RAVEN’S WATCH

JSOC mission… Undisclosed location

“Beckett.”

Major Foster Beckett nodded at his copilot, Sean Hansen, before banking the Pave Hawk over as the next burst of machine gun fire whizzed past the chopper, lighting up the darkness behind them. “I know, buddy. This guy just won’t give up.”

He tipped the machine farther forward, picking up speed as he skimmed across the top of a ridge then dropped the bird down the other side. Barely missing a crumbling wall as it materialized out of the night.

One of his four teammates groaned in the rear cabin. Whether it was from the way Foster tossed the helicopter around or because they were on the verge of bleeding out, he wasn’t sure. But if he didn’t lose the bogey on his tail, it wouldn’t matter.

They’d all be dead.

Sean made a wet, gurgling sound, and Foster nearly plowed the machine into the ground as he snapped his attention toward his buddy, wondering how it had all gone sideways so fast.

The damn spooks.

Once again, the CIA had screwed them over. Because Foster bet his ass the agency knew two of their agents were dirty. That they’d set up Foster and his crew as bait when their supposed rescue mission had turned into a shootout minutes into the return flight. Calm, cool extraction one moment, an all-out attack the next with Agent Stein and Agent Adams leading the charge. The one scenario his teammates hadn’t counted on. Not when they’d been working with the bastards for the past six months. Men they thought could be trusted. Would have their backs. Discovering they were the ones selling intel…

Foster should have recognized the signs over the past few weeks. The beads of sweat along their brows. The slight twitch in their hands. Their increasing reluctance to look Foster or his buddies in the eyes.

And now, his brothers were paying the price.

He banked again, narrowly avoiding the next round of gunfire. “Hang in there, Sean. Once I lose this asshole, we’ll be back on course.”

Sean panted, lifting his arm and jabbing his finger at the only nav screen still working — leaving a bloody smear across the surface. “Here.”

Foster frowned, dodging up and over another ridge before following the hill around to the right. Hugging the surface to the point dirt and stones kicked out behind him in twin eddies. “I realize we’re desperate but even I think that’s crazy.”

Not that it stopped him from altering his course. Heading for that speck on the map glaring at him from beneath the smear of blood. Rain splattered across the bubble, flashes of lightning giving him fleeting glimpses of the landscape. A bulging rock face on his right. A lone tower on his left. What might be his saving grace when damn near every other navigational aid was dead. Even his night vision had gotten damaged, leaving him with nothing more than that one flickering nav screen and twenty years’ worth of experience.

Foster hit the winding gulley leading to the narrow opening going as fast as the aircraft could handle. More than it could handle based on the how the controls vibrated in his grasp, the odd alarm chirping to life. He divided his attention between the screen and the walls quickly closing in on him, mentally counting down the distance.

He was about twenty feet back when he banked the chopper hard to the right, holding it steady as the sluggish controls fought to respond — definitely a hydraulic leak hampering the inputs.

The gap appeared in front of him like an abyss spiraling into the rock. The utter darkness drawing them in. He hit the tunnel going some insane speed, the controls still shaking as the engine whined from the strain. Any hint of light cut out. Even the nav blinked off for a few moments before he shot out the other side, a welcomed flash of lightning saving him from flying the machine into the side of the cliff as it curved around in front of them.

He cranked the helicopter over, trying to get more distance between them and the opening when the chopper surged forward as the sky lit up behind him, the force of the explosion spinning the aircraft.

Flames erupted from the fissure, parts of the other chopper whizzing through the air. Something hit the back end, pitching them sideways as a shrill whine echoed through the cabin. It took a few moments to get the bird stabilized, the controls like lead weights in his hands, with the last impact claiming what little hydraulics he’d had left.

Sean coughed, splattering blood across the window as he met Foster’s gaze. “Hooyah.”

“I got lucky. Nothing more.”

Sean shook his head, his mouth pursing tight as he tapped his chest pocket. “My letter…”

Foster grunted, wishing he could move his arm enough to punch Sean in his thigh. “No. No talking about that damn death letter we’ve all written. You’re going to be fine. You just have to push through.”

“Beck…”

“I mean it Sean. Don’t you dare give up…” He cursed under his breath, giving Sean a nod when his friend managed to reach out and leave a bloody handprint on his arm. “I’ll get it to Cheryl. I promise.”

Sean nodded, closing his eyes as a shudder raced down him, blood seeping through the bandages around his neck and ribs. He’d taken the brunt of the attack when Stein had opened fire, lunging over to cover Foster after Foster had gotten hit twice in the shoulder. Their pararescue medic and Foster’s best friend, Chase Remington, had done what he could to minimize the bleeding once he and his other buddies had dealt with Adams and Stein, but it was obvious it wasn’t working.

Foster huffed. “Stay with me, brother. I’ve got this baby turned around. I’ll have you on the ground and into a surgical room within fifteen. Ten, if I can get more speed out of her.”

Sean chuckled, the raspy sound fading into that eerie gurgling noise as his head lolled back and he slumped against the window.

“Sean! Damn it, Chase, I think he’s coding.”

Chase popped into view, his hands covered in blood. “I need a minute, Foster.”

“Sean doesn’t have a minute.”

“Neither do Zain or Kash. I can only spread myself so thin.”

“We’re not dead yet, dumbass.” Zain Everett — their SAR specialist, sniper and all ‘round badass. Though it sounded as if he was even worse than Chase had hinted at. “Take care of Sean.”

Chase pursed his lips, fisting his hands for a moment before vanishing then reappearing with an armful of supplies. He checked Sean’s neck, looking back at Foster before applying more bandages and giving the guy a shot of something.

Chase turned to face him, mouth pinched tight. Eyes shadowed. Blood oozed from a gash on his forehead, more soaking the hem of his shirt. What looked like multiple hits to his vest.

Chase had been with Foster from the start. Had been the one constant throughout his career — until they’d met Sean, Rhett, Zain and Kash a dozen years ago. The six of them had fallen into sync on their very first mission, and they’d fought hard to stay together since.

Chase tugged on the tape holding Foster’s shoulder together, muttering obscenities under his breath. “Your damn shoulder’s a mess. I’m not sure how you’re even moving that arm. Everything’s shattered.”

Foster would have shoved him off if he’d had the strength. Instead, he merely nodded toward Sean. “How is he?”

Chase glanced away, making it look as if he was getting more supplies out of his bag. “He’s lost at least two liters of blood, and I’m out of saline and plasma.”

“But if I get him back…”

“You just focus on staying conscious as long as possible. Try to get us as close as you can to the base. Okay?”

“Chase…”

“I’m just a medic, buddy. I can’t raise the dead.”

Foster looked over at Sean. He hadn’t moved in the past few minutes, his skin so damn white he swore it was see-through. “No. It can’t end like this. You have to do something. That should have been me. My blood. My sacrifice. He’s got a wife. Kids. I have to…”

To what? Save him? Because Foster knew if Chase couldn’t save Sean, no one could.

Chase packed more gauze around Foster’s wounds, adding another layer of tape. “Let me check on the others, then I’ll be back. Do what I can to help keep you awake.”

“You worry about Zain, Kash and Rhett. I’ll be okay.”

“No, you won’t.” Chase cut him off. “You’re bleeding through the clotting powder. Your face is nearly as white as Sean’s and your good hand is shaking so bad, I’m surprised the damn chopper isn’t vibrating through the air.”

“My hand’s shaking because I’ve lost hydraulics. Go. I’ll shout if I’m gonna pass out.”

“Right, because self-preservation has always been first on your list. Just, don’t fucking die on me.”

“Says the man who’s bleeding worse than me. And yeah, I noticed. How bad are you hit?”

“Enough I’m extremely pissed.”

Chase disappeared, Zain’s groan sounding above the engines a moment later. The fact Foster hadn’t heard their flight engineer, Rhett Oliver, utter so much as a sigh since his team had finally overpowered Stein and Adams meant the guy was either dead or unconscious. Just like their dog handler, Kash Sinclair.

The engine chugged, dropping the bird several feet before it stabilized. They couldn’t afford to land. Not while they were fifty miles from safety with Foster’s entire team struggling to hold on.

Which meant, milking every ounce of speed out of the aircraft. Taking it as close to the edge as possible without actually blowing the engines or killing the transmission. That fine line between all-out and too far. One he’d skirted on more occasions than he should be proud of. But the mission and his team always came first.

Not team. Family. That’s what they were to him. Brothers. Men he’d kill for. Or die to protect. The only reason he’d made it through twenty years without losing his sanity.

His soul.

To think it would go down like this — betrayed by their own people. Lost on the wrong side of a volatile border. A fate he could alter if he rose to the challenge. Pushed past his limits.

Rain pummeled the bubble, the lone wiper barely keeping up. Not that he could see much with streaks of black cutting across his vision. But he kept that bird pointed north. Kept the machine on the verge of crapping out as he raced across the landscape, the wind and thunder following in his wake. Like Apollo chasing them with his chariot.

Was it getting colder? Darker? Or was Foster simply running out of time.

Chase’s hand closed over his good shoulder, jerking him back from that numbing haze. “If you have to put her down…”

Foster shook his head, pounding the heel of his other hand against his temple in an effort to clear his vision. “Not… an option.”

“Foster. Brother, you’re barely holding on.”

He shook his head again. Or maybe he’d only thought it. He couldn’t tell. Could barely feel his fingers he was so cold. “How…”

Shit. One word. That’s all he managed before his tongue got too heavy to form more.

“Don’t worry about anyone else. That’s my job. You focus on flying and not hitting the ground.”

“Can’t…”

Another one-word reply. And it cost him. Had more than just his good hand shaking. He wet his lips, forcing his eyelids open. Glancing over at Sean whenever he wanted to pack it in. Give up. Because if there was even a glimmer of hope he could still be saved…

Bile crested his throat, his eyes burning as he stared at the raging storm beyond the glass. The lightning hardly making a difference in his visibility, anymore. It was too late. He knew it. Felt it. From the way Chase kept shifting his weight, unable or unwilling to even place his hip on the edge of Sean’s seat, to the utter silence from the other side of the cockpit, Foster knew Sean was dead. But Foster kept going. Clinging to the false hope that if he could stay awake — make it one more minute, one more mile — it wouldn’t be in vain.

That he hadn’t failed his brothers when they’d needed him the most.

That maybe one day, he’d be able to look at his own reflection and not see Sean’s ghost staring back.

* * *

“I’m not sure what I was expecting, Foster, but damn. You look like shit. Though, the bandages do kinda go with the long hair.”

Foster twisted toward the door, shaking his head at the man leaning against the frame. Hands shoved in his pockets, looking almost as haggard as Foster felt. Keaton Cole, Foster’s cousin and the only family Foster had left, other than the men gathered in his room. His teammates.

His brothers.

Foster arched a brow, brushing his hair out of his eyes. A leftover from his time in Flight Concepts, when he was encouraged to look like anything but typical military. He gave Keaton a once-over, waving the length of him. “And yet, still a thousand times better than you, buddy.”

“Oh, someone didn’t get their pain meds, today.” Keaton sauntered in, grinning at Chase, Kash and Zain. “You’re obviously taking fashion cues from my cuz, Remington, because you look just as bad, with Sinclair and Everett only slightly better.”

Chase flipped Keaton off as he leaned back in the chair. “At least we have a reason, Cole. What’s your excuse?”

Keaton chuckled. “Civilian life. Who knew it was crazier than the Navy.” He crossed his arms over his chest, waiting until Zain and Kash had wheeled their chairs over to Foster’s bed. “So, rumor has it you four might be considering your options.”

Zain grunted, absently rubbing his knee. Or more accurately, the new hardware hidden beneath the bandages and stitches. Foster wasn’t sure if Zain even realized he was doing it, but the pain and frustration bled through his usual facade. Testament to how much their last mission had cost them.

Foster knew his buddy was in agony. He’d heard the muffled shouts and hushed curses as Zain dragged his ass up and down the hallways several times a day. The price of reclaiming even a hint of his former mobility. Though, Foster knew Zain would push until he was only a slightly broken version of his former self.

Zain shrugged. “It’s come up.”

Keaton nodded, walking over and resting his hip against Foster’s bed. “I feel that. Been where you all are, myself.”

Which was an understatement. Keaton had been through hell. Had suffered a similar loss on his last mission, when their covert op had gone off the rails and one his best friends had been killed. While Foster didn’t know the specific details, he knew Keaton. And based on the hollow look in his eyes — the tremor in his voice that was only now starting to ease — he’d experienced something truly horrific. Not that it had been the first time.

Keaton’s fiancée had died in a plane crash a dozen years ago, shortly after he’d joined the SEALs. Foster had come close to losing the man back then, despite all Foster had done to try and help Keaton cope with the loss. But words and a shoulder were rarely enough compensation for the kind of scars that took more than time to heal.

Though, Keaton had more than paid Foster back when Foster’s parents had been killed in a car accident a month ago. Foster and his team had been running those traitorous CIA assholes all over hell’s backyard on one covert mission after another and he hadn’t been able to extract himself long enough to head home. But Keaton had dropped everything and stepped up.

Foster would never forget that.

Foster shuffled back a bit, giving Keaton a thorough once-over. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Florida looks good on you. You sound better.”

Keaton sighed. “Getting there. Which reminds me… You should all come down for a visit. See the town. Get a feel for what we do. There’s always room for guys like you.”

Kash chuckled. “Are you suggesting we consider retiring to Florida?”

Keaton grinned. “Sunshine. Beaches.”

“Gators. Mosquitos.”

Zain swatted Kash across the chest. “And don’t forget the pythons. I hear those fuckers grow really big.”

Keaton rolled his eyes. “You’ve all been hanging around Foster for too long. The Everglades are fine.”

“Sure, if you’re looking to disappear.” Chase pointed a finger at Keaton. “Permanently.”

“Just, keep it in mind. Though, I suppose my dumbass cousin is trying to talk you all in to heading to Oregon, where there’s nothing but gray clouds and rain.”

“I’m not trying to talk them into anything.” Foster shifted on the bed, not that it helped eliminate the pain throbbing through his shoulder. “But my parents did leave me that turn-of-the-century manor house they’d been renovating. Sounds like a good place to start.”

Keaton laughed, nearly falling off the bed before he straightened. “You’re going to fix up that old dusty inn? Are you all nuts?”

“Beats swimming with gators.”

“You keep telling yourself that. Besides, Raven’s Cliff is so small, you have to run to the next town to change your mind.”

“And Calusa Cove is your idea of big time? I hate to break it to you, cuz, but it’s just as small.” Foster smiled. “And there’re gators.”

Keaton shook his head. “Still as stubborn as a damn mule. Though, I guess some things never change. Like us. Whether you’re ready to face it or not, sooner or later you’ll have to admit that we’re all just hardwired differently. No way you’ll be able to stay out of the fray for long.”

Foster pursed his lips, Sean’s gurgling rasp sounding in his head. Foster glanced over at the windows, hating the eerie apparition standing in the graying light. Blood still dripping from its neck and ribs as the ghostly image tapped its chest pocket.

It wasn’t real. He understood that much. Just a by-product of the pain and anger and loss. Too bad that knowledge didn’t make it disappear.

Keaton sighed at Foster’s silence, looking over at the window then focusing on him, again. “Hey, didn’t you mention something about an old JSOC commander of yours starting up a search and rescue organization there?”

Foster snorted. “Colonel Atticus Parker. Bastard’s already called me twice. Wants to know when we’re all signing up.”

“And?”

“I told him I wasn’t interested, but no isn’t in the old man’s vocabulary.”

“Is this where we start a pool on how long it’ll be before you’ve all been recruited?”

“About as long as it would for me to move down to the Everglades.” Foster shifted again, but it only shot pain down through his ribs. “I don’t suppose you’d do us a solid?”

Keaton laughed. “I already ordered a few pizzas. Just thought I’d stop in and visit while they were being made. I’ll go grab them. Keep my seat warm.”

His cousin headed for the door, pausing at the threshold. “Whatever you jerks decide, do yourselves a favor — stick together. Civilians really are crazy and knowing I still have my team watching my six is the only reason I’ve stayed sane.” He made a finger gun at Foster. “That, and you, cuz.”

“Just grab the pizzas before we all start puking.”

“Your wish.” Keaton headed out, leaving a strange void in the air. As if he’d taken most of the oxygen with him. Left nothing but uncertainty behind.

Foster cleared his throat, looking each of his buddies in the eyes. “I know we talked about calling it quits. Going to Oregon and seeing if a change in venue somehow fixes the broken parts the doctors can’t splint. And there’ll always be a place waiting there for you jackasses to hang your hat. But there’s no pressure. Given some time and enough rehab, you all might—”

“Might what, Beck?” Kash shuffled in his seat. “Get the urge to jump back in the saddle? Put our lives in the hands of some traitorous agents, again? Because I don’t know about Zain and Chase, but there’s not a chance in hell I could go down that road, again.”

Some of the color drained from Kash’s face and Foster suspected he wasn’t the only one reliving that night. Though, Kash had nearly lost his four-legged partner, Nyx, on the gauntlet run back to the chopper. Realizing she’d almost died in order to protect two traitors who’d then killed Sean and put Rhett in what might be a permanent coma had obviously affected Kash on a whole other level.

Kash sighed. “I’m not saying that staying on the sidelines is in the cards. But I’m ready to try something new. While I’m still alive enough to enjoy it.”

Zain gave Kash’s arm a pat. “What he said. We’re all up for re-enlistment over the next two months. Seems almost poetic in the timing, if you ask me.”

“Which is why we didn’t.” Chase dodged Zain’s slap. “And you’re not pressuring us, Foster. After everything that went down…” He swallowed, looking as if he might puke. “I think we could use a fresh start. Don’t much care where that is, other than Florida. That’s just wrong.”

Foster nodded, a bit of the tension in his chest easing. “Then, it’s settled. I’ll contact the lawyer — get him to send over the papers he’s been keeping for me. Just remember. I warned you all ahead of time that nothing exciting happens in Raven’s Cliff. So, make peace with that. Things are about to get really boring.”