Epilogue

The curvy, geeky woman and the hot soldier are now a thing.

Sven and Keara are incredibly happy, and appreciative of what they’ve found together. As is Buddy—their faithful wonder dog and his spunky new sidekick and ‘best puppy friend’, Jake.

Yeah. His BPF.

They’re all together on Terrence Point mountain, in Sven’s not-so-little cabin. Now they want the same joy for those they love, and especially for Sven’s military brothers.

But three of the Delta North soldiers are facing a very tough time right now.

Christian Carter’s troubles are just beginning. The ex-Delta North soldier’s worries are so serious that he’s been thinking very dark thoughts.

And unfortunately, he sees no way out.

Cole Dawson, too—the former leader of the feared special ops unit—is worried about his Delta North Team men. It bothers him that they were so close in the war, yet now they’re scattered all over the world without each other’s help. He knows how tough and lonely it can be for soldiers coming home….even for his strong, determined men.

What can he do to help them? Can he possibly even find a way for them to work together again? The thought has excited him. It’s on his mind, something fierce.

Finally, Og Reiden, down in Refuge Bay, is feeling the walls close in around him. His younger brother got into serious trouble with some bad people, and Og feels responsible. As Michael’s only guardian when their parents died, he should have protected him, even if he was only a teenager himself. Now, he’s beating himself up hard for fucking up, because those bad people have turned on the kid. They’re holding him prisoner, down in South America.

Og won’t rest until he gets his brother home. A love relationship? It’s the last thing on his mind. He’s not destined for that kind of happiness.

And he’s just gotten some very bad news…

Christian Carter stood at the edge of his property on Terrence Point Mountain. The brittle wind blasted at him, made him dive deep into his Arctic jacket.

His thoughts were jumbled. Worried.

Well, at least one thing had gone right. His gaze veered down the path to Sven’s little patch of the mountain. Thank goodness he and Keara had finally realized how they felt about each other, and that they were better together than alone.

They were two of the lucky ones…the very lucky ones.

He didn’t see that happening with him. Ever. Especially with what was going on now. In fact, he’d never felt more alone. Seems he’d come home from war only to face more problems.

His gaze took in the view in front of him, the deep valley in front of him. One more step, just one more step. That’s literally all it would take. All he had to do was skim his booted toe along the rocky ground, keep going a tiny bit more….

…and he’d be airborne, for a scant second. Then quickly on his way to the bottom of the valley, hundreds of craggy feet below.

He shivered and drew back, yet the wind hurtled a fresh blast at him.

Was it trying to launch him out into the air, over that valley? He muttered under his breath. “Ungrateful prick.”

It didn’t seem to matter to the peak that he promoted its beauty endlessly. That he took the legends and lore of this raw mountain to the rest of the world, framed in beauty and artistry and love. Coaxed city-dwellers to part with their hard-earned cash to own a small, breath-taking, jagged piece of it, painted in oil and acrylic, or sculpted in iron.

Here, there was a view, like no other, he told them. He sang its praises—and its many cautions—to any that would listen.

The mountain didn’t care at this moment, simply buffeted him. It was like it wanted to shove him right off the edge.

This edge.

Well, even without its helping hand, he’d considered taking that leap himself, recently. If he aimed his body just right…no one would find him. He’d freeze on those broken stones, and in the spring, by summer, he’d be gone.

Poor Christian. He just disappeared.

Christian—they found his body. Did you hear? The remnants of it…

It would be so easy. So easy. Yet a harsh, demanding whisper reverberated in him.

Damn it—you’re Arctic Cobra. That’s no way for you to go. You’re Delta North Team, Special Ops. You have a duty to the other men, too.

Never. Give. Up. Remember?

Oh, he did. Sitting around in Afghanistan, with the men. Shooting the shit together, all of them cracking ribald jokes to keep up their spirits. It was on one of those nights that his brothers—led by Mack Stone and their platoon leader, Cole Dawson—had come up with his name.

Cobra, because of his stealth, unparalleled among the team. Arctic, because he hailed from the mountain tops of British Columbia, on the stunning west coast of Canada.

But mostly because of his stony face and silence. For his deep concentration when on mission. Unbreakable. Unbreachable.

Almost like another one of their teammates, Og Reiden. Only Og was like that day in, day out. Seemed to stuff his feelings deep within him. They often wondered if anyone could ever make him crack, and indeed, nothing had—until he’d gotten the note from home about his younger brother.

Normally I’m only like that when I’m executing an operation, but now? I’m the same, too.

The memories of the team helped, at the moment. Truth swelled in him. Not pride, because he wasn’t particularly proud. But truth was sacred to him.

I’m damn Arctic Cobra. This isn’t going to push me from my home. My mission.

And the thought of what the news would do to his Delta North buddies, including their fearless leader, Cole Dawson, stopped him from thinking about it anymore.

He couldn’t do that to his team. He’d suffer, instead.

He turned his body slightly, protected his face from the brutal wind. Thought about the many things he’d done in his life.

He’d been to so many worlds, in his relatively young life. Some had been delightful. He’d had a good time in those worlds, and he’d conquered them. Come back, stronger. Full of life and plans and goals, with love to give.

If he found the right one.

Other lands, he’d seen at dubious times. Worlds that in any other time might have been peaceful. Only he’d gone when it was war, when he needed to do covert things.

That latest world, it seemed…had conquered him. Blackened his legacy.

With all the praise and delusions of invincibility regularly heaped on Special Ops teams, he’d still been incredibly glad he’d made it back. And when he had, he’d determined—he’d never leave this place, again.

Looked like this time…he wasn’t going to have a choice.

Behind him was his home, and beyond that, the barn, where he practiced his art. The fury lived in him, the need to get it out, strong. He still didn’t know when the tide would abate, or turn. Leave him be. He’d been living with it at full throttle, for so long.

Others praised him as prolific, even brilliant, yet he knew it wasn’t that. He knew the real reason.

When you wanted to avoid something? You’d do anything, almost anything…to keep it away.

Now? He no longer had a choice.

He sighed, full of the weight of his situation.

Well, one thing, for sure. He wasn’t going to be driven from the mountain, this place that was a part of him. The mountain he’d come to love.

And to achieve that? He was going to have to fill very big shoes. Very quickly.

He only hoped that when the dust cleared? He was still here, on top of this glorious peak…

…and not broken and mangled, on the stones, hundreds of meters below.

* * *

Cole Dawson paced in Stable One. He’d just made sure Storm and Tawny, his two favorite horses at Dawson Ridges, were watered, fed, and brushed for the night. But he was upset.

Damn. He’d almost missed checking up on one of the Delta North men tonight. How the hell had that happened? Thank goodness Sven Golden—one of his former special ops soldiers—had texted him, reminded him that Rand Peters was struggling. New Year’s Eve was tough for him, plus he was getting off the booze, as well. A double whammy, especially for this time of the year.

Cole took a last glance around, noted that everything was well. He reached up and brushed the back of his hand over Storm’s cheek, and spoke soft words to the stallion.

“Rand was an amazing soldier in Delta North, Storm. Key man, really.” His grey eyes gentled as Storm leaned into his touch. “You’re right, Buddy. All my men were key, just like you and Tawny both are here.”

Tawny nickered now, wanting her time. Cole gave Storm one last pat, then had his late-night conversation with the gentle mare as well, as his thoughts whirled.

Shit. Here, I’m on site. It’s easy to keep track of those I love.

But my men are all over Canada and the States. There has to be a better way to keep eyes—all our collective eyes—on each other.

Tabby was waiting for him at the main house, along with the rest of his family: Mom, Dad, Krys and Aggie. Dax, their cook and household manager par excellence, would be in the living room with the others, or reading quietly in his room, his door wide open and his favorite snack—a heaped bowl of jalapeno cheesies—on the bed beside him.

It was a good, familial scene. His loved ones, safe. His family, well. His woman—he’d be seeing about making her his wife, soon, too—all where he could keep an eye on them. Watch over them.

But that only underscored one glaring omission in his life. He lowered himself onto the bale of hay under Storm’s stall, heard the squeak of the straw, and the question that had been buried in his mind for far too long now came roaring back.

Why the hell couldn’t they...he and his men...still, all somehow, be together? His mind flew to his vault of military memories.

Living together, in a hostile land. Having meals together. Working as a team to get things done, their personalities rubbing up against each other. They were men, after all.

Then the look in his men’s eyes when the next mission came, and the briefing. Their dogged, take no prisoners determination to give their all.

He sighed, the longing for his team strong in him. He was glad to be back, he wasn’t a fan of war. But there was no doubt about it. There was something damn special about good men, determined soldiers, serving together for a common purpose. And together?

They’d changed the course of the war.

The name Delta North Team still inspired fear. They’d been an incredible, real team. And therein lay the big question.

Why the hell couldn’t they do something with that now, that would fulfill a need today? Why couldn’t they help people?

The ranch, for the moment, was fine. The rest of the community was good. Even that old blowhard, Quinn Raary—was alright. For the moment, anyway. Cole chuckled. They’d survived the last pile of hijinks with the gruff landowner of Black Oaks. Hopefully, that was it, for a while.

“The point is,” he said out loud, “None of it needs my full attention anymore.” Roger, one of their trio of dogs, rested his nose on Cole’s thigh. “Isn’t it time to look at a new endeavor?”

His men all had special skills. Search and rescue. Hostage negotiation. Combat skills. Knowledge of the latest high-tech equipment, and more.

Could they transition into civilian life better…together?

He’d been told recently that the nurse out at the care facility for the special needs kids was having trouble. Seemed an old boyfriend was causing her grief. And not just breakup shit, but something a lot worse.

He scowled. Summer Scriber shouldn’t have to go through that. She was an amazing female. And even if she wasn’t…it burned his ass there were men out there that thought any woman that had been out with them should bow to them.

He’d also heard there was a conference coming up in B.C., with a sister conference way over in Toronto, and many of the attendees—high profile scientists—were looking for protection. Bodyguards were needed, somewhat last minute, as the conference had been moved up.

Dr. Tara Beaugard was one of them. As was Jillian Peters. Dr. Jillian Peters.

He whistled as he thought of the contributions those two women had made to the world, and how they normally worked deep out of the public limelight. But now…they were scrambling to find protectors.

Maybe it was time to look at the possibilities.

Delta North Force Security. Sounds right. Maybe we can do worthy work again. Maybe we can be a force for good, once more. Maybe the time to look at all that…

…is right now.

He pulled his cell from his pocket, punched in the code for Joel Satie, the local PI. He trusted the guy with his life. “Joel? Get ahold of Dare, Eli, Nathan and Sven, will you, and schedule a conference call? I’ve got something to tell you boys.”

* * *

Og Reiden stared at the balance sheet. The noise of the boxing gym he owned faded into the background, as did the smells so familiar to him; the old musty furniture in his office, cigarette smoke, sweat, and those damn delicious donuts his assistant, Eliza, had brought in this morning to cheer everyone up.

This was really where his money stood this month? He swore he could feel that one blood vessel, high up near his temple, pulse.

This wasn’t enough money to pay the Watcher with. The guy cost real money. Worse?

He was worth every damn penny. Mercenaries—ones with real skills and more, with real principles—usually were.

He learned forward, felt his ass slide on the leather seat of the junk shop office chair. He had to see his boss, and move on that other thing, too. “Eliza? Make an appointment for me with Palmer. And book me something to get me to Refuge Bay, will ya?”

Her grey, middle-aged eyes bore into him. “You going to that Hope House place, boss? I though you weren’t sure it was worth your time. You said it sounded…basic.”

“Funny how a letter from your bank, as well as cold hard figures, can change a man’s mind.” He scooped up his jacket as his gaze fell on the framed photo of him and his younger brother, Michael, behind his desk. Their arms around each other’s shoulders, smiling their goofy grins a thousand years ago.

That’s us. A team. Before mom and pop both left us.

A glare formed on his face. They were going to be a team again, if he ever found the kid. But for that to happen, he had to move quickly. Get this Hope House thing sorted for the bonus his boss was promising, if he lined something decent up.

Task 1: Hope House. However long that damn thing takes. Then, I’ll have the cash to pay the Watcher.

Hang on, kid. I’m coming.

“Hold down the fort, Eliza. Keep the men in check, and damn it, woman. Thanks for the donuts.” He grabbed one and shoved half of it in his mouth as he made for the door. “See you in a few days, hopefully. I’ll either have the money…or you’ll have another sloppy mess to peel off the floor. Meaning…me.”