Prologue

The woman went into labor.

Hell. Nathan didn’t know what to do. If they were at least on earth, somewhere on damn earth, it wouldn’t be such an issue.

But they weren’t. They were forty-thousand feet above the globe, jetting through thin air with a motley bunch of passengers. Bored businessmen on their laptops, pretty flight attendants.

And in the midst of all that, the woman four aisles over had started screaming. Panting. Crying. He’d looked over, and he’d seen the whites of her eyes.

She was having a preemie in a damn plane. Hell.

“This is serious shit, man,” he said to his buddy, Tristan. “What do we do?”

Tristan’s eyes narrowed. “We do what needs doing.”

His buddy’s cool and coherent words did the trick. He snapped back into military mode. A past member of the Canadian elite special operations force known as Joint Task Force 2, then a member of the elite and feared Delta North Special Ops Team, he’d been honorably discharged.

That’s all it took.

“Roger that. Let’s go and see what we can do.”

The flight attendants were calling for decorum. Nathan noted an attendant talking with a man who was listening to her attentively, and he heard wisps of the conversation. “She’s only 36 weeks.”

The man’s coolness impressed Nathan, and then he heard the reason why. “I’m a neonatal nurse. I’ve done this before.”

The attendant grabbed his arm, hung on. “Then you’re our guy. Come on.”

A group was forming as others helped the laboring woman to first-class. And despite the pleas of another flight attendant to those in the cabin, things were getting the feel of a circus.

“Please.” The young woman, face serious, implored the riveted passengers. “If you have special skills, come on up. Otherwise, please go back to your seats and stay there.”

The two men nodded to each other, continued their way up.

At the curtain dividing regular from first class, a petite woman was standing guard, doing her best to corral well-meaning passengers away from the doorway. But not all. Nathan listened as a group of quiet, serious men were assigned, one-by-one, to help.

One guy had a crazy supply of rubber gloves with him, due to being enroute to a tattoo convention. A couple of the men had paramedic training, others were well versed in crowd control. All in all, five men were assigned to help.

And he—what could he do?

Nathan Hero, ex-Delta North operative, now military reserve. AKA the guy from the wrong side of the tracks.

A man without a family. And he knew, deep inside, he’d never have his own. Life had damaged him, and he wasn’t going to pass any of that crap on to someone else, ever. To a wife, a mate. Or to, god forbid, a child.

Not even a damn pet, he’d decided.

But that didn’t mean others didn’t have the right to have their families. To belong, to be surrounded by those they loved.

Damn straight.

He eyed the curtain separating what was essentially the woman—Tammy’s—birthing chamber, from the rest of the plane.

Yeah. That he could do.

He could stand guard for this woman and her just about to be materialized family.

“And you are?” The pretty attendant asked.

“Nathan Hero. Ex-JTF2, Ma’am. Then Delta North.”

She blinked, tipped her head. “JT..?”

“Canadian equivalent of SEALs. Served my contract. Military reserve, currently.”

“And…Delta…what?”

He wasn’t surprised she didn’t know, and now was not the time for a history lesson.

The elite and feared American Canadian elite special operations team, birthed in the crucible of Afghanistan. Modeled after our famous forerunner, the Devil’s Brigade.

He smiled at her. “Military, ma’am.”

“And your name is…”

“Hero. Nathan Hero.”

The woman’s eyebrows went up at his last name, but as he stared at her without reacting in the slightest, she spoke quietly. “And what will you do, Mr. Hero?”

“Bodyguard.”

She nodded. “Thank you. I’ll leave you to it.” She disappeared behind the curtain.

Nathan watched as a forceful dude came up for the third time, pushing to gain entrance. Insisting he could help, but he hadn’t quite hidden the expensive camera that branded him as one of the paparazzi.

Jerk.

Well, he wasn’t getting these pictures. For any paparazzi rag.

Now or ever.

Nathan stood in front of the doorway and folded his arms. Set his jaw as he looked the man straight in the eyes and he knew, just knew, there’d be compliance. Nothing on earth would disturb Tammy, her baby, and those who were doing their best to assure that her child would have the best chance for a successful arrival into the human family. He’d make sure of it.

He jerked his head, motioned backward to the rest of the plane with a whip of his thumb, and gave the man a look of cold, hard, steel. “Move.”