in the foot well. "Were you hit?" he asked with more urgency when she didn't immediately reply.

"No. No, I'm OK." She thought she heard a sound of relief. "Are they following me?"

"Yes," he said shortly.

Christine swallowed and pressed even harder on the accelerator.

"Just follow my directions, and you'll be all right," said her saviour. She frowned. She couldn't keep calling him that.

"What's your name?" she asked. The words came out thin and muted. Terror had stolen her voice.

He cleared his throat. "Paul," he muttered. "Now turn right."

She slid the car around the corner and immediately checked the rearview mirror for any pursuit. It took them just fifteen seconds to turn onto the same road. Not good.

"Where am I going?"

"Somewhere safe." It was obvious he didn't intend to tell her any more, at least for now. Still, she'd already put her life in his hands for the night. She'd trust him a little longer. "Turn left."

She did, the steering wheel wobbling in her hands as she fought to gain control.

"Can you give a little more warning on these turns?" she asked, gritting her teeth.

"No. I don't want you to telegraph the turns to your pursuers. Right."

She spun the wheel, and found herself on a suburban street, more populated than her own. Her pursuers were still not far behind, and closer every second. The engine whined as she flattened the accelerator, but it made almost no difference to her speed. Her car was built to be environmentally friendly, not to win in a high-speed chase. She assumed that men who stormed houses must have cars built for speed.

"They're gaining," she ground out.

"Shit," said Paul. Christine couldn't agree more.

"What do I do?"

"Left!" he barked. She turned again, tires squealing. Her heart plummeted for a moment as she fishtailed along the road. The vehicle was out of her control for just a few seconds before she ruthlessly tamed it.

The brief moments had cost her. A dark car, leading two others, was inches away from her bumper. Christine tried to pull away, but it was no use. The lead car gunned its engine and drew even with her for a split second. The tinted windows of the car prevented her from seeing inside. But the creeping sensation ghosting over her skin told her the driver was watching her. A shiver trickled down her spine.

The car jumped forward, overtaking her. It positioned itself just ahead of her, blocking her path.

She looked left. Another of the cars was parallel with hers, risking any oncoming traffic by driving in the wrong lane. A glance in the rearview mirror confirmed that the third car was behind her.

"There's a right turn coming up," said Paul's soothing voice through the speaker.

Christine took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Her hands tightened on the wheel.

"Turn!" She did, bumping over the kerb before pressing the accelerator to the floor.

The car that had been behind her managed to follow at the last minute, tires squealing. Within seconds, it closed in on her. She felt a slight tap against her bumper as it nudged her. The car rocked. Her heart leapt into her throat.

He had her. Whoever was driving that car could cause an accident without any danger to themselves. Christine was powerless against it.

But, then, the car braked, backing off. It settled a car length behind her, seemingly content to follow her. The other two cars had caught up, but none made a move towards her.

"Left," Paul said again. Christine followed his direction without comment, her back tires screeching.

"Why aren't they gaining again?" she asked.

Paul grunted. "Looks like they've got new orders. They've probably been reminded their instructions are to capture – not kill – you. Which explains why they only fired at the body of the car."

If it was at all possible, Christine's heartbeat speed up even more. "Why?"

"Don't know. We'll discuss it later. You still need to lose them." A brief pause. "Right."

She spun the wheel, and wrenched her focus back to her driving. The defensive driving classes she'd taken a few years ago had not prepared her for this. It required her full attention. She couldn't afford to have her mind wandering into speculations.

Five minutes later, Christine was in the centre of the city, dodging the few cars that found themselves on the road at this time of night. She glanced at the clock on her dashboard. 2:24 a.m. Christ. Not even half an hour had passed since her life had completely upended itself.

Her pursuers were falling behind a little now that there were more streets for her to wind through. Paul directed her with absolute precision. He gave her only as much time as she needed to make the turn, and no more.

"Left."

The car skidded a little on a wet patch as she turned. She wasn't sure what had caused it, as there hadn't been any rain lately. She hit the kerb with her rear tire, bouncing before righting herself. The engine throbbed with strain.

"Shit," she muttered, then felt an immediate hit of lapsed-Catholic guilt.

"You're doing real well," Paul said in an encouraging voice. Christine was oddly soothed.

The orange glow of the streetlights bathed her path. The whoosh of her tires on the road was the only sound she could hear.

She made a few more turns as Paul instructed, running a few red lights in the process. Christine was grateful that the late hour meant that she didn't endanger anyone else.

"I think we've lost them," Paul's voice murmured. Christine glanced in the rear view mirror to see he was right. The black SUVs that had been glued to her trail had disappeared.

"Thank God," she breathed, easing her foot off the accelerator.

"Don't slow down too much," Paul told her, still tense. "Keep to the speed limit. Don't relax until you're safe."

Her racing heartbeat returned full force. Just for a moment, she'd felt the relief of safety. But he was right; it was an illusion.

She cruised the streets. Crossing the river, the bare neighbourhoods she'd left morphed into lush green suburbs. He was taking her west, skirting the edges of the Portsboro central business district, with its skyscrapers and high-rises. While during the day the city centre teemed with besuited workers, at this time of night it would only be populated by a few drunk stragglers.

As she drove, Christine checked every few seconds to make sure the cars still weren't following her. Paul still directed her, just with less urgency, giving her plenty of time to turn.

"I have so many questions," she said into the darkness.

"Like I said. Later."

"Are you directing me to where you are?"

He hesitated. "No."

"Then where am I going?" Panic itched at her, leaking into her voice. Paul had saved her life. She felt attached to him. But going to an unknown location, alone? The thought made it difficult to breathe.

"A safe house that the company I work for owns."

"What do you do for a living?" she asked, partially to sate her curiosity, and partially to distract herself.

"This and that. The company does all kinds of jobs. I do most of the surveillance."

"Is that why you were watching me?"

He was silent for a moment, and Christine wished she could see his face. She sensed that he was debating how much to tell her. Or maybe deciding if he should lie to her.

"Sort of," he replied.

"Well?" she demanded.

He directed her to pull up around the back of an apartment building up ahead. Christine complied, pulling into an empty space near the back of the lot, but didn't make a move to exit the car. Trees hung over the surrounding fences, blocking out much of the moonlight. The car was dark, shadowed.

"Go inside," he ordered.

"Not until you answer me," she said, feeling bolder now that the immediate danger had passed.

He made one of those frustrated sounds again, almost a growl.

"I'll tell you when you get inside."

She shook her head, then wondered if he could see her. "No. I don't know what I'm walking into. You need to give me something."

He was silent for a long moment. She could hear his short breaths coming through the speakers.

"Fine," he ground out. His displeasure was evident in the way the word sounded like it'd come through a clenched jaw. "Someone hired us to watch you, but not as protection. We were meant to ascertain whether you knew certain information. They thought you might be a corporate spy."

"Who's 'they'?"

"Your employer."

"Mr Disik?"

"His company."

"I wasn't aware he had one," she whispered. She felt small compared to the vast swathe of information she didn't know. "Why do they think I'm a spy? I never did anything. I've only worked there for two weeks."

"He's retired, though still listed on the board of directors. We were hired to watch you, see if you met with anyone suspicious."

"And?"

"Nothing. If we hadn't found anything after three weeks, the job would have been over. You would never have known we were there."

"But then tonight happened."

"Yeah. And I broke just about all the rules we have in getting you out of there."

"Saving my life was against the rules?" Her heart hammered.

He cleared his throat. "No revealing ourselves to the suspect. No direct contact with the suspect. No interference in any other operation, meet, or other unusual activity. No revealing that we have access to our own personal spy satellite..." He sounded like he was ticking each item off on his fingers.

"Right," she murmured. She squeezed her eyes shut as tears sprang in them. "Well, thank you."

"Don't thank me yet. You're not inside and safe."

She smiled at his grumble. "One last question, and then I promise I'll go in." Her heartbeat was slowing to a more normal rate.

He grunted, and Christine took it as a yes. "Why did you break the rules for me?" The words came out in a whisper.

He was silent for a long time. Christine once again got the feeling that he was considering whether he should lie.

She didn't know this stranger. But he'd just helped her through the most dramatic event of her life. Now, it was just the two of them in the enclosed cabin of her car, his voice surrounding her in the early morning quiet. Like a confessional. It all combined to weave an unexpected spell of trust and intimacy between them. His answer mattered to her.

He sighed, and it sounded pained. "From what I could tell from my – our – research and surveillance, you didn't deserve whatever they had planned for you. Or, at least, I hoped you didn't."

"Will you get in trouble for disobeying?"

"That's another question."

She grinned, and the expression felt strange on her face after the events of the last hour or so. "Humour me," she told him.

"I don't know," he replied. "Could go either way. Now will you come inside? It's level fourteen."

She almost laughed at the playful petulance in his voice. "Yeah," she said, to put him out of his misery. She gathered her things and got out of the car. It wasn't until the frigid air hit her that she realised she was wearing her pyjamas. She tugged at the hem of the shorts, fruitlessly attempting to cover more of her legs. It had been a while since she'd showed that much skin in public. At least she'd had the foresight to put shoes on.

All the energy drained out of her at once. Christine felt bereft, shivering alone in a strange, unfamiliar parking lot. She trudged inside, almost uncaring about what might await her.

Continue Reading

For more adventures of the Soldiering On crew, click below:

# Soldiering On Series

Station Alpha: (Soldiering On #1) - Paul's book

And Blake's book, Guarding Sierra, is coming soon!

# About the Author

Aislinn is an Australian Expat living in Qatar. She completed a Bachelor of Arts in English and History, which she loved, and then went on to do a Masters in an unrelated field. She now largely pretends that last degree never happened.

She enjoys reading, writing, travelling, and fantasising about her future cottage in a forest. Now that she's published, her next life dream is to own a dog.

Visit her at https://aislinnkearns.com/

