When Hank’s call had come, he’d been willing to listen and even come to Montana for a one-on-one chat with his old friend and brother-in-arms.
Hank had offered Drake a job as a Brotherhood Protector, a kind of security firm providing protection, extraction and whatever else was warranted for people who needed the expertise of someone skilled in special operations.
“I’m not interested in mercenary work,” Drake had said. “Been there…done that.”
“It’s not mercenary work,” Hank had said. “It’s bodyguard, rescue and protective services for real people who need specialized help. We aren’t working for big corporations.”
Drake had been insistent. “Not interested. Got anything else?”
Hank chuckled. “As a matter of fact, I know someone who needs carpenters for a lodge restoration project. It’s good physical work, and the lodge is worth restoring.”
“Sounds more my speed,” Drake said.
“Come out to Montana. See what we have here and make your decision,” Hank had urged.
Drake had remained firm. “I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Okay. I get it. But I want you to meet the guys who work with me and get their take on what we do.”
“Fair enough,” Drake said. “I’d still rather pound nails. It beats slinging bullets.”
“I’ll put you in touch with Molly McKinnon and Parker Bailey. They are leading the effort to restore the lodge. I’ve sent several spec ops guys their way already. You probably know some of them or know of them.”
“I’m down for some renovation work with a team full of former spec ops guys, as long as they aren’t going to try to talk me into working for your Brotherhood Protectors.” He thought he might have insulted Hank. “No offense.”
Hank laughed. “None taken. Whichever way you lean in the job front, you’ll love Montana and the little town of Eagle Rock.”
Anything would be better than the close-minded, stone-faced inhabitants of the small East Texas town he’d worked in for the past six months.
“How soon can you get here?” Hank asked. “The other four SEALs are due to start on Monday morning.”
“I’ll be there,” Drake had assured him.
“Great. See you then,” Hank ended the call.
Drake had immediately given the diner his resignation, packed up his few personal items in his furnished apartment and left Texas. He’d driven for two days, stopping only long enough to catch a couple of hours of sleep at a rest area along the way.
When he rolled to a stop in the parking lot in front of the Lucky Lady Lodge, with the Crazy Mountains as a backdrop to the old building, he already felt more at home than he had anywhere else. Maybe it was because he was tired. More likely, he felt that way because he didn’t want to move again.
As he stepped down from his pickup, he shrugged off his exhaustion. He could sink his teeth into this project. It beat cleaning years of grease off the diner’s floor back in Texas.
With a new sense of purpose, he passed the large roll-on-roll-off trash bin, already half-full of broken boards, crumbled sheets of drywall panels, ruined carpet and damaged furniture. He climbed the steps to the wide veranda and entered through the stately double doors of the lodge.
Six men and a woman stood in the lobby, wearing jeans and T-shirts. They had gathered around a drafting table, all looking down at what appeared to be blueprints.
The woman glanced up. “Oh, good. Drake’s here.”
The others straightened and turned toward Drake.
As he studied the faces, his heart filled with joy.
He knew Hank from way back at the beginning of his career as a Navy SEAL. Hank had been the experienced SEAL who’d taken him under his wing and shown him the ropes of what it was like beyond BUD/S. Clean-shaven, he had a short haircut, unlike the shaggy look he’d acquired on active duty. The man had a few more wrinkles around his green eyes, but he was the same man who’d been his mentor so many years ago.
Hank stepped forward, holding out his hand. “Morgan, I’m glad you made it. You must’ve driven all night to get here.”
Drake took the man’s hand and was pulled into a bone-crunching hug.
“Good to see you,” Hank said.